After Hours: Wyatt, white noise
An emotional, slice-of-life short story focusing on Wyatt's personal backstory. Stepping away from the heavy tension of his family home, Wyatt finds a rare, quiet sanctuary behind the closed door of a steaming bathroom.
The shower asked nothing of him. It simply roared, loud enough to make the house and everyone in it disappear.
Wyatt leaned his forehead against the damp tile, letting the hot water hammer his shoulders. He closed his eyes and let the noise fill his head until the heavy knot in his chest finally began to loosen.
He needed this noise.
Without it, his mind always drifted back to the kitchen downstairs. To the cold, suffocating tension that had settled over the house since the divorce. His stepfather’s passive-aggressive remarks. His mother's exhausted, quiet compliance. And the underlying disgust that seemed to follow him into every room, as though they could already see what he hadn't said aloud. In a home where being gay was treated like a punchline or a disease, keeping his guard up had become second nature.
But under the water, there was no one to watch his face. The mask could finally slip.
He clicked the faucet off. The sudden silence in the room felt heavy, almost physical.
Wyatt stepped onto the bathmat, wrapping a plain towel around his hips, and plugged in the hair dryer. The loud hum started up instantly, throwing up a fresh wall of noise to block out the world. He tilted his head, running his fingers through his wet hair as the hot air rushed past his ears.
He shifted his weight to get a better angle, and the loose knot gave way.
The towel gathered around his feet.
Normally, he would have reached for it immediately, driven by the constant, exhausting instinct to hide. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was, looking at his reflection in the steam-fogged glass. There was no one here to laugh. No one to judge. No one waiting to twist something ordinary into something shameful. It was the only room in the world where he didn't have to apologize for existing.
Wyatt slowly lowered the nozzle. He directed the steady stream of hot air over his lower belly, down to the light, sparse patch of pubic hair just beginning to fill in.
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The heat was incredible against his bare skin. He closed his eyes, letting the hot air blow over him, breathing in the quiet, uncomplicated comfort of his own body.
Eventually, the heat grew too intense, pulling him back to the reality of the quiet bathroom.
He raised the dryer to finish his hair. Then, he reached down, pulled the heavy towel back up, and secured it around his waist. He tightened the knot until it bit gently into his skin.
Armor back on.
Beyond the bathroom, the cold house was still waiting.
Wyatt switched the dryer off. Silence rushed in.
He reached for the handle and opened the door before he could change his mind.