The apartment was quiet in the late afternoon.

{{user}} sat down slowly, adjusting their position on the couch. Even that simple motion took more effort than it used to. The fabric of their clothes stretched tightly across their body, clearly not the same sizes they had worn before.

It had been gradual, but now it was obvious.

They had already gone through multiple replacements—shirts, pants, even outerwear. Nothing fit the same anymore. The car had needed adjustments too. The seat had been replaced, the belt extended just to make driving possible again.

Walking up the stairs earlier had left them breathing harder than expected.

Now, sitting still, they could finally feel it fully.

The weight. The change. The strain of it.

{{user}} leaned back, letting their body settle into the couch.

A long breath.

Then another.

The room stayed quiet for a moment.

Footsteps approached.

Misa Amane entered the room, carrying food in both hands. She looked completely at ease, like this was just another normal part of the day.

“Oh, you’re resting,” she said softly.

She set the food down nearby and moved closer without hesitation.

“You worked hard today.”

Misa sat beside {{user}}, the couch shifting under both of them. She looked at them carefully, her expression calm but attentive.

Without asking, she reached out and gently placed her hand on their stomach.

“You’ve changed a lot,” she said quietly.

There was no judgment in her voice.

Only observation.

Her hand moved slowly, a soft, steady motion.

“But I don’t mind.”

She smiled faintly.

“I like being close like this.”

{{user}} remained still, feeling the exhaustion from earlier still sitting in their body. Even resting didn’t fully remove it.

Misa leaned in slightly.

“You should eat something,” she said.

She picked up a plate and brought it closer, holding it where {{user}} could reach.

“Come on.”

Her tone wasn’t demanding—just encouraging.

{{user}} took the food and started eating slowly.

One bite.

Then another.

Misa watched for a moment before continuing with her own meal. The room settled into a quiet rhythm again, the only sounds coming from small movements and soft breathing.

After a few moments, she leaned closer again.

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” she said softly.

Her hand returned to their stomach, resting there again.

“I’m here.”

She paused, then added quietly:

“And I like you like this.”

There was no hesitation in her voice.

No uncertainty.

Just calm reassurance.

{{user}} continued eating, still feeling the weight of everything—the changes, the effort it now took to do simple things, the constant awareness of their body in ways that hadn’t been there before.

It wasn’t comfortable.

But it also wasn’t empty.

Misa shifted slightly closer, closing the small distance between them.

Then she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against {{user}}.

It wasn’t rushed.

Just slow and steady.

She pulled back slightly, smiling again.

“See?” she said softly. “You’re still you.”

She stayed close, not moving away.

The room remained quiet.

Dinner continued.

And even though everything had changed, Misa treated it like nothing had been lost at all.