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I watched him make breakfast—he didn’t really need much in the way of help—and was absolutely at a loss for what to say.  Jay didn’t notice he’d nearly doubled in size.

As he reached up to grab the flour, exposing the entire lower half of his belly, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, an attempt to orient myself: “Jay, do you have any clothes that fit?”

He immediately turned bright red and pulled his shirt down.  “Zed!” he said. “I didn’t know I… just any old thing around the house… didn’t mean to bother you…”

I didn’t try to calm him down—that never worked.  And I could tell he was more embarrassed than hurt.  Still, he left the room, returning after a few moments in a much looser T-shirt, and went back to putting pancakes together.

I tried not to ask any more questions.  Clearly this was normal for him; I’d only make myself look stupid or crazy by asking questions.  So I excused myself and went to looking through the apartment.

And nothing had really changed.  Well—all right, he was definitely fatter in the couple of pictures he had of himself in his room—maybe a few extra snack wrappers by his bed?—but I guess having a 250-lb roommate doesn’t make things much different from having a 150-lb roommate.

That, or I didn’t notice any other changes.

That was kind of worrying.  He didn’t notice the change—maybe I only noticed the change I saw.

And the queasy feeling in my stomach that followed on that thought was immediately replaced by quite the reverse kind of thrill as a new idea came into my head that I immediately kicked myself for.

Because I wondered if I could do it again.