Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt heavy in Leo's hand. He sipped the lukewarm coffee, the taste of stale grounds clinging to his tongue. His mother, beaming, bustled around the kitchen, humming a saccharine tune. "Did you sleep well, dear?" she chirped. He managed a curt nod, his gaze fixed on the peeling wallpaper. He hated it – the floral pattern, the way the edges curled. Just like he hated the way his mother hovered, her joy suffocating him. He'd envisioned a triumphant return, not this… this suffocating normalcy.

He slammed the mug on the counter, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. His mother jumped slightly. "Anything I can get for you, honey?" she asked, her smile faltering. Leo wanted to scream. He wanted to tell her to stop treating him like a child. Instead, he just mumbled, "No, thanks." He turned and stomped toward the living room, the familiar squeak of the floorboards grating on his nerves.