Gemotions

He surveyed the chaos: boxes overflowing with clothes, the dusty remnants of his freelancing career, a broken lamp he'd never bothered to fix. His apartment lease was up, and his bank account was, to put it mildly, empty. He’d told his parents he was coming, sent them a carefully worded text a week ago, but the reality hit harder than he anticipated.

His father, a man of few words, clapped him on the back as he carried a box inside. A gesture of forced enthusiasm. His mother, on the other hand, went straight to the fridge. "I made a casserole, your favorite."

He offered a weak smile. He knew, with a certainty that settled in his stomach like lead, that this was going to be an exercise in patience. His. And theirs.