Baby Talk

I know it’s something to remember! And get it completely! And honestly this story is so exceptional! You have us hooked:) is there a chance of more cake tomorrow? 

Fair enough. And you're right, I didn't think about the time range. GoSupreme gets me 1-2 wettings safely before I have to worry about leaks (however many hours that takes), where with basically any non-store diaper, I can count on it for longer than that. I just have trust issues with the leg guards and overflowing at the hips/past the tapes where the padding ends, if I am not oriented correctly (due to shifting or whatnot throughout the day). Glad to hear! Assuming the one I got fits properly, I'll need to stock up on some more. Duly noted. I'll have to think hard on this one because I really like my charcoal and blue. I've been really lucky (knock on wood) not to have any leaks in either. Oh well.

Chapter 1:   Flynn jolted awake to the cold, uncomfortable sensation that immediately told him something was wrong. For a few seconds, he lay perfectly still in the darkness of his small apartment bedroom, staring at the faint glow of the digital clock across the room. The red numbers read 2:17 a.m. His heart sank as reality settled over him like a heavy blanket. “No… no, not again.” The sheets beneath him were damp. A wave of frustration surged through his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shaky breath, hoping somehow he was mistaken. But he already knew the truth. The accident had happened. Again. Angrily, he threw the covers back and sat on the edge of the mattress. His shoulders slumped as he rubbed both hands across his face. The room was silent except for the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional passing car outside. At twenty-three years old, Flynn had thought these nights were behind him. Growing up, he’d struggled with occasional bedwetting far longer than most kids. Through his teenage years, the accidents had become less frequent until they eventually seemed to disappear altogether. By the time he graduated college and moved into his own apartment, he’d convinced himself it was finally over. Yet every few months, usually during periods of stress or exhaustion, he would wake up to this same crushing realization. And every single time felt just as humiliating. Flynn lowered his head into his hands. He had worked so hard to build an independent life. A college degree hung proudly on the wall across from his bed. He paid his own bills, worked a full-time job, and lived on his own. From the outside, everything looked exactly as it should. But nights like this made him feel twelve years old again. His jaw tightened. “What is wrong with me?” he muttered bitterly to the empty room. The words echoed louder than he intended. Deep down, he knew accidents happened. He knew stress, lack of sleep, and countless other factors could contribute. He knew it wasn’t something he was choosing. But knowing those things didn’t stop the embarrassment. It didn’t stop the disappointment. It didn’t stop the feeling that he’d somehow failed. After several moments, Flynn finally stood and stripped the damp sheets from the mattress. The familiar routine felt painfully automatic now. Gathering everything into his arms, he carried the bundle toward the laundry room, his bare feet shuffling across the cold floor. Halfway there, he paused. The frustration was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but another emotion had begun to creep in alongside it. Exhaustion. Not just physical exhaustion, but emotional exhaustion. He was tired of being angry at himself. Tired of treating every accident like some personal flaw. Tired of letting a few difficult nights overshadow everything he had accomplished. Flynn looked around his modest apartment—the place he’d earned through years of hard work and determination. It wasn’t perfect, but it was his. Slowly, he released a long breath. Tonight was frustrating. Embarrassing, even. But it was one night. One accident. Not a definition of who he was. With that thought, he headed toward the laundry room. The night wasn’t ruined, even if it felt that way right now. It was simply another difficult moment to get through. And by morning, life would continue exactly as it always had. Flynn carried the bundle of damp sheets and pajamas down the short hallway toward the apartment building’s laundry room. The plastic laundry basket dug into his forearms as he walked, and with every step he felt the weight of the night’s frustration pressing down on him. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he pushed open the laundry room door. Please let there be detergent left.  He set the basket on top of one of the washers and walked over to the small shelf where he kept his supplies. His stomach immediately sank. The detergent bottle was empty. Completely empty. Flynn picked it up anyway, turning it upside down as though a miracle might happen and a few drops would appear. Nothing. “Seriously?” he groaned. He let the bottle fall back onto the shelf with a hollow clunk. For a moment he simply stood there staring at it. Of all nights. The timing couldn’t have been worse. He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. 2:31 a.m. His eyes drifted toward the large front windows of the laundry room. Across the narrow street sat a brightly lit twenty-four-hour laundromat. Through the glass he could see rows of machines humming away and a few exhausted night owls sitting in plastic chairs waiting for their laundry to finish. I could just go over there. The thought seemed simple enough. His laundry card still had money on it. He knew that much. The laundromat even had a vending machine that sold detergent packets. Problem solved. Except it wasn’t that simple. If he stayed here, he could at least throw everything into a washer later in the morning after getting some sleep. He could collapse onto the couch for a few hours and deal with the mess when the sun came up. Or…He could take care of it right now. Flynn rubbed the back of his neck. The idea of staying awake for another two hours sounded miserable.His eyes already burned from exhaustion. The accident itself had drained him emotionally, and now the thought of sitting alone in a laundromat at nearly three in the morning felt almost unbearable. He imagined himself staring at spinning machines while fighting to keep his eyes open. Sounds fantastic. Yet another thought immediately followed. If I wait until morning, the sheets are just going to sit there. He pictured himself lying awake in bed, knowing the damp laundry was sitting untouched. Knowing he’d have to deal with it later. Knowing he’d spend the entire morning dreading it. The knot in his stomach tightened. No.He wanted it gone. He wanted tonight over with. He wanted to wake up tomorrow knowing the sheets were clean and everything was back to normal. Flynn let out a long breath. “Fine,” he muttered. “We’re doing this.” The decision wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t satisfying. But it felt right. He gathered the basket again and headed for the building’s front entrance. The hallway outside was quiet and dimly lit. Most of the residents were asleep, their apartments dark and silent. Flynn adjusted the basket against his hip and pushed through the lobby doors. At that exact moment, another apartment door opened. Someone stepped into the hallway. Flynn nearly collided with him. “Whoa!” The other man jumped back. Flynn looked up and immediately recognized him. Ryder. His neighbor from two doors down. Ryder looked just as surprised to see him. Neither of them spoke for a second. The awkwardness of running into someone at nearly three in the morning settled between them instantly. Flynn became painfully aware of the laundry basket in his hands. The sheets piled inside. The reason he was carrying them. Great. Just great. Of all the people to run into tonight. “Uh…” Flynn managed, forcing a tired smile. “Didn’t expect to see anyone else awake.” Ryder gave a small laugh. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.” For the first time all night, Flynn felt something besides frustration. Embarrassment. And somehow, standing there in the middle of a silent hallway with a basket of laundry in his arms, he wasn’t entirely sure which feeling was worse.   Chapter 2: Flynn stood frozen for a moment, clutching the laundry basket against his chest. Up close, Ryder looked even better than Flynn remembered. His dark hair was slightly messy from a long shift, and there were faint signs of exhaustion beneath his eyes. He wore a black collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a loosened tie hanging around his neck. Despite looking tired, Ryder still managed to smile. A smile that immediately made Flynn forget how to form complete sentences. “So,” Ryder said, shifting his keys between his fingers. “Late-night laundry emergency?” Flynn glanced down at the basket and immediately regretted it. “Oh. Uh. Yeah.” Brilliant response. He wanted to disappear. Ryder chuckled softly. “Been there.” Flynn blinked. “You have?” “Sure.” Ryder shrugged. “Life happens. Sometimes at the worst possible hour.” The casual response eased some of Flynn’s embarrassment. A little. Not much. His heart was still trying to punch through his ribcage.bThe two stood in the hallway for another moment. Flynn couldn’t believe he was actually having a conversation with Ryder. For nearly eight months, Ryder had lived in the building. Eight months of hallway sightings. Eight months of awkwardly timed elevator rides. Eight months of Flynn developing an increasingly hopeless crush. The first time he’d seen Ryder had been move-in day. Flynn had been checking his mail when Ryder walked through the front doors carrying a box. One smile. One simple “Hey.” That had been enough. Since then, Flynn had managed exactly zero meaningful conversations. Not because he didn’t want to. Because every time Ryder appeared, Flynn’s brain stopped functioning. The only reason Flynn even knew his name was because of a Starbucks cup. A few months ago, Flynn had spotted Ryder walking through the lobby carrying a drink carrier. One cup had “RYDER” scribbled across the side in thick black marker. For an embarrassingly long time afterward, Flynn had replayed that discovery like he’d uncovered classified information. And now here Ryder was. Actually talking to him. At two-thirty in the morning. Flynn realized he’d been silent too long. “So, uh…” he said. “Late shift?” Ryder nodded. “Bartender.” “Oh.” “I just got off work.” “Right.” Another pause.bFlynn mentally groaned.  Why am I like this? Ryder didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he looked amused. “Tough crowd tonight?” Flynn asked. Ryder smiled. “You have no idea.” That got a genuine laugh out of Flynn. For the first time, the conversation felt natural. Just two neighbors talking. No pressure. No expectations. No impossible crush threatening to short-circuit his brain. Ryder nodded toward the laundry basket. “You heading to the laundromat across the street?” Flynn glanced toward the front doors. “Yeah. Out of detergent.” “Ouch.” “Pretty much.”“You know…” Ryder hesitated. Flynn immediately worried he’d said something stupid. Then Ryder continued. “I have a washer and dryer in my apartment.” Flynn stared. What? Ryder shrugged. “You’re welcome to use it if you want.” Flynn blinked. “I—” Ryder smiled. “Seriously.” His voice was warm and genuine. “No point sitting in a laundromat all night.” Flynn’s brain completely stalled. Use his washer? In his apartment? Talk more? Was this real? His pulse doubled. “You could hang out for a bit while everything runs,” Ryder added. “If you want.” The words hit Flynn like a freight train. If you want. His mind immediately supplied several very reasonable responses. Maybe. Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to impose.   Instead what came out was: “Yes.” Way too fast. Way too loud. Ryder looked surprised. Flynn wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “I mean…” Flynn cleared his throat. “Yeah. That would be nice.” Smooth. Very smooth. Ryder’s smile widened. “Then come on.” For a second Flynn simply stood there. His exhausted brain struggled to process what had just happened. Ten minutes ago he had been standing alone in a laundry room feeling miserable and angry at himself. Now he was walking beside the man he’d secretly liked for months. The contrast was almost unbelievable. Ryder turned and headed down the hallway. Flynn quickly followed, trying not to look too eager. Inside, however, his thoughts were absolute chaos. I’m going into Ryder’s apartment. Ryder invited me. Voluntarily. This is actually happening. As they reached Ryder’s door, Ryder unlocked it and pushed it open. Warm light spilled into the hallway. The apartment looked comfortable and lived-in. A soft lamp glowed in the corner of the living room. A bookshelf lined one wall. A half-finished puzzle sat on the coffee table. Everything felt welcoming.   Ryder stepped aside and held the door open. “After you.” Flynn’s stomach fluttered. “Thanks.” He carried the laundry basket inside. The door closed behind them. And suddenly Flynn found himself standing in Ryder’s apartment, wondering if this strange, exhausting night had just become the best night he’d had in a very long time. Flynn followed Ryder through the apartment, still feeling as though he were walking through a dream. His laundry basket suddenly felt much heavier than it had a few minutes ago. Not because of the sheets. Because his nerves were working overtime. Ryder led him through a short hallway to a small laundry closet tucked neatly beside the kitchen. Unlike the communal laundry room downstairs, everything here looked modern and spotless. A stacked washer and dryer sat behind folding doors, both appearing practically brand new. “Help yourself,” Ryder said. Flynn nodded. “Thanks. Seriously.” “No problem.” Flynn knelt down and carefully loaded the washer. He was hyperaware of every movement he made. The last thing he wanted was to seem awkward or clumsy. Unfortunately, awkward and clumsy were currently his entire personality. He added detergent from a bottle Ryder handed him and selected a cycle. The machine came to life with a soft hum. As the water began filling the drum, Flynn felt a surprising sense of relief. The night’s disaster was officially being handled. No more laundromat. No more stressing. No more carrying around a basket full of damp sheets. At least for now. “There,” Ryder said. “One crisis solved.” Flynn laughed. “I appreciate the rescue.” Ryder smiled. “Anytime.” Those two words made Flynn’s heart perform an embarrassing little flip. Ryder closed the laundry closet doors. “Want the grand tour?” “The grand tour?” Ryder spread his arms dramatically. “Of my kingdom.” Flynn laughed despite himself. “Sure.” “Excellent.” Ryder immediately adopted the tone of an overenthusiastic real estate agent. “This,” he announced, gesturing toward the open room around them, “is the living room.” Flynn smiled. “I never would’ve guessed.” “I know. It’s easy to miss.” The easy banter instantly relaxed him. Together they walked through the apartment. The living room was spacious and comfortable, centered around a large sectional couch that looked impossibly soft. A massive television hung on the wall above a sleek entertainment center. Framed photographs and artwork added personality without making the space feel cluttered. The whole room felt warm. Lived in. Comfortable. Not staged. Not sterile. Just home. Next came the dining area. A sturdy wooden table sat beneath a hanging light fixture. A small centerpiece occupied the middle of the table.  Then Ryder showed him the kitchen. Flynn nearly stopped walking. “Okay,” Flynn said. “This is unfair.” Ryder laughed. “What?” “This kitchen.” The countertops gleamed beneath recessed lighting. Stainless steel appliances lined the walls. There was an actual kitchen island. An island. Flynn’s entire apartment kitchen was roughly the size of Ryder’s refrigerator “Yeah,” Ryder admitted. “The kitchen sold me on the place.” “I can see why.” The tour continued to a small half bathroom before Ryder opened another door. “And here’s the master bedroom.” Flynn tried very hard not to stare. The room was larger than his own bedroom by a noticeable margin. A neatly made bed sat against one wall while matching furniture filled the space. Soft lighting created a cozy atmosphere. Nothing felt extravagant. Just nice. Really nice. Flynn found himself comparing it to his own apartment. His mismatched furniture. His hand-me-down coffee table. The bookshelf he’d assembled incorrectly. The comparison wasn’t exactly favorable. Ryder seemed to notice his expression.   “What?” Flynn shook his head. “Nothing.” “You made a face.” “I did not.” “You absolutely did.” Flynn laughed. “I’m just realizing your apartment is about three tax brackets nicer than mine.” Ryder burst out laughing. “Trust me, this place wasn’t always this put together.” “It looks pretty put together.” “That’s because nobody sees the disaster zones inside the closets.” That earned another laugh. For the first time all night, Flynn felt genuinely relaxed. Not worried. Not embarrassed. Not replaying his accident over and over. Just… enjoying himself. Which was unexpected. After the tour ended, they settled onto the couch. The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the washer running in the next room. Outside, the city slept. Inside, conversation flowed surprisingly easily. They talked about work. About terrible customers. About favorite movies. About college. About the strange people who lived in their building. Nothing particularly important. Yet somehow every topic felt interesting.  Flynn found himself watching Ryder while he spoke. The way he smiled. The way his eyes lit up when telling a story. The way he laughed. Every crush-filled observation only made Flynn more certain that spending time around Ryder was dangerous for his heart. Dangerous and completely worth it. After nearly twenty minutes of talking, Ryder stood.“You want something to drink?” Flynn immediately sat up straighter. “Oh. Sure” “What do you like?” “Honestly? Anything is fine.” Ryder pointed toward him. “That’s not an answer.” Flynn laughed. “Then surprise me.” Ryder nodded. “Bold choice.” Flynn watched him disappear into the kitchen. The moment he was alone, he exhaled. What is happening right now? This entire evening felt surreal. A few hours ago he’d been asleep. Then he’d woken up frustrated and miserable. Now he was sitting in Ryder’s apartment sharing midnight conversation. Life was weird. Very weird. And somehow wonderful. A few minutes later Ryder returned carrying two tall glasses filled with amber-colored liquid. Ice cubes clinked softly against the sides. Condensation rolled down the glass. Ryder handed one over. Flynn accepted it. “What is it?” Ryder grinned. “My grandmother’s sweet tea recipe.” Flynn took a cautious sip. The tea was cold, smooth, and perfectly sweet. His eyes widened. “Oh wow.” Ryder looked pleased. “Good?” “That’s incredible.” “I’ll let my grandmother know she still has fans.” They both laughed. Then, sitting together on the couch with glasses of sweet tea in hand, the conversation picked up again. And for the first time in a long while, Flynn forgot all about the reason he’d woken up in the middle of the night.

If you need a cheap but effective booster then use a baby diaper. They have an incredibly high absorption capability for their price. And the side tabs rip off very easily.

@Babylukes, Pace yourself bud, this is a planned 3 vol story, if every character had a happy ending now where do we go next lol.  Their just 18, they think they know everything. We all were at that stage and we all know the BS we feed ourselves. Amber and Marcus are just engaged, the weeding isn't set until a year plus from now. Plenty of road to cover with twists and turns. While Lilly gave her on POV she's about to experience another. Which will be a more hands on experience, maybe. Thanks to everyone for the feedback and support it always brings a smile 2 my face