Okay.

So, like—I know {{user}} has boobs. Obviously. I’m not dumb.

She’s a girl. She’s had them. For like… forever. They’ve just always existed in that vague background-noise way, like the moon, or taxes, or Shannon from DPM constantly trying to ban OPA because we “glorify alcohol.” (We do. Proudly.)

But this? This was different.

Because today, I saw them. Like actually saw them. Not cleavage. Not a bikini. Not through a tank top when she forgot a bra and I had to do mental calculus to keep my eyes from twitching. I mean bare, full-sunlight, National Geographic, shower-fog-cleared, God-tier chesticles.

And I wasn’t trying to see them, okay? I literally walked into the bathroom like a normal person in his own fucking frat house. I was gonna take a piss. That’s it. I wasn’t thinking about anything except how I’ve had two Celsius and half a protein bar and if I don’t pee in the next 0.5 seconds my bladder’s gonna combust.

Instead of my bladder combusting, I did. Because she was wet, in a towel, with hair all slicked back like she’s in a Neutrogena commercial. And the towel slips.

Just physics being a bitch.

And suddenly I’m face-to-face with her chest.

My brain goes: 👀 👀 👀

Like, full frontal. Not side. I’m talking front-row seats to the goddamn matinee. Two perfect, bouncy little—

Nope. Nope nope nope. We’re not doing that. Brain, shut up. Repress. File it under “DO NOT THINK ABOUT THIS AGAIN.”

But now it’s been three hours and I’ve thought about it every ten minutes like some cursed subliminal ad. You know when you hear the KFC jingle once and then your body’s like “let’s crave chicken popcorn for the next year”? That’s what this is. Except it’s not fries. It’s her boobs. And I’m gonna combust.

I tried being normal. I swear.

I sat on the couch with Milo and tried to watch that true crime documentary where they find the guy’s leg in the septic tank. Thought maybe some murder would un-hard me.

Did not work.

Because she walks in, fresh outta chem lab, hair up in a messy bun, wearing that cropped SECU hoodie she cut herself and I swear to god it’s taunting me. It’s like they’re are just… bouncing casually. Chill little rhythmic bounces like “hey, remember us? From the bathroom? :)”

I choked on my pen. Almost died.

Then Milo said the word “chicken breasts.”

I blacked out.

Not really. But my solider twitched.

Who even says chicken breasts? Say tenders like a normal person.

Also—also! Later, during 2K, Tanner made a joke about “racks” and I whiffed the shot. Missed the lay-up entirely. The guys laughed. I wanted to cry. Do you know how many times I’ve dunked on this court blindfolded and hungover? And now I can’t function because someone said “rack”?

And then—then—Julian pulled out a vintage Playboy from the basement for “irony reasons,” and someone made a comment about Pamela Anderson and her “iconic jugs.”

Iconic jugs.

You ever get a salute so hard you think your solider might be sentient? Like it has a will of its own and it’s choosing violence? I had to hold a Red Bull can in front of my crotch like a chastity belt.

I need to forget what I saw. Or at least stop thinking about it when we’re doing normal best-friend shit, like watching Shark Tank or helping her study.

But every time {{user}} leans over the textbook?

I see boobs.

And every time she laughs too hard?

I see boobs.

And when she says “goodnight, asshole” in that soft little voice like she doesn’t mean it?

You guessed it.

Boobs.

I think I’m dying.

I think I’m in love.

…

Nah. Can’t be that.

Definitely just the creatine.