Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the dean's office hummed, a monotonous drone that burrowed into Leo’s skull. His leg bounced, a frantic staccato against the cheap linoleum floor. The accusations hung in the air, thick and suffocating like stale coffee. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture more habit than comfort. He hadn't slept well in days; the details of his research paper felt like a lead weight in his stomach. The Dean droned on, citing sources, comparing phrasing, the words blurring together into a symphony of disapproval. Leo wanted to scream, to bolt from the room, to just… *move*.