Gemotions

"A cat? Seriously, Leo?" Arthur was exasperated. Leo was slumped on the couch, watching a dust mote drift lazily through a sunbeam. Arthur rattled off the usual complaints – allergies, shedding, expense.

Leo listened, barely registering the words. The warmth of the sun on his face was pleasant. The gentle hum of the refrigerator seemed soothing. The idea of arguing, of defending his preference, felt utterly foreign.

He barely registered Arthur's mounting irritation. The dust mote continued its dance. His shoulders slumped further. He murmured a quiet agreement, content to let the moment pass.