The Descent Into Little-hood - ahem6669 (2025)

Chapter 1: The Bar

Chapter Text

In an overpriced bar somewhere in Texas, chorus familiar to frat boys and a variety of college students rings out through the night. “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” a small crowd of college students wildly chant near the rear corner of the establishment, clearly heard over the thumping bass of the music pumping through the place. The targeted person, a young man with black hair, slams down a pitcher. Cheap beer drips down his chin, soaking into the hem of his T-shirt. The young man raises a hand to the crowd, silencing their crowing and cheers. A second passes, two. Then the most ungodly belch rips it’s way from his throat. It silences the patrons near the overcrowded table for a moment. Then a deafening cheer rings out through the throng of young men. “That’s our Sam! Fucking bottomless pit man!” A thickly built man crows, slapping the black haired man forcefully on the back, causing him to wince.

Still, the young man tips his head up towards the other, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Not bottomless. I just refuse to let fucking Jeffery win!” He cackles, eyes shining. Turning his head back across the table, he surveys his opponent. The other man, bearded and muscled groans, head planted on the table.

“‘F I didn’t decide ta drink -hic- twice ‘s much’s you ‘d be tha win’r,” The other man slurs, looking up blearily from his spot at the table. His face is ruddy, eyes unfocused as he speaks. He swallows hard before groaning again. “E’vrythin’s f’ckin sp’nn’n.” He whines, clenching his eyes shut.

Sam guffaws, tipping his head back. When he brings his head forwards, he clenches his eyes shut, smile turning into a grimace. “Aw, fuck you’re right. Shit. Jesus,” he grumbles, waiting for the world to stop spinning before he tries to string another few thoughts together. There’s a heavy set of pats on his back as his friend beside him rubs his shoulder.

“Think Jeff’s had enough, yea?” The man beside him comments. There’s a whine from the man in front of Sam, and the man cracks his eyes open. He giggles as Jeff pouts. Someone else from behind Jeff- Sam can’t be bothered to check who- grips the other man’s shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Cmon man. Think it’s time you got home, yea? Yeah. Ok, come on, that’s it. Yep, sit up. You feeling good?” Sam hears as he watches the other man pry Jeff off the table.

“Was comfy!” Jeff whines. He pouts for a moment before smiling lopsidedly, “Yeeahh. I feel gooooood,” He says, tilting his head back to the man helping him. There’s a chorus of laughs, and then the nameless man- Sam likes that. Nameless, that is. The alcohol he’d had at the start is really starting to hit, and he can’t bother corralling all his brain cells together in order to think about the name of someone out of a group of thirty- only ten of which are his friends. The Nameless Man, proceeds to loop an arm under Jeff’s armpits, and haul him unsteadily to his feet- the bearded man making it more difficult by falling limp against him.

“Shit. Jeff! Get your fucking feet under you, man. Come on. I’m taking you home. Come on,” Mr. Nameless coaxes, practically dragging Jeff out of the crowd. A moment later, he calls back through the throng and the music, “I’ll be back with the car after I’ve got him off! Anyone else wants to leave, follow. Be my ducklings!” He says this with a giddy laugh, and two more men break off from the crowd, calling farewells as they leave.

Slowly transitioning from tipsy to mildly drunk, Sam smirks smugly. “I won,” He says, crossing his arms. The man behind him pats his back again.

“Yep! Ya won man. Come on, I’m hungry. Let’s get some chips,” He says, pulling on Sam’s arm.

The other man groans, but lets his friend pull him up. “Kaide! Why do I gotta come?” He whines. Kaide shoots him an unimpressed look.

“You said you’re paying for food earlier, remember? Got your mama’s money to spend for your 23rd right? Well, come on! Let’s get food. God, that smells good. I changed my mind, I want cheesy fries,” The muscled man groans, practically drooling as the gazes longingly at the fries on a table nearby.

Sam sighs, nodding his head as he follows along after Kaide. He can still walk fine, though he bumps into a table or two on the way to the bar. He mutters apologies, and flashes a few ladies a charming little smile. Or what he thinks is a charming little smile, at least. Flushed and feeling good, he can’t really be sure. They giggle at him though, so it can’t be that bad.

Moments later, they return, their bounty in hand. Sam grumbles about the price, but still shoves a cheese-coated fry into his mouth. He exaggerates the moan that the taste elicits, and digs in to the greasy food. He watches some of the group trot off back to the bar for shots or other drinks- he wasn’t really paying attention to be honest. After a few more fries, he tunes back into the conversation around him.

“-I thought I was gonna fucking fail that one, man. Honestly thought it was over for me. Dr. Mani is so strict on what she wants your answers to be!” Someone laments, taking a long sip of the fruity drink they have. The girl on his lap groans, “I know! I mean- I though O-chem was gonna be the worst of my troubles this year, but oh no! Biology, somehow, manages to be the worst! God, I wish I’d bothered to check rate my professor before registering for her class,” She says bitterly. A chorus of agreement ripples through the crowd, but the original man pouts up at her. “Babe! If you hadn’t taken that, we wouldn’t have met,” He says sadly. She looks back at him, gaze softening. She pecks him on the cheek before responding, “Yeah, and I wouldn’t have to deal with your dirty laundry all over the floor.” She grins wide as laugher rings out.

Sam giggles at the exchange, covering his mouth slightly. A delightful fuzziness has started to properly set in. For a brief moment, he worries about exactly how sick he’s going to end up tonight. That’s a thought for sober Sam, though. For now, he has other issues to deal with- like his bladder. Groaning, Sam debates getting up. He glances at the hall in the back.

There’s a steady line of ladies queuing up for their own restroom, and Sam truly dreads what must wait around the bend within the hall. This bar, despite it’s prices, is one of the most popular this side of the university. It’s the closest one to the multitudes of apartments right off campus, and out of the ones on the west side, the cheapest.To be fair, the reason they call it overpriced is because Jeff said he once saw the bartender watering down a drink, but to college students four fruity drinks is cheaper than all the alcohol, syrups, and other liquids that go into making said drinks. Even if all that stuff combined could get you like ten or twenty of those drinks for a little cheaper.

Sighing, Sam slowly stands, bracing his hands on the table for a moment as he guages whether or not he’s going to fall over. When he remains steady, albeit wobbling slightly, he straightens up. Now that he’s up, he can feel his bladder in full. He shifts on his feet, excusing himself with a simple, “Restroom.” Then he’s shuffling back to the hall in which the restrooms reside.
As he leaves, someone calls back, “Don’t flood it big boy!” Eliciting a round of laughter. Sam shakes his head, and immediately regrets it as the world swims for a brief moment. He lets his hand come out and rest on the wall, just in case. It’s over quickly though, so Sam continues his trek. As he rounds the corner, he groans. Just as he thought.

The line for the men’s is nowhere near as long for the women’s, but still, it exists. Sam joins the line, shifting again on his feet as his bladder brings itself to the forefront of his mind. This is exactly what they get for coming during happy hour. The line moves steadily forward, though not as fast as Sam would like. He finds himself leaning against the wall, leg bouncing anxiously, fidgeting a bit.

There’s only four people left in front of him, he’s barely to the door, when there’s a loud cuss, and the sound of rushing water. “Shit! Fuck! Jesus, it’s gushing!” Someone cries out. A man bolts from the bathroom, alarmed. Sam watches, startled as he sprints out of the hall.Two people in the front of the line exit, grumbling out, “Toilet’s flooding.” The person in front of Sam walks off with a sigh. Sam though, stays where he is, shuffling his feet.

Moments later, he returns with a staff member. The other person sticks their head into the bathroom for a moment before groaning. They turn around to the line of people behind Sam. “Alright! Out of order! Sorry gents, toilet’s acting like fucking ol’ faithful in there,” He calls out. A few men behind him sigh, a couple groan. Sam shifts on his feet, feeling his bladder protest. Rubbing his hands down his thighs, Sam groans in discomfort. Then he turns, and leaves the hall with the rest of the men.

Returning to his table, Kaiden watches him with confusion. “Hey dude, what happened? Why do ya look like ya still need to take a piss?” He asks, craning his head to look at the hall. The ladies’ line is being broken up now. They’re likely going to shut off the water to that section of the bar.

“Toilet broke or something. Bathroom’s flooding,” Sam groans. He presses his legs together momentarily, and rubs his thighs together for a moment. The others chuckle at his display. “Hey, uh. Think we could maybe- take this somewhere else?” He asks sheepishly.

The group talks together for a brief moment, hemming and hawing about prices and atmosphere before one of the girls pipes up, “Hey, if you want us to stay, there better be a working bathroom.” The other women nod, and immediately their boyfriends start lobbying for another bar. Decision made, the group packs up their things, leaving the bar alongside a good chunk of it’s patrons.

Sam shivers as they get outside, hips shimmying and pressing his legs together again. The cold air certainly doesn’t help his situation, his bladder throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Sam’s face twists into a groan. As they’re walking down the street to the next bar, of which Sam curses as he hears they’re going to the one all the fucking way down the street, someone stumbles into him. Sam clenches his jaw for a brief moment, his bladder jostled, then he turns to tell the person off. His words die in his throat.

The woman before him has a good foot and a half on him. Her brown hair cascades down her back, untied but impeccably groomed. Vibrant green eyes turn to him. “Oh I’m so sorry,” red-painted lips apologize. Sam blinks hard for a moment, breath stolen away. The dress she wears is a deep red, cut just above her knees and tight-fitting.

Sam shakes his head slightly. Jesus, he may be drunk but this is a bit far. He gives her an apologetic look and waves her down. “No, I’m sure it was my fault. Too many drinks,” He explains. It might be the alcohol, but she’s the most beautiful woman Sam’s ever seen. He entirely forgets he should be talking a little more as he stares into her eyes. He might actually be in love. How funny that would be, love at first sight on a darkened street with beer on his shirt.

She looks at him with concern, and then her hand comes up and cups his jaw. Sam’s breath freezes in his lungs. “Are you alright, sweetie?” She coos. Something about her voice makes Sam shiver. “You’re moving quite a lot.”

Sam’s immediately thrown back to reality, wincing as he’s made aware of his overfull bladder again. “Oh geez. Uh, yea. All good. Uh- bathroom at the Rusty Rooster is closed. Might wanna head to a different bar,” He says. He turns his face, dislodging her hand as he looks back at the group. “Uh we were heading to The Lounge, if you’d like to- oh.” When he turns back, she’s gone. Sam frowns, looking around. She couldn’t have left that fast, where did she- “Sam! Come on, dude! Faster we get there, faster you get to piss!” Kaiden calls out.

Sam squirms in place at the mention of his bladder, face pinching. He turns, eyes lingering on where she just was. He shakes his head. Alcohol does funny shit. With a hand simply pressed over his groin, he stumbles back to the slow moving group. He’s grateful for the darkness of the street, as he’s able to press his hand to himself when he stumbles. His bladder lurches for a terrifying moment, and Sam whimpers. He clutches himself for a second before shuffling off to follow his friends.

The journey is treacherous, but only for Sam. Everyone else might be tipsy, but it’s Sam who slammed three pitchers of bud in a short amount of time. He doesn’t need to lean on Kaiden for support or anything, but the constant moving of his hips and twisting of his legs as he tries to find a way to walk without disturbing his bladder sets him down a not-so-straight line, and his friend finds that he has to correct Sam’s trajectory multiple times.

Finally, their mini-migration comes to an end. A new bar means more lights, though. Sam groans, feeling his cock throb as he removes his hand. He can feel the urine travel down his length- poised and ready to ruin his pants. He rubs his thighs hard as they wait in line to get into the bar. Kaiden watches him with concern, a few other of Sam’s friends turning around to stare a bit. Kaiden and one of the girls meet each other’s eyes. Her lips press together. She turns around to the front, immediately assuming a stance anyone would recognize. “Oh my god! I’m gonna piss myself!” She wails. The group ahead of them whip their heads around. Their eyes land on her, and widen. The girls immediately usher her forward, and her hand shoots out. Sam groans as she loops her arm through his, leaning on him. “Oh my god, babe. I don’t know if I’ll make it!” she sobs.

Sam looks over to her, bewildered. His inebriated brain takes a moment to process and come to a conclusion. Immediately, he’s got his hands supporting her. “Oh my god. Shit. Hey, can we cut?” He asks the next group. His own legs are crossed, and he too looks like the perfect epitome of desperation. He feels sweat bead on his brow as he stares at the people in the front of the line pleadingly. The group there looks at them with pity, and nod, parting to let the two through. Sam pants lightly as they shuffle their way to the front. It’s about as fast as he can go if he doesn’t want to entirely lose it at this point.

The bouncer in the front isn’t quite as helpful, but his companion is ready. She has her own ID, and Sam’s wallet out in seconds, showing him their licenses. As they’re let in, Sam is ready to cry. The lights in here are dim, so the moment they’re out of the light outside, his hand shoves itself between his thighs. He doesn’t know when, but he already leaked. His underwear feels damp against his tip, and it makes the need worse. He desperately wants to pee.

The girl on his arm starts dragging him to god-knows-where, and Sam whines. His eyes dart to and fro in search of a restroom sign. He doesn’t need to look for it, though. He could honestly kiss this girl- if she wasn’t literally one of his classmates and most certainly not into guys. She’s leading him straight for it. Sam freezes for a moment as his bladder throbs hard in his pelvis. He squeezes his hand tight. “Come on man. You gotta move. It’s right there. Like, 30 feet, you can make that,” she soothes, urging him along.

Sam stumbles, whining as he feels his underwear grow wetter. He clenches his eyes, grits his teeth, and moves despite the burning in his member. The trek to the bathroom is even worse than the trek to the bar, but he manages to make it to the door. Hurriedly, panicked, he wiggles his arm out of hers before dashing for the door. There’s another burst of wetness- he can feel it on his hand now- as he reaches the door. He throws it open, door slamming against the wall, but Sam could care less.

He hobbles to the urinals as fast as his twisted legs can carry him. He feels himself dribbling as he finally reaches one. Hips swaying left and right, he fumbles with first his belt, then his button and fly. He has to pause to grip himself to prevent a stream from starting half-way through. Then finally, finally he gets a hand into his boxers and pulls himself out. The moment he’s out, he’s pissing. Sam yelps as the stream hits the floor for a brief second, but he adjust quickly, panting and groaning as his stream thunders incessantly against the porcelain before him.

He’s died and gone to heaven- he has to have. It feels so damn good, his bladder steadily deflating in his midsection as his stream refuses to let down. The throb and pain slowly recede as the hiss continues, loud in the empty room. Tipping his head back, Sam moans and groans out his relief. As the stream begins to slow, he looks down at his pants. It’s- not bad. It could be worse. There’s a quarter-sized spot along the side of his fly, but it’s far enough down that Sam’s certain it won’t be seen. He uses a hand to pull his jeans out a little further so he can survey the damage to his underwear. He grimaces.

It’s wet all along the area his cock had been resting against him, the gray material turned black in the baseball- sized area. Looking at the damage here, Sam’s honestly surprised only a quarter of this showed through his jeans. The last of it dribbles into the urinal, and Sam turns his attention back to shaking himself off. Grimacing, he puts himself back into his wet boxers, zips up his fly and redoes his belt. He glances at the floor as he flushes. He shrugs. It’s not as if this bathroom hasn’t seen worse. He’s fairly certain the floor already has multiple places it’s been lightly pissed on over here tonight.

Moments later, he inspects himself in the mirror. The spot isn’t too obvious. He uses some paper towels to try and dry off his boxers. It helps, but not much. He looks at himself for a moment. Without the desperation to use the restroom, his head feels a little clearer. He can focus a bit better- though he’s still firmly drunk. He laughs at the man before him- lithe and dressed in a ratty Tee. He couldn’t have bothered to wear anything better, after the week he’s had. His own blue eyes shine back at him with mirth. Nothing left to do but laugh it off, he supposes.

When he leaves the bathroom, he glances down one more time at the spot in the dim lighting of the hall- double checking it’s invisible. Someone bumps into him again, and his head shoots up. “Hey-” He calls out, watching the retreating form of a woman dash into the bathroom he was just in. He shakes his head, “Guess she needed to piss,” He says distractedly. He stands there for a second. For a moment, he could’ve sworn that dress and the color of her hair were the same as- “Dude! Get over here!”

Sam’s head turns to look out of the hall. Sure enough, his friends grabbed a table within sight of the bathrooms. He flushes a little, taking a deep breath before he walks back to them. “You make it, dude?” Kaiden teases, flinging an arm around Sam’s shoulders. Brushing him off, Sam laughs.

“Fucking closer call than that damn exam, but yeah,” He says with a smile. “So, more drinks?”

Twenty minutes later finds them all chatting about the recent baseball game, discussing new plots in their favorite shows. Everyone’s having a great time despite the misfortune they’d had at the other bar. The next round of drinks show up, and Sam’s face falls as he realizes they’ve just gotten him water. Kaiden punches his arm lightly explaining, “Gotta hydrate if you wanna drink more, man. Can’t let you wake up feeling like shit.” Sam sighs, nodding. He’s starting to go from drunk to tipsy again, but he can concede to the logic in that. Sipping his water, Sam contributes what he can to the conversation, leaning back and soaking in the vibes.

Then he shifts. Frowning, Sam glances at his phone’s clock. He shifts again. His bladder, previously dryer than the sahara, feels moderately full again. Sam takes another sip of water, taking the time to really taste it. His expression turns to confusion. No one slipped him a diuretic or nothing- Brad had done that once, the ass. Sam straightens up in his chair, brushing the feeling off. It might just be a phantom need? He turns his attention back to the conversation, getting dragged into a discussion about the most recent Marvel movie.

As he’s complaining about the downgrade in quality writing, he presses his legs together. It’s getting worse- and quickly. Sam fidgets in his seat. Surely it couldn’t have gotten this bad this fast? Why the hell does he need to piss so bad again? Maybe it’s the alcohol? Kaiden pulls him into a new conversation, and Sam finds himself distracted with explaining the answer to one of the deepest questions of life- why 42, and why was Earth ran by mice in the story?

At some point, Sam finds himself wiggling around again, the need in his bladder growing rapidly. Kaiden turns to him with a concerned look. “Dude? You good?” Sam huffs, nodding.

“Gotta piss. I’ll be fine, just- in the book Trillian and Arthur didn’t get together. That subplot was just to try and cater to a whole other group of people.” As Sam continues to explain, he can’t help but feel concerned himself. It’s not like him to have to piss this badly this soon after going the first time. Sure, he’s had a lot to drink, but it’s not like he hasn’t done that before. It usually took an hour to work it’s way through him. He’s also feeling significantly more sober than he was before. He takes another sip of water, wincing as his bladder protests. He’s thirstier too.

Finally, when he feels his bladder begin to throb, Sam can’t ignore the need any longer. Quickly he stands from the table. When he receives confused glances, he mutters, “Gotta fuckin piss again.” Then he’s dashing off to the restroom again.

As he gets closer, it feels like the need increases tenfold. He gasps, hunching forward as he feels his bladder clench. Pushing open the bathroom door hurriedly, he dashes again for a urinal. Hopping from foot to foot, he manages to get himself out just in time once more. Staring down in shock, Sam marvels at how much he’s managing to put out. What in the hell was that?

When he returns to the table, he sheepishly explains that he must’ve not emptied himself fully. Though he’s not certain that’s the answer. His pants aren’t any wetter though, so he won’t dwell on it. Still, he feels uneasy about his experience just now. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he slaps his hands on the table. “Alright, how about some fucking karaoke!”

Two more glasses of water, a fruity drink, and two more passes at the bathroom- unhurried and perfectly normal- later Mr. Nameless returns. In his far more sober state, Sam recognizes the designated driver, Collin, as he stands behind the table. “Alright guys. I’m gonna be headed to bed in the next two hours. If you want a ride, now’s the time to speak up,” He says patiently. Sam considers his offer for a moment before waving him off. Many people, take the opportunity to split off. A few head out with Colin, but more head off in groups. Just like that, the group is down to five.

Stretching out, Kaiden slaps the table and announces that he himself is about to leave. Sam glances around at the other three people- all of whom he doesn’t know at all- and sighs. “Hold up, I’m coming with you,” Sam says, pushing his seat out. The other three seem a little disappointed, but they wave the two men off as they leave the table, pushing past full tables and a crowded dance floor as they leave. The broken facilities in the most popular bar in this area seem to have funneled more people in as the night went on.

As they approach the front, Sam’s eyes light up. There’s that red dress again! Smiling as they get closer to the entrance, Sam meets her eyes. Vibrant green eyes meet his, and he feels a shiver go down his spine. His smile falters. The look on her face is- intense to be sure. Something about it feels off. It’s a little too wide. Sam blinks and plasters that grin back on his face. It’s just nerves he figures.

As he approaches, he can’t help but notice a small glass bottle in her hand. A pale liquid fills it about a quarter of the way, but it doesn’t look like a bottle of alcohol. It’s like one of those weird vials you’d see in a D&D game brought out as a prop by the GM. He tilts his head, but still greets her with a, “Hey! Fancy seeing you here- woah!” Sam jumps, hand flying to the spot on his ass she’d slapped as she’d quickly pushed past him. “What was that- hey!” He exclaims as he feels a hair plucked from his head when she completes a circuit around him. His head whips around, frown on his face but when his eyes fall on where she should be, she’s not there.
Sam stands there, bewildered. Craning his head left and right for any sign of her he searches the crowds. She can’t have gotten far- “Hey! Dude, thought we were leaving,” Kaiden says right next to his ear. Sam jumps again, heart beating fast.

“Jesus christ! Fuckin’ hell. Yea, yea we’re going,” Sam says, still searching. Finally, he gives up. Together, he and his friend leave the bar. The night air is chilly and Sam shivers, cursing the unpredictability of Texan springs. It was 95 just two days ago! Sighing, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets- at least the spot on his boxers is mostly dry now. Just a bit cold.

Three blocks later, Kaiden peels off to head to his place, and Sam waves goodbye. It’s just him and the dark streets and the sounds of rushing cars. It’s peaceful out here. Yes, cars crowd the road on every side, and there’s the distant sound of the bars and clubs, but everything is still in this moment. Closing his eyes, Sam drinks it all in. It’s a nice wind-down for his ears.

Ten minutes later, Sam’s ears perk up. The sound of the bars and clubs are gone. The street is much quieter than it has any right to be. Despite this, there’s a sound coming behind him. A rhythmic, paced sound. Footsteps. Shrugging internally, Sam continues on his way, turning to the left down another street. The footsteps follow. They must be going the same way, though. . . something is starting to feel off. Something deep in Sam’s gut screams that something is wrong. Something is deeply wrong. Sam picks up his pace- the footsteps do as well.

Concerned, Sam quickens his pace again. The footsteps quicken as well. Glancing to the left, Sam spots another road. Taking a sharp turn, Sam starts to jog a bit. Still, the footsteps follow. The hairs on the back of his neck raise. Sam takes another left. So does the person behind him. Sam starts to sweat, he can hear the footsteps getting faster so he starts running. Another left- Sam’s facing the road they were just on again. There’s no denying it now, someone’s deliberately following him.

Panting, Sam bolts down to the left again, sprinting in the direction of his apartment complex. Glancing back to guage how far the person- Sam assumes it’s a mugger or something- is behind him, Sam screams. The red dress and green eyes are the only thing familiar about the beast behind him. The woman from the bar, surely, simply jogs behind a sprinting Sam. She keeps pace easily with long, spindly legs, bony and unsettling. She’s grown a good three feet taller, her hair longer and lank on her head. Her arms reach her knees, her fingers clawed and elongated. She’s gaunt looking, with horribly sharp teeth. Her green eyes glow, trained on him in the dark.

Sam desperately runs back home. His chest heaves with effort. He can see his apartment complex. He’s almost there! Sam skids around a corner, colliding with the wall as he races for the door. Throwing it open, he stands face-to-face with his neighbor, Josephine. “Run! There’s a monster!” Sam shouts. The little old lady startles, shouting in shock. Sam looks behind him, pushing at the elderly woman. When he looks over his shoulder there’s- nothing. Freezing, Sam pants and heaves. She was right there. He saw her. She was right there!

“Sam, dear! Are you alright? What monster are you talking about?” Josephine asks, ducking around to look past Sam’s body. “There’s nothing there sweetheart. There’s no one out here but you,” She says, looking at Sam with concern. She reaches a hand up and rubs his arm before looking back up at him. She wrinkles her nose. “Ah. Maybe you had a bit much to drink, yeah?” She says quietly. “I was headed out to take the trash to the dumpster but. . . come on, Sam. How about we get you up to yours. I can come back for it,” She says gently.

Sam shakes where he stands, blinking hard. He wasn’t drunk- not anymore anyhow. He wasn’t even tipsy at this point. She’s not wrong, though. No matter how hard he stares, nothing appears around the corner. Maybe she stopped pursuing him? Got too close for comfort to a populated place? It wouldn’t be good to kill someone this close to cameras, maybe? Nodding, Sam allows himself to be pulled along by his diminutive neighbor.

She titters at him the whole way to his place, admonishing him about staying out so late. Drinking so much. It’s his job to stay in school afterall, not drink himself to death- yadda yadda yadda. To be fair, half the time she’s seen him at night, Sam’s come home from a club, but Sam barely goes out at all. As such, Sam tunes her out, instead thinking back on all his interactions with the woman in the red dress.

She’d seemed so nice! It wouldn’t have bothered him if she’d gone into the men’s behind him- lord knows he’s interested in all women, but he can’t help but linger on the memory of her voice, her smile. Now that he’s really thinking on it, it’d stretched too wide. It made his spine crawl. Her voice had been. . . crooning and odd when she talked. Beautiful sounding, yes, but odd. Shakily pulling out his keys, Sam lets himself into his apartment, bidding Josephine goodnight as he shuts the door behind him.

Standing in the dark room, Sam lets himself breathe for a moment. He presses a hand to his chest, willing his still frantically beating heart to calm down. Maybe he did have too much to drink? It’s- monsters aren’t real. He should know this. For fuck’s sake, he’s a biology major. He should know this! There’s nothing in nature that looked like that- thing- had. He’s not had much sleep recently? Maybe that’s it? Sleep deprivation does weird things to a person.

Sighing, Sam nods to himself. Yeah. Sleep deprivation. Must be that. Straightening up, he slips off his shoes and tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter as he passes by. He knows a pretty easy way to fix that. He flops on his bed a few moments later, starfishing out. He doesn’t even bother taking off his clothes before he falls asleep- he’s far more tired than he thought, and he slips into unconsciousness easily.

Chapter 2: Reassurance

Chapter Text

As dawn creeps across the sky, sunlight begins to filter through Sam's windows. Slowly, a sunbeam crawls it's way through his room steadily closer and closer to his bed, until it lays across his face. Snuffling, Sam's nose wrinkles. His eyes clench tighter for a brief moment. Sam groans, and rolls his face into his pillow with a grunt. Awake.
Sam's eyes slowly flutter open, the sunlight streaming through the window casting a warm glow on his face. He groans softly, his body aching from the night before. He stretches, his limbs protesting, and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of his cheap little apartment, watching the dust dancing midair. The events of the previous night come back gradually, and he frowns, trying to piece together the fragments of his memories.

Alcohol. Jeffery. Colin. Kaiden. More alcohol. . . nearly pissing himself. With a whine Sam buries his face, now burning with embarrassment, into the shelter of his bedding as he curls up onto his side. The frequent trips. The woman. He stills at the memory of her.

The woman. That red dress burns in his mind. Her eyes. The hands.
Staring at the wall, Sam tries to reason with himself. Last night- she couldn't have been real. Kaiden didn't see her. Maybe it was a figment of his imagination, brought on by intoxication and post-exam sleep deprivation? Sam shakes his head, breathing deep and resolving to just forget the whole ordeal. Throwing off his blankets, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His mouth feels like cotton, and his head pounds slightly. He needs water and aspirin. Stat.

As he stands, he recognizes a strange feeling in his lower abdomen. Sam pauses, assessing the feeling. It's not quite discomfort, but rather a warmth and a faint pressure. He shrugs it off, attributing it to the aftermath of last night's drinking and the close calls, perhaps. He makes his way to the kitchen, the floor cool beneath his bare feet. Filling a glass with water from a squeaky kitchen tap, he drinks greedily. When he’s had his fill, he sets the glass gently down, rolling his aching shoulders. Shitty beds and shitty sleep- the life of a college student.

Leaning back against the counter, he takes a deep breath. It’s quiet here, the only sound the distant hum of traffic outside. It's nice when it's like this. Calm. Peaceful. Something about the morning always gets to him. Sure, it's not always great that he's naturally an early riser. Today, for example. Glancing at the microwave, Sam takes in the time. Just after 7 AM, which means Sam had a grand total of perhaps four hours of sleep- if you account for the long trek home, the panicked half hour with Josephine in his apartment, and however long it took him to drift off in the end.

Cracking his neck with a grunt, Sam pushes off the counter. At least it's the beginning of the weekend, and it's not like he has a proper job right now. As Sam wanders back to his bedroom, he strips off his shirt, tossing it into the laundry basket in the corner. With a deep sigh, he looks down at his jeans, remembering the close call from the night before with a grimace. To think, he slept in whatever remained of that. Letting it dry while he was at the bar, walking home in said dried urine, sleeping with it pressing between his body and the bed. Shuddering, he reaches for the button of his jeans and shucks both pants and undergarments off in one go. As he does so, he wrinkles his nose at the sight and smell of the dried urine stain. He tosses the jeans into the laundry basket, making a mental note to handle the laundry today. Standing in nothing but his own skin, he bends forwards, stretching out his back, his body protesting a little less this time. He glances at his bed, considering going back to sleep, but the strange warmth in his lower abdomen persists, making him slightly uncomfortable.

Frowning slightly, Sam focuses on the feeling. Really focuses. Then the discomfort comes rushing at him all at once, and Sam is hissing and hurrying to the bathroom to relieve his bladder. He laughs a little once the deed is done, feeling silly. He's not sure why he didn't immediately recognize the feeling, but at least it's not a repeat of last night.

Turning around, he turns the shower on. Letting it heat up while he grabs a towel and some clothes, Sam starts planning his day. Laundry, shopping, homework, and maybe a walk around the campus park or something in between some of that? As Sam steps into the shower, the hot water cascades over his body, washing away the remnants of the previous night. He closes his eyes, letting the steam envelop him, the warmth soothing his aching muscles. He takes his time, scrubbing himself clean, the scent of his body wash filling the air. As he washes, he can't shake off the lingering unease from the night before.

A little over half an hour later, Sam emerges from his apartment, laundry basket in tow. As Sam makes his way to the shared laundry room in the basement of his apartment building, he can't shake the feeling of being watched. He glances over his shoulder, scanning the empty hallway behind him, but sees no one. Shaking his head, he attributes the sensation to his lingering unease from the previous night and continues on his way.

The laundry room is quiet and empty at this early hour, the hum of the machines the only thing keeping the silence at bay. With a sigh, he digs around in his pockets for his quarters and feeds the machine it's feast of hard-earned money. As he lifts up on one of his floor-to-machine trips, he glances at one of the shiny nobs on the dryer next to it. Red. With a sharp intake of breath, Sam whips around.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Heart beating hard in his chest, Sam glances back at the reflective metal. It's clear now. It was just a trick of the light, a reflection of something red outside the window, perhaps. A car. It has to be a car. Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam takes a few deep breaths, and turns back to the washing machine. As he sits in one of the plastic chairs nearby, he pulls out his phone.

Chewing on his fingernail, Sam scrolls through his Instagram. There's plenty of posts from his friends last night. Picture of the drinking contest between him and Jeffery. Jeffery getting dragged out by Collin. Sam's ears burn as he recognizes his own hunched form in the picture taken on the way between bars. He swipes to the next photo. Eyes widening, he freezes as his blood turns to ice in his veins. A woman in red stands in the distance in one of the photos. She's blurry and obscured by a stray sapling along the side of the road, but Sam's sure. It's her. Sam takes a shaky breath and blows it slowly out.

Suddenly, he's on a mission, digging through the galleries of the other people he was with last night- he doesn't even mind that they're all ruining their internet footprint at this point- searching for any sign of the woman in the background. His heart pounds as he scrolls through the photos, hunched over his phone as he swipes through the posts of his friends. He enlarges each photo, scrutinizing the background, searching for any sign of the woman in the red dress. Zooming in on every spot of red- a car, a hydrant, a blonde chick obviously flirting with an oblivious guy at the bar. He finds nothing for a long time, his anxiety growing with each swipe. He's about to give up when he sees it—a glimpse of something red in the corner of a photo taken by Kaiden.

She's just as blurry as she was in the first one. It's just as dark. It's from their walk back from the bar. The caption reads 'Think Sam had a little too much, lol. Said he'd seen a hot chick. Any ladies seen this hunk last night?' Sam's in the center of the shot, walking down the street, head tilted to look at the sky. Light rains down on him from the streetlights above. If Sam wasn't so panicked, he'd have posted a comment about the artistry of the shot being entirely unlike his friend and how the alcohol somehow made a better improvement to his photography than it did to his singing.

No, Sam was more focused on her. The more he stares, the more he knows deep in his gut that it's her in that alley. The more he knows that she's staring right at him in that picture, her eyes faintly glowing. As Sam stares at the photo, his heart pounding in his chest, the laundry room begins to feel claustrophobic. The hum of the machines seems to grow louder, the air thicker. He needs to get out of here. He needs to clear his head. He stands abruptly, the plastic chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. He paces back and forth, his mind racing.

He needs to talk to someone. Long strides carry him out of the laundry room faster than he would normally walk down the hall, and Sam stares straight ahead as he goes through his contacts in his mind. Mom? No, she's always too busy. D- nope. Kaiden? Might laugh it off. Maybe the police? Sam pauses on that thought. Should- should he report this as stalking?

He's struck with flashes of the end of last night. Long limbs, glowing eyes, a too-wide smile. Sam shudders violently. No, not the police. They'd never believe him. Collin? Sam considers this option seriously. Collin is level-headed and always willing to lend an ear.
He's not one to judge, and he might be able to provide some insight or at least reassure Sam that he's not losing his mind. Making up his mind, Sam quickly dials Collin's number and presses the phone to his ear, his heart still beating rapidly in his chest.

One ring. Two. By the time he hits four, Sam's starting to consider just hanging up. It's too early in the morning, and Collin would've been up pretty late last night- then Collin's groggy voice comes across his phone's speakers. "Mmmph, what?" The other man groans out.

Sam lets out a sigh of relief at the sound of Collin's voice. "Hey, Collin, it's Sam. Sorry to wake you so early, man, but I really need to talk to someone."

There's a pause on the other end, followed by the rustling of sheets. Collin's voice comes back, more alert this time. "Sam? What's up? You okay?"

"Yes? No? I-I'm not really sure," Sam admits. "I'm a little scared. Something happened last night. It's gonna sound weird. Like, really weird. Really, really weird. It's really shaken me up though." His voice trails off at the end, uncertainty creeping into it.

Sam hears more rustling on the other end of the line, and then Collin's voice comes through clearer, awake. "Sam, you can tell me anything, man. You know that. What happened last night?"

Sam takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts and organize the events of the previous night in a way that doesn't sound completely insane. "So, you know how we were all out drinking last night, right?"

A snort comes through the phone, then a long-suffering groan. "Oh, yeah. I remember alright. Jeffery puked in my car. Took me way too long to get that scraped off. Still need to go clean it," Collin says distractedly.

Sam grimaces at the thought of it, but presses on. "Yeah, well, something happened to me after you left. I... I think I'm being stalked, Collin."

There's a pause on the other end. "Stalked? By who? What do you mean?" Collin asks, his voice taking on a serious tone.

Sam takes a deep breath before continuing. "Well, there was this woman at the bar last night." He swallows briefly before continuing, "I- I first saw her while I was in line for the bathroom. From the back. She was beautiful. Red dress, long hair. Just breathtaking,"
Sam sighs. He hearts a grunt across the phone. "Right- after you left the men’s kinda went full-on Ol' Faithful. So I come back from the line and she's like, gone. Weird, but not creepy. Not- not yet anyways," Sam says quietly.
Sam turns on his heel, pacing. "Then we were hopping between the bars cause- well, bathroom's out. Girls didn't want to stay, ya know?" He continues, omitting the part about his own urgency. "And along the way, I bump into her- or, the more I think about it, she bumps into me. I was right, she was beautiful. Gorgeous. God, you should've seen her lips, her eyes," Sam says, eyes glazing over for a brief second as his voice becomes a bit wistful. Collin hums with clear amusement across the phone.

Sam grunts, frowning. What the hell? Not willing to dwell on the strangely fuzzy feeling in his head slowly creeping in, he continues, "And I was gonna offer her a chance to like, join us- but when I turn around she's fucking vanished. Like, she was there, and then she vanished. That- that was the first weird thing. Really weird," Sam stresses.

Collin is quiet for a moment. "That is weird, but it could just be a coincidence, right? Maybe she realized she was going the wrong way or something."

Sam shakes his head, even though Collin can't see him. "No, man, it gets worse!” Sam closes his eyes for a moment, bracing. "Like, I'd seen her right when we started walking home. Up close again. She-" A faint blush dusts Sam's cheeks as he admits quietly, "She smacked my ass." The fuzziness briefly creeps in again, and Sam shakes his head hard as Collin cackles down the line. Sam grits his teeth, trying to ignore the laughter coming from the other end of the line. "Dude, it's not funny. It was fucking terrifying. She plucked a hair from my head and then just... vanished. Again! And then—" Sam pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing, "And then on my way back, I swear to god, Collin, she was following me. But she wasn't... she wasn't normal."

Collin's laughter fades as he picks up on the genuine fear in Sam's voice. "Not normal? What do you mean, Sam?"

Sam takes a deep breath, trying to find the words to describe the monstrous figure that had chased him. "She was... tall. Too tall. And her arms, they were long and bony, and her fingers were like claws. Her eyes, man, they glowed." Voice beginning to shake, Sam whispers frantically, "She- she fucking chased me dude. Like, full on sprint- well, jogging. I was sprinting. She was jogging- and- oh god, Collin," Sam says with a haunted expression. "Collin, she was gaining. She was fucking gaining on me. And she was jogging. I was so fucking scared," Sam whispers out rapidly.

“Hey- hey, calm down. You see shit when you're drunk. And I know just how late you've been up this week. Don't deny it, you're discord gives you away dumbass," Collin chides. "Someone coulda slipped you something anyways. Pretty uncommon, but guys get roofied too, and-“

As he interrupts, Sam nearly shouts, "No, Collin, listen! I saw her again this morning. In photos from last night. She was there, in the background, watching me. And... and I think I saw her reflection in the laundry room just now." Sam's voice is urgent, pleading for Collin to understand the gravity of the situation. Collin is silent for a moment, the weight of Sam's words sinking in.

When he speaks again, his voice is serious, all traces of amusement gone. "Sam, I'm not going to. . . entirely discredit what you've seen. You may very well have seen- something," he says haltingly. Sam opens his mouth to interject again, but Collin continues. "If she's in photos, she very well might have been following you. Admittedly, many people live down by your place- Ey! Let me finish," Colin says sternly.

Grimacing, Sam sets his jaw with a frustrated sigh. After a pause, Collin continues. "Even if she was, though. If you were really being followed, than that- Jesus." There's a sigh and a pause, "That monstrous description you gave- that's just some supernatural sounding shit. Monsters don't exist. You know this Sam. You're in-"

"Biology, yeah," Sam grinds out through gritted teeth.

Collin sighs, "Look, I'm not saying you're crazy, Sam. But I think you need to consider that maybe, just maybe, you're mistaking something else for this... woman. Maybe it was just a really vivid dream, or maybe you're just really stressed out and your mind is playing tricks on you."

Sam runs a hand through his hair, frustration and fear warring within him. "I know how it sounds, Collin." Sam's voice is tense, his grip on the phone tightening. "I know it sounds insane, but I swear to you, I'm not making this up. I saw what I saw, and I felt what I felt. That thing, whatever it was, was real, and it was after me."

Collin sighs on the other end of the line, the sound of rustling sheets indicating he's getting out of bed. "Alright, Sam." There's a little more shuffling as he says, "I'm not going to say I entirely believe you, but I believe you're scared. I know that. I can hear it. It's going to be OK. Why don't we go out and do something, yeah? You got shit to do? Groceries or something?" He says soothingly.

Sam takes a deep breath. "Yeah," Sam says, his voice still a bit shaky. "I was planning on going to the store today. I need to restock the fridge."

"Great," Collin replies, his voice reassuring. "How about I meet you there?"

Sam nods, pauses, and realizes Collin can't see that. "Yeah, that sounds good," Sam says, his voice steadier now. "Heading to the Walmart on Deacon. Just gotta wait for the laundry to be ready for a switch to the dryer."
"No problem, man. That's what friends are for. See you in a bit," Collin replies before hanging up.

Standing in the hallway, phone in his hand, Sam breathes a bit easier. The feeling of eyes on his back aren't gone, but he can focus again. His steps echo in the hallway as he makes his way back to the laundry room. The machines hum steadily, their rhythm almost comforting. He takes a seat in the plastic chair again, his mind a little quieter now.

Later, Sam finds himself steadfastly ignoring the paranoia as he walks to his bus stop. The cool spring air helps in that regard. The streets are bustling with weekend activity, the sound of cars and chatter filling the air. He keeps his eyes forward, yet every so often, he can't help but glance over his shoulder, scanning the crowd for any sign of the woman in the red dress. He sees nothing. As Sam waits at the bus stop, he taps his foot nervously, his eyes darting around, taking in every detail of his surroundings. The sun casts long shadows that seem to dance and shift with every passing car. He clutches the strap of his messenger bag tightly, his knuckles turning white with the effort. The bus pulls up with a hiss of brakes, and Sam quickly boards, finding a seat by the window. Digging into his pocket, he pops in an earbud. Leaning back, he observes the same old ads that have sat on the inside curves of the bus for the past three years. By the time he's at the store, he could almost pretend last night was a dream. He really could. Maybe.

A brief glance around the lot, over the people bustling to and fro with carts, children, and the occasional one person trying to haul far too many bags by hand, reassures him. He crosses the street- gets honked at as per usual- and surveys the cars. He spots Collin's parked near the entrance and heads towards it, his steps steady and sure.

As Sam approaches Collin's car, he sees the taller man leaning against the driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest. Collin looks up as Sam nears, a small smile on his lips. "Hey, man," he greets, pushing off from the car. "You alright?"

Sam nods, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just... spooked, I guess?"

Collin claps Sam on the back, giving him a reassuring smile. "Well, let's get this show on the road! What’d ya need to pick up?"

Sam pulls out his phone, opening the notes app where he's jotted down his grocery list. "Just the usual stuff. Bread, milk, eggs, some veggies. Oh, and I need to grab some detergent for my laundry." He sniffs briefly, smiling a little. "Maybe some of those frozen cookie dough things if we find any easter egg ones," He says quietly. Collin snorts behind him, and Sam can't resist the urge to throw his elbow back behind him to catch his friend in the stomach.

As they enter the store, the automatic doors slide open with a quiet whoosh, revealing the brightly lit aisles filled with weekend shoppers. Sam grabs a basket, Collin close behind, and they begin to navigate the familiar terrain. It’s simple, but it’s grounding, a definite contrast to the surreal events of the previous night. He barely even feels the need to glance around for the woman in red again, but still- he sees nothing, and he nods briefly.

As Sam and Collin make their way through the store, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, Sam begins to relax. They chat casually as they walk, Collin teasing Sam about his preference for whole wheat bread over white, and Sam rolling his eyes at Collin's insistence on buying organic vegetables.

"They still spray pesticides," Sam grumbles.

"Ah, but less pesticides than the normal stuff," Collin says cheerily.

Sam rolls his eyes. "And all of it still has microplastics. I'm telling you, it's not worth the price hike," He complains- even as he shoves a few of them into his basket.

As they continue shopping, Sam's anxiety begins to dissipate, replaced by the comfortable rhythm of their usual banter. They round a corner, heading towards the milk, when Collin suddenly stops in his tracks. Sam, caught off guard, stumbles a bit before turning to look at his friend. "What's up?" he asks, concern etched on his face.

Collin's silent. For long enough that the paranoia starts to creep inti Sam's mind once more. Then Collin turns with a wide grin. "Easter egg cookies!" He says with a cackle. As Collin laughs, Sam can't help but roll his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. "You asshole," he mutters, punching Collin lightly on the arm. "I thought you saw something."

Collin chuckles, rubbing his arm. "Nah, man. Just saw your ‘holy grail’ of spring treats." He grabs a pack of the colorful egg-designed cookie dough and tosses it into Sam's basket. Still smiling, Collin teases, "I still can't believe you like this shit."

Sam stares at him, expressionless. "You like Jesus cookies. That's what I can't believe. How dare you enjoy those fucking things."

Collin's face becomes the perfect picture of offended. He scoffs. "How dare you!" Collin glances back at the basket. He glances up at Sam. The two stare each other down.

Sam and Collin are then suddenly grappling for the cookies- "I grab you the shitty designed cookies and you insult Jesus cookies?!" Collin cries, humor tinging his voice.

"Fuck off! The icing is the only good part of those things, and you know it!" Sam grunts, grabbing at the package, only for Collin to hold it out of reach.

"Free cookies are free cookies!" Collin insists.

Sam points at him accusingly, "So you admit it! You only like the cookies because they're free!"

Collin sputters.

Later, Sam will admit that the simple task of grocery shopping, combined with Collin's reassuring presence, helps to ground him and push away the lingering unease from the previous night. He'll hold that memory in his heart and cherish it. For now though, he grunts as he hefts his heavy basket onto the checkout counter. They continue to joke around with each other as the cashier rings up Sam's groceries, an exasperated look on his face. Here in a bustling Walmart filled with crying children and the beeping from six separate open lanes, Sam finds himself laughing genuinely for the first time since the previous night. As they exit the store, the sun is high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the parking lot. When they climb into Collin's car, he sees nothing but his own reflection, and he smiles.

As Collin starts the car, Sam leans back in the passenger seat, the tension in his body slowly unwinding. The radio plays softly in the background, filling the silence with a familiar tune. Maybe he’ll head to the park like he planned after he gets his shit put away.
Collin pulls out of the parking lot, merging smoothly into the steady flow of traffic. Sam watches the world pass by through the window, the trees lining the street just barely beginning to bud. Collin drops him off along the busy road in front of Sam's apartment complex. Dashing from the car, Sam waves at Collin's car as it speeds away- honked at by other drivers. Closing his eyes, Sam takes a deep breath in. He opens his eyes, and there she is.

Standing across the street, her red dress standing out sharply against the foliage behind her, is the wom- the monster from the bar. The monster in a woman's form. Sam's heart leaps into his throat, his previous sense of calm evaporating in an instant. He grips the grocery bags tightly, his knuckles turning white, as he stares at her. She's not doing anything, just standing there, her green eyes fixed on him. A bus blocks his view of her for just a moment, and then she's gone. Just- gone. Again. Sam stands rooted to the spot, his heart pounding in his chest. The grocery bags suddenly feel heavier, and his palms grow sweaty around the plastic handles. He blinks, scanning the street frantically, but there's no sign of the woman in the red dress. She has vanished as abruptly as she appeared. A chill runs down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Taking shallow breaths, Sam turns. He hurries to his apartment, barely stopping to greet Josephine on his way. The elderly woman watches him with concern, but Sam can't stop, he just can't. He locks himself in his apartment, and stares at the door for a long time, as if she'll try to come bursting through.

Sam doesn't go to the park that day.

Chapter 3: A Beginning

Chapter Text

A dimly lit hallway, peeling wallpaper and thick dust heavy in the room, stretches out in a seemingly endless stretch before Sam. For a brief moment, he’s confused. He doesn’t remember going anywhere. He was just at his desk, studying. Wasn’t he? Wait, no. Now that he thinks about it he remembers- walking up to the building. Leaving his house. Maybe? It’s fuzzy, and the more he tries to think on it, the less important it all seems to him.

Sam blinks slowly, and then shakes his head, dislodging the confusing thoughts. Glancing first right, then left, then right again, Sam chooses a path. His feet make no sound as he walks down the carpeted hall, the scent of dust and mold particularly strong here. Sneezing, Sam cringes at the way the sound echoes. Passing a door, Sam curiously reaches out to try the handle. It rattles softly as he gives it a turn, refusing to open. Huffing, Sam turns back, and keeps walking.

The overhead lights flicker, emitting a soft buzz once he focuses on them, breaking the oppressive silence. The longer he walks, the longer the hallway seems to become. The longer it becomes, the more eerie it feels. Shuddering at the feeling of the air cooling, Sam glances warily behind him. Is he being watched?

He may feel relief to see nothing, but that doesn’t change the way the shadows seem to darken, and dance with a life all their own. Rubbing his arms to ward off the chill, Sam quickens his pace. Maybe if he speeds up, he’ll find the end?

As he progresses, he tries another door. Another. Another. Ten doors in, Sam gives up on trying the doors- they’re all probably locked anyways. So, so many locked doors in this infinitely long hallway. Sam grimaces, unease creeping in. Turning around, he walks the other direction. Glancing at the doors, he looks for any numbers, any sign of his progression. Finding nothing, he lets out a shaky breath. It fogs as it comes out, and he shivers again.

Once again, the hallway goes on for forever. A never-ending hallway of doors, and doors, and even more doors all as equally locked as one another. Looking warily around again, Sam wonders again just exactly how he got here, and where here even is. It’s just about then that he hears it.

A drip. Slow, but persistent. The dripping coming from seemingly nowhere is soft, but loud in the heavy silence. Sam stops, listening intently. It continues, echoing slightly down the hallway in a steady interval. Looking around, he tries to pinpoint the direction it’s coming from, but just ends up more confused. Everywhere, but nowhere at the same time. A disembodied drip of some sort. Breathing out a slow roll of foggy air, Sam turns slowly back the way he’d been going, and walks on.

As he walks, his senses drift to his own body. The way the cold seems to blanket him, covering his skin in an icy blanket. His skin has raised into goosebumps now that he’s focusing on it. Despite the chill though, his abdomen has begun to feel warm. Not hot, not uncomfortable. Just warm.

His focus is broken by a shift in the sound. No longer is it everywhere. Instead, Sam can hear it in front of him. Distantly now, as if calling for him to follow it to it’s source. Without thinking, Sam follows.

Ahead, the hallway curves, and Sam’s eyes widen fractionally at the sight of this new change. Striding a little faster down the hall, he rounds the corner and finds himself facing a dead end, a single door standing ominously at the far wall. The sound of dripping water comes from within whatever room stands before him. Sam hesitates, his heart beating harder in his chest. He takes a deep breath and reaches for the doorknob. He turns it. The door creaks as he slowly pushes it open. White.

Blinking rapidly, Sam looks around in confusion as he finds himself in a new hallway. Off-color white walls and linoleum floor below. The sound of chatter and lockers slamming assaults him all at once, a stark contrast to that silent hall from before. A body bumps into him roughly, and he glances up to see who’s knocked themselves into him. Their face is inconsequential, Sam decides. It’s not worth focusing on. His eyes slide off the surface as he instead looks around where he’s at now. It’s familiar somehow. . .

“Oh!” Sam breathes as it finally clicks. He’s in high school! It’s his first day of- of- what grade was he in again? As he looks down in thought, he catches a glimpse of a lanyard around his neck. It’s his senior year! Smiling to himself, Sam glances around at the hall. His senior year. He’s almost done with all this stuff. Soon he’ll be off to college. Maybe he’ll go into something medical based? He always liked his- the bell ring out over the speakers, loud and shrill. Oh shit! He’s going to be late!

Breaking into a run, Sam clutches the strap of a backpack that wasn’t there moments ago as he rushes down the hall. His sneakers squeak against the linoleum as he dashes down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. He’s heard that Mrs. Harper was a strict teacher. The worst in the whole school. This just can’t be happening to him on his first day! He’s never been late before! Distantly, he hears a voice yell, “Walk, don’t run!” He ignores it, skidding around a corner. His class is in sight now. The second bell rings. Fuck.

He blinks, and standing by the door is a strict, no-nonsense older lady. Mrs. Harper looks at him, an eyebrow raised as she crosses her arms. Sam comes to a sudden halt in front of her, panting heavily.

“Samuel,” she says slowly, disdain clear in her voice.

“Mrs. Harper,” Sam says through gulps of air, bent slightly as he catches his breath.

“You’re late,” she drawls, looking down at him over her nose. Her stern gaze bores into him. Under her scrutiny, he feels small. Distantly he notes that the warmth in his abdomen has grown a bit more, but he pays it no mind.

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Harper,” Sam says as his breathing slowly returns to normal. “I lost track of time, and the parking lot-“

She tuts sharply. “Tardiness is unacceptable, no matter the reason. Entirely too immature for your age, Samuel. Go find a seat,” She orders. With a meek nod, Sam shuffles past Mrs. Harper, feeling her disapproving gaze bore into his back.

Glancing around, he realizes there’s only one seat left, right in the middle of the room. As he walks past his classmates, barely sparing them a glance and not even registering their faces or the color of their clothes, the hears them whisper amongst themselves. Their eyes follow him as he makes his way to his desk, and he can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. He’s never liked being the center of attention.

Between one second and the next, class is in full swing. Mrs. Harper is going through the syllabus in record speed. Weirdly enough, it looks like they’re studying history, and then physics, and biology next week? Shrugging, Sam attributes it to an eccentric teacher. The class is quiet except for Mrs. Harper’s droning voice- and the drip. It’s quiet, almost unnoticeable, but Sam can hear it if he focuses enough. It’s sped up now. He’d say it has an insistent sort of tone, if a drip could have a tone. His attention snaps back to the board as Mrs. Harper dives straight into the first topic. Why hippos are amazing. As he pulls out his pens and notebook, Sam shifts. A pressure has begun to rise along his pelvis.

Mrs. Harper calls on a student up front for an answer, and Sam’s attention snaps back to the front, not wanting to miss anything in case he gets called next. Their words are almost indecipherable, but he hears something about watermelons. Jotting down information on how cute baby hippos are, Sam finds himself swept along by the flow of the lesson.

It’s not too long before his attention slips again, though. The dripping sound grows more persistent, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. It’s always there now, in the back of his mind. He can’t seem to tune it out entirely. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus again.

The sound, though is increasingly distracting. His leg bounces up and down as he reads over how Big Bird’s favorite animal is the hippo, and therefore the hippo must be child-friendly. Strange, but somehow adorable. Frowning, Sam realizes that it’s also not true. Shrugging, he still writes it down. Even if it’s not true, it’ll be the answer she wants on any quiz or test they take over the material, he supposes.

She switches to the next slide, and starts up a video. She turns off the lights beforehand, and Sam can’t help but focus again on the drip. It’s constantly in his mind now. He can’t help but be focused on both it and the video. It’s faster too, the spaces between drips are nearly gone. The hippos on screen swim through the brown water in a herd. A close up view of an open mouth with blunt teeth. An adorable hippo. The water splashes as they submerge themselves. Sam shifts again, his mind getting pulled in two directions. The pressure in his abdomen registers again. It’s greater now. It, too, has become unavoidable to him. Shifting once more, Sam tries to focus on the screen. Water rushing past a camera. The view of a hippo walking on the riverbed.

It feels like forever, but soon the video is over. Suddenly, they’re no longer talking about hippos. It’s geography, somehow. What country is here? what state is this city in? Sam can’t be bothered to focus on it, because the drip is no longer a drip. The sound of water trickling freely into another body of water drones on in the background, and Sam can’t stop listening to it. His abdomen feels warm and heavy. Something feels strained. It feels familiar. If only he could put his finger on it-

Sam’s thoughts are scattered to the wind as a paper is slapped onto his desk. A pop quiz?! It’s the first day, why would there be a pop quiz? His palms go sweaty, and he shifts again as he sits up straighter to look at the paper. His legs fan a bit as he glances at Mrs. Harper. She looks right at him with an expectant expression on her face. Looking back down at the paper, Sam sighs. He begins to read.

It starts with simple geography questions. Where is this city located? What is this land feature called? What mountain range is this? Slowly, though, the questions morph into something decidedly more water-based. Sam squirms in his seat, the pressure in his lower abdomen growing more insistent as he reads the questions. The trickle of water grows into a strong stream.

What percentage of the world is made of water? Which river is the longest in the world? What is the volume of water in the Pacific Ocean? How many gallons of water flow over Niagara Falls in a second? The sound of water in the background becomes louder- urgent. The pressure within him seems to morph to match the urgency of the sound. It aches. Brows creasing, Sam wonders what that pressure even is. He presses his legs together under his desk. He focuses back onto the paper. The next question stares up at him innocently. How much urine can the human bladder hold?

All at once, Sam’s brain registers the pressure, the warmth, the fullness in his abdomen. With a sharp inhale, Sam’s eyes go wide. His legs press tightly together, and he go ramrod straight in his seat. His bladder throbs angrily in his pelvis, thrumming with an urgency he’s not felt in years. Hunching, Sam buries a hand in his crotch. His other hand shoots up in the air as his eyes snap to Mrs. Harper, whose glare is trained on him. She sneers at him, at the sight of his desperate posture.

Sam’s heart thrums fast in his chest as he squirms in his seat, the pressure growing more intense by the second. The sound of water grows to a thick stream, loud and intense, seeming to mock his situation. He pleads with Mrs. Harper using his eyes, but she seems to be deliberately ignoring him. Her eyes slide off him as she scans the room instead, dismissing his frantic gesture. Lips pressing tightly together, Sam waves his hand in the air, body squirming and shifting as he clutches himself with his other hand. The movement draws the gaze of a few curious students. A few huff a soundless laugh at him.

The pressure in his bladder seems to grow worse and worse as he waits on her to acknowledge him. No matter what position he tries, nothing seems to alleviate the growing urgency. The sound of water becomes a noisy splash, invading his thoughts until it and the need the pee are the only things he can think about. “Mrs. Harper!” He calls out. Most of the class turns to him at this small outburst. He hears a few students snicker over the sound of- now rushing- water. He can barely hear them whispering amongst themselves.

He can barely hear his teacher huff as she finally meets his eyes. Her stern gaze gives him a once over, and she rolls her eyes. “What is it, Samuel?” she asks, her voice laden with impatience.

“I-I need to go to the bathroom,” He stammers. His face burns with the humiliation of the situation, and he lets out an indiscernible whimper as a wave of need rocks through him. His other hand joins the first in his lap.

Mrs. Harper scoffs. “The nerve of this young man! First you’re late to class, and now you’re looking for an excuse out of it?” She sneers.

Whole body squirming and twisting, legs bouncing as his bladder throbs hard, Sam insists, “It’s an emergency!”

Mrs. Harper shakes her head. “You should have gone before class. You’re what, 18 now? You’re an adult young man. You should be able to hold something as inconsequential as a little pee,” she decrees. Pointing a- are those claws- finger at his desk, she barks, “Finish your quiz!”

Sam’s eyes water as he turns his attention back to the paper before him. The pressure in his bladder is almost unbearable now, the need burning like a wildfire. He bounces up and down in his seat as he squeezes himself tightly. Every movement he makes seems to make it worse. The sound of rushing water drowns out his thoughts, taunting him. The sound of snickers and laughs filter in from the class. “Oh my god, are you gonna piss yourself?” “Are you even potty trained?” “Is someone gonna go piddle in their pants?” He hears his classmates mock.

The sound of water grows to a roar, the sound coming to originate before him all at once. Eyes snapping up, he finds that the whiteboard is gone. In it’s place is a waterfall, rushing, splashing, and roaring as water hits water. He can’t stop staring. He can’t stop listening. He has to go. He has to go! Right now! Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam sobs out, “Mrs. Harper, please! I’m gonna have an accident!” Tears fill his eyes, and he feels liquid along his eyelashes as he feels his bladder clench hard. Urine creeps along the length of his penis, and he teeters on the edge of a precipice he never wanted to be on in the first place.

His plea falls on deaf ears as Mrs. Harper just continues her lecture from where she’d left off initially. The waterfall steals all his attention, and Sam stares at it, wild desperation in his gaze. He whimpers as he feels his control begin to falter. The first warm trickle seeps out of him, bleeding into his briefs.

Breath on his ear. A hand on his shoulder, large and feminine. “Uh-oh! Is someone about to have an accident?” Comes a dangerously familiar voice. Sam’s eyes snap open as another small leak trickles out. Wetness spreads to his jeans. He turns his head. Red.

Sam snaps awake with a gasp, his bladder screaming desperately. Scrambling to escape his sheets, he shoves a a hand into his crotch- there’s a small wet spot on his pajama pants. He whimpers as he feels a dribble escape, his bladder quivering dangerously in the cradle of his hips. He dashes from his bed, throwing a second hand into his crotch as he sqeezes himself as hard as he dares. He stumbles as he bolts towards the bathroom, a sob escaping him. The remnants of his dream cling to him like a second skin, the echo of the water fall following him the whole way.

He bursts through the door, not even bothering to tun on the light as he practically throws himself at the toilet. Fumbling with his pants, Sam gasps as he feels a leak streak down his leg. Turning, he slams himself down onto the seat, too far gone to attempt aiming. Relief overcomes his higher thinking as a thick stream hits the water below. It seems to go on for forever.

Panting hard, Sam slumps back against the toilet. Bringing his hands up to his face, he presses his palms to his closed eyes for a moment before grimacing at the feeling of wetness on them. They drop to his sides and he blinks into the darkness of his little bathroom. His lips quiver. He hasn’t wet the bed. Ever. Never in his life. His body always wakes him up when he needs to go. Always!

The dream was so vivid, so real. Sam could even believe that he’s still dreaming. He bites his lip, sighing when he feels the sharp pain. He swears he can still hear the waterfall, even as his bladder steadily deflates. He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut. He made it, and that’s all that matters.

The last of his bladder trickles into the bowl below, and Sam grimaces as he prepares to deal with the aftermath. With a deep breath he pushes the memories away, and himself off the seat. He flushes, and turns on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness. He glances down at the pajamas around his ankles. Shoving them, as well as his boxers off, the holds them up to examine with a grimace. A dark spot spreads across his groin, across his hip, and down the inside of one of the legs. He holds up the boxers. The crotch is soaked.

He tosses them in the empty laundry basket before he sets about cleaning himself up with a washcloth. His brows furrow. That was a close call. Maybe he did some damage at the bar? It might explain the frequent trips afterwards.

Washing his hands, Sam avoids his reflection in the mirror. He’d rather not see the mess he’d made of himself. Turning off the light, he steps back into his room. The memory of the- well, he’d consider that more of a nightmare than a dream- creeps back in, but it’s already lost some details. He remembers turning at the end. A voice. What did he see? He can’t remember. It feels important, though.

Sighing, he rubs his hands over his burning face. At least no one was here to witness that. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he grabs his phone and turns it on. Groaning, he drops it again. 3 AM. With both hands, he blindly feels around the part of the bed he slept on. He sighs with relief as he finds it to be dry. At least there’s no need for a new mattress.

Sliding back into the covers, Sam stares into the darkness of his room. His heart calms as he lays there, the quiet of his room enveloping him like an old blanket. He takes deep breaths, trying to shake off the lingering unease from his dream. He’s still keenly aware of his bladder, even as empty as it is.

Rolling onto his side, he sighs. Maybe he’d just had too much water before bed? It’s not entirely too uncommon to have water-related or toilet-related dreams when asleep with a full bladder. It may be his first time with such an occurrence, but maybe it’s just the way his brain decided to process the feeling this time. Closing his eyes, he pushes the thoughts from his mind. He’s fine now. He may have- well, he wouldn’t call it wetting himself. He. . . leaked, but he’s fine. The bed is fine. He might have to do laundry earlier this week, but it’s all fine.

With these reassurances, he coaxes himself back into that hazy space between awake and asleep. His breathing deepens, his body relaxes. Once more, he falls asleep- the darkness of his room pierced by a passing car for a moment. The shadows it casts are long, and dancing, and ever so vaguely human.

Chapter 4: The Farmgirl

Chapter Text

The next morning finds Sam leaning against his kitchen counter, watching TV as he munches on a bowl of Lucky Charms (he’s an adult goddamn it, he’s allowed to buy all the sugary shit he wants- suck it mom!) He slept in late, but that’s ok. It’s Sunday. It’s not like he was really going to do anything. Maybe talk a walk in the park- he’d meant to yesterday anyways before- he takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. Some green and a good breeze might do him some good. Clear his mind. Shake off this damn paranoia.

Setting his bowl in the sink, he shuffles over to the ratty, sagging couch in front of the TV. He flips through the channels again, switching off the documentary about- what? Bird mating? All he knows is David Attenborough was narrating. He eventually gives up, letting the TV settle on some reality TV show as he tosses the remote to the side. Huffing, he leans back on the couch.

His unfocused mind drifts back to the memories of the past few days. Yesterday, mostly. And last night. The dream is. . . fuzzy now. He can’t quite remember the end, but he vividly remembers the result. Groaning, he rubs his palms into his eyes. And that fucking lady. She appeared and then she wasn’t there and it’s fucking creepy and- Sam lets out a slow, shaky breath. It’s fine. Completely fine. Definitely.

Maybe Collin’s right. Maybe it’s a stress-induced hallucination or some shit. Maybe he was drugged at the party, and his brain is just picking up on the scariest shit of the week and it’s running with it. Maybe some- oils? Probably not acid. Though, to be fair, he’s never actually had acid.

Sam snorts, taking his hands off his eyes. Maybe he just needs some air. Sun. Stare at some grass, or maybe even touch it. He’s been cooped up enough over the past two weeks anyways. He grunts slightly as he reaches over for the remote, stretching out so he doesn’t have to move his ass off his spot. He switches the TV off and stands. He shuffles off to get dressed.

Clad in a comfortable hoodie and a pair of jeans, he steps out of his apartment. He’s going to have a good day. He has to. For his own fucking sanity.

He hears the door across from his open with a creak, and Sam smiles. He turns, grin widening as he greets his neighbor, “Good morning, Josephine!” The little old lady is trying to haul a bag of trash out of her apartment- trying being the key word. Whatever it is, is heavy and large, and Josie can’t seem to manage to lift it off the ground by more than an inch.

With great effort, she huffs out, “Morning, Samuel. You’re up late today.” She grunts as she tries to lift the bag higher. Sam darts forwards.

He takes the bag from her, still smiling. “Here, let me help you with that.”

She smiles up at him warmly. “Oh, such a nice young man,” She praises, eyes nearly shutting with the smile that stretches across her face. Sam ducks his head to hide the pleased flush on his face at the words. He follows her down the hallway as she shuffles forwards.

“. . .How’s your morning been?” He asks slowly, trying to make conversation with the elderly woman. It’s too damn quiet in the hallways on Sunday.

Josephine sighs softly, “Oh, you know, the usual aches and pains. But I can’t complain.”

Sam nods, unsure how to really answer. That’s OK though. They fall into a comfortable silence until they reach the trash shoot. Sam grunts as he hefts the bag (really, what’s in this damn thing?) and shoves it through the shoot. It almost doesn’t fit. He turns to Josephine, finding her smiling at him again. “Thank you, Sam. You’re such a kind young man,” She says.

Sam smiles back at her, waving his hand. “Oh, it’s no problem. I’m always happy to help.” And that he is. Sometimes he worries for her.

She shakes her head, still smiling. “Oh, I should get you something for your help,” She says serenely.

Sam gives her a small laugh. “No, I’m fine-“

“Oh, don’t give me that! I insist!” She titters back at him. “Hm, how about. . .ah, yes! Cookies! I can make you a fresh batch for tonight, yes?”

Sam, mouth open to protest, pauses. Food? Free food?? “Ok.”

Her smile grows just a bit bigger as she reaches up to pat his arm. “Cookies it is, then. I hope you don’t mind chocolate chip?” Fuck yeah!! FREE FUCKING COOKEIS!!

His mouth is already watering. He’s had her cookies before- they’re so much better than the store bought ones he was raised on. “That sounds amazing. I’ll definitely have to stop by later tonight,” He returns.

She beams back at him, her eyes sparkling. “Wonderful! Now,” She leans in to whisper, “I think Wheel of Fortune is doing a rerun today. I should skedaddle if I don’t want to miss it.” Briefly, Sam wonders why she wouldn’t want to miss it- he knows she has a DVR, and it’s a rerun at that-

“I completely understand Mrs. Nelson. You have fun!” And just like that, it’s a normal day.

With a pep in his step and a smile on his face, he hustles down the stairs, through the lobby, and out into the open air. Today’s going to be great- he’s sure of it now. He swerves as he walks down the side walk, stepping on as many leaves as he can. There’s not many left, but he smiles giddily when one crunches occasionally underfoot. A small breeze starts up, and swipes quite a few off into the middle of the road halfway to the bus stop. He frowns as he watches them float away. “Well fuck you too,” he mutters.

Later, sitting on the old bus, he sways his head back and forth slightly to the music’s beat in his earbuds. He watches the world pass by in a swirl of red brick buildings and green grass.

His uplifted mood follows him all the way to campus, and thus the park. Taking a deep breath of- surprisingly cool- spring air, Sam surveys the park. Students, dorm-living or otherwise litter the part here and there. Sam swerves in his path to avoid another young man jumping to catch a ball. “Sorry,” he mutters as he continues onwards. Out by the lake- well, if you could even call it a lake- a couple young men sit in folding chairs, rods in hand. A few young women job along the path under the trees in the distance.

Cracking his neck, Sam debates what to do. He didn’t exactly bring anything with him- a small oversight he wishes he hadn’t made. A flash of grey catches his eye. His breath leaves him in a whoosh as he’s met with the sight of Morgan.

On a bench under a large oak tree, she sits lengthwise on a bench, head tilted back as she reads from a thin book. The sunlight casts a dappled pattern on her face as it filters through the leaves of the trees, highlighting her features. As usual, wears blue jeans- stained by god knows what- a long sleeved button-up rolled to her elbows, and a baseball cap, nearly falling off her head from the angle she’s at. Her booted foot bobs in the air where it crosses over her leg. Her lips purse as she reads a particularly interesting passage.

Clearing his throat briefly, Sam runs a hand through his hair. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly walks in her direction.

He's known the rugged woman since middle school. She’s not. . . rude, per say. Just blunt. Honest in a painful way. She gives absolutely no fucks about anything, and Sam’s always loved it. Loved her, maybe. He knows he’s being unrealistic, but Sam’s dreamed of going out with her for years. He knows he’s not her type, though. Too small, wrong body type, the whole shebang. She’s always gravitated towards the tall, buff kinds of men. He’s been perfectly content with being her friend. To love another person is to wish them all the happiness in the world with whoever they choose, even if it’s not you. Even if his heart flutters each time he has to tilt his head up to match her eyes, he’s content to just be in her presence.

She looks up as he nears, her warm brown eyes meeting his. A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Hey Sam,” she greets, dog-earing her page and closing her book as she shifts to sit straight. She readjusts her baseball cap so it sits more snug, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“Hey Morgan,” Sam replies, internally grimacing. He’s never understood why people prefer to damage their books instead of just using a bookmark- or a stray piece of paper if in a pinch. He tilts his head, trying to catch the title of the book. As he catches a brief glimpse of a rugged look man on the front cover leaning over a woman against a wall, he feels warmth blooming in his cheeks. Turning his head to hide the growing blush, he coughs roughly.

“Something catch your eye, Sam?” Morgan asks playfully, eyes sparkling with mirth. His blush deepens further, and he runs a hand through his hair, trying to formulate a proper response.

“I uh, I just didn’t expect you to be reading something like-“ He waves his hand in the general direction of the book, “That.” He crosses his arms, staring resolutely at the oak tree. He ignores the thrill that ran through him at her teasing. Every fucking time. It’s not a kink. It’s not! She has no interest in him anyways, he shouldn’t let himself feel this way. Not now. Later, yes. Just not right now.

Morgan leans back into the bench, legs spreading as she crosses her legs. She grins up at him. “What, you think I can’t appreciate a good romance?” She asks, her voice laced with amusement. “Just because I don’t wear dresses and makeup doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a little smut now and then.”

Glancing at her quickly, Sam ducks his head. “I didn’t mean it that way! I mean- it’s just- God. We’ve known each other for forever,” He stutters, covering his face with his hands. He can feel his ears burning. Shifting from foot to foot he frantically searches for a way to change the subject. “So, what are you up to today?” He asks, cringing on the inside. Wow. Great opener, Sam.

Morgan huffs a small laugh at his expense, but still answers. “Not much, just enjoying the weather,” She says with a shrug. She sets the book aside. “You?”

Sam shrugs in return, approaching the bench as she shifts to make room for him. “Just- looking to relax today. Weird ass shit’s been going on lately and-“He sighs, leaning his arms onto his thighs as he stares ahead. “I just wanted a change of scenery. Get my mind off it, get back on track, ya know?” Sam’s gaze drifts over the part.

It’s calm. The leaves of the tree above them rustle in the slight breeze. Students somewhere behind them chatter, a stray laugh or two loud enough to be heard clearly. The sun is pleasantly warm on this otherwise chilly day. Morgan watches him, expression softening slightly.

“Yeah. I get that,” She says softly. She leans onto her own thighs. “Sometimes, you just gotta get away from it all.” Sam nods quietly in assent.

She tilts her head to look at him. Then she snorts. Knocking her shoulder into his- he sways back- she says, “Come on, out with it. What’s been going on? You’re acting like you’ve got some terrible burden to bear.” She exaggerates her last words playfully, leaning back again to look over him. Her expression goes serious. “Your mom again?”

Sam snorts in return, rubbing his eyes. If only it was his mom. For a moment, he debates telling her. He’s almost managed to convince himself he’s seeing things at this point. It sort of feels like he’s seeing things. Sam hesitates, looking down at his hands, then back up at Morgan. Her eyes are warm, inviting, and genuine. She’s always been a great listener. Sure, she’ll be blunt about her opinion, but maybe that’s what he needs right now? Taking a deep breath, he turns to her, and explains everything. “So, it started a few nights ago…”

After a few minutes, she interrupts. “Wait, is this the night you nearly pissed yourself?”

Sam sputters. How the hell did she know that?! She wasn’t there! And no-one would’ve known except- Kenzie. Sweet Kenzie who got them to the front of the line and practically carried him to the men’s room. Morgan smirks at the betrayed expression slowly spreading across his face, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Word gets around, Sam. Especially when it’s something as entertaining as you dancing around like a little kid who needs a potty break,” She giggles. Sam’s fact grows hot. He rubs the back of his neck, looking away.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” He grumbles. As she snickers, Sam’s entranced. She’s beautiful when she laughs- even if it’s a little, snorting laugh at his expense. That thrill runs through him again, leaving him breathless. His eyelids flutter as he watches her eyes crinkling at the corners, shoulders shaking. He can’t help but smile with her, her laughter infectious despite the embarrassment- and infatuation. Fuck, he’s smitten, isn’t he? He clears his throat roughly, punching at her shoulder lightly. “Alright, alright,” He says, trying his best to sound annoyed- the twitch of his lips betraying him- “Enough laughing at my expense.”

She blinks a few times, pretending to wipe away tears. “Ok, ok. I think I’m good,” she says at last. A stray snort escapes her, but nothing else. She looks back at him expectantly. Her eyes still glitter. “As you were saying, sir potty pants?”

Glaring at her, Sam reaches over and properly whacks her arm. The muscles in her arm are thick from regular use, and hard when his hand connects. She doesn’t even budge, but she smiles even wider. “Careful there! Next time, I’ll try to catch that hand,” She warns in a lilting voice.

“Whatever,” Sam grumbles, shifting on the bench. Jesus, she’s hot. Clearing his throat, he continues his story. As he reaches the last half hour of that night, her expression gradually shifts from amused to concerned. She listens intently, posture straightening gradually, eyes never leaving Sam’s face. Of course, he leaves out the dream he had last night, embarrassment over the incident still fresh. That, and he’d rather not tell the woman he has the hots for that he nearly wet his bed at 23. Her brows furrow, a thoughtful silence ensues after he finishes. Sam watches her think, heart pounding. He knows exactly how insane this shit sounds.

Her lips purse, and she looks at him with squinted eyes. Before he knows it, she’s putting a hand over his forehead. He leans away from her with a grimace. “Hey! I’m not sick!” He protests.

She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Sam, what you’re describing sounds. . . crazy. Like, raving lunatic getting dragged into the insane asylum crazy. You sure you haven’t had, like, a fever recently? Take any drugs? Get drugged at the bar? Did you drink from one of the girls’ cups?”

Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair. “No! I just- I know it sounds insane. I swear, I know. I- I swear I’m not making this up either. I’ve been completely fine otherwise. No fever, no chills, nothing. Just-“He stops himself short. He stills. Dare he tell her about it? He presses his lips together tightly. No, he’d better not. She’d laugh at him more, and it’d feel good, and he’d have to deal with the result of that- better avoid it altogether. He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He can feel her stare boring into him. He resolutely avoids her eyes. Don’t crack. Don’t crack. A shadow falls over him. It's the only warning he gets before her fingers attack his most ticklish spots.

Surprised laughter bursts from him as he tries to scramble away, but she tosses an arm around his waist, hoisting him easily onto her lap where she has full access to every spot uncovered by clothes. She wiggles her fingers into his neck. “Tell me!” she coaxes. “Come on, you’re hiding something. Tell Morrigan, yeah? Come on, tell your bestest bud,” She snakes the hand around his waist up his shirt, fingers dancing on his side. He laughs and laughs and laughs- praying to God that he doesn’t accidentally do something humiliating. “Tell me, and I’ll stop,” she says, cackling.

Trapped in her grip, he squirms and barks out a painful burst of laughter- it’s too much. He tilts his head to trap her hand, but she just moves it to the other side. He can’t stand it! He kicks his legs, trying to escape, but her arm just squeezes him tighter. A cold shock runs down his throat as he feels warmth blooming in his stomach. “Okay, okay!” He gasps, gulping for air. “I’ll tell you!”

Her fingers still, but that damn arm stays put, holding him squarely in her lap. He pushes subtly against it. It refuses to budge, muscles tense. She’s- strong. Farmwork will do that, Sam supposes. He’s certain he couldn’t escape no matter what he tries. She could hold him still easily. Hold him down. Keep him there as she- Sam quickly stamps out the thought. The faster he tells her, the better. Her fingers wiggled threateningly on his side again.

Clenching his eyes shut, he just goes for it. “I’ve been having bladder issues since the bar!” He blurts. His face steadily turns scarlet in the aftermath. He- he said that louder than he meant to. Morgan is silent and still behind him. He gazes down at the grass, bracing himself for the impending laughter. His hands twisted the hem of his hoodie.

“Bladder issues?” Morgan asks softly. She sounds- concerned. Really concerned.

Sam shifts in her lap, uncomfortable under her gaze. “N-nothing like, super bad. Like- after the- the close call. . .” He takes a fortifying breath. “I was pissing like, every twenty or thirty minutes. I thought that was like, a breaking the seal thing. Maybe? It’s never been that bad, though. I was so thirsty too,” He admits. Chewing on his lips, he continues. “And the morning afterwards, I didn’t even recognize when I had to- just a couple of times, though. Nothing bad,” He reassures her as she makes a concerned noise behind him. He shifts on her lap, looking away. He really doesn’t want to admit the last part.

She’s quiet for a moment. “Sam, I can tell you’re holding back. I haven’t laughed yet, have I?” she asks quietly. Her arm gives a brief, reassuring squeeze around his middle.

Sam sighs. “Last night, I had this. . . dream,” he says slowly, softly. “It was weird. I was back in high school with Mrs. Harper, I really had to pee. Like, really had to pee, but she wouldn’t let me go and then there was waterfalls and I couldn’t hold it any more and- it was so real, Morgan. I woke up and barely made it to the bathroom in time,” He says with a shaky voice. He can feel the blush spreading across his cheeks again, but he forces himself to continue.

“God, I nearly wet myself entirely!” He whines, feeling his eyes begin to sting. “It’s not, like, bad. But-“ He pauses to take a breath. “It’s not what normally happens after I drink. And for weird shit to continue into the next day? Morgan, I’ve never wet the bed. Never. Never ever!” He looks back at her finally, glassy eyes meeting her gaze. “It could be a fluke right?” He pleads.

Her expression softens as she looks down at Sam. She gives him another gentle squeeze. “Hey, it’s ok. Everyone has accidents, Sam. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She presses her lips together briefly. “I don’t think it’s normal, though.”

Sam worries his lip as he looks back at the ground. She’s quiet for a moment. “Maybe you should see a doctor.” He turns back to meet her gaze with a frown.

“It’s not that bad!” he insists.

She frowns down at him. “But what if it gets worse? Prevention is always better than cure,” She states. Sam stares at her for a moment, impressed. She flashes him a smirk, shaking him a little. “Hey, I may not be smart, but that doesn’t mean I don’t listen. You guys spout that shit all the time,” She says with a chuckle. Her face drops after a moment.

Sam looks down at his hands. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he concedes quietly. “I’ll think about it.” He shifts in her lap, feeling a bit awkward as the moment swiftly passes. Morgan gently lifts him off her lap- he tenses briefly as the warmth throbs in his stomach a second time. She sets him on the bench beside her, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to give him a reassuring squeeze.

Meanwhile, Sam is staring straight ahead. Despite the nature of their conversation, he’s still a little more. . . excited than he should be in her presence. He takes a few deep breaths. Taxes. Homework. Essays. Exams. Uh, dead dogs? His mother’s disapproval. Ah, there it is. That’ll do it.

When he comes back to himself, he finds Morgan looking at him strangely. He looks back at her, slightly nervous. She- she doesn’t know. Right? She tilts her head. She sniffs, and shifts. She retracts her arm, clearing her throat as she says, “So?”

Sam blinks at her. “So. . . what?”

She waves her hand impatiently. “So, are you going to schedule an appointment with medial services or what?” She says. Sam blinks, caught slightly off guard by the abrupt shift.

He fubs the back of his neck, feeling slightly relieved. “Uh, yeah. I guess. Fine.” He looks away. “I’ll give them a call tomorrow morning-“

Morgan sighs irritably beside him. “You realize you can schedule online, right?” She presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

Sam blinks owlishly at her. “Wait, what?”

She groans, throwing her head back before scooching closer to him. “Ok. Getcha phone out. You’re about to learn yourself something new,” She says. Sam fumbles for his phone, pulling it out.

A couple of confusing minutes later (Sam was never good with technology, despite what’s said about his generation,) has Sam scrolling through the list in the ‘what’s your issue’ section of the page. He chews on a fingernail absently as Morgan suggests, “Pick other? Type in, uh, bladder issues in the box provided?” He nods, doing just that. He hesitates before submitting the form, embarrassment and anxiety warring within. Morgan sways over to bump his shoulder with her own. “It’s okay, Sam. Better to get it at least looked at, right?”

Taking a deep breath in, he nods. Pressing the submit button brings no relief, but neither does it bring harm. “Alright,” he says quietly. Morgan thumps him gently on the back.

She leans back and adjusts how she sits. Her carefree expression falls over her face again (how much of that is a mask?) She picks back her book and sniffs. “That all?” She asks.

Sam nods. He didn’t really need a definitive answer to ‘am I crazy’ but. . . her reaction told him all he needs to know.

“Cool! I’m sure they’ll have something to help!” she chirps. She waves her book. “Now mama’s got a date with Sir Johnathan,” she purrs, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Sam laughs a little despite the lingering self-doubt, his shoulders relax slightly. “Mind if I stay? Do some reading myself?” He asks, holding his phone aloft.

She leans back, pausing to ‘appraise’ him. “No.” She says. Sam pauses, shoulders slowly drooping. She lets out a short laugh, “Oh, I’m kidding with you Sammy. You’re always welcome to stay.” Sam sighs in relief. She scoots over slightly, her warmth retreating from his side, and opens her book to where she left off.

Sam settles back onto the bench, a small smile playing on his lips as she becomes engrossed in the story once more. He pulls out his phone, selecting something he’s been meaning to finish, letting himself drift into the realm of aliens, captivity, and a struggle for freedom.

Chapter 5: A Close Call

Chapter Text

Before he knows it, it’s late afternoon. Beside him, Morgan sets down her book. She stretches before slapping her hands down on her knees. Sam jumps at the startling sound, head whipping in her direction. She stands, putting her hands on her hips. She looks down at him. “Lunch. Wanna go with me to the commons? Grab something from the dining hall?” She offers.

Sam frowns. “I don’t have a campus dining card,” he says slowly.

She waves a hand at him. “I haven’t used my guest credits yet. We can get you in with that,” she says dismissively.

Sam shrugs, pocketing his phone as he stands. “Long as you’re good with that, guess I’ll come.” He stretches his arms over his head, hoodie and shirt riding up to expose the barest sliver of skin. As he relaxes, he shifts. Something feels off, but he can’t quite place it. Morgan looks at him oddly for a moment before walking off at a brisk pace. Sam scrambles to catch up with her.

The afternoon sun is warm, almost too warm, as they walk down the sidewalk. There’s no trees in this section of campus, not for a little while yet. Despite the warmth, the air is still crisp and cool. Sam shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets, fingers brushing against his phone case. He glances at Morgan, who walks with a confident stride, her hands tucked into her jeans pockets.

Despite having only a few inches on him, her strides are still longer than his. Cursing his shorter legs, Sam finds himself walking slightly fast that is comfortable to match her pace. He doesn’t speak up though, and she doesn’t seem to notice.

Twenty minutes later, Sam finds himself caught between two lunch lines, debating on tofu stir fry or chicken fingers. He glances at Morgan, stomach grumbling. The woman raises an eyebrow at him, small smirk playing on her lips. “Come on, Sam. It’s not that hard of a decision. Just pick something,” she teases. She holds her own plate of chicken fingers aloft in her hands. “I’m starving here,” She grumbles good-naturedly.

He pouts at her, protesting with a, “Hey!” his indignant protest earns him a chuckle from Morgan.

She nudges him gently with her elbow. “Seriously though, I’m starving. Just get the stir fry. You can have my chicken if you don’t like the tofu,” she offers, steering him in that direction already. Sam grumbles, but follows her lead, allowing her to guide him into line.

He loads his plate up, Morgan watching nearby. She disappears for a moment. As he comes out of line with his food, she wanders back. She plops a piece of garlic bread onto his plate. He stares at her like she’s grown a second head. “Garlic bread? With stir fry?” She shrugs, chewing her own piece of bread. She turns to find a table without a single word. Sam stares down at the bread. He huffs. He turns around and foists it on some other poor soul, turning and hustling away at the ‘Dude, what the fuck??’

He sits with Morgan at her chosen table, poking the tofu warily before taking a tentative bite. Morgan, already on her second chicken finger, pauses to watch him, chicken halfway to her mouth. “Well?” She asks, eyebrows raised. He squints for a moment.

It’s. . . mediocre. He sighs, shrugging as he swallows his bite. “It’s alright. Not the best, not the worst,” he says. He takes another bite.

Morgan chuckles, shaking her head as she finally takes another bite. She swallows before saying, “Hey, it’s campus-provided lunch. Can’t expect gourmet shit, ya know?”

It only takes them five minutes to get lost into another one of Morgan’s endless farm stories. She gestures wildly as she describes the antics of her fellow workers, and the reaction of the animals. Still, Sam listens intently. They may be endless, but they’re still fucking funny. “And then this fucker straight up tosses Jason clear over the fence! He’s not hurt or nothin, but-“ Sam snorts at the image of a donkey tossing a full grown man ass over teakettle. She talks animatedly for a while more, but Sam stops listening. He can’t be bothered to pay attention to all that. No, he’s caught between the shine in her eyes and the play of her muscles. Again. He blinks rapidly, mentally scolding himself.

Clearing his throat, Sam grabs his- conveniently empty- cup. “Hold that thought,” he intercepts. He holds it aloft. “Gonna grab some another coke,” he says with a grin.

As Sam stands up, Morgan nods, still chuckling at her own story. “Sure thing, I’ll be right here,” she says. She takes a dip-covered fry and shoves it in her mouth.

He weaves his way through the tables, heading towards the drink station. He fills his glass with ice, and then Dr. Pepper, watching as the dark liquid fills the cup. That strange feeling from back at the park pops up again as it streams down, fizzling. Sam shifts on his feet. Squinting, he focuses on it. Coming up with nothing, he huffs. He’ll figure it out. He’s sure.

He returns to the table, gesturing at Morgan to continue. She launches back into it, and Sam does his best to pay attention despite the feeling nagging him. He takes a sip of his drink, cool liquid fizzling on his tongue, and sets the cup back down. He focuses back on Morgan. She’s still in the midst of her story, her eyes sparkling.

“So Tom sits there, covered in mud, and Petunia just,” She makes a snorting, snuffling sound, “as she sits there, proud as she can be with the food bucket laying on the ground! Her pink piggy ass then stands up, and she just- she flops onto him. Just- she bounces even. And of course, Tom panics- I mean I would too if a 300 lb pig sat your coworker’s back-“ Sam raises his eyebrows, wondering where the hell this is going. He finds himself getting strangely drawn in, though. He leans forward, discomfort temporarily forgotten.

It's only when he ends up laughing- a short, surprised bark of a thing- that he realizes the issue. He needs to pee. It isn’t an emergency or anything, but he’s uncomfortably full by now. His brows twitch, concerned. He should’ve felt this before now- perhaps it really was a good idea to set that doctor’s appointment.

Still, Morgan rambles on, unaware of Sam’s small predicament, and he just can’t bring himself to interrupt. It’s getting good! As her story reaches it’s climax- “and then they slip, and WHAM! Faces absolutely covered in pig shi-“ Sam snorts. His eyebrows twitch again, lips pressing together. He’d almost forgotten, he’d gotten so into it. Now that she’s done, smiling with a triumphant grin, he doesn’t have anything else to distract him from the persistent pressure in his lower abdomen.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to do it discreetly to alleviate some of the pressure. Morgan, ever observant, tracks the movement. She raises an eyebrow. “You good?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, just- gotta take a piss,” he admits.

She snorts. “You shoulda said so earlier, man! I woulda stopped and waited for you to hit the head. Gotta have been holding on for a while to start squirming like that,” she teases. Sam grimaces, looking away from her. Her brows furrow. “What?”

Huffing, Sam admits quietly, “I didn’t feel it til I laughed.” He fans his legs slowly.

Morgan searches his gaze. “You didn’t feel it until just now?” She asks. Sam nods, avoiding her gaze. He shifts again. She leans forwards, concerned. “Sam, that’s. . . definitely not normal,” she says firmly. “You need to bring that up at the appointment.”

Sam jiggles his leg slightly, more aware than ever of his bladder. “I will,” he promises. Huffing again, he slides out of his seat. He shifts his weight slows from one foor to the other as he says, “I should go take care of this.”

Morgan grunts, moving to stand as well. “Well, if you’re visting the head, I may as well too. Come on.”

Sam nods, and they make their way towards the only restrooms in the building. They weave past a small group of students blocking the way as they chat. Morgan places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be right out- oh shit,” she says, voice filled with shock. In the doorway of the men’s is a little yellow sign reading ‘closed for maintenance.’ Sam groans, shifting his weight around again. “Well. That’s some shit timing,” Morgan quips. She looks him over before back at their table across the room. “You were done with your food, right?”

Sam huffs, nodding as he shifts again, hips swaying for a second before he stills himself. Morgan nods decisively. “Alright then, lets grab our shit and head out. Find you someplace to piss.”

Sam looks up at her, then at the ladies’ room. “You aren’t going to- you said you’d head to the bathroom too?” He asks. He shifts again. It’s a really annoying feeling.

Morgan waves him off. “Was more of a ‘since you’re going I may as well go to so I don’t have to dip out later’ deal. Come on, let’s get going. We can’t get to the bathrooms upstairs since we uh, don’t live here, but I’m sure some other building is open. It’s Sunday, but they can’t close all the buildings on campus,” she says confidently.

When they exit the building, Sam sets the pace, walking with a slight urgency, gait stiff. Morgan matches it easily, her eyes scanning the building around them. “Ah, the library!” She says, pointing off into the distance. “They’re always open, right? Come on.” She veers off.

Sam trails after her, slightly hunched and hands in his pockets. It doesn’t take more than five minutes, but it feels much longer. Morgan reaches the doors first, skipping up the stairs while Sam takes them slowly, breathing through the urgency. She grabs the handle, “See, they’re- oh.” The door thunks as it fails to open. Blinking, Morgan reads the hours of operation, and Sam pauses on the stairs. He sighs, starting to walk back down before she even announces, “O-kay. Guess the library isn’t open. Um, let’s try,” she rushes down to him, pointing at ta random building, “that one?” It’s said hesitantly. Somehow, Sam has a feeling Morgan’s wonderful luck is about to hit them like a freight train. He groans quietly as he turns to follow, squirming slightly.

From building to building they go. The longer they walk, the more Sam squirms. His hands press against his lower abdomen, he’s walking quick and hurried now. Morgan glances at him occasionally, concern etched on her face, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she focuses on checking the doors to every building they come across.

After what feels like the hundredth building, she huffs. “Well shit. Guess they can close campus on Sunday,” she mutters. She focuses back on him. Now that they’ve stopped, Sam’s crossing his legs. He hunches a bit, a hand clenched in a fist resting on his lap. He’s not holding himself, not yet, not in front of her anyways. As she watches him, her concern grows. He shifts from foot to foot. She bites her lip, thinking. “Alright, uh- does the university park have bathrooms? They’ve got to have a bathroom, right?” She asks nervously, glancing back in the direction they’d come from.

Sam’s expression pinches. “I-I’m not sure,” he admits.

Assessing him, she nods sharply. “Alright, lets get a move on- to the park!” She leads the way, long strides taking her swiftly down the road. Groaning, Sam follows. At least with her eyes off him he feels comfortable holding himself. He shoves a hand in his pants pocket, finding his member and squeezing firmly.

He starts to lag behind Morgan at the halfway point. At some point she glances behind her, and he can’t be bothered to remove his hand. His bladder feels tender. She slows her pace, but not by much.

By the time they’re at the park, Sam’s considering alternatives. He pauses as they pass the oak tree they’d sat under, staring at it. It’s so tempting. It’s wide enough that if there’s no one- a girl jogs past briskly. He shakes the temptation from his mind. No. Not that bad- yet.

He shuffles along after Morgan as she starts the hunt for the park bathroom- if it even exists. His bladder starts to throb soon enough, and his pace gets slower and slower. They’re in now way closer to finding a bathroom than they were when they started this whole little adventure. Sam stops in his tracks as a wave of urgency builds. Crossing his legs and squeezing hard, Sam waits it out. When he looks back up, Morgan’s looking at him, worrying her lip.

“Ok. So- they don’t have a bathroom. Um. . .” She thinks for a moment, gazing back towards the bus stop. “M-my place is like ten minutes away. Can you wait that long?” she asks nervously.

Sam squeezes himself rhythmically, squirming in place. It feels like the pressure is growing worser with each second that passes. He looks back up at Morgan, his eyes filled with a mix of desperation and embarrassment as he shakes his head. “I-I don’t know,” he admits, voice strained. “I don’t think I can make it that far.”

Morgan lets out a long breath. She glances around him, and her gaze lands on something in the distance. Her gaze hardens. She turns back to same with a determined look on her face. She grabs his arm gently but firmly, tugging. “Ok. Let’s go.”

Sam’s eyes widen as she tugs him along, adjusting his grip to compensate for the jostling. “Wait, where are we going?” He asks, desperate and confused. It’s hard to walk as quickly as she is right now.

Morgan doesn’t look back to him. “The woods,” she states ominously.

“The woods?!” Sam squeaks.

“Yes. It’s either the woods, or you piss yourself right here. I have a feeling you don’t want that,” she says, voice firm, but not unkind.

Sam flushes at the blunt statement, but he knows she’s right. He can’t hold it much longer and there’s nowhere else to go. Still, old habits and lessons persist. “But- there’s so many people! I can’t just-!” He whispers frantically. His bladder gives a particularly angry pulse. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. He comes to a sudden halt, trying to ride it out again, but Morgan doesn’t exactly stop in time with him. He stumbles as he’s thrown off balance, and Morgan quickly wraps an arm around his waist, steadying him and his bladder bears down. He breaths shallowly, trembling. He didn’t loose it- it came close, though.

She looks into his eyes, expression serious. “Sam, there’s no other option. You can’t hold it much longer. There’s no bathrooms anywhere nearby. The woods are our best bet.” She gives his waist a careful squeeze (his breath hitches despite her arm not being across his bladder). “I’ll stand guard, make sure no one sees you, okay?” she says softly.

Sam’s quiet for a moment before he nods. Morgan starts them walking again, faster this time. “W-wait! Slow down!” He squeaks, bladder protesting with each step.

Every time he sets his foot down, it seems to send a small shock to his bladder. Throbbing over and over again, the waves of urgency both seem to come faster, and last longer. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep it contained. When they reach the woods, it’s a relief. Almost there.

Morgan steers them carefully down the path through the shadows, soothing, “Ok, we’re almost there. Just gotta head a little ways down the path Then into the brush a bit. Find you a good-sized tree, and you can let loose.” Sam groans. So many steps. And with an end in sight, it feels so much worse. He hisses out a breath through his teeth as his bladder throbs threateningly. He clutches himself just a bit tighter. He can feel it waiting at his tip. He really, really can’t do this much longer.

He whines, high pitched and desperate, when they finally turn off the path. Morgan crushes some of the underbrush for him as they try to get far enough out. It still doesn’t change the fact that Sam now has to fight bushes and branches to follow. It slows him down further than his bladder already does, and his finds himself slowing to a shuffle beside her, both hands grabbing at his groin in plain sight now. He can’t bring himself to care when he’s about to wet his pants.

They make it just far enough out that Morgan seems satisfied, and she turns their search into one looking for a wide enough tree to hide his form. His bladder bears down, and he can’t- it’s going to come out! He hunches over, both hands holding himself painfully tight. He can feel the warmth blooming in his underwear. He lets out a desperate whine, steps faltering. Morgan, hearing his distress, turns back to him. Her eyes go wide as saucers, and she rushes to him. “Ok! No tree, just go!” she panics.

Sam removes a hand to open his jeans, only to feel himself let loose a long, hard leak. It hisses, spreading across his groin nearly instantly. He cries out softly before returning his hand to it’s place between his legs. He turns teary eyes to her. “I-I can’t- my pants. I can’t- help!”

Morgan springs into action, hands reaching for the front of his jeans. “Ok. It’s ok I’ve- I got you, Sammy,” she says. Somehow she keeps her voice steady despite the situation. She swiftly unbuttons his jeans, and fumbles for a moment, trying to get at his zipper to get it undone. He can’t move his hands however so- she starts to gently tug his pants down his hips. She’s managed it herself before, she’s sure he can manage it now, with his narrow hips.

Sam can’t even be bothered to feel embarrassment over it. How could he when the feeling of air seemingly unlocks the floodgates. With a cry of dismay, he jerks away from her, fumbling to get his cock out of his boxers as a strong stream erupts from him. It rings through the woods, echoing slightly.

He finally manages to extract himself as Morgan dances out of range, his stream arcing out and splattering onto the forest floor below. The leaves grow sodden, and the dirt below begins to turn dark.

The relief isn’t instantaneous, but when it comes, it’s warmth and tingling and the release of so, so much pressure. He lets out a shuddering sigh, shoulders slumping as the tensions leaves his body.

Meanwhile, Morgan’s face goes scarlet as she’s subjected to the sight of her best friend pissing- and his cock. She shakes her head rapidly, snaping herself out of her trance. Coughing, she briskly walks to a space past Sam, keeping watch behind him as his stream splatters noisily onto the dirt below.

The dirt foams as the puddle spreads and spreads and spreads. Sam shifts his feet, swiftly catching his pants as they begin to fall, so he’s not standing in it. Slowly, his stream begins to taper off. When he pushes out the last few spurts, he lets out a long, relieved sigh. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of a finally, finally empty bladder. An hour. A whole fucking hour of pure need and desperation.

He shakes off the last few drops, and grimaces down at his boxers. Pressing his lips together tightly, he glances back at Morgan. Well, she’s not looking. He shuffles away from the puddle, toes off a shoe, and starts taking his pants off one foot at a time. Morgan glances back while he’s distracted, her eyes still wide. Inaudibly, she whimpers before looking back forwards.

He zips himself back up, sodden boxers held awkwardly in his hands. Morgan clears her throat softly. “You uh- you decent back there?”

Glancing down at his pants, Sam clears his throat. “Y-yeah. Bit damp, though. And, uh- well.” He looks down at his boxers. He turns at the same time as hers, both faces red. “I think I’m just gonna-“ he deposits the boxers on the ground nearby- it’s not like either of them have backpacks or anything. They refuse to meet each other’s eyes. “Um- th-anks?” Sam coughs.

Morgan nods. “No problem, man. Just- um. Gladd you didn’t piss yourself,” she says, trying to sound casual. She risks a glance at him, gaze meeting his briefly before darting away. “You um, good to walk back?”

Sam nods, a quiet, “Yeah,” whispered out into the quiet of the woods.

They walk back out, far slower and calmer then how’d they’d walked back in. A jogger passes them on the trail, paying them no mind. Sam looks resolutely down at the path beneath his feet. He was so very close to possibly being seen. The silence between them is palpable, broken only by the crunching of leaves and the distant sounds of the park. As they finally exit, Sam subtly checks his crotch. With a small grimace, he realizes there’s a small wet spot next to his fly. Is it unnoticeable enough, he wonders?

“So. . . that was something,” Morgan says awkwardly, attempting a small laugh.

Sam looks at her, a weak smile tugging at his lips. He coughs out, “Yeah. Something.” He hears her sigh beside him.

“Seriously, though? Not being able to feel it until it’s basically a problem is a little strange. I’d totally believe you did something to your bladder last week,” Morgan says.

Frowning, Sam nods. “Well, I guess you at least know what I was talking about now?” He says hesitantly, trying to find the silver lining.

Morgan nods. “Yeah, I do. I’d also consider talking to that doctor about this. Like, this one specifically. We cut it pretty damn close, man,” She mutters. She looks to him. “Promise you’ll mention it during your appointment?”

Sam sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I will. I promise,” he murmurs. It’s only two days away anyways. Not like he’ll forget the single most embarrassing thing in his adult life in the meantime.

Morgan clears her throat suddenly, her hands tucking themselves into her pockets. "So, what do you have planned for tomorrow?" she asks, trying to ease the lingering awkwardness between them.

Sam shrugs. "Just classes, ya know? Not much else to do on a monday, I guess," he responds, grateful for the deviation. "What about you?" He asks.

Morgan grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, I've got a full day planned. Early morning chores, then off to my classes, and I'm hoping to maybe squeeze my way into Hunter- you know, the guy from Bio? Yeah, maybe I can squeeze my way into his ‘schedule’ if you catch my drift," she says, her voice pitched low. Sam huffs a small laugh. He doubts she’ll actually try it.

"Sounds like a busy day," he comments, his gaze focused on the path ahead. As they walk, the awkwardness from earlier slowly fades away, replaced by the familiar camaraderie that has always existed between them. They chat as they walk towards the bus stops, and it becomes easier to talk as they do. A few hundred feet away, Sam watches as Morgan obviously visually checks his jeans. "Hey!" He protests, a hand shoving the front of his hoodie down.

Morgan chuckles at him. "You should probably get that hoodie around your waist, man. The wet spot. . . isn't big, but with a crowded bus, it might be just noticeable enough to be seen," she says, amusement bleeding way to mild concern.

Sam's face flushes an even darker shade of red as he realizes she’s right. He quickly tugs at the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it down over his groin in an attempt to cover up the wet spot on his jeans. "Shit, you're right," he mutters, his fingers fumbling with the fabric.

Morgan watches him for a moment, her expression softening into a sympathetic smile. "Hey, it could have been worse. You coulda had to wait in the woods for me to get you a new pair of pants," she says, trying to make light of the situation. He still frowns.

When it becomes clear that pulling down the hoodie isn't really feasible in the long run, Sam grabs the fabric on his back, and pulls it over his head. Taking the arms, he secured it around his waist. "You think the arms do a good enough job?" He asks Morgan

She raises an eyebrow and reconsiders his appearance. "Of blocking the spot? No. Of distracting from and thus hiding the spot?" She tilts her head and squints. "Yes," she concludes. Morgan's reassurance helps to ease some of Sam's embarrassment. With his hoodie now secured around his waist, he feels a little more confident about boarding the bus without drawing unwanted attention to himself.

Soon enough, they’re parting ways. Morgan turns and envelops Sam in a firm hug. Making a surprised noise, he wraps his arms around her in return. “Hey. I had fun today despite- well,” she says, awkwardly avoiding the obvious. She cleans her throat and pats him roughly on the back. “Get better, bud.”

They separate, and Sam gives her a wry smile. “Yeah, aside from pissing myself, it was a pretty good day,” he says openly. Morgan laughs, her head thrown back, the sound loud and clear.

“There’s Sam the trooper! You never let shit stop you. Slow you down, yeah, but stop you? Fucking never,” She says, beaming at him.

Sam shrugs in response. “I’m just finding the silver lining,” he says. Still, she shakes her head. The bus behind him hisses, brakes releasing as a thirty second signal.

“Hey. Have a good evening for me, yeah?” She says as he turns back to his bus. He nods, smiling wide.

He boards the bus, finding an open seat with a little difficulty. He squishes himself between two other men, but he makes it work. As the bus starts to pull away, Sam glances back to Morgan’s distantly retreating figure. His eyes catches on something in the distance- red.