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There's no way I'm going into that disgusting room. Kenma scowled at the perfectly square sign on the door of the boys' toilets. It held a small, blue, amazingly clipart-like picture of a man on it. Kenma wasn't even going to look twice at even the door, which was scratched with whatever the teenage vandals had on them, whether it be scissors or their simple house door key, which the pudding-haired boy never carried; a family member of his was always home by the time he finished his little journey there.
He reached his final class of the day, assuming he could just wait to use the restroom until he finished school. His decision was set in stone. People always muttered about how rancid smelling it was in there and how less-than-polite students tended to miss the urinals or toilet bowls on purpose, giving an extra job for the cleaner, who simply answered with not doing what was not on their list of chores... It probably only lists 'Scrub each toilet with the same brush and throw a new cake into the urinal if needed. No actual cleaning required.' Kenma thought, having never really liked the cleaners to begin with. They were always so painfully shifty looking the boy just avoided them altogether, and even now, with more care, since one had rudely pointed out that his roots looked a little worse for wear.
His lips pouted in the direction of his text book, the lesson's objectives going straight over his head. Usually he was okay in lessons, but the increasing strain on his bladder and his wandering mind were both frustrating and distracting. His thighs unconsciously pressed themselves together, and his hand got itself wedged between them. Kenma swayed his knees from side to side, and it helped a little, aiding in taking away the weird, almost cold feeling in his abdomen. In short, it felt weird. Kenma never really drunk fluids through the day, and his bladder was like steel, but today was especially hot, and his lunch especially salty. Water was only really drunk in bulk after school, or through volleyball practice or games, where the gym bathrooms were a lot nicer. However, they were connected to the changing rooms, which were unfortunately locked. There wasn't practice today either as there was some kind of induction whatever going on which nobody cared about other than the minority attending the damn thing. Kenma scribbled the necessary information needed for his exam, positive he missed something, but not making a fuss about it. He'd ask tomorrow when he isn't thinking of deserts.
The bell sounded soon after and Kenma was one of the first students out of the room, out of the building and eventually off of the premises. Despite him moving quickly, it wasn't helping and he knew his movements looked unnatural, although the way his back was hunched over a little was no different to how he usually walked. Kuroo always pointed out that the boy should walk standing up straight, with the reasons revolving around spinal problems and eventual situations hindering play in volleyball games.
The teen sighed as he tucked a section of his bleached locks behind his ear, taking note of his need for a shower, his fingers detecting a greasy texture from the hair they'd come in contact with. It was a mistake, as the thoughts of warm running water forced him to stop for a second and nip at his lip to recompose himself as his bladder gave out a sharp, loud ache - a signal shouting out its need, and its anger for its unexpected surprise reminding it that it can't relax just yet. But Kenma soldiered on, his house mere minutes away. The short distance gave him hope; he will make this. His front door will be unlocked and he'll go inside and get to a toilet and relieve himself and it will be a dream, the pain leaving, his whole body will relax and be happy again, and will stop damn shouting at him.
But right now, his bladder just would not stop going on at him. Not to mention, his mind was now unable to get any other thought circulating other than, I need to pee now. His house was in sight. Kenma could feel a sense of safety with that alone; a bathroom was in there. His feet both landed on the doorstep, a welcome mat greeting him upon his arrival. His hand lunged for the door handle, fingers wrapping around it and palm pushing down. But it didn't budge. Kenma's body froze. He'd gotten so far and for what? A locked door? Where were his parents? His brother? Out? Surely not... His mind flashed back to that morning temporarily, and then his self-blaming head hit the obstacle in his path, remembering his mother's words about everyone being home later than usual. Kenma rubbed his lower abdomen. He felt bloated, afraid of soiling himself where he stood, but also angry at himself for forgetting a key to get into this damn building. His hand slid down to grab himself. His body faced the door of his little house, his forehead rested on it, an arm just above. His thighs were glued together. He bounced lightly on the spot and let a quiet moan escape his lips. Just like his tenacity in a video game, he wasn't going to lose here, not after getting so far. But, like in a game, you can't win all the time. Kenma squeaked as he felt his underwear soften with moisture in his hand a little. All of his strength went into stopping the threatening flow, so when he was finally successful, he breathed out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. His eyes were watering a little, legs beginning to shake.
What was felt, felt awful... but also satisfying and comfortable. It was the relief the teen had been waiting hours for. It felt warm, true, pure. It was wrong, but it felt good. But his bladder now felt even fuller than before. It had gotten a preview of what it would get, and it had liked it. It wanted to carry on. He cursed under his breath, his hand wet, fabric not quite dripping just yet, but guaranteeing it if he let go again, and gave another heavy expulsion of air. There were things the teen needed to uphold, like his image. It was compulsory to him to keep himself looking like a normal, average person, just living a life of nothing special. Sticking out wasn’t his thing, and so drawing attention to himself so negatively was the last thing he wanted.
But his efforts were failing him, as were his tired muscles. He bent his knees ever so slightly, giving his body a half crouch. His mind had already gone through all of his options, and there weren’t many. It was either hold out for as long as possible or to show off some skin, and the latter idea was the one that was thrown out of the window straight after it popped up in his head. His front garden was in full view and the gate to his back garden was locked where climbing over would be impossible. Painful looking spikes sported the top, and Kenma immediately hated whoever’s idea it was to put Gothic wrought iron fences and gates into the category of items that were fashionable to own. Asking a neighbour to use their bathroom would be like asking to borrow sugar; it’d be awkward and to them, a bother. He gave a quiet whine as he squirted into his underwear and pressed a thumb over the tip of his clothed penis to try and plug the exit for the contents of his bladder. However, that plan just acted like putting a thumb under a running tap. The liquid, needing somewhere to go, just simply came out with more force. So the blonde boy removed his makeshift plug, for it was no use. Control was regained with a lot of effort and shuffling around, but not before his escaped urine followed gravity down and through his underwear and trousers, into a small, slightly broken stream onto the mat, making a quick patting sound as it hit the rough surface. Kenma was seriously struggling. The relief he was getting was lovely as it was happening, but what was being released didn’t make him feel any better. It had to all come out before he can be comfortable again. I can’t give up… he thought, determined, even though his pants were obviously already soaked. The wetness was around his crotch, right in between his legs, with a small trail down the back of his right leg, which then instantly grew in size after a dog barked nearby, making the poor kid flinch and lose his concentration. His fingers gripped himself as hard as he could, but it was now no use. His bladder was tired of all of the nonsense of trying to keep back more than what it could hold.
Urine flowed out of him with hissing considered loud in the presence of just his body. The warm liquid hit the welcome mat, the patting just becoming like pouring water from a height into the sink or a cup. The rest of what was flowing out was sliding down both of his quivering legs and into and over his shoes. He said nothing, just bit his lip and then breathed out heavily, wanting to cry as he sunk down, feeling like he couldn’t support his weight much longer if he stayed standing. The stream migrated fully to falling from between his legs, and then began to slow before finally coming to a stop. The mess he’d made on the mat had been too much for it to hold and the excess had started to dribble away, off of the doorstep and onto the little pathway below, trailing into the grass which was beside it. Kenma had lost this battle, but damn did he feel so much better. The pain had gone, the pressure had dissolved. Sure, he was utterly humiliated, soaking wet and his entire lower half was dramatically dropping in temperature in the breeze, but all of his muscles were relaxed and there was no more tension, no more feeling like he was going to burst. He sighed. The relief was the best feeling he’d ever gotten, sort of like saving up money for something you really want, and then finally having enough money to buy it.
Explaining his situation was probably more embarrassing that what happened though, as when his mother pulled up in the car ten minutes later, she lifted a plant pot up next to the front door and pulled a spare key from under it.
“I did tell you I’d put a spare key down for you since you never take one to school, but you were looking at your phone at the time so your mind was probably with whatever you were looking at,” she smiled in both a kind and a ‘that’ll teach you’ way before letting herself and her pink cheeked son into the house. The poor doormat was washed and hung out to dry a short while later.