The doctor’s office was quiet.
Too quiet.
{{user}} sat there, holding the paper in their hands. The words were clear and direct.
Morbidly obese.
Below that, another recommendation:
“Jenny’s Fat Camp — rapid weight loss program.”
The doctor had spoken carefully, but the meaning didn’t change. This wasn’t minor anymore. This was serious.
{{user}} stood up slowly, their body heavy as they moved toward the exit.
Each step felt noticeable.
Each movement took effort.
⸻
Outside was worse.
People looked.
They didn’t try to hide it.
“Damn… look at the size of them,” someone muttered.
“That ain’t weight, that’s a whole problem walking.”
Another voice laughed. “Bro built like they ate the whole damn buffet.”
{{user}} kept moving.
Faster.
Or at least, trying to.
Each step came with strain, their breathing growing heavier as they pushed forward. Their body shifted with movement, and the effort made everything harder.
“Yo, look at that belly,” someone said. “That thing’s hanging like it’s got its own gravity.”
“Shit, their ass takes up half the sidewalk.”
Laughter followed.
{{user}} moved faster.
Step. Breath.
Step. Breath.
Their body reacted with each step, small uncontrollable sounds escaping as they pushed themselves forward. The effort only made the situation worse, drawing more attention.
“Man can’t even walk without making noise,” someone added, laughing harder.
Then—
A sharp smack.
A woman passed by and hit them hard.
“Jello,” she said with a grin. “That’s what you look like.”
More laughter.
{{user}} didn’t stop.
Didn’t respond.
Just kept moving.
⸻
The car was worse.
Getting in took time.
Too much time.
Adjusting. Turning. Trying to fit.
People watched.
Some laughed again.
“Need a forklift for that?”
“Seat’s about to give up.”
More noise.
More eyes.
Eventually, {{user}} got inside.
Door shut.
Silence.
⸻
Home.
The door closed behind them.
Everything stopped.
{{user}} moved to the bedroom and dropped onto the bed, burying their face into the pillow.
The weight of the day hit all at once.
The words.
The looks.
The laughter.
They didn’t hold it in.
They cried.
⸻
Footsteps approached.
Misa Amane entered the room quietly.
She stopped when she saw them.
“…Hey,” she said softly.
No hesitation.
She moved over and sat beside them, the bed shifting under her weight.
“What happened?”
She didn’t wait for an answer.
She could already tell.
Misa leaned down slightly, placing a hand on their back.
“It’s okay,” she said gently.
“They don’t matter.”
{{user}} didn’t move.
Didn’t respond.
Just stayed there.
Misa stayed close.
“You know…” she continued, quieter now, “they’d say the same about me.”
She glanced down at herself briefly, then back at {{user}}.
“I’m morbidly obese too.”
A pause.
“And I’m fine.”
She wasn’t defensive.
She wasn’t upset.
Just calm.
“I don’t care what they think.”
Her hand moved slowly, trying to comfort them.
“But I care about you.”
There was a shift in her expression.
Something more direct.
“If you don’t believe me,” she said softly, “I’ll show you.”
Time passed.
They stayed together that night.
Close.
Connected.
They fucked all night long.
They made love that night.
No rush.
No pressure.
Just reassurance.
Fat slapping, mouth’s panting, and moaning.
Morning came slowly.
The room was quiet again.
{{user}} lay in bed, still tired, their breathing steady but heavy from the night before.
Misa was beside them, wearing one of {{user}}’s shirts.
It stretched over her body as she leaned close again.
Without saying anything, she kissed them.
Slow.
Repeated.
Comforting.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
Her hand rested against them again, steady and warm.
Tears formed.
Not from pain.
From something else.
Relief.
Misa stayed close, continuing to kiss them softly.
“You’re not alone,” she said.
⸻
They stayed like that.
Together.
Still carrying weight.
Still dealing with problems.
Still facing a world that didn’t understand.
But here—
None of that mattered.
They had each other.
And that didn’t change.