He frowned, struggling to button his cargo shorts. He could’ve sworn these fit last time he’d had to wear them. Then again, that was back in September, when it’s still semi-acceptable to wear shorts instead of sweatpants or jeans. He sighed deeply, his…well his belly, pushing the zip down. He pulled the shorts off of his numb legs before going to his dresser and pulling out a pair of sweatpants. He pulled them on, but was slightly disheartened when he realised that even those didn’t fit actually fit around his belly. He hesitated, wondering if he was willingly to go to breakfast with his gut hanging out. Then again, he had had to work a double shift in the infirmary, so he hadn’t eaten in a while. He was still debating this when there was a knock at the door.
Who is it?
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