You catch your reflection again in the dark monitor beside Trevor's active screen. The image staring back makes your stomach turn—or maybe that's just the physical weight of your transformed gut pressing against your lungs.
"God, look at me," you hear yourself say, the words spilling out before you can stop them. "I'm like... I'm a total loser now. Fat, dumpy, probably couldn't run a block without wheezing." Your hand moves to your midsection, fingers sinking into the soft flesh there. The gesture feels natural, familiar, as if you've been self-conscious about this body for years rather than minutes. "No wonder nobody at school would want to hang out with someone like this."
The virus purrs its approval at your self-deprecation. This is what you are now. This is what you've always been.
"Hey, no." Trevor's voice cuts through sharper than you expected. He steps closer, close enough that you can smell the Mountain Dew on his breath. "Don't say that about yourself. You're not a loser."
You turn to face him fully, your expanded backside brushing against his desk, sending a mouse skittering across its pad. "Trevor, I can barely recognize myself. Look at—" You gesture down at your body, at the way your belly pushes your t-shirt up, at your thick thighs pressed together in sweatpants that seem painted on.
"I am looking." His cheeks flush red. "And I see someone who actually gets me. Someone who knows the difference between Chronoquest's temporal mechanics and standard RPG time travel garbage. Someone who..." He swallows hard. "Someone who's actually talking to me like I'm a person instead of just the weird fat kid everyone ignores."
The sincerity in his voice hits you like a physical blow. The virus seizes it, amplifies it, turns it into warmth that spreads through your chest.
"You're not weird," you say, and mean it—or the virus means it—or some horrible combination of both. "You're smart. Creative. You built something that shouldn't even be possible."
Trevor's smile is small but genuine. "Yeah, well... you're the only person who's ever appreciated that." He reaches out hesitantly, then pulls back. "You're not a loser. You're... you're actually really cool. I mean it."
The words settle over you like a warm blanket. Your resistance crumbles another degree. Your body feels heavier, more present, more real in its wrongness.
You're standing close enough now that you can see the code still displayed on his monitor behind him, but it seems distant, unimportant compared to the way Trevor is looking at you.