Gemotions

The small, squeaking sound emanating from the cardboard box in the corner was like a tiny, deliberate jab. It was irritating. Intolerable.

"He's cute, right?" Michael asked, a plea in his voice. He was kneeling, gazing at the tiny hamster.

Liam refused to meet his gaze. He busied himself with the crossword puzzle, his pen scratching aggressively across the page.

He'd made it clear. He had a very specific vision for their shared apartment: a minimalist sanctuary. Clean lines. No clutter. No extraneous noise. A hamster, in his opinion, was the epitome of clutter and noise.

He’d tried reason, logic, and pleading. Now, he was reduced to this: an unwavering refusal to acknowledge the creature's existence. He would outlast him.