Caution. Floor Slippery When Wet open closed

Water that was just a little too hot was streaming down Earl’s skin, turning the usual porcelain white into a beautiful rose. The boy moved to the tune of a song only he could hear, eyes closed as steam enveloped his body, hiding him from peeping eyes, graceful fingers massaging soap into his pink hair. He’d been in there for only five minutes, yet the bathroom’s air had filled with the scent of exotic fruit and white chocolate, becoming harder to breathe as heat and humidity mixed together into a potent cocktail.

Despite how disgusting the bathroom was, he'd managed to scrub down one of the shower stalls a few minutes before, for the purposes of taking a shower. He'd gone in the boy's washroom a couple times, but he hadn't liked the looks he'd gotten. So there he was, in the abandoned toilets.

He wasn’t one to sing in the shower, never had been. His father was too quick to anger, to quick too act. So Earl’s showers had always been silent. Perhaps it was a good thing. It gave the boy time. Time to think and to breathe, and to make the inside of his head quiet. His thoughts were always zooming about at a breakneck pace, only allowing him to catch bits and pieces, loud and chaotic and all over the place. But while he was showering, time stood still.

Water was the only thing that mattered. Water falling down his back and melting away the tiny bubbles of soap on his body. Water filling the air, pit pattering on the floor and splashing back up to caress his legs. Water washing away the day’s excitement, allowing a deep calm to set within him.

A deep breath was taken as tiny fingers switched the shower off, picking up a towel nearby and wrapping it around his hips. A pygmy puff was sitting atop his nightclothes, having made them into a sort of bed and pushed its little head inside Earl’s shirt, hiding from the world. As extroverted as its owner was, Mocha was a sassy introvert. She spent most days inside Earl’s pockets or hiding in his hair, complaining loudly whenever he dared pull her out or do as much as pick her up. Ever since he’d gotten her, Earl’s locks had been a tad lighter in order to match her fur, make camouflaging a little easier. He’d tried changing his hair color to see her reaction.

It had been a great deal of displeased squeaking and acting extra nice until he changed it back.
“What if we give you a bath?” Earl called out teasingly, drying himself off with the towel and throwing on pants. A tiny pink ear stuck out from under his shirt, followed by an indignant squeak. “You sure? I’mma have to move you by the way.” Gently removing the puff out of his shirt, Earl slid inside it. Another shirt was wrapped around his hair, to prevent it from getting fuzzy like it would from normal towels. With the pygmy puff on his shoulder, Earl strode out of the washroom. Or he would have. Had his foot not slipped.

There was brief moment in which he had time to panic as he fell backwards. And then his head hit the ground.

He was out.