The water had already been running longer than it needed to.

At first, it was just habit--turn it on, let it warm up, step in. But tonight wasn't about getting clean. It was about standing still long enough for something inside him to quiet down.

He didn't bother turning on the light right away. Just the steady rush of water, echoing off tile, filling the small bathroom with a kind of white noise that drowned out everything else--the phone calls he didn't answer, the message he kept rereading, the decision he hadn't made.

When he finally stepped under the stream, it hit hard and hot, flattening his hair, tracing lines down his back. He didn't flinch. If anything, he leaned into it.

Clothes would've felt like too much effort, so he hadn't bothered earlier--just the thin white briefs, now clinging to him, turning nearly transparent under the water. He hadn't planned that either. It just happened. Like everything else tonight.

Minutes passed. Or maybe longer.

He braced one hand against the wall, head slightly bowed, letting the water run over his shoulders, his chest, pooling at his feet before disappearing down the drain. He tried to think--really think--about what came next. But every time he got close, the thoughts slipped away, replaced by the steady rhythm of the shower.

It was easier not to decide.

Easier to just stand there.

Eventually, the bathroom filled with steam, softening the edges of everything--the mirror, the tile, even him. For a moment, he felt almost invisible, like the world outside the shower had paused, waiting.

But it hadn't.

The message would still be there when he got out. The choice would still be his.

He exhaled slowly, wiped a hand over his face, and finally reached for the knob.

The water cut off.

Silence rushed in.