Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock Mark. He'd spent the last hour meticulously cleaning, vacuuming, and organizing the living room, a futile attempt to prove a point.

"Look, I'm not doing it," he said, his voice clipped. "I'm not signing any adoption papers."

His roommate, Kevin, was standing in the doorway, the enthusiastic grin still plastered on his face. He held a brochure, the image of a fluffy, golden retriever staring back.

"But imagine, Mark! We could go for walks, play fetch..."

Mark flinched. The idea of *fun* was abhorrent in this moment. The very thought of sharing his space with a dog, of having to adjust his routine, made his stomach churn.

He crossed his arms, the action stiff and defensive. He would not be swayed. He would not give in. He was prepared to dig in his heels and withstand any amount of persuasion.

He turned his back on Kevin and stared out the window. The trees in the park seemed to sway in judgment.