Joey takes the drink and sips modestly, setting it down to continue the game. You pick up your controller and you gaze at him while you move to sit down. His shorts have gotten tighter, but not by much.
As the two of you play, you find your eyes constantly wandering over first to him, then his drink, then back again. You find yourself worrying. If he doesn't drink enough, the solution will not have its full effect, and you'll simply have an abnormally tall teenager on your hands--or you in his, you think hopefully.
"watch out man, you're about to lose."
your eyes snap back to the game. You are indeed losing, as is usual. Suddenly though, you no longer care to let that slide, and you begin to push back. Within minutes, you have your opponent on the run, and a few more sees you in the lead.
Joey leans forward in his chair. His eyes take a sharp focus, his jaw locks in determination. He is no longer in control, and this situation must be remedied.
The game is neck-and-neck. You are distantly aware of the chatter from the screen; the other players are first confused, and then awed. Soon, the game is less and less a match of two teams, but spectators, cheering on their titan.
You see movement out of the corner of your eye. Joey has visibly relaxed. The game is his.
But it doesn't end. Joey merely sits, reclined, with a slight smirk. The voices online begin to demand an end. He's toying with me. You realize.
You set down your controller and extend a fist in his direction.
"Good game"
The smirk disappears from his face and is replaced by a warm smile. He bumps your fist. "You too. Didn't know you had that in you. Let me just mop this up real quick."
As Joey finishes the game, you glance at his glass. It is empty.
"What the hell?"
you glance back at your friend. He is noticeably larger, and is looking at his baggy cargo shorts, which now resemble speedo's on his larger frame. You hear a tearing sound, and suddenly Joey starts growing rapidly. His head hits the ceiling with a thud, and his feet slam against the wall opposite. Your couch is crushed into the floor by your friend's growing body, and his head finally punches through the ceiling. You watch rubble fall down his toned abs. One foot crashes into your game and television, the other begins to deform your wall.
"Dude, what's going on?" you hear--loud but muffled--coming through from the ceiling.
You feel something hit your leg and look down in time to see Joey's hand close around your waist and lift you up. Your house gives way as Joey stands up, covering the two of you in dust. You rub your eyes to clear them and look down. You see the shingles of your roof below you, brushing against Joey's massive shins. Joey shifts his weight, and another part of your house comes crashing down, forming a mound of debris around a giant foot.
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