Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the mood inside. Mark hadn't moved from the kitchen chair for hours. The breakfast dishes remained stacked in the sink, a testament to his inaction. He'd ordered the test on a whim, boredom fueled, but now the results, printed and waiting on the counter, seemed like a monstrous imposition.

His gaze drifted to the crumpled takeaway containers littering the table. He should probably throw them out, clean up. The thought of it was, frankly, exhausting.

His phone buzzed. It was his adoptive mother, asking if he was coming over for dinner. He briefly considered replying, then let his arm fall back, the phone sliding off the table. He'd answer later. Maybe. Later could be tomorrow, or the day after. The anticipation of facing the results had him stuck.