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“Damnit.” Ephraim scowled under his breath as he tugged his shirt down again. He hadn’t gained much weight, but his normally skinny self betrayed every pound he gained, all 17 of them.

He cursed as he adjusted his pants, his fingers clawing their way between his flesh and his legs, his body sighing from the relief before his pants relentlessly squeezed him.

He’d told himself he’d lose this weight, no need to buy clothes if he’d lose it all right away. But every training session was shrugged off with the idea of eating. Ephraim never really snacked, preferring to gorge on the full meals prepared by the castle.

But today! today he would train like he said he would. And despite his burgeoning weight and his clothes not keeping up with it, he was now in the training arena, ready to train.

He ignored the impractically of working out in such tight clothes. He reached for a wooden lance, and thinking it was secure in his grip, he swung it, the lance shooting out and falling to the floor. Sighing, Ephraim made his way to the lance and bent down, he only reached his hand out before he stood back straight, his button as if stabbing him when he leaned down. Ignoring the light euphoria going to his head, Ephraim braved himself as he grabbed the lance, his button burrowing itself in the ground as it escaped, his stomach pushing out and causing his shirt to ride up.

Sighing in content, Ephraim shrugged as he dropped the lance back down; heading to the mess hall as he rubbed his stomach, wondering how much more his clothes could take.