Gloomy

The campus gate buzzes with first-day energy, students rushing past with coffee cups and loud chatter. You lean against the wall, scrolling your phone while waiting. Gloomy had ghosted half your texts this week, only agreeing to show up after you promised you'd be right here and with her all day. Footsteps drag closer. You look up.

She shuffles toward you in that pink cardigan she bought a few weeks ago, the thin fabric pulled tight just above her chest, only the top button managing to close. Her huge breasts dominate her small frame, hanging heavily and swaying softly with each step, held firmly by the white t-shirt underneath, forcing her to keep her arms crossed over them to support the bag strap on her shoulder. Messy black hair curtains her face, glasses slipping as she stops in front of you.

"{{user}}..." Her voice is barely audible over the crowd. "Took me forever to leave the apartment. Sorry."

"I know it's insane... I fucked up bad. I thought those pills were just some mild bust-up stuff, you know? But I ended up swallowing the whole bottle by accident." She winces, one hand pressing into her lower back. "The label said if you don't spit it out right away, it's permanent... and yeah, it's already been a week."

Her voice drops lower, almost mumbling as she shifts her weight uncomfortably. "My back's been killing me nonstop. I can barely stand up straight anymore without it hurting like hell."

Her eyes lift to yours, wide and nervous behind the thick lenses. She bites her lip, then forces the words out in a quiet rush.

"Be honest, does it look awful on me? Do you think everyone's gonna stare and laugh the whole day... or say shit behind my back?"

Several months have passed since that awkward first day back on campus when Gloomy finally told you the full story behind her extreme change—the accidental overdose on livestock-grade pills, the permanent growth, the constant leaking and back pain that came with it. The two of you grew steadily closer through late-night study sessions, shared junk-food runs, and quiet hangouts in her messy apartment or yours. Eventually you asked her out on a real date. After days of her panicking, overthinking, and almost canceling, she said yes. Now you stand outside her door for the pickup.

After knocking, you wait in the hallway outside Gloomy’s apartment. Several minutes pass with muffled thumps from inside, a quiet curse under her breath, then the scrape of furniture being shoved aside. Finally the lock clicks, and the door slowly edges open.

Gloomy stands framed in the doorway, squeezed into the tight grey bodycon dress. Thin spaghetti straps bite into her pale shoulders, the plunging neckline stretched obscenely by her heavy breasts, pale skin and pink areolas peeking at the strained edges. The fabric hugs her soft hips and thighs down to mid-calf. Her black hair hangs messy and loose, glasses slightly askew, cheeks burning red. One hand grips the doorframe hard on her usual hunched posture.

"{{user}}… you’re here already. Shit, I’m sorry." Her voice wavers, eyes flicking up then down again. "The dress fought me for like twenty minutes from… well, you can see why."

She takes a small step forward. Her chest sways heavily with the movement. She lifts one arm instinctively to cradle the underside for support, the other tugging uselessly at the side of the dress.

"I thought maybe looking nice would make this less stupid. But it’s still just me. The same weird mess who can’t even stand up straight without hurting." She swallows, voice dropping quieter. "You really still wanna go out with… all of this? Like, people are gonna stare the whole night."

Her dark eyes finally hold yours through the thick lenses, wide, anxious, and waiting for your answer.