SizePlusModel

Chapter 23

Tibor gave Matúš a subtle, man-to-man smile and set the first plate down in front of him. It was ravioli. Large, glossy ravioli coated in butter and sprinkled with Parmesan. The aroma of pasta, cheese, and herbs immediately drifted up toward him. Matúš’s eyes lit up. He loved ravioli. For an appetizer, it was a respectable portion—almost suspiciously respectable—but he didn’t think much about it. Tibor said, “First appetizer.”

Matúš picked up his utensils and started eating. On a screen in a small room next door, betting immediately opened up. People were placing wagers on how long it would take him to finish the first serving. Tibor started a stopwatch. Matúš had no idea. He ate quickly, calmly, with the confidence of a man who didn’t like wasting time. The ravioli disappeared fast. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Stop. Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Nobody guessed it correctly.

Tibor poured Matúš a glass of wine and brought out the second appetizer. This time it was warm potato croquettes with bryndza cream, bacon dust, and onion oil. Maybe two hundred fifty grams, but plated elegantly. Tasting-menu style. Innocent-looking. Matúš figured this wouldn’t be a problem. It wasn’t. Tibor stood nearby, occasionally topping off his glass, occasionally encouraging him with a short comment. Matúš ate and felt his competitive side slowly waking up. Not against the audience he didn’t know existed. Against himself. After the second appetizer came another glass of wine and a third plate. Matúš thought it would finally be the main course. It wasn’t. A beef tartare on toasted bread landed in front of him. Another appetizer. Matúš was already starting to feel pressure in his stomach. He’d basically eaten almost a kilo of food and they were still just getting started. He finished it.

Tibor poured more wine and asked, “Everything okay?”

Matúš wiped his mouth and nodded.

Tibor added, “Everything so far is going on the menu.”

Matúš leaned back. His shirt was stretched tight across his stomach.

“Compliments to the chef. The food is outstanding.”

Tibor smiled and asked if he was ready for the next course. Matúš nodded. A moment later, a bowl of thick tripe soup was sitting in front of him. He loved tripe soup. He scooped up a hefty chunk of tripe with his spoon like an excavator. The soup was spicy, rich, heavy, and thick. He didn’t even notice there was almost four hundred milliliters of it. The hot paprika flushed his face. His ears turned red. The tripe soup vanished into his belly like a glass of water. The betting intensified.

Back home, Adam and Jonáš sat in front of a laptop, staring at the screen in disbelief. They watched Matúš as one dish after another disappeared from the plates. After the tripe soup came a rich beef broth with liver dumplings. Then Hungarian goulash with homemade bread dumplings. In the corner of the screen, estimated calorie counts kept updating.

4,200 kcal.

Jonáš didn’t move. Adam sat with his hands resting on the table, watching Matúš’s shirt struggle more and more against his stomach. Watching the fabric stretch. Watching the mass of his belly press against the edge of the table. Watching his brother keep a calm expression while his body was already working at full capacity. Tibor brought another dish. Roasted duck liver with onion jam, butter brioche, and red wine sauce. Matúš looked up.

“How much more do you have prepared?”

Tibor smiled.

“You’ve already eaten more than half.”

The betting picked up momentum. Tibor leaned toward Matúš and whispered that he could unbutton his shirt. It would be more comfortable. If he wanted, Tibor could do it for him. Matúš agreed. Tibor slowly loosened the buttons. The shirt opened, and Matúš’s stomach finally spilled forward. The next dish was already in front of him. Pork cheeks with root vegetables, potato cream purée, pan sauce, and crispy onions. Matúš picked up his utensils. He ate. He was surprised himself that he still wasn’t full. Then another dish arrived. Grilled sausage with bean ragout and sauerkraut. Another glass of wine. The wine was lighter, but it helped. It dulled the boundaries.

Adam kept staring at the screen. He wanted to do something. Turn it off. Call him. Go get him. But he sat there, hypnotized. He was starting to get worried. In the corner of the screen it now read: 8,400 kcal.

Adam remembered the time he’d tried to eat ten thousand calories at a Chinese buffet. It hadn’t ended well. Even though he’d absolutely stuffed himself that day, he’d been banned from that buffet ever since.

Jonáš looked at him.

“You actually have experience with that? I never would’ve guessed.”

Adam didn’t answer. He kept watching Matúš.

Matúš was served cottage cheese crepes with butter, sugar, and fruit sauce. He thought that had to be the end. After the crepes came their famous steamed buns. Four large ones, soft, sprinkled with poppy seeds and drenched in butter and sugar. A lot for a tasting menu. Then came tiramisu in a deep bowl. Creamy, heavy, sweet. Matúš ate more slowly. But he kept eating. The last bite disappeared into his belly after two and a half hours. Everything.

Tibor walked in carrying a pitcher of water. He poured a glass and then looked at Matúš. He was slumped back in the armchair, shirt open, jacket pushed behind him, his stomach enormous, stretched tight, and heavy.

“Can you stand up?” Tibor asked.

“Don’t you have anything else?” Matúš said with a smile.

“No.” Tibor shook his head. “I’ll help you up.”

Matúš stood. He felt a little drunk, but after seeing the four empty wine bottles, he wasn’t surprised. He took off his shirt and handed it to Tibor. It was soaked with sweat and missing buttons, but it had done its job. Matúš tried to pull his T-shirt back on. His stomach was too large, too full, and hanging too low. The fabric caught on top of his belly and refused to go any farther. After a moment, he gave up. He kept only the jacket on. His belly remained exposed. Full. Heavy. Visible.

Chapter 17

Jonáš and Matúš walked into the barbershop. The place was modern, white, clean, and spacious. Two chairs, large mirrors, shelves lined with pomades, bright lighting, the scent of aftershave and freshly washed floors. Both of them had dressed up for the city. They always did. Even though their bodies had long since stopped fitting standard sizes, they still liked good clothes. Today they were wearing slim-fit chinos and their favorite RL polo shirts. The problem was that even XXXL looked ultraslim on them. The fabric stretched tight across their chests and shoulders, but most of all across their bellies. The bottom hem couldn't fully cover either one’s gut. Even so, it worked. The barber stepped out from behind the counter. He was young, friendly, and dark-haired. The barber smiled at them and asked, “So, gentlemen? Who’s up first?” Jonáš raised his hand. The barber glanced at the chair and casually remarked, “Hope you fit.”

Jonáš’s eyes lit up, and a flush of tension spread across his face. It didn’t offend him. Quite the opposite. He squeezed himself into the chair. It wasn’t exactly easy. Matúš sat down on the couch and watched with amusement as Jonáš finally settled in. The barber stepped behind him and looked at him through the mirror.

“Looks like we’re doing a skin fade. A high skin fade,” he said calmly.

Jonáš nodded and said, “I can’t stand hair around my ears.”

The barber laughed and replied, “Ears need room.”

The barber draped a cape over him. For a moment, his entire body and large belly disappeared beneath it, but only in appearance. The cape immediately molded itself around his stomach, rising into a rounded hill and stretching across it so noticeably that Matúš quietly laughed from the couch. Soft music played through the barbershop. The clippers buzzed to life.

Jonáš closed his eyes. It was strangely relaxing. The buzzing around his ears, the gentle passes along the sides of his head, the cool air on freshly shaved skin. In the mirror, he could see the barber working with focus, precision, and very few words. The barber watched him. Every now and then, his gaze drifted to the cape stretched over his belly. When he reached for a comb, his hand brushed the taut fabric. When he leaned for the scissors, he rested against Jonáš’s stomach a little more than necessary. When he switched clipper guards, he briefly steadied himself with a firm hand on the rounded top of the belly beneath the cape. No hesitation. No apology. Jonáš never fully opened his eyes. He just watched the mirror through a narrow squint and felt comfort, pride, and that familiar dangerous calm mixing together inside him. After a while, the barber finished the final lines. He wiped off Jonáš’s neck, cleaned up the detail around his temples, and stepped back.

“All done.”

Jonáš looked in the mirror. With the perfectly clean high skin fade, his ears stood out even more. Large, prominent, exposed. His face looked tougher, more masculine, more defined. The hair around his ears was gone. Jonáš nodded with satisfaction and said, “Exactly like that.”

Then it was Matúš’s turn. An hour and a half later, they walked out of the barbershop. Fresh cuts. Clean. They felt masculine. Stronger. They moved slowly through the city. They passed a storefront window. Matúš glanced at their reflection for a moment and said, “We look good.”

Jonáš nodded and added, “We look big.”

A few blocks later, they caught the smell of coffee and pastries. They slowed down. Their bellies had gone down since yesterday’s French-style potatoes. Not completely. The heaviness was still there, but the hunger was coming back. Slowly, quietly, shamelessly. Exactly as it always did. Matúš smacked Jonáš on the stomach right there on the sidewalk.

“What are you doing?” Jonáš asked, startled.

“We’ll see how much this gut can eat today.” Matúš lowered his voice. “I’ve got a feeling Tibor’s really going to fatten you up.”

Breakfeast was right in front of them. Through the glass, they could see warm light, empty tables, and movement behind the counter. Jonáš was quiet for a moment. Then he adjusted the collar of his polo shirt, which still couldn’t fully cover his belly, and asked, “You coming?”

Chapter 14

Adam was still in bed. More specifically, in Jonáš's bed. He didn't realize it at first. Only after he opened his eyes and recognized the old wardrobe against the wall, the low ceiling, and the poster Jonáš had left there back in his teenage years. The room was filled with muted light. Not morning light. More like late-afternoon light. They'd done it yesterday. That was his first thought. Recklessly. Unhealthily. Undignified. But they did it. Adam couldn't remember exactly how many each of them had eaten. After the fourth serving, they'd stopped counting. But everyone had put away at least seventy pirohy. Jonáš definitely ate more. That much was obvious even without numbers. Adam's head throbbed a little. The wine. It had relaxed him. Finally. He wasn't just the older brother who controlled everything, counted everything, compared everything, and lectured everyone. He was there with them. With his younger brothers. With the twins he'd missed for years more than he'd ever allowed himself to admit. And he was glad they were here. He closed his eyes, and Jonáš came back to him again. Jonáš after the last plum-filled pirohy. Shirt unbuttoned, sweaty, drunk, head tilted back, enormous belly completely spread across the table. He couldn't stand up. Couldn't even pretend he could. They had to help him. Which was funny, because neither Adam nor Matúš were doing much better. They were struggling themselves. Adam remembered standing up, grabbing the table, and just standing there for a few seconds so he wouldn't get dizzy. He remembered carefully getting his arms under Jonáš so Jonáš could at least get into a position where he could look for his balance. Jonáš's belly was heavy, warm, and stretched tight from everything he'd eaten. Adam could feel the weight of it in his arms, all while being painfully aware of his own belly getting in the way every time he bent forward. Matúš was supporting Jonáš from behind by the shoulders.

Getting Jonáš through the doorway into Adam's room was a whole story by itself. First he got stuck sideways. Then by his belly. Then all of them laughed so hard they nearly collapsed onto the floor. Eventually they got him inside, laid him on the bed, and Jonáš fell asleep almost immediately. Like an overloaded system that had finally shut down.

Adam ended up in Jonáš's room afterward. How exactly he'd made it up fifteen stairs, he had no idea. He only remembered the railing and his heavy legs.

Adam rolled onto his side. It wasn't easy. His belly got in the way, pulling him forward and pressing against his diaphragm. He gave up and rolled back onto his back. His breathing was heavier. Not dramatically. Just with the awareness that his body was bigger than it had been a few days ago, and after all those pirohy, there was no ignoring it. He lay there with one hand resting on his stomach.

It was firm. Heavy. Still full. He thought about what was really happening. Their father's inheritance was supposed to test them. Seven days. Seven meals. One house. Maybe their father had hoped they'd argue and finally say the things they'd been holding inside. Maybe he'd hoped they'd sit at the same table and spend time together. Maybe he had no idea what he was setting in motion. But Adam was starting to feel more and more that food was what connected them. He thought back to the evening again. Matúš and Jonáš rubbing his belly.

At first it caught him off guard. Then it made him laugh. Then it relaxed him. Maybe he was drunk, but for the first time he didn't feel like someone who had to explain or apologize for his body. He belonged there with them. Big like them. Round-bellied like them. Ridiculous like them.

He stared at the ceiling. How much did he even weigh now? Adam heard someone in the kitchen. First a faint cabinet door closing. Then the quiet scrape of a chair. Adam slowly sat up on the edge of the bed. His head was still pulsing from the wine, and his belly hung over the waistband of his boxers. He stood up. Fifteen stairs down. Every step made his belly sway, and every breath reminded him that two hundred ten pirohy wasn't a metaphor. It was an event.

He walked into the kitchen, stopped in the doorway, and asked, "How did you even manage to get up?"

"I don't know," Jonáš said.

Adam smiled and walked over to him. He stopped right in front of him, carefully lifted his belly with both hands, and gave it a small bounce, as if checking the weight of an object that had become a shared family project yesterday.

"Getting you and your little buddy up was quite a workout."

Adam let go of his belly.

Jonáš stood across from Adam at the island and rested his own belly on the countertop. He exhaled in relief. "This counter is one good thing about this house. Yesterday was epic," he continued. "I know the whole thing sounds insane. But when I was finishing those last plum-filled pirohy..."

He stopped, searching for the right words, and finally said it without any defenses. "It was a food orgasm." Adam looked at him.

"I keep thinking about it. About finishing them. About there being nothing left. About the way you guys were looking at me. About feeling like if there'd been anything else there, I probably would've tried that too."

Adam held his mug with both hands. "Do you know how many you ate?" Adam asked. Jonáš shook his head. Both of them looked toward their mother's recipe book. Jonáš nodded toward it and asked, "So what's on the menu today?"

Adam opened the recipe book, but before he started reading, Jonáš looked down at Adam's belly. Adam was still leaning it against the island. His midsection was obviously bigger than it had been at the beginning of the week. "You're definitely bigger than you were three days ago too," he remarked.

Adam looked down. And then he remembered. The scale. He'd wanted to weigh himself that morning. He set down his mug and walked to the bathroom without a word.

Jonáš stayed at the island and listened. At first there was silence. Then the brief creak of the scale. Finally, Adam swore.

It wasn't angry. More surprised. A little amused. The kind of reaction you have when you get exactly what you expected, but it still hits you anyway.

Jonáš leaned toward the bathroom and called out, "So? How much?"

Adam came back into the kitchen slowly. He looked calm, but there was something in his eyes somewhere between shock and respect. He stopped across from Jonáš, rested his belly against the island again, and picked up his coffee mug. "Well. I'm catching up to you."

Jonáš raised an eyebrow. "That's a weak answer."

Adam took a sip. "One hundred thirty-eight."

Jonáš placed a hand on his own belly. He settled it more comfortably against the counter. "You're making good progress."

Adam looked at him. "That wasn't supposed to be a compliment."

Jonáš said, "Sure sounded like one."

Adam rubbed a hand across his face. "And are you sure how much you weigh?"

Jonáš fell silent. He looked toward the bathroom. "No."

Chapter 13

Adam and Matúš went to their rooms. Jonáš headed to the bathroom. He walked in and stood in front of the mirror. His face looked hard, damp, still a little sleepy. He ran a hand over his head and frowned. He hated it when hair started growing around his ears. It ruined the shape immediately. Big protruding ears needed space. They needed to stay clean. Jonáš ran his palm along the side of his head and quietly said, “Time for a barber.” Then he went back to his room.

Adam started getting dressed. He picked out the light blue suit he had bought last summer. Back then, it still fit. Not comfortably, but it fit. Now he buttoned the pants underneath his belly and had to take shallow breaths just to make the fabric cooperate. He got them closed. Barely. Far too barely. But they were closed. He put on the jacket too. Buttoning it wasn't even an option. Not a chance. Adam looked at himself in the mirror and just shrugged. It was fine. The suit still created a silhouette. Broad shoulders, massive arms, a hard face. Then he pulled out a dress shirt. He had bought it a month ago. XXXL. It should have been okay. It wasn't. He put it on, slid his arms into the sleeves, and started buttoning it up. The upper buttons went on easily. The chest was still manageable. The problem started lower down. Once the shirt reached his stomach, he had to pull the fabric together with both hands. Button by button. Every single one felt like a small test of patience. Eventually, he got it closed. Barely. The moment he sat on the bed, the fabric tightened immediately. The gaps between the buttons opened into narrow ovals, and the skin of his stomach showed through. The buttons held, but they didn't look very convincing. Adam patted his belly and told it, “Today you've got to survive lunch. Today I'm going to eat.”

In the room next door, the twins were getting dressed. They pulled out light gray suits with a subtle metallic finish. They weren't fully formal, but they had enough shine to feel special. The fabric caught the light softly and emphasized their massive builds. Matúš started wrestling with a new shirt. Unworn. Crisp. White. He fastened the last buttons over his stomach more through willpower than technique. The pants were tight, but exactly the kind of tightness he liked. Slim fit. He stubbornly believed slim fit still meant style, not denial of reality. The jacket was worse. That had stopped serving as something you buttoned. Now it was just for the outline.

Matúš stood in front of the mirror. He couldn't even see his whole body in it. He had to step back. He placed both hands on his stomach, weighed it in his palms, and smiled with satisfaction. “One day you'll be like this.” Then he called for Jonáš.

Jonáš came into his room, and the sight of him was ridiculous. Matúš stood there in pants that were too tight, an unbuttoned jacket, and a shirt fighting for every inch. Jonáš wasn't doing any better. His pants were unbuttoned, his shirt stretched over his stomach, and he wore the expression of a man who had already realized he couldn't do it alone. Jonáš stood against the wall and said, “Please button me up.”

Jonáš leaned his back against the wall. Matúš stepped in front of him, grabbed the edges of the shirt, and started pulling them together. It wasn't gentle. It was more like mechanical work. The shirt was new, so the buttons still had a chance of surviving. Matúš fastened them one by one, with pressure, deep breaths, and short pauses whenever Jonáš had to hold his breath.

“Matúško, a little gentleness, please,” groaned Jonáš.

“Well, gentler isn't possible when you've got a belly like a barrel,” Matúš teased him.

Eventually, they managed to button most of it. From the navel down, though, the shirt and buttons gave up. Jonáš stood against the wall, the shirt stretched across his enormous stomach, the lower buttons open, his pants barely closed. Matúš helped him pull on the jacket. During the movement, however, his own shirt rebelled. His stomach pushed forward, the fabric snapped under tension, and two buttons shot off somewhere toward the bed.

For a second, there was silence.

Then both of them started laughing.

Matúš looked down at his shirt. The middle still held. The bottom didn't. His stomach was pushing out. Matúš waved it off and said, “It's fine. I don't expect we'll stay buttoned up like this for very long.”

They liked suits. Not because they made them look slimmer. That had stopped being true a long time ago. They liked them because they gave them structure. A jacket emphasized the shoulders. A shirt lifted the chest. Pants held the posture together. And within all of that, their huge stomachs didn't look like an accident. They looked like a statement.

Today they weren't going out among strangers. Today was family. And that was exactly why they wanted to dress up.

Matúš stood next to Jonáš in front of the mirror. Two thirty-five-year-old brothers. Twins. The same hard faces, large protruding ears, short hair, broad shoulders. And two stomachs that could no longer be ignored, even in the best suit.

Matúš placed a hand on Jonáš's belly and said:

“I promised you'd be the biggest-bellied one out of all of us. By now you have to be at least one hundred fifty-three centimeters.”

Jonáš looked at him and asked, “Around the waist?”

Matúš nodded and said, “Where else?”

Jonáš lowered his gaze to his stomach. The shirt strained across it, the open lower buttons exposed skin, and the jacket merely framed all that weight. He smiled.

Adam's voice came from the hallway. “You guys ready?”

Matúš shouted back, “Almost. Just finishing the structural engineering.”

Adam appeared in the doorway wearing his light blue suit. He looked at them. Then at the buttons lying by the bed. Then at their stomachs. Adam nodded with approval and said, “Excellent.” Jonáš adjusted his collar. Matúš smoothed out his jacket. Adam turned toward the stairs. Downstairs, a table was already set. A white tablecloth.

Caption 5

Jonáš arrived in town. He knew the old streets by heart. The facades had fresh paint, and where old shops once stood there were now salons, small bistros, and cafés. He drove past the old bakery. A low building with a faded sign, small windows, and a door they used to walk through as boys to buy rolls, sweet buns, and poppy seed cake. He couldn’t smell the baked goods through the closed car window, but his memory filled it in instantly. Warm rolls. Buttery pastries. Yeast dough. Sweet farmer’s cheese. He was about to park when he noticed something new a block farther down. A café. Large clean windows, a dark frame, a wooden sign above the door. Modern, but not sterile. The breakfast menu was painted in white on the glass, and beneath it was a name that caught his attention even more than the storefront itself.

BREAKFEAST. He chuckled to himself. A weak pun, but an effective one.

He parked by the curb. For a moment he stayed in the car. The shirt stretched across his belly was holding together mostly out of habit. He tried to tuck it in a little. His stomach got in the way of every movement. The fabric couldn’t really be smoothed out anymore, only shifted from one point of tension to another. He got out of the car. Once he was standing, he felt his weight more clearly than before. He crossed the sidewalk and went inside.

The café was open, but empty.

The air smelled of coffee, butter, and something sweet that was baking somewhere in the back. The room was warm, with wooden tables, soft chairs, and a large counter at the far end. Behind the display glass sat croissants, cakes, sweet buns, savory pastries, and tall sandwiches. A breakfast menu hung on the wall.

Jonáš stopped by the door. For a second he hesitated. Is it open? Muted sounds of dishes and someone moving around came from the kitchen, but otherwise it was quiet. He sat down at a table by the window. Jonáš settled into his seat slowly. The booth was fairly narrow. His stomach immediately bumped against the edge of the table.

He remained seated with his belly pressed against the tabletop, his jacket unbuttoned and his shirt stretched so tightly that every breath was visible. He rested his palms on his thighs and looked at the menu.

Breakfast for One — eggs, bacon, bread, spread, vegetables Big Breakfast — three eggs, sausage, bacon, beans, potatoes, bread House Feast — a selection of hot and sweet breakfast items, pastries, eggs, meat, cakes, coffee, and much more!

Jonáš paused at the last option. House Feast?

The words immediately created pleasant images in his mind. He had come to buy breakfast, but stopping for only coffee and a couple of butter rolls would have been disappointing.

A young man stepped out of the kitchen. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty. Slim, well-groomed, moving with effortless confidence. He wore a white T-shirt and an apron tied around his waist. A fresh skin fade highlighted the shape of his head. And his ears. Large, protruding, impossible to miss. Jonáš smiled.

Maybe it was some kind of local trait. Maybe men here were born with ears like family crests. Him. Matúš. Adam. And now this young waiter or cook who looked like he had just stepped out of a modern barbershop advertisement.

“Good morning. We’re serving already.”

He approached with a smile. His eyes briefly landed on Jonáš’s stretched shirt and the large stomach pressed against the table. The young man picked up a menu even though Jonáš already had one in front of him.

“Coffee?”

“A strong one, please.”

“And something to go with it?”

Jonáš looked back at the menu. He knew he had only come to buy breakfast for the three of them. He knew he should say, just coffee, please.

Instead he pointed at the last item. “What exactly is the House Feast?”

The young man smiled slightly. “That depends on how much you want to eat.”

“How much I want to eat?” Jonáš repeated.

“Eggs, bacon, sausage, bread, homemade spreads, sweet pastries. Depends on what’s ready that morning. Coffee included. Want to try it?”

Jonáš felt that familiar tension stir in his chest. Last night. The goulash. Adam’s look. The scale in the bathroom. One hundred fifty-three. Jonáš placed a hand on the menu. Through the fabric he could feel his stomach pressing against the table. “I’ll try it.”

The young man wrote down the order and asked one more question. “The full House Feast?”

A simple question. But to Jonáš it sounded like a challenge. He nodded. “The full one.”

Jonáš leaned back as far as the chair allowed. In the process his stomach pressed even harder into the edge of the table, and the gap between the buttons of his shirt widened slightly.

The young man smiled. His gaze drifted lower. To the stretched white shirt. To the missing buttons. To the huge belly resting against the table, impossible to ignore. Jonáš noticed. He had become sensitive to that. He could tell the difference between mockery and curiosity. This wasn’t mockery. The young man quickly lifted his eyes back to Jonáš’s face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to stare.”

Jonáš looked at him. “You from around here?”

“Yeah. I worked in Bristol for a few years. Now I’m back. This place is ours.” He gestured around the café.

“Ours?”

The young man nodded and explained that his sister did the baking and worked in the kitchen while he handled everything else.

“Mom says we’ll be bankrupt within a year, so we’ve got motivation.” He said it with a grin.

“The name’s good,” Jonáš remarked.

“Breakfeast?”

“Cheap wordplay. But good.”

The young man laughed. “That was exactly the goal.”

He set down silverware wrapped in a napkin and a glass of water. As he leaned forward, his eyes drifted once again toward Jonáš’s stomach.

“Think the House Feast will be enough for you?” He smiled.

Jonáš raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question or a provocation?”

“Professional estimate.”

“And what does the estimate say?”

The young man looked him over again. Not provocatively. Practically. Then he said, “I’ll bring you the basics first. Then you can decide.” Jonáš felt something familiar wake up inside him. It wasn’t excitement. More like anticipation. That dangerous spark.

“With us, the House Feast can be expanded depending on how much you can handle. Sort of an all-you-can-eat concept, but we keep it under control so food doesn’t go to waste.”

Jonáš looked at him more carefully. There was nothing fake in the smile. Just the calm confidence of someone who understood that food wasn’t only a service. It was also a way of reading people.

“What’s your name?”

“Tibor.”

“Jonáš. Nice to meet you.”

Tibor looked at Jonáš. A massive young man with a handsome face and a powerful build. The morning light shone through his large protruding ears.

“Those ears really are some kind of local trademark.”

Jonáš laughed out loud. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Don’t worry,” Tibor said. “Around here we consider them a mark of quality.”

Tibor turned toward the kitchen but stopped at the counter first. “Oh, and by the way, if that shirt is bothering you, feel free to unbutton it.”

Jonáš looked up. Tibor wasn’t smiling. Not mockingly. Just matter-of-factly. Like someone who could see something was uncomfortable and saw no reason to make it embarrassing. “You’re alone in here for now,” Tibor added. “And we’ll see whether we need to expand that House Feast.”

Then he disappeared into the kitchen. Jonáš remained sitting by the window without moving. The sentence stayed with him. If that shirt is bothering you, feel free to unbutton it. The shirt really was bothering him. It stretched across his stomach, pulled with every breath, and the remaining buttons were holding on with such effort that every movement felt risky. Gaps between them revealed strips of skin. One deep breath and the fabric creaked again at the seams.

He felt it again. That strange excitement. Intense. Not just because of the food that was coming. Because of the entire situation. Sitting in a strange café. Wearing a shirt that was barely holding together. With his stomach pressed against the table. Slowly, Jonáš placed his fingers on the tightest button. He hesitated. Then he unfastened it. The fabric immediately relaxed outward. Not much. But enough to let him take a deeper breath. His stomach shifted forward and settled more comfortably against the table. The relief was so strong he had to close his eyes. He opened another button. Then another. The shirt parted like a curtain. His belly spilled majestically across the table.

Footsteps came from the kitchen. Jonáš quickly placed his hands on the table, but he didn’t button the shirt back up. Tibor arrived carrying the basics. On a large wooden tray sat buttered eggs, crispy bacon, a sausage split down the middle, crispy potatoes, beans in thick tomato sauce, two kinds of spreads, a bowl of pickled vegetables, and a basket of bread with steam still rising from it. Beside that he placed a smaller plate of sweets: two croissants, a sweet cheese bun, a slice of poppy seed cake, and a small cream-filled pastry. Finally he set down a strong coffee.

Tibor glanced at the open shirt, then at Jonáš’s face. He said nothing. And somehow that was the worst part. No joke. No surprise. No “I knew it.” Just calm acceptance, as if the whole thing were part of the standard breakfast experience.

“Your breakfast starter,” Tibor said.

“This is the starter?”

“Yes.”

“And the expansion?”

Tibor smiled slightly. “That comes if you still have the appetite and the will to keep eating.”

A short breath caught in Jonáš’s throat. Tibor handed him the silverware. “Eat slowly. Enjoy every bite.”

Jonáš picked up the fork. The first bite was egg, bacon, and bread. Warm. Greasy. Salty. Simple. Good. So good that he rolled his eyes. The second bite was bigger. By the third, he had stopped thinking about what he would tell Adam and Matúš about why he had spent so long in town.

The café was still empty. The first people were walking outside. Inside, Jonáš sat by the window with his shirt open, his enormous stomach resting against the table, and a breakfast in front of him that was called the starter.

Chapter 3

The morning was waking up slowly. Warm light flooded the kitchen, and the house still carried the heavy atmosphere of the previous night’s overeating. An empty pot of goulash still sat on the counter, along with Adam’s strong coffee, steam rising from the mug. Adam was sitting at the island wearing only sweatpants, no shirt. His large belly spilled over the waistband, shifting forward slightly with every deeper breath. He was still full, yet somehow already hungry again. Not intensely. More like a quiet, familiar feeling that seemed to return surprisingly soon after every big meal. He watched his reflection in the dark glass and thought about Jonah. He was beginning to understand what Jonah loved about it. It wasn’t just the food. Slow footsteps sounded from upstairs. Matthew came down wearing only sweatpants as well, sweaty and still half asleep. His huge belly swayed lazily as he walked. The moment he entered the kitchen, he noticed Jonah contentedly rubbing his enormous stomach. The whole scene felt strangely masculine and absurd at the same time. Matthew smirked: “You’ve definitely got the biggest gut out of all of us.”

Jonah slowly looked up. “Please. Take a look at yourself first.”

Matthew laughed and pointed at his belly. “No, seriously. You look like a professional eater after the season’s over.”

Jonah leaned back and rested a hand on his stomach. “Says the guy who could barely make it down the stairs.”

Matthew looked Jonah up and down for a moment, then suddenly opened a drawer.

Jonah frowned. “What are you doing?”

Matthew pulled out a measuring tape and held it up triumphantly. “I want proof.”

Jonah laughed. “You’re insane.”

Matthew stepped closer. “Stand up.”

Jonah was laughing, but once he stood in the middle of the kitchen and the tape started wrapping around his waist, it was obvious he was more interested in the result than he wanted to admit. His enormous belly pushed the tape forward, making it impossible to pull it tight. Adam watched silently from behind his coffee mug. Matthew bent down, focused, connected the tape, and looked at the number. He went quiet for a second. Jonah asked impatiently, “Well?”

Matthew looked up at him and said, “One hundred forty-seven centimeters.”

Matthew burst out laughing so hard he had to lean against the counter. Jonah looked down at his body. He smiled with satisfaction. Adam smiled too and set his mug down on the island.

“Your belly’s like a drum.” Matthew laughed even harder.

Jonah raised an eyebrow. “Try it.” Matthew didn’t hesitate. He slapped Jonah’s enormous belly with his full palm so hard that the sound echoed through the entire kitchen. “Exactly. A drum.”

Jonah cracked up and grabbed his stomach. “You idiot.”

A moment later, Matthew walked over to Adam as well. Adam warned him. “Don’t even try it.” Matthew slapped his belly too. The dull thump bounced off the kitchen cabinets. Matthew nodded approvingly. “You sound good too.” Adam laughed, even though he acted offended. The laughter mixed with the morning sunlight and the lingering fatigue from the meal. They started counting again—the gallons of goulash, the bread, the sausages, and the late-night eating straight from the pot. The numbers sounded ridiculous. Even so, the hunger was slowly coming back.

After a moment, Jonah rubbed his belly and asked, “You guys aren’t getting hungry again already, are you?”

Matthew laughed. “After everything we destroyed yesterday?”

Adam looked down into his mug and stayed quiet.

Jonah stared at him. “Adam?”

“A little.” Adam finally admitted.

Matthew stopped laughing. He looked at them, then at his own stomach, and sighed. “Fine. Me too.”

Jonah smiled with satisfaction. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

As a joke, Matthew grabbed his big protruding ears and started pulling them out to the sides. “Look at us. We look like elephants. Big-bellied, big-eared, and always hungry.” Adam laughed. “That’s way too accurate.” Their laughter echoed through the whole house. Finally, Jonah straightened up and made a decision.

“I’m going to get breakfast.”

Matthew looked at him. “Like that?”

Jonah looked down at his sweatpants and bare chest. “No. I’ll clean myself up first.”

A few minutes later, he came downstairs dressed in the same suit he had worn the day before. The sight was ridiculous. The white dress shirt was stretched across his enormous belly to its absolute limit. Two buttons in the middle were already missing. Wide gaps had formed between the remaining buttons, exposing his deep belly button underneath. His suit jacket hung completely open because fastening it was no longer possible.

Matthew immediately started laughing. “You look like a mobster after a three-week all-inclusive vacation.”

Jonah stopped in the doorway and looked at him calmly. “Keep laughing while you can.”

Matthew wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Why?”

Jonah pointed at his belly. “A few more nights like that, and you won’t fit into that shirt either.”

That made Adam laugh too.

Chapter 2

Adam got up earlier than the others. The goulash still sat in his gut like a concrete foundation. He finally pushed himself out of bed, sat on the edge for a moment, and just breathed. The house was still quiet. Matúš and Jonáš were asleep. Adam saw that as an advantage. He wanted to shower before they came downstairs. The bathroom was small and narrow, and after yesterday he wasn’t in the mood for any more brotherly comments about how he barely fit in the shower. In the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror. Looking back at him was a big, broad-shouldered, large-eared man. His overstuffed gut. He grabbed it with both hands and gave it a slight shake. He smiled. Under the mirror cabinet, he spotted the scale. He nudged it closer with his foot and stepped on. The scale beeped. Three numbers lit up on the display. 134 kilograms. Adam stood there in silence, perfectly still. Just on Monday, he had been 130. He knew that exactly because he weighed himself every Monday morning out of habit. One hundred thirty on Monday. One hundred thirty-four on Saturday morning. After the goulash. After the bread. After the spread. After a night during which three grown men had eaten nearly eight liters of goulash. Without any trouble. Adam looked back at himself in the mirror, at his stomach, and let out an ironic breath. “Fantastic…”

He wanted to laugh, but when he inhaled, his belly pressed back unpleasantly. He turned toward the shower. The shower stall was old, corner-mounted, and designed back when nobody in this house imagined that three grown sons would one day grow to these proportions. Adam slid the door open and carefully stepped inside. Barely. His stomach brushed one wall, his shoulder rubbed the other, and his backside bumped the glass behind him. When he tried to pull the door shut, he first had to slowly turn sideways. Even that was a problem. His belly kept pressing against the wall in front of him, and every movement sent his elbows into the glass.

Eventually he managed to close the door, but only a tiny amount of free space remained. Every turn of his body required several small, careful adjustments. Turning on the water turned out to be surprisingly difficult. Adam sucked in his stomach, stretched out an arm, and only reached the controls on the second try. Once the water finally started running, he stood there for a moment. The hot shower helped at first. It loosened his neck, shoulders, and back. Adam dried his face with a towel and looked at the scale one more time. 134. He shoved it back under the cabinet with his foot. Adam walked into the kitchen and started cleaning up. Adam opened the dishwasher. Adam muttered to himself. “One hundred thirty-four.” The number was still stuck in his head. He started loading bowls into the dishwasher. One after another. Large ceramic bowls, each with a greasy red ring around the edge. Whenever he reached across the table for them, his stomach pulled him forward. He widened his stance. One hand braced himself while the other gathered dishes.

The stairs creaked overhead. Slowly. Heavily. Adam didn’t even turn around. From the rhythm alone, he knew it wasn’t Matúš. Matúš would have made more noise and more comments. This was Jonáš. Slightly heavier after yesterday’s goulash. Jonáš came down barefoot, wearing only sweatpants. His face still looked sleepy, his hair was messy, and dried stains covered his stomach from the bowl he had rested there while eating goulash the night before, as if it had been a convenient side table. He didn’t look like someone who had slept well. He looked like someone who had spent the entire night digesting his own decisions from the previous evening. He stopped in the doorway. For a moment, he just watched Adam standing at the dishwasher, breathing heavily, holding a bowl, his stomach resting against the open dishwasher door.

“You already started fighting the kitchen?” Adam placed the bowl into the lower rack and slowly straightened up. “Someone has to.” Jonáš walked in. He crossed to the island and, without hesitation, planted his still-full gut against it. His large belly settled onto the wooden edge. Jonáš exhaled. Physically. Like a man who had finally found support. He looked at the empty pot beside the stove. “Did we really eat all of it?” Jonáš asked. Adam didn’t answer right away. He picked up another bowl from the table, leaving behind a dried red circle of goulash residue. “Almost all of it,” Adam replied. Jonáš frowned.

“How much was there?”

“Almost eight liters,” Adam answered, leaning his palms against the counter.

“For three people, that’s impressive.”

“Impressive!” Adam agreed.

“Jonáš, three grown men ate almost eight liters of goulash with bread, and that doesn’t even include the huge appetizer.”

Jonáš placed both hands on his stomach. It was large, tight, and swollen from food. In the morning light, it looked even more massive. Heavy, full, impossible to ignore. He gently rubbed it with both hands.

“As far as I can tell, I’ve got the biggest belly out of all of us.”

Adam stopped loading dishes. “Based on what?”

“Based on everything.” Jonáš remained standing by the island and looked down at his stomach so tenderly that it almost felt pathetic. “Just look at me.” He pressed his stomach more firmly against the island and continued. “Matúš has a big one. You do too. Mine is the widest. That’s the difference.”

“I weighed myself this morning,” Adam said.

Jonáš immediately looked up. “How much?” Adam froze. He shouldn’t have said it. Jonáš pushed himself off the island. Suddenly he was fully awake.

“How much?” Jonáš repeated.

Adam stayed silent for a moment. Then he placed a bowl into the dishwasher. “One thirty-four.”

“And before that?”

“On Monday I was one thirty. I always weigh myself on Mondays.”

“Four kilos.” A smile appeared on Jonáš’s face.

“The last time I weighed myself was a month ago.”

Adam looked at him. “And?”

“I was one forty.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “A month ago?”

“A month ago.” For a moment, both of them looked at Jonáš’s stomach.

Jonáš glanced toward the bathroom. “Does that scale still work?”

Adam remembered the number 134 and how he had shoved the scale back under the cabinet with his foot. “It works.”

Jonáš slowly pushed himself away from the island. He took a step toward the bathroom. His stomach shifted heavily forward as he walked, and he instinctively supported it with one hand. Adam watched him.

“You’re really doing this?”

Jonáš stopped in front of the bathroom door. “If I’m claiming I have the biggest belly, I need evidence and data.”

Adam rubbed a tired hand across his face. “Fantastic. The family reunites after ten years, and the first serious research project is comparing stomachs.”

Adam heard Jonáš pull the scale out with his foot. Then silence. A moment later came a short beep. The number stabilized. Jonáš looked down at the display. 153 kilograms. The last time he had weighed himself was a month ago. Back then he had been 140. That had already been enough. Even then, he knew he was heavier than he admitted to other people. But now a new number glowed in front of him. One fifty-three. He didn’t feel shock. And that worried him. Then came the feeling he didn’t want to admit. The number excited him. It wasn’t just a result. It was confirmation of something he had carried inside himself for a long time. A secret he had never told anyone. Not even Matúš. Especially not Adam.

Jonáš knew he wasn’t just a guy who liked food. He knew that food, fullness, his own weight, and the sight of his growing stomach triggered something stronger, more personal, and more dangerous inside him.

He knew he was a feedee.

That word had been coded into him for years. Ever since childhood, when he watched his father and his uncle eat with such enthusiasm. Now he knew that strange peace that came after completely stuffing himself. He knew the secret rush of pride when he ate more than he should. He knew that moment of ecstasy when he realized how much he could eat past the limit. Yesterday he had felt it. Inner ecstasy. In front of his brothers he acted calm. Inside, he had been burning. Part of him wanted to be afraid. Another part was smiling.

From the kitchen Adam called out: “Well?”

“I’m not sure you want to hear it,” Jonáš called back from the bathroom.

He took a breath and returned to the kitchen. He acted calm, but it wasn’t convincing. His eyes were too alive. He wasn’t scared. If anything, he seemed strangely energized, as if he had seen more than a number in that bathroom. As if he had seen proof of something he had suspected all along.

“Well?”

“One fifty-three.”

Adam stayed silent for a moment. “One fifty-three,” Adam repeated. Jonáš nodded. Adam looked him over and started doing the math.

“A month ago you were one forty.”

“I was,” Jonáš confirmed.

“Thirteen kilos?!”

“I guess so.”

Adam leaned against the counter. “Not ‘I guess.’ Thirteen.” The kitchen fell silent.

“Wait. How much did you actually eat yesterday?” Jonáš looked up.

“What?”

“There were almost eight liters of goulash.” Adam pointed to himself and counted on his fingers. “I had about two liters. Maybe a little more, but not much. Four big bowls.” He pointed toward the stairs. “Matúš too. He put on a show, but he also had about four bowls. Around two liters. Together that’s four liters. Maybe four and a half if I’m being generous.” He looked at Jonáš. “And the pot was almost empty.” Jonáš slowly ran a hand across his stomach. Adam stared at him.

“Jonáš, how many did you have? Six bowls?”

Jonáš looked away. Adam narrowed his eyes. “Seven?” Jonáš stayed silent.

“Eight?”

Jonáš cleared his throat. “I’m not exactly sure.”

“You are.”

Jonáš leaned harder against the island. His stomach spread against the edge, and he realized how naturally the support came to him. At the same time, there was something secret about it. Something that felt dangerously good.

Adam watched him. “How many?” Jonáš took a breath.

“Maybe eight.”

“Eight bowls?”

“Maybe.”

“Big bowls?” Adam asked in disbelief.

“Plus bread,” Jonáš added quietly.

“Yeah, plus bread. I haven’t even gotten to the bread yet.”

Jonáš shrugged, but there was no indifference in it. More an attempt to save face.

“I ate slowly.”

“No. You ate consistently,” Adam replied.

That was accurate. Jonáš knew it. Last night he hadn’t eaten like someone who simply loved the taste. He had eaten like someone exploring a boundary. Bowl after bowl. The point where the body said enough, but somewhere inside him another quiet yes kept answering. Adam looked at his stomach. “And that’s why it’s one fifty-three." Jonáš lowered his gaze. Even looking at his gut, he could feel and see its weight and size. And he felt the other thing too. The secret excitement. But it was starting to become visible. His body was revealing something he had kept hidden for years. Yesterday’s ecstasy wasn’t just in his head anymore. It had volume. It had liters. It had bowls. It had the number 153 on a scale.

Adam studied him. “You weren’t just hungry yesterday.”

Jonáš looked up. “What do you mean?”

Adam let a few seconds of silence hang between them. He was choosing his words. Jonáš stood by the island with both hands resting on his stomach. He looked guilty. But not only guilty. There was something else there. Something strange. Tense. Hidden. Like a man waiting to see whether someone would discover him, while at the same time fearing that if nobody did, he would remain alone with it forever. Adam saw it. He walked over to the island. He stood beside Jonáš and leaned against it too. His own stomach settled heavily onto the wooden edge next to Jonáš’s. At that moment, the difference was obvious. Jonáš was bigger. His wide belly spilled outward like dough. It took up more space on the island. Adam placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t judgment. It was the firm intervention of someone watching another person start to slide somewhere dangerous.

“Are you eating your feelings?” Adam asked.

Jonáš smiled at first, but the smile disappeared quickly. “That’s your diagnosis?”

“No. It’s a question.”

“After ten years, you’re going to psychoanalyze me in the kitchen first thing in the morning?”

Jonáš turned away. Adam didn’t remove his hand.

“You didn’t eat normally yesterday. Not like a hungry man. Not like someone who loves Mom’s goulash. You ate differently.”

Jonáš pressed his lips together. He looked at the empty pot. Then at his stomach, resting against the island like evidence that couldn’t be ignored.

“I’m not sure you want to hear it,” Jonáš said quietly. His stomach shifted forward as he spoke. Adam’s hand remained firm on his shoulder. “I’m not eating my feelings the way you think.”

“Then how?”

Jonáš was silent for a moment. Then he told the truth. “I don’t always want to stop the problem.” He continued more slowly. “It’s not just stress. It’s not just loneliness. It’s not just the fact that I stayed away from home for ten years and then found myself back in a kitchen that smells like Mom. That would be simple.” He looked at Adam. Adam nodded for him to continue.

“I like the feeling.” Adam said nothing. “Fullness. Weight. Eating more than I should. My body getting bigger. Being able to see it.”The words came out with difficulty, but once they started, they couldn’t be pushed back. “Yesterday, when we were eating the goulash, I was hungry. I enjoyed the taste. And then something else came.” He stopped. It wasn’t easy to say.

“Ecstasy.” The word sounded too exposed in the kitchen. “I know how that sounds.” Jonáš swallowed. “When I saw that I could have another bowl. When I felt completely full but realized there was still room for more, it was powerful.” Adam squeezed his shoulder a little tighter. “And the 153?” Adam asked.

Jonáš lowered his eyes. “It turned me on.”

Adam didn’t comment. He listened. “I’m not proud of it. But I can’t honestly say it scared me either. That would be a lie. When I saw that number, part of me should have been terrified. And part of me was. But another part…” He didn’t finish. Adam finished for him. “Wanted more.” Jonáš closed his eyes. “Yes.” The silence was heavy, but finally clean.

Adam looked ahead. At the old kitchen. At their mother’s notebook on the counter. At the place where they had laughed the night before until they could barely stand up. Then he looked back at Jonáš.

“So the question isn’t whether you can stop eating. The question is whether you want to stop.”

Jonáš looked at him. After a moment he said: “I don’t know.”

Upstairs, a bed creaked again. Matúš. Adam glanced toward the stairs. “We’re not telling him yet.” Jonáš nodded immediately. “Please.”

“But this conversation isn’t over.”

“I know.” He sighed.

Adam turned more fully toward him. Both men stood at the island, their stomachs side by side, two heavy, ridiculous, yet suddenly very serious reminders that sometimes the body tells the truth before the person does.

“Tonight we cook for ourselves, not for an army,” Adam said.

Jonáš looked at their mother’s notebook.

“Dad’s letter says we’re supposed to cook from Mom’s recipes.”

“Dad’s letter doesn’t say we have to destroy ourselves.”

Jonáš said nothing. Adam continued more firmly. “And it definitely doesn’t say you should finish yourself off.”

The words hit home. Jonáš pulled away from the island slightly. Not because he was angry. Because the truth had gotten too close.

“You don’t know what it’s like.”

Adam looked down at his own stomach. “You think so?” Jonáš fell silent.

“I may not have your secret. But I spent years stuffing myself too when I didn’t know what to do with an empty house. The only difference is that you get a spark from it.” Jonáš looked at him differently. For the first time not as an older brother, but as a man who had been left alone with his own struggle and had paid his own price for it.

Chapter One.

Matúš and Jonáš stood in the yard in front of their parents’ house like two men who had come back late. Not an hour late. Not a day late. Ten years late. The house felt smaller than they remembered. The yard no longer looked like a place from childhood, but like an old place that had outlived them. The cracked concrete, the walnut tree by the fence, the rusty garage gate, and the empty bench by the front door silently reminded them that their parents no longer sat where they used to.

The twins no longer looked like the boys who had once left home. In gray suits, they looked like two massive, almost identical versions of the same man. Broad shoulders, powerful hands, short dark hair, hard masculine features, and prominent ears that still stuck out just like they had when they were younger. But the years had marked their bodies the most. Their white dress shirts stretched tightly over their large stomachs, and their jackets pushed outward as if their bodies had slowly outgrown their own clothes. It was not just ordinary weight gain. Their bodies carried years of good food, work, comfort, stubbornness, and family genetics. The front door opened and Adam appeared in the doorway.

He was slightly shorter than the twins, but he did not feel smaller. Wearing a navy suit, a short beard, and the calm expression of a man who had stopped racing against time years ago, he carried a heavy, grounded presence. His stomach was large and dominant too, naturally fitting the body of a man who had grown used to taking up space. His jacket was unbuttoned because there was simply no way to close it. The white dress shirt stretched tightly across his massive gut, and the front panels of the jacket hung apart like they had already given up before the fight even started.

Adam looked them over and dryly remarked, “At least you two never stopped eating.” Matúš smirked and immediately fired back. “You don’t exactly look like you’ve been living off salads either.” Jonáš stayed quiet. He looked Adam up and down, from his face to the stretched shirt across his stomach, and realized his older brother had not only changed in attitude. He had gotten seriously bigger too. He just carried it differently. Calmer. Less confrontational. But with more authority. Adam stepped aside and said, “Come in.”

Matúš walked in first. On purpose, he squeezed close to Adam like he wanted to see whether his older brother would step aside for him again like he used to. But the doorway was too narrow and Adam did not move an inch. He stood firmly in the entrance, leaning his back against the doorframe. Legs spread slightly apart, his huge stomach pushed forward like a wall. Matúš hit it with his own stomach before he could even get through. He got stuck between the frame and Adam’s body. He had to awkwardly squeeze sideways, pull his stomach in, and force his way past him. For a few seconds they were pressed stomach against stomach — two grown brothers who, after ten years, still could not pass each other normally inside their own house. Matúš forced a smile and said, “Looks like security got stricter around here.” Adam stayed completely still. He did not move for him with force or with politeness. He made it clear this was his doorway, the house he had held together for ten years. Eventually Matúš backed off. Jonáš came through more carefully. His stomach brushed against Adam’s too, but there was no challenge in it. Adam gave him exactly as much room as necessary. From behind him, Matúš called out, “You moved for him.” Adam calmly looked at him and replied, “Jonáš wasn’t pushing.”

Their father’s letter was waiting for them in the kitchen. Adam pulled it from a drawer. The envelope said it belonged to all three sons and had to be opened together. The letter was not long, but it was precise. Their father had left the house to all three of them. Not so they could fight over it, but so they could stay there together for seven days. Every evening they had to cook one meal from their mother’s recipe notebook and sit together at the table. No talking about money, inheritance, or ownership shares right away. First they had to find out whether they were still a family. The hardest sentence was simple. If they could not do that, then they might be grown men, but they were still little sons. After reading the letter, they stayed standing around the kitchen island. The kitchen was the same, but they were too big now. Standing too long was already starting to hit their legs. Matúš did not want to admit it. Jonáš did.

Jonáš leaned against the counter and quietly said, “My legs already hurt.”

Matúš looked at him. “We’ve been here five minutes.”

Jonáš did not move. “Yeah, well, apparently those were five heavy minutes.”

Adam looked at both of them and suggested, “Why don’t you just rest those guts on the island? Helps a lot.”

“You serious?” Matúš asked, offended. Adam did not explain anything. He simply lifted his huge stomach with both hands and rested it against the wooden edge. The countertop creaked softly. Jonáš followed him, nodded with approval, and said, “He’s right.” Matúš resisted for another moment, but eventually leaned against it too. Three massive male bodies. Three gorillas in sweatpants. Three enormous stomachs gently resting on their mother’s kitchen island. The absurdity of the situation finally broke the tension. Matúš started laughing first. Jonáš tried to stay serious but lost the battle. Adam, who had kept a hard face the whole time, finally cracked too. The laughter did not erase ten years of silence, but for a moment it stopped standing between them like a wall.

“We’re home,” Jonáš sighed. Each of them disappeared into his old room and came back a little later wearing only sweatpants. Freedom. Finally free from the suits and dress shirts that had been tightly imprisoning their perfect bellies. Now they could really see each other. Matúš with his wide chest, powerful shoulders, huge arms, and stomach pushing forward like it had its own personality. Jonáš looked almost the same, a little harder in posture, but just as big. Both still clearly had a muscular foundation. They were not soft men. They were strong men who had simply carried a lot of weight on top of that strength. Adam was more compact, but his stomach was not far behind theirs either. Adam had already laid out the ingredients for the goulash.

There was meat, sausage, potatoes, onions, garlic, paprika, lard, and several fresh loaves of bread spread across the counter. Large pots waited on the stove. In their family, goulash was never cooked in moderation. It was cooked so nobody would run out. Back when their father was alive, eight liters was normal. Matúš looked at the amount of meat and said, “Now this is the kind of dinner I remember.” Jonáš grabbed a knife and cutting board and got to work on the meat. He worked with focus, but his stomach kept getting in the way between his body and the board. His arms had to stretch awkwardly forward like he was working over a railing. Then one chunk of beef slipped from his fingers. It did not hit the floor. It landed directly on his stomach. Adam immediately shot a warning look at Matúš, but Matúš still commented, “Looks like we’ve got plenty of workspace here.” Jonáš picked the meat back up, placed it on the board, and calmly replied, “I make use of every available surface.”

The goulash got going. The onions took on color, the meat seared, and the paprika released a deep rich smell that slowly began changing the entire house. It no longer felt like an empty place anymore. It was breathing again. But goulash takes time. And the men were getting hungry. Adam had expected that. He opened the fridge and pulled out a large bowl of garlic spread, fresh bread, smoked meat, pickles, onions, and mustard. Matúš looked at it and said: “Perfect. Appetizers.” This was not some elegant little snack. Each of them loaded up heavily. Thick slices of bread, generous layers of spread, chunks of smoked meat, sharp onions, pickles to bite into. For a while they barely talked at all. They just ate, leaned against the kitchen island, and let themselves sink into that simple greasy salty comfort. Then came another slice of bread. More spread. Another piece of meat. Another pickle. Meanwhile the goulash kept bubbling on the stove.

Tibor asked, “Can I help somehow?”

The question caught Matúš off guard more than he expected. For a split second, only one answer flashed through his head: Only if you feed me yourself. He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

Without another word, Tibor picked up the fork. He cut off a large piece of steamed bun, added poppy seeds, a little melted butter, and calmly lifted it to Matúš’s mouth. Matúš froze in surprise. This was exactly what he wanted. He no longer had to prove he was in control. He could just lean back and let Tibor guide him through the last bites. He chewed.

The bun was soft and hot. The poppy seeds clung to his tongue, the butter soaked into the dough, and the plum jam opened only on the second bite — thick and sweet. Tibor waited. Matúš gave a small nod for him to continue. Another piece. Then another.

Fork. Bite. Chewing. Breath.

The first bun disappeared from the plate before Matúš even realized when it had happened. Tibor’s ears had turned red. He looked calm, focused, almost professional. He was feeding Matúš, and he knew perfectly well this had stopped being just about food a long time ago. For a moment he paused. He looked at Matúš more softly than before and asked quietly, “Can I keep going?” There was no arrogance in it. No power play.

Just the caution of someone who understood that the line between helping, pleasure, and humiliation had become dangerously thin — and didn’t want to cross it without permission. Matúš said nothing. He just leaned back heavily and gave the slightest nod. Tibor continued.

The second bun was harder. Matúš chewed more slowly now. Every bite settled inside him with increasing weight. His stomach pressed so hard against the edge of the table that it felt less like the wood was supporting him and more like it was anchoring him in place.

He breathed deeper. Slower. Sometimes he closed his eyes before he had even finished chewing.

Tibor never stopped. He cut smaller pieces now, more patiently, adjusting himself to a body that had been saying enough for a long time and was still accepting another bite. Matúš felt every swallow immediately.

Warmth. Weight. Pressure. Relief.

The last piece took the longest. Tibor held it on the fork a second longer than necessary. Matúš stared at it for a moment. Then he opened his mouth. He finished it with his eyes closed. When he swallowed, he didn’t move for several seconds. He just sat there sprawled at the table, shirt unbuttoned, huge stomach spread across the tabletop, breathing slow and heavy, arms hanging at his sides like a fighter after a match he technically won — but at a cost he still hadn’t fully understood.

The house remembered them as boys. They came back as men who could no longer hide their bodies — or the lives they had built inside them. Adam. Jonáš. Matúš. Three brothers with broad shoulders, hard hands, protruding ears, and bellies that reached the table before they did.

After their father’s death, they are forced to stay together for seven days. Cook from their mother’s recipe notebook. Eat at the same table. Only then can they decide what will become of the house. But some dinners uncover more than old memories.

A goulash so heavy no one can rise from the table afterward. Pirohy made in impossible quantities, as if the whole village were still expected to arrive. And Jonáš, slowly realizing that fullness awakens more in him than shame. Something far more dangerous.

Three Brothers is a story about men who spent their whole lives mistaking strength for the ability to carry more than everyone else.

His jacket was unbuttoned because he simply couldn’t fasten it. The white shirt was stretched tight across his massive belly, and the front panels of the jacket pulled away from each other as if they had surrendered before the fight even began.

Adam looked them up and down and remarked dryly: “At least you two didn’t stop eating.”

Matúš smirked and immediately fired back: “You don’t exactly look like you’ve spent the last few years living on salad either.”

Jonáš said nothing. He studied Adam from his face down to the strained shirt and understood that his older brother had changed in more than just his expression. He had put on serious weight too. He just carried it differently. More calmly, less defiantly, but with greater authority.

Adam opened the door for them and said: “Come inside.”