Archive of Our Own

Himekawa gathered alongside the rest of his teammates in the center of the gym. After practice had concluded, Maruyama and Captain Echigo had told everyone to return after washing up for a surprise. Once everyone had arrived, the former clapped his hands to gather everyone’s attention while the latter stood beside him straightfaced, seemingly not his surprise but giving his endorsement with his presence.

“Alright guys!” Maruyama began, sounding excited, “as we’re all aware this is our last Friday before the Spring Tournament. We third years thought—hey, wait, get up here Tera-san!”

Himekawa leaned forward and saw as Teradomari, at the other side of the group, laughed and stepped forward to stand opposite the rest of them. Teradomari was serious most of the time, keeping with the intense appearance his height and spiked hair gave him, but was no stranger to teasing or tripping-up Maruyama whenever he could.

“Ruining my speech,” Maruyama muttered, then continued, “as I was saying, we third years decided that we should take this chance to celebrate getting this far, so we’re treating you all to dinner!”

Himekawa flinched at the volume of the excitement that erupted from the rest of the team. Some were pumping their fists for free food, others were teary-eyed at the generosity of their senpais. Himekawa, on the other hand, remained muted, feeling an ache in his chest that wasn’t sadness, but worry.

He always went straight home after practice; not because he wanted to get away as soon as possible, or that his mom had strict expectations for what time he’d come home, but because the bathroom at home was the only one he felt comfortable using—and after morning practice, a full day of classes, and after-school practice, it was usually about time when he’d get there. He was used to holding, and was careful about not drinking too much during the day, so it wasn’t like he’d be bursting by the time he climbed the stairs to his apartment, but he would be looking forward to it during the walk home.

“We’re having barbeque at the mall, so if you’re all ready we’ll leave now and get there in about twenty,” Maruyama explained, then put up a halting finger when someone opened their mouth to speak, “oh, and don’t worry about telling your families you’ll be home late. We’ve been planning this for a while and made sure it was okay beforehand.”

“By that, he means that he chased down all your siblings,” Echigo added, teasingly.

“And had to spend a lot of time convincing them he wasn’t trying to kidnap you,” Teradomari egged on.

Maruyama stomped his foot. “Hey! I calmly let them know to pass on a message to your parents! Calmly.”

The rest of the team snickered but Himekawa, still, remained quiet. He wasn’t seriously considering ditching dinner just so he could go to the bathroom—it hadn’t been said out loud but obviously it was going to be the third years’ last hurrah, so of course he wanted to be there—but the thought had certainly crossed his mind. He didn’t need to go too badly, he wasn’t squirming or squeezing his legs together, but by the time dinner would end he’d probably be more uncomfortable than not.

The thought of anyone looking at him and telling that he needed to go was mortifying. Hell, the thought of anyone knowing that he was getting up to use the bathroom, even in non-dire scenarios, filled him with anxiety. It wasn’t rational, he just… didn’t want anyone to know. It was why he never went in public, and even at home he tried not to draw attention to it. Whenever others would vocally excuse themselves he didn’t understand how they could do it; for everyone to know that’s what he was going to do was something out of a nightmare. The moral of the story was that he hoped, no—needed to hold it and be fine through dinner.

But I can do it. The mall was close to his apartment building; he could go straight home, so actually getting to the bathroom wasn’t going to be a problem. Given that he was only at a dull need currently, Himekawa wagered that, as long as he didn’t drink a lot during dinner, he would be fine. He’d be wanting to go, sure, but it wouldn’t be to the point that anyone could tell.

Gym-bag slung over his shoulder, Himekawa followed as Maruyama led the group out from the school toward the mall. It was cold out, so everyone wore jackets. Still, though, the tip of Himekawa’s nose went pink; mmm—a nice, warm, barbeque meal sounded good. He was normally more of a sashimi than a meat person, but there was a time and place for everything.

The walk, all in all, was uneventful. Himekawa kept to the back of the group among the other first year bench warmers. Given their similar situations, he felt kinship toward them—and of course from being on the same team together—but outside of volleyball matters, like right now, he didn’t really know how to talk to them. They were all in a lower level class than he was, which meant they had their own group and he just hovered on the periphery. Happy to do a passing drill together, not close enough to have a sleepover.

It’s okay. It wasn’t like he was alone on the team. Sure, he wasn’t a starter. Sure, he wasn’t much of a talker. Sure—but he loved volleyball, and everyone understood what that was like. He wore that yellow headband because he was there for the same reason as all the others. That was enough to make him feel that floaty feeling in his chest whenever someone complimented his receive, or whenever someone else finally pulled off the play they’d been working on; it came from feeling like he belonged, even if he wasn’t best friends with anyone.

The team arrived at the mall, where the restaurant was on the third floor. On the escalator Himekawa brought in his shoulders as eager shoppers climbed up past him. It was the end of the year, so of course it was busy.

“We still have everyone?” Echigo said, not really asking as he turned around and made a count, making sure no one had fallen victim to the crowds.

“We’re good!” Maruyama assured, then went on ahead toward the restaurant.

The team filed through the doors and crowded in front of the maître d' stand to be seated. Fortunately, despite the high volume of mall-goers, they were guided in right away since they were a large party—and no other big group was occupying the longest table. As soon as he sat down, Himekawa set his bag underneath him and shivered, the toll of the walk through the cold hitting him now that he had stopped moving.

He also felt the dull ache of his bladder. It wasn’t critical, but it was there, ever present in the back of his mind. Back, though, was the operative word, because when the server came around and poured out a cup of hot, green tea for everyone, Himekawa didn’t hesitate reaching for it. The heat of the cup felt amazing against the tips of his chilly fingers, and so did the steam rising up past his nose as he waited for it to cool enough to drink.

Maybe, if he was a little more superstitious, he would’ve just held it to his face and not put any more fluids into his body, but the want to warm up won out. He could feel the warmth travel down his throat and disperse throughout his body as he sipped the tea down.

Much better, he thought when he set the empty cup down, warmed from the inside out.

In the meantime, the rest of the team had been discussing what dishes to order. Everyone had thoughts, and if they all had it their way everything in the kitchen would’ve made it to the table. Hearing it all, Himekawa daren’t voice any of his own wants—not that he even really had any—because doing so would imply he expected the third years, who were already so generous to be treating them, to go out of their way for him, which he didn’t want. Whatever was put in front of him he’d be grateful for.

Eventually, the rest of the team settled on a group of dishes; some fifteen minutes later they began to arrive. The aroma of grilled meat, sweet and savory sauces, and roasted vegetables filled the air, leaving many mouths around the table watering as they all waited to dig in while first giving their thanks. Himekawa was among them; besides going to the bathroom, he’d eat a proper meal when he’d get home after practice—to strengthen his muscles after wearing them out and all that jazz. So, it was already past the time his body was used to eating at.

And a proper meal this is, Himekawa thought as he, alongside everyone else, descended with their chopsticks upon the myriad plates of food, each gathering a hearty and varied serving for themselves.

“Oh, thank you,” Himekawa said as Tsukioka, who sat to his right, poured more tea into his cup.

Shoot, Himekawa cursed himself at the same time. It was just like how he’d fail to realize at practice sometimes that he was supposed to pass along a towel—he was supposed to be filling the cups of the people around him if he noticed them empty. Suddenly panicked that he was failing to keep diligent with his manners, he scanned the cups around them, seeing them already filled.

“You’re welcome,” Tsukioka responded, snapping Himekawa out of it.

Calm. It’s fine. Everything was fine. He hadn’t even taken a bite of his food yet. With a deep breath, steeling himself, Himekawa began to eat, finding that—mm, the teriyaki was delicious! However, it was also… salty. Without even thinking about it, Himekawa reached for his newly filled tea, blew it on it a bit, then took a sip.

As soon as he set the cup back down he damn well could’ve kicked himself. He was Not. Supposed. To. Be. Drinking. A. Lot. Of. Anything! The food had only just arrived, they’d all probably be there for at least another half hour. At least that long, yet Himekawa was to the point where he would’ve already stopped what he was doing at home to go to the bathroom. It was already pushing the line drinking that first cup of tea, he could not afford to make things worse for himself.

That wisdom, though—his own wisdom—fell on deaf ears as he continued eating and couldn’t bring himself to avoid drinking entirely. He had in front of him an entire plate of salty, barbequed meats. Downing all that without at least taking some small sips here and there would’ve been on the same tier of stupidity as chugging fluids knowing there wouldn’t be a bathroom break.

He had to do it, which was why by the time dinner wrapped up his total fluid intake since that morning had risen to two water bottles plus two and a half cups of tea. Thinking about how much it all was… oh man; he was thankful for the privacy afforded by the table, allowing him to squeeze his legs together without being noticed.

Having been one of the first to get full since he’d been trying to eat more to distract himself, Himekawa anxiously looked down the table at the third years, hoping they’d call a wrap on the evening so he could start the walk home as soon as possible.

Yes! A few particularly long minutes passed before Maruyama finally stood up to go pay for the bill. When he’d return, there’d probably be a few—hopefully brisk—words, a promise to see each other for weekend practice, and a ‘have a good night,’ then they’d all be free to go. He’d be free to go—in more ways than one… or at least once he got home.

Himekawa reached under his seat for his bag—he winced at the renewed ache in his bladder from shifting positions—and set it on his lap, ready to sling it on without delay as soon as he could.

“Alright guys,” Maruyama began as he re-approached the table, “can you all agree that your senpais are the best?”

The team, with volume, echoed the sentiment; Himekawa kept quiet.

“Thank you, thank you,” Maruyama said, bowing, then continued, “but do you know what’s better than one surprise?”

“Three surprises?” Teradomari suggested, smirking.

Steam might as well have come out of Maruyama’s ears. “Tera! You—mmm!” he seethed, then sighed in defeat, “well it’s two surprises, okay? We have a second surprise.”

The team, once again, went loud with excitement whereas Himekawa remained silent, his heart dropping. Please let it be quick. Please, please, please! He pressed his legs even tighter against each other, thinking only of getting home.

“Alright,” Echigo said, standing up and dusting off his hands, taking over, “so the coach pitched in for this one, so we’ll all have to thank him when we see him…”

Echigo picked up his bag and dug out of it a stack of envelopes. He continued speaking as he began handing them out one at a time to be passed down the table.

“So he agreed that each of us deserves something nice for all our hard work this last year, so if you open your envelopes you’ll find 2,300 yen.”

Himekawa, despite his predicament, did gasp—alongside the more raucous reactions of the rest of the team—as he looked down at the envelope that’d been passed to him, now knowing what was inside. That much for fourteen people… Himekawa could cry, the coach was really showing how much he believed in all of them.

But also… they were done now, right?

Echigo cleared his throat, cutting through the din. “This money is specifically for you guys to treat yourself to something nice, right here, right now. So: one hour, spend this however you’d like, then let's meet up at the base of the main escalator and we’ll call it a day. Sound good?”

As everyone around him agreed that, yes, sounds good, Himekawa’s breath hitched. No. No, no, no. If his heart had dropped into his stomach before, then when he’d heard “one hour” it’d dropped so far that it vacated his body.

An hour?! Himekawa had already been celebrating that his relief was only going to be fifteen minutes away. Now it was going to be four, no five times that?! He was grateful, so, so grateful for the money, but the conditions of its use could not have been any more of a nightmare; the meal had warmed him but now he shivered from the cold sweat that’d broken out on his back.

Carefully, Himekawa stood from the table. Involuntarily his legs pressed together as the hard rock that was his bladder went into momentary freefall. Biting his lip, Himekawa forced himself to stand straight, also scanning around him to make sure no one had noticed his embarrassing display. Fortunately, they were all too preoccupied running off to go frolic in the mall to pay any mind to his posture.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Pokemon store?”

“Yes!”

“Let's go for ice cream!”

“What are you getting?”

Steeling himself, Himekawa made his way toward the exit, cognizant that his steps were shorter than usual. The rest of the team breezed past him, all excitedly talking about what they were going to buy. Himekawa, meanwhile, hadn’t even begun thinking about what to do with his money; instead, he paused outside the restaurant, debating something entirely different.

One hour. Home was about fifteen minutes away, though perhaps more like twenty in his condition, but if he left now, then he could get home, use the bathroom, then come back in time for the gathering.

But… it’d be tight. If he didn’t make it back what would the team do? They’d probably break out into a search party thinking he was lost somewhere, or would they catch him as he returned and accuse him of blowing them off? Would he even have time to buy anything?

…and what about when he’d get home? His mom and sister would be there, and there was no way he could sneak in without them knowing. They’d assume that he’d be home for the night, how could he explain going right back? It would be plain as day to them that his only purpose was to use the bathroom, and that it must’ve been bad, and they’d wonder why on earth he came home just to do that when he’d come from a place filled with bathrooms.

It was a horrible idea, but it was the only idea. Himekawa remained in place, almost a layer out from his body as he froze in decision paralysis, barely aware of the bustling shoppers passing by. All there was was a choice and his overfull bladder screaming at him to make the one that’d get it empty sooner.

“Himekawa?”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder; he jumped in place, his knees turning inwards as a ripple of need radiated from his middle. No no no. Himekawa fought to look normal as he weathered the urgency and turned to see Maruyama beside him.

“Oh, uh, yes?”

Maruyama let go of him. “Are you alright?”

Himekawa’s heart wrenched. He can’t know, no no no. “Yes!” he lied, jumpy.

“It’s just that… you look disturbed.”

It’d been the pleasure of Himekawa’s life to play for Tsubakihara, but all good things had to come to an end. If he didn’t damn well drop dead from mortification, then he was going to have to quit the team, leave school, and hide from everyone. The former seemed more likely though, because he was not breathing as Maruyama then lowered his voice and continued.

“Look, I know it feels uncomfortable to take money like this, but trust me, you deserve it.”

Air raced back into Himekawa’s lungs. “What?”

“You have no reason to feel bad,” Maruyama said.

He’s not… thank the gods. “Oh, right, I… I won’t.”

“Hmm”—Maruyama peered around—”I can help you pick something out, if you’d like?”

It was a question, one which meant saying ‘no, that’s alright’ was a valid answer. Maruyama would maybe pat him on the shoulder, say farewell, then Himekawa could sneak off to home and inexplicably pull off his bathroom plan. Yet, for as much as Himekawa understood that, he was—at his core—someone who, starving, would refuse a free meal to not be a bother.

“Oh, that’s really nice of you,” is what he said, not even committing all the way to making the most detrimental decision possible.

For Maruyama, it was enough to run with. “Thank you—I’m great, aren’t I? Anyway, do you have ideas?”

Funny, wasn’t it, that even with his predicament, Himekawa could actually answer honestly? He shook his head. “No.”

“Mm, well most of the good stores are on the second floor. Let’s go look around.”

“Right…”

Maruyama started off toward the escalators and Himekawa stumbled after him, his bladder protesting every step—each time his heel made contact with the floor it sent a ripple up his body, sloshing all the fluids around and making him strain to keep his legs straight.

All the way down the escalator Himekawa internally kicked himself for, well, everything. Drinking all that he did, attaching himself to Maruyama so he couldn’t sneak away, his inability to just excuse himself like a normal person and spare himself all the torture… it was all self-inflicted and he knew it as well as he knew his name—it didn’t make a difference.

“Let’s see…” Maruyama mused once they’d settled on the second floor, looking around, “over there’s the sports store, how about a new water bottle?”

Himekawa blinked. “Uh, sure?”

A twinkle lit up Maruyama’s eyes. “Really? First suggestion?” he said, definitely giving space to say no or to look around more; Himekawa was fundamentally incapable of saying anything negatory. “Wow, great! Let’s go, then!”

The thing about Maruyama was that he was really a great guy. Sometimes he could get a bit ahead of himself, but he had a good heart, and that’s what motivated him to go so out of his way for Himekawa when he could’ve been off with someone he was closer to. If Himekawa’s brain wasn’t so full of pee he would’ve been of the mind to be thankful.

Would’ve was the operative word. Himekawa shuffled his way toward the sports store, whose front was filled with various hats, equipment, and electrolyte drinks. Still, maybe, if he made a purchase quickly, Maruyama would leave and he could still rush home and back. The plan was less and less realistic by the second, but Himekawa could barely keep his legs or his mind straight.

“These ones are all the right price,” Maruyama said, having led them to the section of the store with the bottles.

Himekawa managed to hum an acknowledgement. He really did not need a new water bottle. The great thing about them was that they were metal, robust, made to last. His sister had bought him one for his birthday at the start of the year and it still looked the way it did when it came out of the packaging. He hadn’t even dropped and dented it or anything.

“Any colors you like?” Maruyama asked.

“Uh.” He liked green, but, still, he didn’t need a bottle. Was he going to speak up and say so? Absolutely not. Was he going to give dispassionate, passive answers hoping that Maruyama would, on his own, determine that he was unenthusiastic—which Himekawa would deny, but not hard enough for Maruyama not to suggest they look around more? Yes. “Nothing in particular.”

“Hmmm,” Maruyama debated the shelf, then picked up two bottles, “how about our colors? Blue or yellow?”

Guess I’ll own a second bottle. He’d have to start bringing the new one to school just so Maruyama wouldn’t think he lied about wanting it. At home, he’d still drink from the old one because he wouldn’t want his sister to think he was unappreciative of her gift. Either way, it’d—

“Mmph.” A sharp rise in pressure in his bladder forced a noise out of Himekawa and he couldn’t help but hunch over just a little. His muscles were brainwashed soldiers in his own body, fighting him tooth and nail in his desperate battle to look like he wasn’t in need of a toilet.

“What was that?” Maruyama said, miraculously incognizant of Himekawa’s condition—or at least he hoped. “Yellow?”

Himekawa needed to stop thinking about bottles and drinking out of them, but he could only do so by speeding the purchase along. “Uh, sure, yes.”

“Great”—Maruyama handed him the box for the pee—er, yellow bottle, which he took in hand—”let's get in line!”

Line? Behind them was a queue of four other shoppers waiting to be rung up. Maruyama strolled up to it like it was nothing—which to him it surely was, it wasn’t like he was growing more anxious by the second; meanwhile, all Himekawa saw was hell on earth. The line wasn’t even moving slowly, the person in front had already made their purchase by the time Himekawa and Maruyama joined it, but, psychologically, anything that involved waiting was torturous on top of torturous.

And of course there was a bathroom right next to the register, the blue sign above the doors taunting like some deceptively adorable woodland creature luring you to danger in a fantasy film. Himekawa did not believe he was going to wet himself. Did he believe, though, that he would even attempt going in there? No. Even if there were no other customers to see him walk in, it was right next to the register so the employee would, and even if they left to see to some other duty, there was still the chance that by the time he got out someone would see him leaving and know what he’d gone in there to do.

He was not going to wet himself because he was resigned to suffering however long it’d be before he’d get home.

They were now second in line and had moved up such that Himekawa had a queue barrier pole beside him which he could lean on with one hand. It hardly eased the pressure in his bladder, but his lower back felt ever so slightly less tight not having to shoulder the entire burden of keeping itself straight.

Maruyama’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, read a text, then typed a response. Himekawa wasn’t looking—neither in the position or of the mind—to see what it said, but he did hear the bloop of another text coming in immediately.

“Shoot,” Maruyama said, then looked around a bit before turning to Himekawa, “the captain’s looking for me. You good on your own?”

Himekawa nodded.

“Alright! See you in”—Maruyama checked the time—”fifty!”

“See you,” Himekawa said, relieved to no longer be attached to anyone if he really planned to sneak off, but still not the relief that actually mattered.

His turn in line came and Himekawa went ahead and bought the bottle, which he carried out of the store in its box in an opaque, disproportionately large plastic bag. There was about four hundred yen remaining, which Himekawa kept in the envelope and slid into his schoolbag. He could save it for another time, as surely the bottle sufficed as having bought something with the gift money.

Stood just outside the store, Himekawa leaned against a wall, bent at his middle a bit too far to be normal but not enough to be questionable, or at least he figured. He needed whatever solace he could get as he considered his options.

There was still fifty minutes until the team was supposed to meet up. If home was fifteen minutes away, and he’d probably spend at least five minutes there, then that’d put him at thirty-five minutes round trip. It was do-able, with plenty of time to spare, even.

But… fifteen was for when he wasn’t having issues standing up straight, and assumed he wouldn’t get stuck waiting at the crosswalk at any of the busy intersections. Realistically, it was more like twenty, and even that was being generous. So forty-five.

Himekawa’s heart sank. It was too small of a window. A few minutes passed just in the time it took to ring up and stand there thinking it through, so the buffer was non-existent. In the best case scenario, he’d get back as the gathering began. It just wasn’t possible.

I just have to hold it. He didn’t want to suffer; who did? But he was going to, and, well, he already was. The end was far but in sight, he just had to cope for an hour.

Without even noticing, he’d been fanning his legs in and out ever so slightly. Biting his lip, Himekawa willed himself to be still, then glanced around. No one was looking at him. No one on the team was nearby. Nobody could see that he had a problem, yet gathering gloom in his chest was the fear that anyone, any stranger, would see right through him.

Breathe in. Breathe out. The rise and fall of his chest could hardly distract from the persistent ache in his bladder, but it was the right idea: occupy himself with something, or else crumble. Steeled, Himekawa began walking, deciding that he would stroll around and hopefully run into somethings that’d keep his mind off his unease to pass the time.

Next over from the sports store was the animal plush expo. The display windows were made up of cubbyholes filled with rotund pandas, shibas, dolphins, and cats. A mother alongside her two young children, bundled in winter coats, entered ahead of Himekawa, the little ones excitedly pointing out all the animals that they could name.

When Himekawa was younger he would’ve been just like those starry-eyed kids, probably beelining straight for the dog plushies. Oh how much he dreamed about having a puppy when he was three or four—back before he became too self-aware and embarrassed about wanting things. His mother had spooked him on the responsibilities attached, though, like having to make sure it was fed, taking it outside to the bathroom—

Suddenly hyper-aware of his need again, Himekawa couldn’t help how his legs pressed together as he clenched all his muscles. Eyes wide in panic that someone would notice his convulsion, he rubbed his free-hand against the side of his knee, hoping that maybe it’d just look like he was sore, or had teenage arthritis, or something—it didn’t matter what—that would make it seem like anything other than him being desperate to pee.

“Mommy, I need to go weewee,” one of the young boys ahead whined.

The mother sighed. “Can you hold it until after we’re done in here?”

“No!”

As Himekawa composed himself he watched as the mother turned around and led her children out of the store. Despite the pop music playing in the speakers and the hubbub of other shoppers, it may as well have been dead silent in Himekawa’s ears, his heart taut like in the seconds after the game-ending ball landed on his side of the court.

A toddler is more capable than me.

Deep down—or, hell, at the front of his mind, blatant and waving its hands in his eyes, Himekawa understood that the only person who cared about him using the bathroom was himself, and that the people who would see him walk into one would be strangers who he’d never see again.

And nobody who’d witness him, just a random guy, walking into a bathroom would think ‘look at that person going to perform a bodily function!’ Himekawa certainly did not pay any mind or reserve any judgement for strangers who he’d see walk down the hall to a bathroom.

It was irrational and he knew it, knew it, knew it. Nothing would happen to him except for sweet, sweet relief.

Himekawa straightened up and left the plushies behind him. If his enemy was himself, then he was just going to have to beat—er, defeat himself, and he was taking the first step: trying. The thought of walking into a bathroom still made him clam up, but he was going to attempt it, and even if he’d get to the door and not be able to go through with it, at least he would have tried.

The sports store next door, of course, had a bathroom, but Himekawa did not go toward it. He was going to try, yes, but he was going to find a different bathroom which would hopefully be more out of sight, not right next to the registers where being seen was unavoidable.

A bathroom in the deadest part of the mall was the one that’d have the highest chance of Himekawa actually making it inside of. So, he started off for the big department store at the end of the way, figuring it’d be his best bet. The current level would be all apparel, and the one below would be cosmetics, both high-trafficked, but the highest floor was where the houseware and mattresses were, which would hopefully be close to empty.

Himekawa entered into the men’s apparel section. Having shopped there before—looking to the right he even saw the same brand of shirts he’d picked out with his mom some months prior—he knew that the escalators were in the center. He just needed to walk around the jeans display and he’d be right there—

“Oh, Himekawa.”

Not now… “Tsukioka-san,” Himekawa acknowledged, straining to sound normal and not like he was stressed out of his mind.

Tsukioka had been examining a rack of cardigans, dark gray almost like the color of his short black hair. “You already got yourself something?”

Himekawa looked down at the bag in his hand, honestly having forgotten that it was the water bottle he didn’t need and not just a nondescript weight he was lugging around. “Uh, yeah.”

Tsukioka hummed. “So just looking around, then?”

Himekawa nodded.

“Well, if you run into Mikawa, could you tell him to come find me here?”

Don’t commit to anything. Don’t commit to anything. Don’t commit to anything. “I can do that,” Himekawa answered, then panicked, “if I see him, that is,” he added in time. Tsukioka had conditioned the ask on an if, anyway, but—barely able to stand normally—Himekawa couldn’t afford to take any chances accidentally volunteering for a search mission.

“Thanks,” Tsukioka said, then returned his attention to comparing cardigans.

Okay, go go go. In the clear, Himekawa continued for the escalator and rode up to the third floor. He emerged in the bedding section which, quiet amongst the display mattresses, was bereft of people. The sheen of the plastic casing for the packaged comforters very well could’ve reflected the glimmer of hope that shone in Himekawa’s eyes at that moment.

There was going to be a virtually private bathroom, he was going to use it, and he would be devoid of problems. As he went down the main walkway through the floor—it formed a big loop centered around the escalators—he imagined what he’d do with the rest of his time. He could peruse the mall in peace, maybe find something to spend the rest of the money on, maybe treat himself to something sweet… He heard some of his teammates mention ice cream, perhaps they’d still be there and he could join them.

The bedding section, for as devoid as it was of life, however, was also lacking any indication of a bathroom. Okay—it must’ve been somewhere amongst the housewares. Suppressing the dread that threatened to rise once more, Himekawa continued scanning through the floor, peering past the shelves of ceramic vases and thatch baskets for any doors or signage on the back walls. No such luck, and the wheel of fortune fell once again not in his favor as he checked for anything tucked away in the noisy cookware section, finding only pots, pans, utensils, and pressure cookers. Then he spotted ahead of him a mattress and his heart sank.

There’s no bathroom on this floor.

He may not have been a stranger to the mall but he was a stranger to its bathroom map. Of course, he figured that not every store had its own bathroom, especially since he knew that there were designated ones—not inside any store—in certain places, but he thought, at least, that the big stores would all have them.

Or, well, they surely did, just not for each floor they spanned. Defeated, but still committed to the search—for what else could he do?—Himekawa headed for the down escalator, and again until he was on the first level. The bathrooms would probably be there.

As soon as he got off the escalator though, the impact of his feet on stationary ground, something he was never normally cognizant of, hit him hard, his overfull bladder barraging him with urgency. Only barely thinking about witnesses in time, Himekawa stopped his free hand which had instinctively flown toward his groin on his thigh and clenched the fabric of his pants.

For the first time, Himekawa worried that if he didn’t manage to go while at the mall that he might not make it home dry. The thought, as terrifying as the prospect of being subbed in at the opposing team’s match point at nationals, made him shiver, and he willed it away as his bladder calmed—or at least calmed relative to how it’d just been.

I’ll find one. He had to. Somewhere in all of the mall’s vastness had to be at least one secluded bathroom that he could bring himself to enter. The first floor of the department store, however, was far less dead than the third. It was a miracle, in fact, that no one had been on the escalator behind him, or near the base when he had to collect himself, because as he began his pass through there was never not at least one person in sight.

As he passed a woman inspecting some bougie foundation—he recognized certain cosmetics from when his sister would ask him to fetch her some when she was in another room—the overwhelming knowledge befell him that there was no way he was going to use the bathroom in this store. It wasn’t like it was packed, but he couldn’t imagine a scenario where no one would notice him.

Still, though, the weight inside his bladder was beginning to cloud his overthinking head. Maybe there wouldn’t be anyone by the men’s room since it was mostly women around, or maybe it’d be tucked away such that the merchandise and displays would conceal him walking in.

He spotted the women’s room and for a fleeting moment his anxiety eased as salvation promised near. It wasn’t next to an employee station, which meant he’d just have the shoppers to worry about.

Worry, though, he did, as he looked for the adjacent men’s room and found that it wasn’t there. Shoot. Maybe it was somewhere else on the floor—it hadn’t crossed his mind that they may not be beside each other.

It’s a good thing, Himekawa tried convincing himself as he continued his scan of the floor. There had been four or five women in the vicinity of the women’s room, so perhaps the men’s room would have less people nearby, wherever it was…

…which was nowhere. Himekawa daren’t stop moving lest his bladder rest and remind him of the extent of its fullness. Instead, as he pressed his lips in a line in worry, he kept walking even after he’d completed a full loop without having spotted the men’s room. Maybe he’d just missed it, or—wait, didn’t these stores have directories?

Himekawa doubled back toward the escalators, finding that right at the landing was a three colored sign listing the various departments on each floor. Eyeglasses, perfumes, women’s apparel, cosmetics, men’s shoes, girl’s apparel…

Men’s Restroom. Lo and behold, it was on the second floor. Himekawa eyed his old friend, the escalator, and sighed.

Why wouldn’t they be next to each other?! Sure, there hadn’t been much for men on the first floor, but it ought to have been that the plumbing was installed before the layout of the inventory was determined!

Need ever worse than before, like a river eating more and more away at the bank, Himekawa couldn’t resist the instinct to bring his knees closer together as he rode up. When he was walking his body at least had something to focus on beside his bladder, and—as he’d expected—being still on the escalator had wiped the slate of priorities for the worst.

The Overton window had shifted such that as long as he wasn’t in outright potty dance mode, surely nobody would notice anything amiss with him—unable to catastrophize the more subtle signs of his desperation into torturous submission. His legs remained closer together, his steps shorter, as he landed on the second floor and continued his search.

By some luck, the direction Himekawa arbitrarily started off in happened to be where the bathroom was. That luck, however, was but a drop on the sizzling plate of unluck that’d been his day thus far, as the bathroom was not only off the same corridor as the elevator—so anyone coming onto the floor would see him—but was also at the end of a another hallway that had nothing else down it.

Why? Himekawa may have been an overly self-conscious, polite high schooler, but at that moment, exhausted by every strike of misfortune, he could’ve strangled whoever the architect of the building was. That hallway may as well have had red carpeting and showlights with a sign in big letters advertising ‘LOOKIE HERE, SOMEONE’S COME TO PEE!’

Even if he checked both ways to see if the coast was clear, the distance ruined any guarantee of being able to slip inside discreetly, and even less so were he to make it in and come out. He could be halfway down that wretched hallway and someone could step off the elevator, glance to their right, and see the back of his head.

But no one is here right now. At that very moment, nobody was nearby, and nobody was getting off the elevator. Every millisecond that he hesitated shortened his window of opportunity to just book it inside and probably not be seen. Getting out could be a crisis for future him to handle if he just made it in there now.

Not taking a single breath, Himekawa made his choice: he stepped into the hallway, his shoes squeaking on the sticky floor and—

Oh come on! What was this? The world’s loudest hallway?! Heart now racing, Himekawa didn’t turn around; he kept going, praying that nobody was approaching, and made it to the open doorway at the end. His reflection met him in the mirrors above the sinks, revealing how flushed his face looked from non-stop walking around and clenching every muscle in his lower half.

He made it no further than the arch of the door, though, as he heard a flush and immediately spun on his heel and legged it out of that million decibel hallway.

Someone’s in there. No no no. They had just finished, too, so they would’ve stepped out and seen him before he could’ve ducked into a stall. It was a no-go if there’d ever been one.

Himekawa swore to himself. Damnit! He emerged from the hallway and no one was there—so he had been safe to brave the distance—but then the elevator dinged and he panicked, positioning himself in front of it so it’d appear like he’d been waiting for it, not that he’d just come from the bathroom.

Two men stepped out and Himekawa took their place, having no choice but to commit to the ride. No one else was on, nor coming, so when the doors closed—and he pressed the button for floor one, knowing there wasn’t access to the rest of the mall from the third floor—Himekawa allowed himself to squeeze his legs, hunch over, and pace—or more like dance around.

This is bad. He had debated waiting around for that man who’d been inside the bathroom to leave, but just the elevator opening spooked him like a spider in his bed, ruining that plan before he’d even signed the death sentence by actually getting inside.

He’d have to find another bathroom in a different part of the mall. It just wasn’t going to happen with that nightmare hallway. Resigned and still unrelieved, Himekawa stepped off onto the first floor again and made his way out of the store and back into the open mall.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Knowing most of the individual stores wouldn’t have bathrooms, that left either the designated ones, or the other big stores; the former ones definitely would be crawling with passersby, so the latter options were the best bets. To Himekawa’s knowledge, his choices, then, were between the two other department stores, and the supermarket, all of which were at the end of separate wings. Of course, that meant getting to any of them required the longest walk possible… but what was more suffering?

As it turned out, a lot. Sluggishly, Himekawa shuffled himself through the wide corridors of the mall, which were full of people he had to dodge; he panicked about them noticing his bizarre gait. He wasn’t all the way hunched over but he was certainly closer to a forty-five degree angle than perfectly upright, the weight of his bladder and the constriction of his muscles forcing him to bend at the waist at least somewhat.

The passage of time was paradoxically grueling and reassuring. With every second that Himekawa’s bladder screamed it felt not like a second but an agonizing eternity, one wrought with overwhelming need yet also the fantasy, or the prayer, of the hour coming to a close sooner. Yet, he knew as he arrived in front of the next department store that the time it took him to get there was staggeringly long compared to if he’d been walking at his normal pace—so despite each second’s excruciating nature, he was actually making headway toward the end of the hour.

Having learned from the first store, Himekawa checked the directory at the entrance. The men’s room was listed on the first floor—hooray—and on no other, so he wouldn’t need to bother going up.

The issue, though, with the bathroom being on the first floor was that it was way more crowded, especially since the store had another entrance leading out to the main street. Many people were filing by, if not shopping then just to pass through to access the rest of the mall. When Himekawa suffered his way through the shoe and jewelry sections and into men’s apparel, the delusion he’d worked up that somehow the deluge of people would have thinned out wherever the bathroom was proved just that: delusional.

The blue sign above the door teased him—perhaps even tempted his bladder as he clenched every muscle harder to ride through his desperation—as he watched a man leave and another two walk right in afterward.

No way. Himekawa, mournfully, turned on his heel back toward the rest of the mall, not even going to waste his time considering a bathroom he knew he’d never bring himself to get near to. Even if he were on the verge of bursting—which he was closer to than not—he’d still not run in there. How it was that the embarrassment of being seen going into a bathroom superseded the alternative, wetting himself, he did not understand, but it was hardly logic that was ruling his mind.

Dreading it, but having no other choice, Himekawa made his way toward his next option: the supermarket. From the times he’d been in there he didn’t recall seeing the bathrooms by the checkout lanes, which hopefully meant they were somewhere more out of sight—but in-sight enough that he’d find them.

As he made the trek, Himekawa’s racing—but singularly focused—mind went to all the ways besides emptying himself that he could find some relief. Namely, he lamented his belt and his choice to wear jeans instead of sweats. If he could get it off, or at least loosen it, that’d maybe do him some good, though he was with-it enough to realize it’d be marginal at best. Anything short of release was but a payment to a debt less than the interest, barely staving off the inevitable.

The supermarket was ahead at the end of the corridor, flanked by eateries to the left and various trinket stores to the right. With their backs to Himekawa, thankfully, were two of the other first years, each having gotten drinks from one of the cafes. Himekawa willed himself to shuffle along a little faster, wanting not to draw their attention and get roped into place, nor to let his eyes linger on any beverages—they’d been what landed him in his predicament in the first place! Fortunately, the universe finally decided to be at least a little merciful—neither of the two turned or noticed him by the time he’d made it past.

Phew. Right outside of the supermarket was an offshoot hallway which a few shoppers were heading in and out of. Glancing over, Himekawa’s breath hitched, both from realization and from the ever-ongoing pangs of need from his bladder, at the sight of bathrooms.

They were far too trafficked to be in consideration, but their placement perturbed Himekawa. They were directly outside of the supermarket, but not in the market. They were the mall’s bathrooms, so… surely the supermarket would have its own too?

Hoping to whatever gods there might be that there’d be another, more secluded bathroom despite the redundancy, Himekawa proceeded into the market. Right at the front was the produce section, each fruit stand adorned with red and white pageantry for the upcoming new year. Still in season, the persimmons were on front display, their sweet aroma lightly permeating the air. It was one of Himekawa’s favorite scents and, under normal circumstances, would’ve given him a craving, made his mouth water—but other parts of his body were more preoccupied with that function at the moment.

“...that’s only if there isn’t one still in the cupboard.”

A familiar voice caught Himekawa’s ear as he made his way toward the back of the market. Following it, Himekawa spotted the back of a black-haired head with a schoolbag slung over their shoulder standing in the crossing between aisles, phone to their ear.

Mikawa-san. Instinctively, Himekawa drew his arms closer to his body, intending to be smaller as he hopefully walked past without Mikawa turning his head and noticing him. However, he also remembered what Tsukioka had asked of him in the first department store.

Sorry. Himekawa’s bladder made the choice for him—he scurried past, the promise of finding a suitable bathroom, however shaky, was too alluring to stop for anything. Maybe, after he’d get his relief, Himekawa would find Mikawa and pass on the message.

Himekawa’s heart sank—any lower and it’d collide with his ballooned bladder—as he continued through the market and no bathroom was to be seen. It’d been as he dreaded: those busy ones right in front of the market really were the only ones, meaning he’d struck out on yet another wing of the mall.

Hell had chosen him. That had to be it because it was nigh impossible to conceive of a situation that could’ve been worse. Maybe getting subbed in for the first time at nationals and serving into the back of Teradomari’s head—but no, that would never happen… So, yes, going back out into the mall, to check the last department store and probably find its bathrooms unusable too, was the next phase of Himekawa’s greatest misery.

“Oh hey, Himekawa!”

Crap! He’d forgotten about them; Himekawa pressed his lips into a line and took a deep breath—promptly flinching as the draw from within disturbed his already turbulent bladder—as he turned to see the other first years at the cafe waving him over.

Don’t get roped in. Don’t get roped in. Himekawa made his way over in what felt like a death march, then greeted them. “Naoe-san, Ginkaku-san.”

Naoe, tousled, dusty brown hair, eyed Himekawa’s bag and spoke. “What’d you get?”

“Oh, uh, a new bottle.”

“Looks heavy,” Ginkaku, close-cropped, light grey hair, commented.

“It does? It’s”—Himekawa eyed the bag, confused—it wasn’t heavy—until it hit him that it must’ve been his posture making it seem that way—”yeah… it is.”

Naoe hummed; Himekawa thanked everything that neither of the two found that explanation fishy. “Well what are you wandering around for? You still have some money left?”

Naoe was never anything but polite to Himekawa whenever they’d spoken, but if at that moment Naoe was trying to swindle him out of his yen then Himekawa would’ve thrown it at him if it meant he could get away faster. It was taking everything not to bounce on his feet as he stood still beside their table.

“A bit. I’m just… looking around.”

Ginkaku swallowed the sip of his purple—probably taro flavored—drink he’d just taken. “Mm, if you have enough left you should get one of the teas here—they’re amazing.”

“Yeah,” Naoe agreed, then held up his own drink, yellow—mango perhaps.

Himekawa prayed to anything that the two couldn’t hear the way his breath quivered from the pulsating need wracking his body with every mention of anything fluid related. “Oh, um, I don’t think I have enough,” he lied.

“Ah,” Ginkaku acknowledged. “So are you heading to the meeting spot, then?”

Oh. “Uh, maybe?”

“We’ll probably go after this,” Naoe said, gesturing with his drink; Himekawa cringed, “it’s early, but I think most of us should be done by now, anyway.”

Leave. Leave. Leave. “Yeah, probably. I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Mmhm, see you,” Naoe echoed.

Ginkaku nodded. “See you.”

Graciously taking the out, Himekawa continued on his way, but once again felt like crumpling in on himself as each step went straight to his bladder. In motion… not in motion… Why did both options have to torture him?

Himekawa pushed through it, though—what else could he do?—by clinging to his new strand of hope: the team might meet earlier. Naoe was right, if everyone was done then it wouldn’t be a full half hour before they could finally leave.

Still, Himekawa headed for the last department store. Between those two and Mikawa, there were at least three people he knew were still out and about, so it’d still be at least a bit of time until the hypothetical early adjourning would occur.

…and if by some miracle he did find a bathroom he could bring himself to use, then it wouldn’t matter when the meeting happened. That’s what he had to hope, at least—which he held onto as he made his way, step after sloshing step, to his final chance.

The directory listed the bathroom as being on the same floor, so Himekawa made way without hesitation. Despite the sinking feeling that he’d harbored since starting his bathroom search that he’d never actually use one, Himekawa’s chest felt a little less taut as he made his way through the store and picked up on some good signs. Unlike the other two department stores, the men’s room was on the housewares floor, as opposed to above where the more popular cosmetics and apparel sections were located. As such, the shoppers scattered around were rather few in numbers, and as Himekawa approached the bedding section there was no one around.

Himekawa’s breath hitched as he spotted the bathroom, then found it within himself to walk a little faster. Could it be… perfect? The blue sign was placed above a short hallway in the back wall, flanked on either side by floor to ceiling shelves of plain, unflashy comforters—it was almost exactly what he’d envisioned his ideal, secluded public bathroom would look like.

I can go. I can go. I’ll go. His muscles were still tensed, but the knowledge that he’d finally have his relief was like the first sip of b—water after being stranded in the desert and—well, he could let himself think like that, because the constant, overwhelming ache would finally—

Himekawa stepped into the bathroom. Along the wall directly opposite the doorway were the sinks and his reflection met him in the mirror. He froze in place, though, as he heard a pittering stream to his left and saw a man using a urinal in what was supposed to be the perfect, empty bathroom.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t… but he’d already stepped inside. That man wasn’t looking at him, but he had to have been aware of his presence. The bathroom had been bisected by a gaping chasm which Himekawa could not cross. He couldn’t go into the stall—he wouldn't have dared a urinal even if the room had been vacant—but he couldn’t run out either. That man would see him leave, realize he was too scared to go because someone was there…

No. Himekawa went up to the mirror, winced as his bladder assaulted him with greater fervor after finally convincing itself its torture was near to end, forced himself to stand straight despite it all, and pretended to fix his jacket collar, which wasn’t misaligned whatsoever. The man finished just about then, so Himekawa turned and left once he felt sure the man would’ve seen he was only adjusting his clothes.

Himekawa kept walking once he made it out of the bathroom, figuring that the man would soon follow and would expect to see him off on his way with some purpose. He didn’t look behind him, fearful that the man would notice him and put together that he’d gone so far out of his way to make it seem like he didn’t need to go to the bathroom, but was just waiting for the chance to turn right back around once the coast was clear.

What if he’s walking in the same direction as me? The only sound of footsteps was Himekawa’s own, but he didn’t particularly trust any of his senses anymore—he was only barely aware of what was directly in front of him. He’d have to stop at some point, though, to see if the man was really nearby… but it’d have to look natural. He’d dipped in quickly to the bathroom to fix his collar and then had continued with confidence toward wherever he was going to—that’s what it needed to look like.

Something substantial. Something substantial. Around him were only pillows, though, not anything someone would determinedly head toward. Oh, how Himekawa wished he could take one of those pillows and squeeze it between his legs, then maybe just crumple into the fetal position on the ground while he was at it… but no—Himekawa kept walking at his hindered pace until a good enough point of interest entered his view.

Oh shoot. Himekawa got onto the escalator and couldn’t help but hunch over ever more than he’d already been as he stilled. Finally looking behind him… no one, just some displays with cooking pots and spatulas. That man had probably gone in a completely different direction, yet of course Himekawa had to make believe he was being scrutinized by some stranger all the way through the store! He would’ve kicked himself but his bladder already had the monopoly on punishing him.

It was… okay, though, because he’d go back down, that bathroom would still be secluded, and hopefully there wouldn’t be anyone in it the second go around. It would have to do, it must do—Himekawa didn’t know how much longer he could take it.

When he landed on the second floor he intended to go straight back down, but the universe had other plans; a tall, spiked-up blonde haired one.

“Oh there you are!” Teradomari exclaimed.

It was never going to happen, was it? Himekawa did his best to steel himself for the nth time. “Teradomari-san.”

“Maruyama said he sent a text but you must not have gotten it… anyway, you’re all wrapped up, right?” Teradomari looked down at the bag Himekawa carried—still leaning into the appearance that it was heavier than it really was. “Just about everyone’s gathered; Echigo sent me to go find the stragglers.”

“Oh, yes, I’m… I’m done.”

“Great, well that’s one out of three,” Teradomari counted off. “Any chance you’ve seen Tsukioka or Mikawa? They have their phones but neither is picking up.”

Himekawa, for however much he was still capable of it, lit up—realizing he had the info to bring the evening to a close—but then caught himself before he spoke. It’d been a while but Tsukioka made it sound like he intended on staying in roughly the same area, and Mikawa had been at the market not too long before. The issue, Himekawa realized, though, was that if he led Teradomari to Mikawa, then Tsukioka could figure out that he’d known where he was and didn’t pass along the message.

“I’ve only seen Tsukioka,” Himekawa lied, then described where.

“Oh, awesome!” Teradomari said, “well let’s get going then”

Let’s? Teradomari set off for the exit into the rest of the mall and, begrudgingly, Himekawa stumbled after him. Of course—the meeting point was between there and the first department store, so Teradomari probably wasn’t expecting him to join in finding Tsukioka, but would expect him to head in that direction anyway.

This is… fine. It would take a few minutes for Teradomari to find Tsukioka, and hopefully Mikawa would turn up on his own, but otherwise the group seemed on track to part twenty minutes early. That didn’t change how dire Himekawa’s straits were, but given that he’d mostly resigned himself to waiting out the clock, the spare time put toward getting home sooner was a welcome blessing.

While his long legs could carry him swiftly, the mall was still crowded enough that Teradomari didn’t get too far ahead of Himekawa… which was unfortunate for the reality-denying part of Himekawa’s brain which thought that maybe if Teradomari had lost him right away he could’ve slipped back to that bathroom—but that wasn’t going to be, they were in front of the main escalator.

Teradomari peered over the railing. “Mm, Mikawa hasn’t turned up,” he noted, then faced Himekawa. “Well, I’ll see you all in a bit.”

“Right.”

Without another word, Teradomari continued on his mission while Himekawa boarded the escalator. Once again, going still after having been in constant motion wrought agony from his bladder, but really every little movement or lack thereof did the same. He couldn’t quantify it anymore—if he’d ever been able to in the first place—all he knew was that he couldn’t wait to be on his way home.

But the length of the walk…

Himekawa forced his worries aside, needing them to not be of mind, as he landed on the first floor and joined his teammates, who had commandeered a sitting area.

Maruyama walked up to him. “Himekawa!” he greeted, then frowned as he better took in the sight of him. “Are you alright?”

Putting on a pained smile, Himekawa, trying not to show his panic, did his best to stand upright and shook his head. “I’m-I’m fine, yes,” he managed to say, then gestured with the bag in his hand and with his head at his schoolbag slung on his shoulder, clinging to his established excuse. “Just been… carrying all this around for a while.”

Maruyama hummed; Himekawa couldn’t discern if it was skepticism, but prayed it wasn’t—just as much as he was praying his bladder wouldn’t force him to double over and ruin his facade. “Sounds like you keep too much in your bag,” Maruyama said, then lowered his voice and spoke with a hand cupping his mouth, “I was like that in my first year, carrying all those supplies… but you can totally ditch them and borrow from friends. That’s what I do.”

Himekawa tried to laugh but was mostly just looking past Maruyama at an empty table in the back of the group that looked good for hiding behind. “Heh, I’ll consider your advice, Maruyama-san.”

“That’s my kouhai!” Maruyama said with a proud grin, then returned to the group, where he hopped into a conversation with the captain.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Himekawa made his way to the table he’d eyed, motivated by some fantasy that somehow sitting would alleviate the pressure in his middle whatsoever. Also, too, he’d been on his feet since leaving the restaurant, so he could genuinely do with the rest—if his body were capable of affording it to him in his state.

The chair dragged loudly as he pulled it out to sit, the sound miserable and attention drawing—or perhaps just the former given the team and other mall-goers were unbothered by what was just one noise in perpetual din. Nobody cared or held on to such ultimately meaningless things.

If only my brain would accept that as true about bathrooms too…

Sitting brought no new solace for Himekawa, instead the hyper-awareness he’d had of his hard rock of a bladder simply adjusted to a new position. It was strange how something could be so full and, presumably rotund, yet feel so flat from tautness.

Come back soon, please, Himekawa thought as he squeezed his legs together under the table and gave in to having the posture of a shrimp. While it wasn’t like his legs were well-concealed, he was behind the rest of the team, and he convinced himself that from the side view of passersby that it’d look more normal than off. To be sitting, as far as Himekawa was concerned, raised the floor for what drew suspicion.

…Or at least that was how bad it was that he wasn’t able to worry too much about what he looked like. He even rocked back and forth and fanned his legs in and out in an, albeit relatively closed, range of motion—his body, or, being honest that it was his bladder calling all the shots, wasn’t giving him a choice. Not that it wasn’t doing so before; he just had more incentive to resist then.

The only thing he didn’t do was allow his hands to fly into his crotch, even though that was the thing he craved to do most after, well—number one went without saying. He was sure even if he was in a place where he felt he could that it wouldn’t alleviate much of anything, but the instinct nevertheless existed. So too, existed his twisted conception of what was and wasn’t embarrassing, which hands-in-crotch belonged to the former category.

Some painstaking minutes later Teradomari returned with Tsukioka. All attention—at least from everyone who wasn’t Himekawa, whose attention was solely focused on retaining his dignity and the dryness of his clothes—turned to tracking down Mikawa.

“Who remembers seeing him?” Teradomari asked the group.

“I think I saw him go left from the restaurant.”

“Mm, that doesn’t help much.”

“Why can’t someone call him?”

“He doesn’t pick up.”

“I was in the food court the whole time and didn’t see him, so he must not be anywhere near there.”

“What if he went home?”

“No, he wouldn't have done that.”

“What if he was kidnapped?!”

“Who would want him?”

“Mm… good point…”

If he wasn’t already pressing his lips together in concentration, Himekawa would’ve done so. From what he could glean, he may have been the only person to have seen Mikawa since dinner, but he couldn’t say a word. Ergo, he couldn’t do anything to make sure the team’s early wrapping up actually happened early.

Echigo checked his watch. “Well, we did promise the time…”

Teradomari shifted his jaw from side to side. “Mm, I could do another look around,” he offered; Himekawa hoped that he would—and succeed, too—but feared said hope draining from his body if Teradomari chose the wrong direction. “Naoe, you said you saw him go in what way from the restaurant?”

“Left.”

Thank goodness. It’d be the right direction!

“Alright, I’ll go look,” Teradomari said, then turned to Maruyama. “Call me if he comes back.”

Maruyama nodded and Teradomari set off… for the escalator.

Himekawa cringed as he watched Teradomari ascend. Of course… left from the restaurant… which was on the third floor… the market was on the first…

Time was losing all meaning. With every second—or, no, with every instant, Himekawa knew only the greatest ache he’d ever felt, the most desperate he’d ever been. Even the last times he had wet himself as a toddler he’d not held for so long because at that age he wouldn’t have had the willpower. He cursed all that tea he drank during dinner. Why couldn’t he have just tolerated the saltiness of the meat? Why couldn’t he have done a lot of things differently so that he didn’t have to be where he was, writhing in that chair, feeling naked knowing that anyone who thought to look could surely sniff him out. It was only by miracle that no one had, or at least no one with the care to say anything had.

Five minutes—truly an incomprehensible eternity—passed without Teradomari returning nor Mikawa turning up. Himekawa constantly glanced in the direction of the market, hoping to see them coming up from the distance. That image, of the shopper’s trodden passage, flanked by various shops, a fake potted plant… it may as well have burned itself into Himekawa’s eye for how much he stared at it hoping to everything it’d turn into what he needed to see.

Creeping on ten minutes—by then Himekawa’s fists were clenched on his thighs, the closest he could dare bring them—was when finally, finally, Teradomari returned with Mikawa in tow, hands full with several grocery bags alongside one gift bag from an apparel store.

Echigo, who had sat down, stood back up once he saw the two had arrived. He nodded along as Teradomari lamented finding Mikawa—who he deemed “too responsible” for going chore shopping after buying a hoodie for himself—then turned to address the group.

“I’ll keep this short since it’s getting late,” Echigo started; Himekawa breathed a sigh of relief, “this has been a great year, we’ve all worked hard, we deserve to celebrate, and we’re going to win nationals!”

The team erupted into cheer; the best Himekawa could muster was tapping his fist against his thigh, making nary a sound. If it had been under any other circumstance, he too surely would’ve been jumping up and down, excited, but it wasn’t like he didn’t already know his bladder had been strangling him since they’d arrived.

“So be safe getting home, everyone, and get a good night’s rest. See you all tomorrow!”

Another cheer, then just like that the team began to disperse. Despite having needed moreso than anyone to leave, Himekawa was slow to get on his feet, anticipating how hard gravity would hit him once he would. Every second now, though, was one that counted, as nothing stood between him and leaving, so as (un)ready as he’d ever be, Himekawa slowly rose from his seat.

Immediately, he just about doubled over, and at once his panic was to make sure nothing came out rather than how he must appear to anyone in view. With a heavy exhale through his nostrils and gritted teeth, he willed his already clenched—already well-worn—muscles to keep at what they’d been so valiantly doing. Gradually, the pressure came down—not to any level that could be described as tolerable, but enough that Himekawa could straighten his back at least a little bit and start making slow, labored steps toward the exit.

Come on. He’d lasted for so long, he couldn’t lose it now that the end, the true relief, was in sight. Or, well, he wished his block, his complex, his apartment, his stairs, his front door, his bathroom were in sight, but it was on him to make it there.

It was dark out and had gotten even colder. Having one unbearable sensation constantly barraging him was already awful, having the chill hit him like he wasn’t even wearing a winter coat only made it worse. Such was the theme of the day, though—things only getting worse.

He couldn’t even question anymore why the world had to be so cruel to him. For one, he knew it was his fault, and for two, it’d been clear since that nightmare hallway bathroom fiasco that whatever gods there may be weren’t smiling down on him, not for the day at least. He arrived at the first intersection he needed to cross and of course it was as busy as could be. Imprecisely he shoved his fist into the pedestrian crossing button, too far gone to be gentle with it, too out of it to appreciate its impersonality to his plight.

The red pedestrian signal across the street was the latest sight to torment Himekawa as he paced around the corner, hunched over like he’d thrown out his back. Cars continued to whiz pass—ulgh, not the right word—and it made Himekawa think about all the times he’d been stuck in a car at a red light and how everyone speeding past must be lamenting the exact opposite.

Their lucky day, he thought, desperate enough to be snarky, until the light finally changed and the crossing signal switched to flashing yellow. Only when he stepped onto the street and began shuffling along at a snails pace did it really hit just how horribly slow he was. Like, if he were an old lady carrying a bag of groceries he would’ve walked over to help her slow.

The rest of the walk home went on that way; so sluggish and pained that even as the distance grew smaller his awareness of how much longer it’d take choked him. Earlier, when he’d thought it’d take twenty minutes… that was too generous.

At some point along the way he noticed one of the alleys to his left, saw how dark it was, how secluded, and the thought of dipping inside and disgracing himself on the wall sprung to mind. No, no, he couldn’t. If someone saw him it wouldn’t just be mortifying, it’d be criminal. Home was the only option.

…but that didn’t stop him from eyeing every alley, every dark corner, and weighing it against the relative emptiness of the sidewalk and thinking about how he could get away with it. But what if someone does walk by? What if someone heard him, looked down from their window? Would the knowledge of leaving his mark—or more like torrent—not leave him feeling guilty and disgusting forever? Maybe he could open up the new bottle, go in that, leave no proof…

No. He was not going to do that. Couldn’t do that. He was going to drink out of that bottle so Maruyama wouldn’t think he was ungrateful. Even if he cleaned it so thoroughly that a professional hygiene review board deemed it safer to drink from than any other container, he still wouldn’t be able to bring himself to do it, not with knowing what he’d have done to it.

Still, though, the thought of it haunted him. How incredible it would be, to dip into that alley, take out the bottle, unzip, and finally, finally let go…

Himekawa blinked, his breath hitching as he felt a wetness percolating on himself. It was a drop. A single drop, but he felt it absorb into his underwear and it was like at that moment a fire lit beneath him and he found some impossible strength to walk faster. No no no. He was approaching his block, he had to make it. He had to. He was too close to lose it all.

Please please—oh no—please. He made it to his street, rounded the corner, could see his bedroom window up ahead. At the same time another drop escaped, and it was as though the dam his holding muscles had formed was no longer a barrier but something to push through, wearing away so that only the thinnest line separated his bladder from release. He couldn’t reinforce it anymore. What he was putting up now was it—and it was rapidly wearing away.

Himekawa made it to the bottom of the stairs; his front door, so unassuming, was outright mythical to behold. Behind it, and a little further, was the bathroom, his bathroom, the one he needed more than anything. Salvation. Sweet, sweet salvation. He was staring at it, right there with only some steps between him and it. Another drop escaped him, and another—and he wasn’t going to make it up those stairs.

Heart beating in his ears, Himekawa frantically looked around him and his eyes landed on the side of the building where the trash cans were. Without hesitation he pivoted on his heel and ducked around the corner, shimmying himself into the space between the two cans.

It was dark, he knew none of his neighbors would be out at—it didn’t matter. If it was day he’d still be doing what he was doing. If he wasn’t confident his neighbors wouldn’t look or appear at any moment he’d still be taking the box with the bottle from the bag, setting it on the lid of one of the trashcans, then fumbling to undo the front of his pants—cringing at the dampness of his underwear—and freeing himself to aim into the bag.

There was no delay between exposing himself to the air and his stream forcefully unleashing, pittering loudly against the plastic. The weight of it almost forced the bag out of his hand—he was holding it by only one handle—and onto the ground but he managed to secure his grasp and held it higher to accommodate.

He was so full that at first it didn’t even feel good, his body not perceiving that he was any emptier than before, but as he continued he finally felt it—and with it he sagged forward, his forehead touching the wall, the only thing stabilizing him as he let out a great sigh and felt the weakness in his legs.

The bag grew so heavy in his hand but he held on; the sound of stream meet plastic replaced by stream meet pool. His shoulders relaxed as he kept on peeing like it was the only thing in the world that mattered, the only thing in the world that there was. His muscles were so worn, his body so tired that he wanted to lay down but he was still going, going, going…

He didn’t know how long it had been when the stream finally weakened. It was longer than it’d ever been for him, that was for sure. He looked down, shocked by how the bag was nearly half full—he worried it might break—but also felt that he wasn’t quite done yet. The whole time his body had been acting on its own, but when he pushed down deliberately his stream found renewed vigor, a second wind, before eventually petering out for real.

Oh. My. Himekawa tucked himself back into his pants, the cold, damp circle at the front of his underwear perturbing him but of little concern. He would change out of them soon enough. He turned his attention to the actually heavy, not pretend, bag which he precariously held by only one handle. He gathered the other and with his free hand unlidded one of the trash cans and dropped it in, his pee splattering quite loudly when the bag landed. The can would probably smell and be stained, but it was for trash and therefore supposed to be disgusting so he couldn't really mind. It wasn't like he was going to carry the bag upstairs and dump it in the toilet, for if it had broken as he’d feared, he didn't want to risk it being over anything that mattered.

With a shiver—it was still cold out, after all—Himekawa was about to pick up the bottle and head upstairs when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He flipped it open to see texts coming from Maruyama (after the one he’d totally missed earlier at the mall).

[M] hey

[M] now tell me off if i'm being too pushy

[M] but are you sure you're okay?

Himekawa stared at the screen for a while, mortification setting in about just how bad he must've looked to everyone. Also setting in, though, was—incredulously—something close to bemusement.

Heh. After a day of trying to hide how he was doing, he could reply with the truth.

[H] no. thank you

[H] i'm okay now