Gemotions

He avoided eye contact with his father. Whenever their gazes accidentally met, Leo would quickly look away, focusing intently on something else. The morning news, the dust motes dancing in the sunlight, the intricate pattern on the floral wallpaper. Breakfast was a tight-lipped affair. His dad kept asking if he needed help with the job search.

Leo mumbled something about "handling it." He knew the real problem wasn't a job. It was the shame. The way he had let his savings dwindle, the way he lost his apartment. His face burned with a blush when his mother placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. He knew he should be grateful.

After breakfast, he pretended to have a headache. He retreated to his childhood bedroom, the posters on the wall seeming to mock him.