The tiny apartment felt too small, the walls closing in. Leo paced, his hands flying through his hair, leaving it a mess. Sarah, perched on the couch, calmly sipping tea, watched him. "It's a lot of responsibility, Leo," she said, her voice even. He stopped, facing her. His chest felt tight, a buzzing under his skin. "Responsibility? It's a goldfish, Sarah! A tiny, finned friend!" His voice cracked with the frustration, the urge to *do* something, *anything* other than this stalemate. He kicked at a stray magazine.
Leo ran his hand across the countertop, a restless energy coursing through him. He pictured the empty fishbowl, the blank slate. He needed… something. To nurture, to care for. He felt a throbbing in his temples. “It'll brighten the place up,” he blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. He imagined the quiet contentment of it, the simple beauty of scales and bubbles. He took a breath, trying to slow his heart rate, and failed.
"We talked about this," Sarah sighed, setting down her cup. "And, no. We don't have time."
Leo threw his hands up in the air. "Time! Time for what? To sit here and… and…” He trailed off, the words lost in the electric thrum inside him. He needed movement, action, anything to ground this feeling.