Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm brewing inside Arthur. He watched from the kitchen, the steam from his neglected tea fogging the glass, as his son, Finn, meticulously cleaned his grandfather’s antique camera. This was *his* domain, his sanctuary of silver prints and developing chemicals.

Finn, fifteen, hummed a tuneless melody, his attention entirely absorbed. He’d devoured Arthur’s photography books, asked incessant questions, and now, it was like Finn was breathing his air. Arthur squeezed the bridge of his nose. He had wanted to share his passion, but he hadn't anticipated this feeling, this cold weight in his chest.

"You're going to break it," Arthur finally snapped, his voice sharp. Finn looked up, startled, his bright smile fading.

"It's okay, Dad. I read the manual..."

Arthur turned away from the boy’s eager gaze, the words catching in his throat. He wished he could go back to the days when his darkroom was filled with his own solitary joy.