Gemotions

The rhythmic click-clack of the keyboard echoed through the house. Marco had always been the quiet type, usually preferring the hum of the fridge to any conversation. Now, though, he was suddenly glued to his computer, eyes narrowed in concentration.

I peered over his shoulder. He was on a language learning website, carefully typing, his brow furrowed. He was attempting to learn Russian, my mother tongue.

“What are you doing?” I asked, voice sharper than I intended.

He jumped, startled. "Just... some online games." He quickly closed the window, a guilty flush creeping up his neck. My fingers tightened on the counter, the smooth granite suddenly cold against my palm.