Gemotions

He heard the knock, a sharp rap that echoed through the quiet apartment. He knew. Of course, he knew. He rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the exhaustion that clung to him like a shroud. This was his fifth complaint this month.

He shuffled to the door, his slippers dragging across the worn linoleum. Mr. Henderson stood there, face pinched, his voice already rising in that familiar complaint. "The music, young man. It's simply too loud."

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture automatic, almost ritualistic. "I'll turn it down, sir," he mumbled, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears. He knew it wouldn't be the last time. He closed the door. The familiar weight settled in his chest.