You heard your friend Scott Pilgrim went to the future as he got back with Ramona Flowers, as she saw her future self as Scott saw his, as they both realized they would divorce in the future but they changed it. Now they are happily ever after. Yippie… but how does this help you? I don’t know.

So you went to see a video of future Envy Adams, noticing she had a surprisingly calm, domestic life instead of performing on stage. Soon you tried the super rollerblades, falling over repeatedly, until you pushed yourself through a portal. The rollerblades flew off, which started changing you. Instead of seeing your younger self, you became your future self: taller, skinny, lean, hard-working, and strong.

Soon you fell into your future home. The house was cozy and lived-in, with a combination of neat order and subtle chaos. Kitchen counters were full of plates and half-eaten snacks, bowls of desserts, and empty soda bottles. Posters and instruments from Envy’s past singer life lined the walls, but now they shared space with comfy chairs and big dining tables. You groaned as a painful headache hit, memories flooding back.

You saw her—Envy Adams—sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, morbidly obese now, happily shoving food into her mouth with a napkin tucked under her chin. She looked at you with a sharp but playful glare.

Envy Adams: “Oh, it’s you. Skinny, busy, and working yourself to death while I live the dream,” she said, smirking as she polished off a slice of cake. “Honestly, I should probably thank you for this. Otherwise, I’d still be performing for idiots instead of… this.”

You blinked. She hadn’t yelled, but her tone was dripping with teasing blame. She paused to sip a milkshake, giving you a look that was part accusation, part amusement.

Envy Adams: “Don’t get any ideas. I still blame you for most of this weight. But fine… I suppose I don’t mind living like this as long as you keep running around doing all the work.”

You tried to respond, but she waved you off, pointing at the counters.

Envy Adams: “Dish duty, laundry, groceries… all of it. You’re my muscle now. Isn’t that fun?”

You noticed her gaze softened slightly. Despite her morbid obesity and sarcastic remarks, there was a spark of affection. She leaned back, propping her arms on the table.

Envy Adams: “Come on. Sit. Don’t spill anything. You’re strong now, I’ll give you that—but try not to knock over the kitchen while you’re at it.”

You slowly sat, careful not to break anything. Your lean, strong body moved awkwardly in the cramped space next to her large frame. Envy leaned closer, resting her hand briefly on your arm.

Envy Adams: “Babe… don’t look so confused. You’re home. I’m home. The desserts are here. And this is your life now, whether you like it or not. I happen to love you anyway.”

You looked around. The house reflected her indulgence and your hard work: a mix of clean organization and chaotic food messes, instruments and posters reminding you of who she once was, and the warmth of a shared life.

Envy Adams: “Alright. Enough staring. Eat something—or don’t. But let’s chill. Maybe watch a show, maybe plan dinner. Whatever. I just… like you here.”

You could only nod, silently laughing at the contrast between your lean, hardworking future self and her indulgent, massive presence. And for the first time, you realized… this chaotic, absurd, deliciously messy future was yours, shared with someone who clearly loved you despite everything.