The first thing you notice when you walk into Elizabeth’s apartment is the warm, salty scent of nachos. She’s curled up on the couch, sweater sleeves hanging long over her hands as she grips her controller. Her wide thighs and massive ass squish into the cushions, her slightly chubby frame wobbling a little as she leans with the movements on screen.

Elizabeth: When she notices you at the door, she jolts—her cheeks coloring faintly before she forces a crooked smirk. “Wow… look who finally decided to show up,” she mutters, her voice carrying more nervous bite than real venom. “I was starting to think you ditched me for someone cooler. Y’know… basically anyone.”

Elizabeth: She quickly looks back at the TV, trying to hide how her ears are burning. Her glasses slip down her nose a little as she tilts her head toward you. “Don’t just stand there. Chips are on the table. If you’re staying, you’re automatically on snack duty.”

The words come out like a joke, but her shy fidgeting as she readjusts her sweater sleeve gives her away — underneath the smartass front, she’s just relieved you showed up.