Work Text:
It has been a long while since we knew such warmth. Our area behind the wood, above the porcelain, gets to be a comfortable temperature when one of the humans uses the shower, filling the room with steam and crowded warmth. But they almost never use this tub. It’s closer, the warmth is direct. It feels like laying in the sun, without all the fear exposure that comes along with it.
Some of us venture out. Maybe we shouldn’t have. Maybe that was unsafe.
But the human drops something that smells impossibly sweet into the water. We can hardly help ourselves then. It smells so sweet, the air is thick with it. We could almost bite the air.
We hear some pleasant, plinky-plonky sounds bouncing off the tiled walls. It’s the human’s doing— they fear silence. We enjoy the sounds, and the way it builds the whole room’s atmosphere.
The human doesn’t notice us at first. Most humans don’t. They are so big, and often so alone. We are so small, so collective.
We get our fill of the warmth, of the sweet-smelling air. Some of us haven’t been so delighted since we were larvae. Some of us haven’t been out from behind the wood in our entire lives. The porcelain room is bigger than we dreamed.
One or two of us venture onto the human’s skin as he leans back in the tub. He too is warm, it made sense at the time. He brushes us off. He still does not see us.
At first.
When he does see us, he sinks further in the water. We will not follow him there; he seems to know that. Then he crawls out of the tub, covering strategic bits of himself with the small available fabrics.
He shouts, “Beetles! Beetles in the bath!” as he runs. We enjoy the warmth of the room before it is banished by the open door. The water still smells sweet, like citrus fruit, like a feast. Some of us venture to the floor. Some of us return to the dark, safe area behind the wood. Most of us wait, crawling only around the top of the tub.
The human returns, a larger piece of fabric wrapped around him now. The second human is with him, but he keeps his distance. He looks afraid. He jumps when he seems to think one of us has gotten close. Afraid of us when he is so much bigger. Humans are a web of contradictions.
They drain the sweet water. They turn on the fan. They peek and knock and discuss our piece of wood. Then they turn the lights out and leave us be.
Some of us wonder if we should fear their return. But they always return; this room is used several times each day. They’ve never bothered with our piece of wood before. Humans forget. Humans are lazy. Most of us stay in the open to enjoy what is left of the pleasant atmosphere the human built.
The room still has some warmth. Not as much as before. Not enough to keep us drowsy. But enough to keep us pleased.