Steve woke up to the sound of his alarm blaring, the harsh beeping pulling him out of a restless sleep. He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His body felt strangely stiff as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. As he stretched, he felt an unusual tightness in his pajamas, but he shrugged it off, attributing it to a rough night.
In the bathroom, Steve splashed water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror. Something seemed off, but he couldn't quite place it. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, his movements feeling slightly encumbered. When he pulled on his favorite jeans and a T-shirt, he noticed they fit more snugly than usual. The jeans, which usually sat comfortably on his hips, now felt tight around his thighs and waist. He furrowed his brow but didn't think much of it, hurrying downstairs to grab a quick breakfast before heading out the door.
In class, Steve sat at his desk, trying to focus on the lecture. But he couldn't ignore the growing discomfort of his clothes. His shirt's sleeves were riding up his arms, exposing more of his wrists than usual. He tugged at them absentmindedly, hoping to stretch them out, but it was no use.
"Hey, Steve," a classmate whispered, leaning over. "Did you have a growth spurt or something? Your sleeves look kinda short."
Steve glanced down at his arms, noticing how much of his forearms were now exposed. "Uh, yeah, I guess so," he muttered, trying to play it off. "Must be all that milk I've been drinking."
His friend chuckled, but Steve couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something was definitely up.
Later, at Family Video, Steve struggled to fit into his uniform. The green vest that used to fit perfectly now felt like a straightjacket. He tugged at the buttons, trying to make it more comfortable, but it was no use.
Robin noticed his discomfort as she stocked the shelves. "What's up with you today, Harrington? Your uniform looks like it's about to burst."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Steve muttered, trying to adjust the tight fabric. "I think I might've grown a bit overnight."
Robin raised an eyebrow. "A bit? You look like you need a whole new wardrobe."
Just as Steve was about to respond, he felt a sudden pressure in his chest. With a loud pop, one of the buttons on his shirt shot off, landing somewhere behind the counter. He stared down at the gap in his shirt, his face turning red.
Robin burst out laughing. "Okay, that's it. You need to see a doctor or something."
Steve shook his head. "It's just a growth spurt. Nothing to worry about."
Robin gave him a skeptical look. "A growth spurt? Steve, you're bursting out of your clothes. That's not normal."
He waved her off. "It's fine. I'll be fine."
That evening, Steve joined his friends for a game of Dungeons and Dragons at Mike's house. They gathered around the table, dice and character sheets spread out. Steve tried to focus on the game, but he couldn't ignore the sensation of his body stretching. His shirt was now uncomfortably tight across his shoulders, and his jeans felt like they were cutting into his waist.
As the game progressed, Steve felt another surge of growth. His friends were too engrossed in their campaign to notice at first, but when he shifted in his seat, the chair creaked ominously.
"Steve, you alright?" Dustin asked, looking up from his character sheet.
"Yeah, just feeling a bit... cramped," Steve replied, his voice tense.
Suddenly, his jeans' seams began to strain, and with a loud rip, the fabric gave way at the knees. The table went silent as everyone turned to look at him.
"Whoa, Steve! What the hell?" Lucas exclaimed.
Steve stood up, towering over the table, his clothes barely holding together. "Guys, I think something's seriously wrong."
His friends stared at him, their expressions a mix of shock and concern.
"We need to figure this out," Mike said, his voice steady. "Maybe there's something in the game that can help us understand."
On the way home, Steve's feet throbbed painfully in his shoes. He walked down the dimly lit streets, each step feeling more awkward than the last. The night was quiet, the only sound the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. As he turned onto his street, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his left foot. He looked down just in time to see his left shoe burst open, his foot swelling out of it.
"Great," he muttered, wiggling his exposed toes. "Just great."
As he started to walk faster, something caught his eye. Across the street, standing in the shadows, was the creature from the night before. Its malevolent red eyes glowed, watching him intently.
Panic surged through Steve as he broke into a run, his heart pounding in his chest. His bare foot slapped against the pavement, the adrenaline masking the discomfort of his too-small clothes. He kept running, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the creature's eyes burning into his mind.
When Steve finally reached his house, he bolted inside, slamming the door behind him. He tore off the remnants of his ruined shirt as he ran up the stairs. His chest heaved with each breath, the adrenaline from seeing the creature still coursing through his veins. He dove into bed, his feet hanging off the end and his head banging against the headboard with a painful thud.
"Ow, damn it," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. His bed, which had always been a comfortable fit, now felt laughably small. He stretched out, trying to find a position that didn't make him feel like a giant in a dollhouse. The mattress creaked ominously under his increased weight and size.
"Okay, Steve, just calm down," he whispered to himself. "Get some sleep, and maybe this will all make sense in the morning."
He shut his eyes, willing himself to relax. The events of the day replayed in his mind: the tight clothes, the strange looks from his friends, the creature's eerie gaze. His body felt hot, and the sheets clung to his skin, but exhaustion finally took over, and he slipped into a troubled sleep.
Steve's dreams were a chaotic mix of memories and nightmares. He saw flashes of the creature, its red eyes burning into his soul. He was running through a dark forest, the trees closing in around him. He felt his body stretching, growing taller and stronger, but with each step, the ground seemed to pull him back, like quicksand.
In the dream, he heard voices—Dustin, Robin, and even his own—echoing around him. "Something's wrong, Steve," they said. "You need to wake up."
He jolted awake, his heart pounding. For a moment, he lay there, disoriented and drenched in sweat. The room was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside his window. He sat up slowly, feeling the bed creak beneath him.
His feet touched the floor, and he realized they were still too large for his now torn socks. He stood up, his head brushing against the ceiling. Panic welled up inside him as he looked down at his body. He had grown even more during the night.
"This can't be happening," he whispered, his voice trembling. "What the hell is going on?"
Suddenly, he heard a noise outside his window. He turned to see the creature standing in the yard, its eyes glowing with that same malevolent light. It was watching him, waiting.
Steve's fear turned into a surge of determination. He wasn't going to let this thing control him. He had to find a way to stop it, to reverse whatever it had done to him.
He threw on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie— the only clothes that still had any hope of fitting—and carefully navigated the cramped space of his bedroom. He had to crouch slightly to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe as he made his way downstairs.
He needed help, and he knew just where to go. As he slipped out of the house and into the night, he felt a strange mixture of fear and resolve.
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