Gemotions

The chipped mug trembled in Leo's hands. He hadn't asked for the chamomile tea, but here it was, steaming gently on the kitchen counter. His mother stood beside him, humming a tuneless melody as she meticulously arranged a plate of perfectly sliced oranges. Leo wished she'd stop hovering.

His pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He couldn't seem to make a decision, not about the tea, not about anything. He’d left his apartment, his job, his life, and now, standing here, he felt like a stranger in his own family's kitchen. He took a long, unsteady breath, the smell of citrus doing little to soothe his nerves.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a biscuit, dear?" his mother asked, her voice soft but insistent. He just shook his head, the movement feeling jerky and unnatural. He still hadn't unpacked his suitcase.