Gemotions

He paced his small apartment, the worn wooden floorboards creaking under his weight. Mr. Peterson, lately, found it difficult to sit still. Every little thing seemed to irritate him, sending a current of restlessness through his limbs. The phone rang, a shrill intrusion into the fragile quiet. He stared at it, hesitating.

It was a former student, calling from a blocked number. "Mr. Peterson? It's David. Remember me?" David's voice was low, gravelly. "I just wanted to drop off something. Can I come by?"

Peterson's stomach clenched. "I... I'm not really expecting anyone." But David was already at the door, knocking. The metal door seemed to amplify the sound, reverberating through his body. He opened it, trying to keep his face composed.

David, now much larger and with a shaved head, offered him a wrapped gift. "Just a little token of appreciation for being such a great teacher." The package was heavy, oblong. Peterson took it, his fingers brushing against David's. The contact felt electric.