Gemotions

He heard the gravel crunch under their shoes before the doorbell chimed. Leo, still in his pajamas, froze. A tightening in his stomach made it hard to breathe. He peeked through the blinds. It was Mr. Peterson, the man from upstairs, arms crossed and looking irritated.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and opened the door. "Yes?" The word sounded weak, even to his own ears.

"The bass," Mr. Peterson began, voice clipped. "It's shaking my light fixtures." Leo’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He mumbled an apology, immediately picturing the swaying chandelier in Mr. Peterson's dining room.

He closed the door, leaning against it, the pressure of his back a comfort. He quickly silenced the music, the sudden silence amplifying the thudding of his own heart. He sank down to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself.