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This is a short commission we did for @bluetoothy1 on Twitter. We don't really do commissions anymore, but it was for a charity event and our commissioner was lovely to work with! Anyway, this is written in a more traditional style than our color narratives. We like to step outside of our box every now and again. We hope you enjoy! This story is complete on Patreon if you want to support us! As always, please Like and Comment, since that is the life blood of our writing motivation. XD Disclaimers: bedwetting, pullups, diapers, wetting, mental regression, short chapters ---------------- Night & Day by: Sophie & Pudding Chapter One "I dunno why..." I stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed while Emily stripped off the sheets. I'd changed out of the wet pajama pants, but I still had to shower before work. I felt so embarrassed. "It's okay, Phil," Emily sighed. "It happens." The first time she said that - two mornings ago - it sounded sincere. Yesterday, there was a tinge of uncertainty mixed in. But today, the third day in a row, her voice was filled with resignation. I sulked where I stood. "You're going to be late to work if you don't start getting ready," Emily reminded me. I nodded and stepped away, into the bathroom. What was going on with me? I stepped into the shower for the third morning in a row to wash dried pee off my thighs. This wasn’t really a ‘talk to your doctor’ issue. This was anxiety, maybe. Or a cold or flu. Grown men didn’t just wet the bed. Emily was being cool about it but... three days? Really? Emily continued to act like nothing was wrong and our morning went on like any other, though the faint rumbling of the washing machine down the hall seemed louder than usual. We finished breakfast, talked about dinner plans, and kissed goodbye when I walked out the door. The drive to work was mundane, enough so that I totally forgot about my bedwetting problems over the weekend. I parked in the parking garage a half mile from my building and walked through the square of venders and stalls. It was the quickest path to the office, when I wasn't waylaid by consumerism. "Hey, mister!" a familiar voice called over the rest. I turned without thinking to find the teenage girl sitting behind a fortune telling booth. Ugh, her again. I checked my watch to make sure I wasn't running late. Sure, I could spare a few minutes. "Look, I know las-" "Oh mister, don’t you worry about that, water under the sheets, you know? Care for a fortune?" I couldn’t remember her name; whatever she’d told me it was couldn’t have been real anyway - Peculianna or something. But the last time we’d talked, I’d been more than a little bit rude to her. I said that fortune telling was something for old women with nothing left to fill their days with, and not girls who should still have been in school. I told her to get a real job, but it looked like she wasn’t going to take my advice. "Yeah, whatever..." I fished around in my pocket for a dollar and dropped it on the table. I wasn't sure why - maybe I still felt a little guilty. I had a hard Friday last week, and maybe I shouldn't have taken it out on a kid peddling fortune scams. "Let's see," she said, touching the crystal ball in front of her. The smoke inside swirled around, like a cheap 90s CGI trick. I rolled my eyes and waited for the light show to stop. "I see... a baby in your future. Uh huh, a little boy." Emily and I weren't even married, let alone looking to have kids. She was on the pill. I wore condoms. There wasn't any chance. And it was this kind of thing - exploiting hard working people - that pissed me off last week. Suddenly I remembered why I yelled at her. "Oh, you do, huh?" I asked. "What if I go and get a vasectomy this afternoon, what does the future say then?" I felt smug. And this time, I hadn’t been a dick about it. But she smiled and chewed her gum playfully, looking at the crystal ball and then up at me coyly. "Life finds a way, mister. What can I say?"