Gemotions

The key slid into the lock with a satisfying click. Michael pushed the door open, the scent of pot roast and old books washing over him. He was *back*. "Mom! Dad! I'm home!" he called, his voice booming a little louder than necessary. He’d barely unpacked a suitcase when he was already surveying the living room, mentally rearranging the furniture. It was all a bit... dated, wasn't it?

He found his father, Harold, fiddling with the thermostat. "Heating bill too high, son?" Harold asked, a weary tone in his voice. Michael gave a small, indulgent laugh. "Just adjusting the temperature to a more comfortable level, Dad." He tapped the digital display with a pointed finger. "Efficiency is key, wouldn't you say?"

The next morning, Michael emerged from his old bedroom, freshly showered and dressed in a crisp linen shirt. He surveyed the breakfast table. His mother, Susan, had made scrambled eggs and toast. "Perhaps a little more protein is needed for a day of productive tasks," he commented, as he retrieved a packet of his own brand of protein powder from his carry-on bag, mixing it with a glass of water.