Peter hadn’t expected to cry, even after the day he’d had. Why bother? It wasn’t the end of the world; he would know world-ending proportions when he saw them. It was just a miserable time in the most mundane of ways.
The heater going out. A failing grade. Missing May. This oncoming cold. When Peter swiped the back of his hand over his leaky nose, it didn’t help. His eyes itched until they burned and a gulp for air became a sharp, squeaky hiccup that razed his raw, swollen throat.
The next sob escaped more easily than the first.