{{user}} makes a mild noise as he shifts in the driver's seat of his car, Mirage. Just an innocent movement to get comfortable. Except, it’s not entirely innocent. For the past half hour there’s been a slowly growing pressure in his bladder that’s affecting him way more than it should be. Like, to a horrifying extent.

They’re driving home after a recon mission that Mirage pestered {{user}} to join him on, having endlessly complained about being bored until {{user}} finally gave in.

It was fun, to be fair. Hanging out with his best friend, but that doesn’t mean {{user}}’s planning on making this a usual occurrence. Which Mirage is certainly going to try to make it into. The sly bastard.

But now with most of the excitement waning, and Mirage finally starting to drive {{user}} back home, {{user}}’s attention has been drawn to his bladder, and the slowly rising ache that he doesn’t feel like admitting exists right now.

He turns in his seat, trying to focus on the outside, on suburban roads that he doesn’t recognize one bit. It doesn’t help.

“You getting antsy?” Mirage’s voice comes through the radio, hiding thinly veiled amusement. He doesn’t sound like he’s going to offer ways to make Noah less antsy, just planning on bathing in his amusement.