Hawk flipped on the light switch with his elbow before carrying the bundle in his hands over to the washing machine. A scowl marred his face, complimenting the dark bags under his eyes he'd earned by being woken up at four in the morning. He stuffed the soiled bedding and clothes into the washer, remembering at the last moment to throw in a Tide Pod before slamming the lid closed, not caring if he woke up the whole house by doing so.

He started up the machine, flicked the lights off, and trudged out of the laundry room, up the stairs, and back into the kitchen. Grabbing a cup from the cabinet, he then opened the fridge. His eyes squinted at the sudden assault of brightness in his face, but he reached inside and grabbed the jug of milk with an irate sigh.

"You know you shouldn't be drinking before getting back into bed."

Hawk turned around and glanced across the room at his father, who stood by the table. He looked exhausted, with what little could be made out by the illuminated fridge bulb, and Hawk felt a brief pang of guilt for knowing he had disturbed his parent's sleep with the noise he'd made.

But rather than make an apology, what came out of his mouth was, "What difference does it make?" He poured himself the glass of milk and stuffed the jug in its former place inside the fridge. If his bladder was going to leak regardless, he might as well not go to bed thirsty; may as well aim for a two-fer.

His dad glimpsed down at the watch on his wrist once and sighed, rubbing a hand down his haggard face. "Alright," he said, making it clear he wasn't looking for an argument this early in the morning. "Did you already get the spares from the closet?" Hawk nodded, taking three big gulps of his drink. Then his father asked, "Is that the second time this week?"

Hawk hesitated a few seconds before confessing under his breath, "Third." His cheeks warmed, and he took another gulp from the cup in his hand, hoping the cold milk would cool them down.

He expected a big speech from his father, the whole spiel he got whenever it started acting up this bad again, as if he hadn't heard the same advice over and over throughout his life, ever since he turned eight and it became clear the problem wouldn't be stopping anytime soon. But his dad must have been too exhausted to go into it, because he yawned and said, "Okay. I'm going back to bed. Remember to wash out the cup when you're done."

Hawk's brows creased in surprise. What, no half-hearted attempts to say these accidents would stop on their own one day, as the doctor kept promising? No prying into his life to figure out what was going on to flare it up this bad? Was Hawk hoping his dad would read his mind and know what it was that had been stressing him out, and be there with some real advice?

His parents probably thought it had to do with the fallout from the school fight. Sure, that was part of it. The blowup had been huge, with adults everywhere trying to throw blame around to determine who should have been held responsible for what happened. But Hawk's parents already said everything they were going to say about it, and the role he'd played in it, for now. They had talked it to death. They knew how Hawk felt about Miguel being in the hospital, they knew how he clung to Cobra Kai now like it was his only lifeline.

But his mom and dad didn't know about the other thing.

Hawk opened his mouth for a moment, thinking he should tell his father about what had happened, to tell him that everyone now knew, that his secret was out. All those years of being careful, hiding it during summer camps and overnight school trips, despite the constant anxiety that plagued him by knowing just one slip-up would be all that it took to ruin his life. Now it was out of the bag.

Should he admit that to his father? Surely it was only a matter of time before his parents found out anyways. They weren't there in school to hear the snickering, but a few boys had gotten bold enough to leave comments on his Instagram posts:

hey it's whizzer

lmao still hosing the sheets?

bet he wears pullups lol

It took every ounce of his willpower to not bully them back, to stop himself from daring them to say that shit to his face. He wanted so bad to punch through his phone and knock all their teeth in. But the fear remained in the back of his mind, warning him what his parents would do if they saw him threaten anyone. All he could do for now was remember their names, memorize their faces so if he ran into them in the school parking lot, he could make sure then that they'd never laugh at him again.

In the meantime, he set his posts to private whenever someone from school left a comment like that. It stopped anymore from piling on and kept his parents from seeing them. Yet he knew he was fighting against the doomsday clock hanging over his head. Eventually they would find out.

And then what? Would they call the school again, tell them to make another announcement on his behalf? The very idea of that made him want to throw up, as he imagined how that would go. He could hear Counselor Blatt, with her overly saccharine voice, telling the whole student body, "Hurting people's feelings is mean, so you all need to leave that bedwetter over there - yeah that one with the facial disfigurement – alone before he starts crying again." Hawk would have sooner welcomed the sweet relief of death.

His parents could never find out.

If they did, they would demand to know how it happened, how his peers found out about it. What would he say? The truth? If he told them the truth, that Demetri had outed him during a roast, that would lead to even further questions. Hawk wasn't prepared to admit why Demetri had done it. He couldn't stand the possibility of unloading the whole story onto his mom and dad and then have them say, "Well, what did you expect would happen? Sounds like you got exactly what you deserved."

His parents wouldn't say that, would they? But what if they did? Hawk couldn't take the chance.

So all he told his father was, "Okay. Night, Dad." Hawk watched him walk down the hallway and disappear into his parents' room, closing the door behind him.

Standing there in the darkness of the kitchen, Hawk remembered the guy who'd approached him the day of the school fight, before the brawl broke out, the one who told him that he, too, had wet the bed past the point of childhood normalcy. He'd said there was nothing to be ashamed of. What a crock of shit. If they shouldn't be embarrassed, why did everyone laugh about it? Why did it make him want to disappear off the face of the Earth?

Hawk downed the rest of his drink, telling himself to be strong, that sooner or later it was all going to blow over. But that little needling voice in the back of his head reminded him that nobody was ever really going to forget it. Hawk could beat up as many people as he wanted, that voice said, but everyone would always remember the real him.