The chipped mug trembled in Leo's hand, almost spilling its lukewarm tea onto the worn, floral-patterned rug. Liam was still ranting. His voice, usually a comforting baritone, was now a high-pitched, insistent whine. "A cat, Leo! Think of the hair! The litter box! The… the *responsibility*!" Leo swallowed, the lump in his throat making it difficult to respond. He focused on the swirling patterns in the tea, desperately trying to calm the rapid thrumming in his chest.
He should have anticipated this, of course. Liam’s aversion to anything that disrupted his meticulously organized life was legendary. Leo, on the other hand, craved the warmth of a purring cat curled on the sofa, the soft fur brushing against his hand as he read. The silence that followed Liam's outburst was even more excruciating than the words themselves. Leo felt a cold prickle start at the base of his neck, spreading like ice across his shoulders. He needed to get out, to breathe.
He slowly set down the mug, the clink of ceramic against the table echoing loudly in the suddenly quiet room. “I… I need some air,” he mumbled, his voice a low rasp. He pushed himself up from the sofa, his legs feeling weak and unsteady.