Locker of misery

The hallways of Tomobiki High School were rarely peaceful, but today, the chaos had reached a fever pitch. Ataru Moroboshi was in his natural element—sprinting for his life. Behind him, the air crackled with the ozone scent of impending doom, punctuated by the rhythmic, heavy thud of private security boots.

"Get back here, Moroboshi! You’ve insulted the Mendō family name for the last time!" Shuutaro Mendō roared, his katana unsheathed and gleaming under the fluorescent lights. His white uniform remained miraculously pristine despite the high-speed pursuit.

"Eat my dust, you pampered prince!" Ataru cackled, his legs moving in a blur of track-star speed. "I only said your family crest looks like a constipated pufferfish! If the truth hurts, buy a band-aid with your billions!"

"It is a Hyottoko! An ancient symbol of—" Mendō’s explanation was cut short as Ataru veered sharply into the physical education equipment room.

Ataru scanned the room frantically. The window was barred. The back door was locked. The sound of Mendō’s polished shoes skidding to a halt outside the door reached his ears. In a moment of desperate, lizard-brained survival instinct, Ataru spotted a tall, double-wide sports locker near the corner. He threw it open, dove inside, and began pulling the door shut just as the room’s main light flickered on.

He wasn't fast enough. A gloved hand jammed into the gap.

"Found you, you miserable cockroach!" Mendō hissed, shoving his way into the locker to grab Ataru by the collar.

"Hey! Get out! This is my hiding spot!" Ataru protested, shoving back.

In the struggle, the locker’s latch—already rusted from years of neglect—snapped into place with a definitive, metallic *clack*. The momentum of their wrestling caused the unit to wobble and tip backward, wedging itself firmly against a heavy stack of gymnastics mats.

Silence fell, thick and heavy.

"Mendō?" Ataru whispered into the pitch blackness.

"Don't... don't speak," Mendō’s voice trembled. "It’s dark. It’s cramped. It’s... it’s..."

"Oh, no. Not now," Ataru groaned.

"IT’S DARK! IT’S CRAMPED! I’M SCARED!" Mendō shrieked, the sound echoing painfully off the metal walls. He began to thrash, but there was nowhere to go. The locker was designed for one person’s gear, not two teenage boys. They were pressed chest-to-chest, their limbs intertwined in a chaotic knot of school blazers and limbs.

"Shut up! You’re gonna burst my eardrums!" Ataru barked, trying to pin Mendō’s arms down. "Calm down! Think of... uh... think of girls! Beautiful, exotic women!"

The effect was instantaneous. Mendō’s hyperventilation slowed. His rigid muscles softened, though his heart was still hammering like a trapped bird against Ataru’s chest.

"Girls..." Mendō whimpered, his voice regaining a sliver of its usual haughty resonance. "Yes. Beautiful, refined ladies. Not like you, Moroboshi. Someone like Lum-san... or Sakura-san..."

"Exactly," Ataru said, leaning his head back against the metal, though he only succeeded in bumping into Mendō’s chin. "Just focus on that. We’ll be out in a minute. The Stormtroopers or your private army will find us eventually."

They sat in silence for a moment. The air was growing warm and stale. Because of the way they were wedged, Mendō’s face was buried in the crook of Ataru’s neck. Ataru, oblivious to anything but his own discomfort, shifted his hips, trying to find a way to take the pressure off his knees.

"Stop moving," Mendō muttered. His voice sounded strangled.

"I can't help it! Your stupid scabbard is poking me in the thigh," Ataru complained, wiggling again. "Move your leg to the left."

"I can't move my leg! It’s pinned under yours!"

Mendō closed his eyes tight. He was trying to summon images of Lum’s radiant smile to keep the claustrophobia at bay. But the sensory input was all wrong. Instead of the floral scent of expensive perfume, he was surrounded by the scent of Ataru’s laundry soap and the faint, salty smell of sweat from the chase.

And then, something horrifying happened.

Mendō felt a sudden, traitorous heat spreading through his lower body. His heart, which had slowed down, began to race again—but for an entirely different, much more shameful reason. The close proximity, the warmth, and the friction of Ataru’s constant shifting were triggering a physiological response that Mendō found absolutely repulsive.

*No,* Mendō thought, his face flushing a deep, invisible crimson. *This is impossible. I am a Mendō! I am the pinnacle of masculinity! I am attracted to the fair sex! This is just... a biological malfunction caused by the lack of oxygen!*

"Hey, Mendō," Ataru said, his voice sounding suspiciously casual. "Is it just me, or is it getting really hot in here?"

"It is a small space, you idiot! Thermodynamics!" Mendō snapped, his voice an octave higher than usual. He tried to pull away, but the movement only caused his hips to press more firmly against Ataru’s. He let out a small, choked gasp.

"You okay? You’re shaking," Ataru noted. He reached out a hand, blindly patting Mendō’s chest to check on him. "Don't go dying on me. If you die in here, I’ll never hear the end of it from your sister."

"Don't touch me!" Mendō hissed, though he didn't have the strength to swat the hand away. Every nerve ending in his body was on high alert. He felt like a coiled spring. He was horrified, disgusted, and utterly confused. *It’s because he’s a human being,* Mendō told himself desperately. *The body responds to warmth and contact. It doesn't mean it’s Moroboshi. It could be a... a very bony, annoying woman!*

But it wasn't a woman. It was Ataru Moroboshi, the bane of his existence, the man he had tried to blow up with a dive-bomber on multiple occasions.

"Man, this really bites," Ataru sighed, leaning his weight fully onto Mendō. "I was supposed to meet that new transfer student by the gate after school. I bet she’s got legs that go on for days. And here I am, stuck in a tin can with a guy who collects octopuses."

"They are noble creatures!" Mendō retorted, though his heart wasn't in it. He was too busy trying to mentally recite the history of the Mendō estate to distract himself from the way Ataru’s hair was tickling his nose.

Suddenly, Ataru froze. His body went rigid.

"Uh oh," Ataru whispered.

"What? Did you hear someone?" Mendō asked, hope surging through him. "Is it the Black Glasses Squad?"

"No," Ataru said, his voice trembling with a different kind of urgency. "It’s... the milk."

"The milk?"

"The three cartons of chocolate milk I had at lunch," Ataru groaned, shifting his weight frantically. "Mendō, we have a tactical problem. A biological emergency of the highest order."

Mendō’s eyes widened in the dark. "You don't mean..."

"I really, really have to pee," Ataru whimpered.

"Don't you dare!" Mendō screamed, his claustrophobia momentarily replaced by pure, unadulterated terror. "Moroboshi, if you so much as leak a single drop, I will ensure your family is exiled to a deserted island! I will buy the school and have this locker turned into a monument to your shame!"

"I can't help it! The pressure is immense! It’s like a dam about to burst!" Ataru started bouncing his knees, which, in the confined space, meant he was essentially grinding against Mendō’s lap.

"Stop! Moving!" Mendō shrieked, his voice cracking. The physical stimulation was reaching a breaking point. He was caught in a nightmare—halfway between a panic attack and a physical betrayal he would never be able to live down. "Think of something else! Think of... of desert! A vast, dry desert with no water for miles!"

"I’m thinking of a desert, but all I see is an oasis! A giant, cold fountain!" Ataru wailed. "Mendō, move your arm! I need to try and... and reach the vent at the bottom!"

"There is no vent! It’s a solid door!" Mendō lied, desperate to keep Ataru from moving any further. He grabbed Ataru’s waist, trying to hold him still by sheer force. "Just hold it! Be a man!"

"I am being a man! A man with a very small bladder!"

Ataru’s frantic squirming became rhythmic. In his desperation to hold back the tide, he was squeezing his muscles and shifting his center of gravity over and over. For Mendō, it was a specialized form of torture. He bit his tongue so hard he tasted copper. His eyes rolled back in his head.

*I am a Mendō... I am a Mendō... I am... oh, heavens, I’m going to die of shame,* Shuutaro thought.

"Mendō, your heart is going like a jackhammer," Ataru said, his voice dropping to a low, pained mumble. "Are you having a heart attack? Don't die yet, I need you to be a shield in case the door opens and I... I lose control."

"Shut... up..." Mendō wheezed. His grip on Ataru’s waist tightened, his fingers digging into the fabric of the school uniform.

Outside, the faint sound of a floating girl’s humming drifted through the air.

"Darling? Are you in here?"

Ataru’s head snapped toward the door. "Lum! Lum, save me! I’m in the locker! And hurry, before the Great Flood begins!"

"Darling!"

The locker door groaned as Lum’s alien strength tore the jammed latch straight out of the metal. The locker swung open, and the sudden influx of light was blinding. The unit tipped forward, spilling its contents onto the floor.

Ataru scrambled out on all fours, not even looking back. "Bathroom! Clear the way!" He vanished down the hall in a blur of speed that would have made a professional sprinter weep.

Mendō remained on the floor of the equipment room, sprawled on his back. His face was a mask of pale horror, his breathing shallow. His hands were still shaking.

Lum hovered over him, tilting her head. "Mendō-kobou? Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Mendō slowly sat up, crossing his legs tightly and pulling his long blazer down as far as it would go. He looked at the locker, then at the empty hallway where Ataru had disappeared, and finally at Lum.

"Lum-san," Mendō said, his voice remarkably steady despite the fact that his soul felt like it had been through a blender. "I believe... I believe I require a period of silent meditation. And perhaps a very, very cold shower."

"Is it your phobia again?" Lum asked sympathetically, landing beside him. "It must have been so scary in there all by yourself."

Mendō looked at her—beautiful, green-haired, and blissfully unaware. He thought about the last ten minutes. He thought about the heat, the sweat, and the catastrophic betrayal of his own anatomy.

"Yes," Mendō whispered, standing up with shaky legs and maintaining his dignity by a razor-thin margin. "It was... a nightmare beyond comprehension."

He turned and walked away, his pace stiff and hurried.

Lum watched him go, scratching her cheek. "Humans are so weird," she muttered. Suddenly, a familiar spark of jealousy lit up her eyes. "Wait! If Darling was in there with Mendō, why was he shouting about a flood? Did he try to do something lecherous to a girl in the locker before Mendō got there?!"

Blue sparks began to dance around her horns. "DARLING! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!"

High-voltage electricity lit up the hallway seconds later, followed by Ataru’s agonizing scream of, "I JUST HAD TO PEE, YOU CRAZY ONI!"

Inside the student council room, Mendō sat in total darkness, his head in his hands, praying for the sweet release of amnesia.