Gemotions

The bass vibrated through Leo’s chest, a delicious pulse that mirrored the grin splitting his face. He watched through the blinds as Mrs. Gable, face contorted in a mask of disapproval, hammered on the shared wall. He cranked the volume a notch higher. He’d finally done it. He’d pushed her to the brink.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He had spent weeks slowly escalating the noise levels, knowing precisely where her breaking point lay. The rhythmic thud of the kick drum seemed to answer the staccato rapping. He savored the victory.

His eyes darted around the meticulously organized studio, absorbing the fruits of his labor. The gleaming equipment, the soundproofing panels, all investments now yielding their desired effect. The sweet, sweet sound of rebellion.