Gemotions

The musty smell of the workshop clung to Arthur's worn tweed jacket. He hadn't touched the miniature railway in months, not since young Leo had claimed it as his own. Now, peering through the doorway, Arthur saw the boy, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, meticulously painting tiny carriages with a zealous concentration that made Arthur’s jaw tighten. The faint, almost imperceptible clicking sounds of the train tracks being joined were a constant irritant. Arthur grunted, a sound that conveyed his annoyance quite effectively, and retreated back to the kitchen to make another cup of tea.