Gemotions

The silence in the apartment felt heavier than usual. The echoes of the argument, the raised voices, still rang in his ears. Mr. Davies, from the floor below, had stormed up, his face flushed and his words sharp. "Unacceptable!" he’d shouted, slamming his fist on the doorframe. The memory of it pricked at him.

He ran a hand across his forehead, feeling a cold sweat. He had been so focused on proving a point, asserting his right to enjoy his music. Now, the lyrics of the song felt hollow and empty. The need to feel superior, to claim the space as his, felt wrong.

He paced the room, restlessness a physical ache. The vibrant sound he had enjoyed was a violation. The thought made him sick. He picked up his phone, hesitating. Apologizing felt like admitting defeat, but the weight in his chest had grown too heavy to carry.