#muscletheft

I’ve always hated my neighbor Clark and that stupid marble-carved body of his. But even more than that, I hated his annoying kindness — always ready to ‘help’ me just so he could show off his strength and make me feel small.

Well… I don’t think he’ll be doing that anymore.

"Come in!" His bass rumble carried through the door. He turns from the bookshelf, and that same white button-down from the start of semester fits very differently now.

"Your partner couldn't make it again?" he asks, adjusting his glasses.

"Chase texted. Still feeling drained." I close the door. "Third meeting he's missed."

Professor Mitchell frowns. "Poor kid. He was so energetic in September. Must have caught something." He gestures for me to sit. "Let me see the progress report."

I flip open the journal. Our "Biomass Redistribution Study" laid out in charts. Subject A declining, Subject B increasing.

"Fascinating," he murmurs, leaning close. "Subject B continues absorbing resources from Subject A. The passive transfer rate is remarkable."

"Yeah," I say carefully. "I theorize that it will keep accelerating until A has nothing left to offer."

He nods, tracing the projection chart. Week Ten shows completion—Subject A at 5'0", 110lbs; Subject B at 7'2", 300lbs.

"You know," he says, stretching, "I've always been lucky with my build. Never worked for it—just genetics. But this Subject B? Should be a monster by week ten."

"Right. Just... lucky genetics."

"Ha ha should be interesting seeing him next to Chase though, that kid was a beast when I last saw him, hope he starts feeling better soon."

I stand, moving beside him. "Yeah, I'm sure it will be interesting comparing them side by side when he recovers from his *shrinking* bug he has caught."

His chest casts a shadow over me, his face obscured behind straining fabric. His tie nestled deep between the globes.

"Will Chase make the final session?" He stumbles back against his desk. Even sitting, he's taller than me.

"I'll make sure he's there." My hand settles on his chest. "He needs to be present for the final measurements."

His breath catches. "Good. I'd hate for him to miss the conclusion—"

I pull his tie, guiding his back to the bookshelf. My other hand plants on his crotch for support. Something substantial and weighty beneath my palm. He groans as it pulses through the slacks. "Sorry," I say. "Your tie was bothering me."

"Oughhh…" He stiffens fully under my grip before catching himself. "Ahem—no apologies needed. Thank you for the… touch up."

"No problem," I whisper. "We'll hold the final session Thursday. We'll complete the project then."

I step back. He's flushed, breathing hard, glasses askew.

"Thursday," he echoes.

"Get a hold of yourself Mitch..." I can hear him mutter as I pack up. Meaty fingers trying to hide a pipe down his leg. "So damn sensitive lately. Swear it's bigger every day."

I smile as I step into the hallway before noticing a poster. Chase #12 in all his former glory—6'4", 245lbs of quarterback perfection.

One more session. Then Professor Mitchell will have everything Chase ever was and more.

Chase will barely have strength to walk into this office.

But he will. I'll make sure of it.