Gemotions

He picked at the loose threads on the couch cushion, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he still possessed. His father sat across from him, reading the newspaper, the rustle of the pages amplifying the silence in the room.

"So," his father finally said, lowering the paper. He didn't meet his son's gaze. "Heard from the bank?"

He shook his head, the movement tight and jerky. He could feel the familiar heat rising in his cheeks. The pressure he felt was all-encompassing, a physical ache that burrowed into his bones. Each unspoken question, each hesitant glance, amplified his unease.

He pushed himself to his feet, unable to sit any longer. He needed to escape, to be alone, to somehow, find some space to breathe.