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He’s not sure how it happens, because since that time on the bus he always, always makes sure to go before they leave, but it happens. He ends up writhing around on the bus (“I did go before we left!” a blushing Nitori defends to Rin), and by the time they register and get in, he’s absolutely bursting. It takes every ounce of his self-control to subtly shift his weight instead of doubling over or grabbing at his crotch. For a terrifying period that is at least ten minutes, he has the constant sensation that he’s going to wet himself right that minute.
Somehow, Nitori makes it through the line. He walks with the team. And of course Rin wants to talk with them for a while; he insists Nitori can hold it for five more minutes while he talks, but Nitori is honestly not so sure. He feels full and has to shift around every so often because being still is a prelude to disaster.
During the short talk, the announcement is made that there will be some rescheduling due to event clashing. The new schedule is read out and Nitori’s event is approximately ten minutes from then. By the time Rin is done, though, there’s only five minutes, and Nitori barely has time to get ready—thank god he already has his swimmers on under his tracksuit, because he knows with absolutely certainty that he would’ve wet himself trying to put him on.
So there’s still at least three minutes left before the event and that has to be enough time to run off to the bathroom, but when he tries to rush off, the official calls him over. What does he think he’s doing? His event is about to start.
The nearly whimpered “But—” dies in his throat as he sees the others are indeed ready to begin. It’s not like he can go anywhere now. The abject realization strikes him with enough anxiety that his focus slips, just for a moment, but it’s enough. A gush—not a leak—comes out and dampens swimsuit.
His entire face begins to burn and the only thing stopping him from grabbing at himself is the knowledge that there are too many heads turned toward him for that. He can only hope he’s imagining the feeling of liquid dripping down his leg.
He pulls his goggles into place, steps onto the starting block, and there it is again. The second and a half of his legs being forced apart gave way to more. A good two-second gush begins dripping down both his legs, except his brain is so overwhelmed with distress that it turns into a three-second gush, then four. He’s still holding on, but the stream is small and steady.
Nitori almost begins crying because surely someone is noticing as he begins to wet himself on the starting block. He’s so busy panicking that he almost misses the signal to start, but his muscle memory is too strong for that, so his legs jump against the thoughts telling them to stay squeezed together.
All his control goes down the drain as soon as he hits the water. The sensation is one of the weirdest, most oddly pleasant things he’s ever experiences.
He automatically begins to swim but is unable to stop himself from going. The initial relief is so overpowering that he falls behind slightly, and he makes the mistake of trying to hold it. That’s impossible—not only has he been bursting for the past hour, but even if he hadn’t needed to go so badly, the chilly pool water would’ve made him lose control anyway.
Besides, swimming and bladder control are both two things that require one hundred percent focus. It’s practically impossible to do both, Nitori reasons, and completely forgets trying hold it.
The usual adrenaline he gets is multiplied tenfold. He flies through and executes the turn perfectly and suddenly it’s over. He goes upright with a gasp, pulling off his goggles.
He’s second. His time is a personal record.
The brief ecstasy he feels is shattered when he realizes the other swimmers are getting out of the pool and his bladder is still more than half full. He bites the inside of his cheek, hard, and carefully climbs out, giving himself an inconspicuous squeeze and just praying that people are paying more attention to the first-place swimmer than to him.
Miraculously, he manages to stop the flow. But for a few seconds the desperation is so unbearable he’s almost sure he’ll start again. Then the urge lessens slightly, and he can take a few steps without being terrified of wetting himself.
That’s only half the battle, though. He still needs to find a bathroom.
He leaves immediately with his things, not even taking the time to dry off. It’s agony to decide whether to run or walk, because his bladder jolts with every step and running most certainly won’t help, but if he continues at this slow pace…
Nitori rounds the corner hopefully and sees maybe the worst possible thing—a line coming from the bathroom. It’s not long and will probably only take a few minutes to go through, but he doesn’t have a few minutes.
He can’t help but groan quietly as real panic sets in, because at the pool where everything and everyone around it is usually wet, a little bit of liquid trailing down someone’s thighs isn’t strange. Here, in the middle of a dry hallway, even a few drips can be obvious. But he still looks like he’s come straight out of the pool, so the liquid trailing down his leg can be mistaken for water.
At least that’s what Nitori hopes.
In a sudden flash of inspiration, he thinks of the locker room down the hall—they have showers in there. The thought of using them brings a flush to his face, but these are desperate times, and the showers are the desperate measure.
He walks in an awkward, stilted way to keep his thighs pressed together, though at this point no amount of squeezing keeps back the small leaks. His bladder is throbbing, and he can feel how flushed and sweaty he is. His breaths are shallow and labored. He’s totally convinced that the only thing keeping all the trapped liquid back is sheer willpower.
A spasm goes through his middle, freezing him in place. For about the third time in the past five minutes, he feels like he’ll wet himself at any moment now.
He breaks into an outright sprint toward the door.
He makes it with only one major gush and leaves at least one wet footprint both inside and outside the room. He runs past the lockers, actually groaning aloud (this would be so much more embarrassing if there were more people in here), and darts into the nearest shower cubicle, ripping the curtain closed as he loses it for a second time.
Feeling utterly exhausted and relieved that he can finally go without worrying, Nitori closes his eyes and sinks to his knees with an unrestrained sigh. He feels vaguely embarrassed over the fact that he’s freely wetting himself—albeit through a swimsuit—but not enough to stop. It runs pleasantly down his thighs and shoots straight from him in a powerful stream and would be collecting into a huge puddle if not for the drain.
His pounding heart gradually slows. He goes for a long time (long enough to come down from the bliss-high and take time to be embarrassed). The only sound is the splatter of piss and his quiet panting—he’s really, really glad no one walks in on that—for a good minute. And this is after going in the pool for some time.
(In a strange way, he’s sort of impressed with himself).
When he’s finished he stands up and turns the shower on, letting it run for a minute to wash everything out. Then he shuts it off, dries himself, and returns to the hall. He feels tired and a little shaky, but ultimately relieved.
The line for the toilets is almost gone. When he turns his head to look at it, he bumps into someone and his immediate apology is cut off when he sees who it is.
“Rin-chan,” he says with some surprise.
“I saw you run off,” Rin says as a way of greeting. They begin walking in line together. “I figured you’d be here.” He tilts his head in the direction of the toilets.
Nitori feels himself blush. Rin leans in a little and lowers his voice to say, “I saw you start wetting yourself on the starting block.”
Nitori freezes in his tracks. His heart rate doubles and the back of his eyes prickle in warning, but before he can stress himself out too much, Rin hurriedly goes on. “It wasn’t obvious or anything. I don’t think anybody else noticed. I just…” And then his cheeks turn pink, which Nitori thinks is kind of ridiculous because he’s not the one that almost wet himself right before his competition.
“But I didn’t see you come out of the bathroom,” Rin says curiously as they continue walking. “Where did you go?”
Nitori waits until the two swimmers walking to the left of them pass. “I went to the locker room and used…” Heat engulfs his face as his voice becomes hushed, “I used one of the showers… I didn’t have a choice,” he defends when Rin gives him a bewildered look, “I couldn’t wait for the line!”
He feels even more embarrassed when Rin gives a small chuckle (Rin’s been in a tight spot before where he had to go in a shower, but it’s not like Nitori needs to know that).
“Anyway, congratulations on the time,” Rin says, and when Nitori looks up from the floor he sees Rin’s fist is out. He hardly ever gives fist bumps.
Embarrassment forgotten, Nitori gushes “Thank you!” and bumps fists with Rin.
“Whatever did it for you, keep it up.”
Nitori smiles to himself. That might not be a bad idea.