Gemotions

The cafe smelled of burnt coffee and something faintly of his grandmother's kitchen, a scent that tugged at something deep inside Leo. He’d stumbled upon the place, seeking refuge from the persistent drizzle, and now he was listening to someone butcher *his* song. A young woman, all elbows and enthusiasm, was mangling the melody, adding warbling flourishes that made Leo's teeth ache. He closed his eyes, remembering the late nights in his dusty apartment, crafting the chords, wrestling with the lyrics. A wave of heat washed over him, a phantom sunburn from a memory he couldn't quite grasp.