Coffee and sunlight don’t always go hand and hand.
Cold water rained down for no longer than two minutes before he forced himself to stand up and shut it off. He stood, hand on the knob, water dripped from his longer than ever hair, and just existed.
Drip, drip, drips filled the air, splashed lightly on his big toes and the drain between them as water collected and coiled through the grate.
He could smell the coffee as it wafted in from the kitchen, if he didn’t towel off and get to it soon it would start to burn, but still he remained - a statue in the morning light as it rose through the window above the toilet.
In, he could feel his chest rise slowly. Hold, the hard steady thrum of his heart beneath his ribs. One, three, six, nine, twel- and out. His warm breath blew across his wet lips, which quivered on the slightly unsteady exhale. Hold, one, three, six, nine, twelve, fifteen, eighteen, twenty-
His knee slammed into the floor of the shower, painful and loud and clear. His sight swam, black blurs crept over his vision, and a strange scent rose up to meet with the coffee that lingered in the air.
Some part of him was aware of a body near him, shadowed unnaturally, even as it reached out to him. The arms pulled him into a stand and out through the showers entrance. A towel was placed on his head and another wrapped securely around him.
He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything at his state of undress. He couldn’t even bother to step away or resist the other as hands rubbed slow circles in his hair and over his ears, then the longer strands on his shoulders.
“Odd…”
He was unsure if he spoke the words out loud as he couldn’t feel his mouth move, couldn’t feel the words that formed on barely there breath, couldn’t hear them since his ears felt off and rung loudly in his head.
The shadow didn’t respond, didn’t pause it’s movements as it rubbed the towel over the top of his head again, to indicate if he had spoken at all. He swallowed hard around the knot that formed in his throat.
“I can’t remember the last time someone touched me.”
He waited for the lack of reaction, felt as the hands continued without hesitation, felt the towel as it covered his forehead and eyes, felt as thumbs brushed water from his cheeks and the three day old stubble on his chin.
“You deserve it.”
The others softly spoken words echoed in the stillness of the room, wrapped him up securely like the towel pulled taunt around him, as it floated by and brought with it his awareness: to his feet on the wet tiled floor, to the loosened slouch of his shoulders and the loose fists stuffed into his armpits, to the surprised look that had crossed his face.
“It’s okay to accept it.”
Nothing else was said when hands extracted the towel from his head and the shadow stepped back and vanished.
Softly, he stepped out of the bathroom, into the kitchen and toward the island. He turned the coffee maker off and reached his right hand over to the dried dish mat and grabbed a cup. He filled a smooth white coffee mug, and he made his way back upstairs.