Gemotions

He found himself staring at the chipped paint on his front door, tracing the imperfections with a trembling finger. The note, tucked under the doormat, was curt: *“Volume, please…”* The words danced before his eyes, a mocking reminder of the happiness he could no longer grasp. He'd put the music on, hoping it would fill the emptiness, a desperate attempt at defiance against the echoing silence of the apartment.

His throat felt tight, as if something were pressing down. He hadn’t meant to disturb anyone. Hadn't even realised the sound would travel. He just needed the distraction. He felt a profound weariness settle over him, a heavy weight that made even the smallest movements seem laborious.

He kicked a small pebble across the hallway, the sound almost too loud in the quiet. He should probably turn the music off. He should probably do a lot of things. He just couldn’t seem to find the strength to do any of them. He slowly, deliberately, turned and walked back inside, the music now sounding like a taunt.