The water caresses his skin, down his neck, soothing those muscles. A lot of times in his long depressive, manic states he didn't get this luxuary. His baths in the asylums were short, more time spent just holding himself.
It was Ariadne's soft voice and demeanor that he clung to. He sweet lyrical voice, her pretty eyes and sweet touches. He reached out for her hand pulling it into his own as he turned it around, petting it softly. His eyes met hers far more piercing blue than the dangerous violet.