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Izuru has been in the bath for 3 hours now.
It was supposed to be a normal bath, to wash away the itching feeling in his skin that made him want to rip it off. The nagging notion of dirt that isn't there, clinging to you like flies on a carcass.
But it's been three hours and all the warmth is gone. He sits in dull, cold water. The bubbles he'd put in with good intention have long since dissipated, sunken and dissolved, and now he's stuck here.
It's not comfortable, he's freezing. His cigarettes have all been smoked, their ashy remains litter the edge of the tub because it was too much to reach for the ashtray at the other end. His bones grind against the enamel and his hair is stuck like a limp eel, laying dead against his skin.
But he can't move, he can't get out. He's frozen in this pool, hoping the gentle lapping of water will wash him away.
Apparently, that's a thing now- like cremation but with water. He’d seen some video on it during a 3 am doom scroll. A few hours in that hot, alkaline bath and all that would be left of him would be pristine, bleached-white bones that look as if they’d never been used. The fleshy bits (the more problematic ones for Izuru) would become water. Clear, formless and scattered into a million, uncatchable pieces. Sounds ideal.
He sinks thoughtlessly down, water coming up to claim territory over his chin, his lips, his ears. The sound of traffic that drifted through the little grimy window of the bathroom was instantly muted, replaced by the heavy feeling of the bath flooding his ears, seeping into his brain, and diluting his thoughts.
He watches the shadowy branches of the leaf-bare trees outside creep and recede against the tiled wall. They reach for him, he turns away, but their crooked fingers continue their path across his ribs, lapping over his skin and staining it dark.
The bath was supposed to help him cope. And now that his mind had all but decided it was no longer a part of his body, he supposed it had kind of worked.
He just can't get out again. He's too cold and his skin has turned a numb white, wrinkling to help him grip if he tried. But there's nothing out there that is worth moving for. Not until Rose gets back.
Maybe if he stays like this, his lover won't have to deal with him anymore; can just pull the plug and drain everything down the sink. But the man persists, and Izuru wants to persist for him.
He lets the water climb finally over his nose, locks his breath and shuts his eyes. This is what nothing feels like. He's weightless, he can't feel his body, his mind is quiet. Maybe it's okay to stop existing like this, just for a little while. Just until Rose gets back.