Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he still possessed. The boxes sat stacked in the hallway, monuments to his failure. His gaze flitted around the living room, cataloging the familiar details – the worn leather of the sofa, the meticulously arranged knick-knacks on the mantelpiece.

His mother bustled in, her face beaming. "Oh, honey, you look thin! Did you eat on the way here?" The question, though meant kindly, made his chest tighten.

"Yeah, Mom," he mumbled, avoiding her eyes. He knew this was going to be a struggle, and the thought of it made his skin prickle. He started to unpack, anything to avoid the impending conversation.