He Gets Big

The commotion outside swells — shouts, a crash, someone yelling "What the hell is happening to me?!" — but Cesar barely hears it. A warmth spreads through his chest, thick and heavy, like molten metal pouring through his veins. His shoulders roll back on their own, the seams of his shirt straining as his frame fills out. He looks down at his hands; they're bigger, veins more prominent, fingers thicker.

He catches his reflection in the scratched metal of the stall door. His jaw is sharper, his neck thicker, his chest pushing against the fabric. The height feels different too — he's taller, his line of sight raised by a few inches. He exhales, slow, steady, and the sound is deeper, fuller.

Kira watches him from the sink, arms crossed, her expression half-amazed, half-hungry. "Holy shit," she breathes, letting her gaze drag from his shoulders to his chest to his arms. "You look... different. Like, a whole different kind of different."

Outside, a voice yells, "I'm calling my doctor!" Kira ignores it, stepping closer, her voice low. "You just got bigger. They got smaller. That's how it works, isn't it?"