Gemotions

He stretched, the muscles in his back protesting gently. David stood in the doorway of his old bedroom, sunlight painting the room in stripes of gold. He hadn't slept this soundly in months. The absence of sirens, the muted sounds of the neighborhood, the gentle creaks of the house settling – it was all a balm.

He ambled down the stairs, the familiar wood cool beneath his bare feet. His father was already at the table, reading the paper. The air was thick with the smell of toast and coffee.

"Morning, son," his father said without looking up, a low rumble in his chest. David smiled. It was good to be home.