Morning light filtered through the dusty windows of the flat, pale and clean. The clock on the wall read 9:07am.

  Then, all at once, five pairs of eyes flickered open.

  Paul blinked against the light, groggy and confused. He shifted in his chair then froze.

  His left leg, the one that always ached, was fixed. The leg that, for the last ten years had never bent quite right, had dragged when he was tired and flared up in the cold.

  It felt... normal.

  He flexed it slowly, expecting the familiar grind of bone that had never set right, the pull of scar tissue that had healed too tight.

  Nothing.

  He stood, carefully at first, testing his weight like he always did, favouring his right side out of habit.

  But the left held firm. It was steady, there was no limp what so ever. It was fixed.

  Paul looked down.

  His joggers had ridden up slightly, and he could see both legs now. The left one had been noticeably wider and misshapen; a constant reminder of what he'd survived. Now it looked the same as its counterpart. Same size. Same shape.

  The scars were still there, faded to pale silver lines across his shin and thigh, but the awful bulk, was gone.

  He crouched slowly, running his fingers over the skin. Smooth. No lumpy or pockmarked flesh, no sign of where the bone had healed badly.

  Paul stood again and walked the length of the room. Then back. His gait was even. Natural.

  He jumped, just a small hop, and landed clean.

  His hand went to his face, and he let out a shaky breath that might've been a laugh or a sob. Maybe both.

  "It's actually fixed," he whispered. "Ten years... and it's just... fixed."

  Across the room, Parmo sat up and drew in a breath.

  Deep and Full. Effortless, first time of trying.

  He paused, confused, then took another.

  No wheeze, No tight chest or the feeling he was at his maximum draw when clearly it wasn't enough.

  His hand went instinctively to his pocket, to his inhaler. It was always there within reach, he never left home without it. The mere thought he might not have it had been enough to cause anxiety, to manifest the potential problem as a real issue. The inhaler in his pocket had been a literal lifeline since childhood.

  He pulled it out. Stared at it. Then took another breath, deeper this time, filling his lungs completely.

  Still nothing. Just clean, easy air.

  "I don't need it," he said quietly, turning the inhaler over in his hands. "I don't... I actually don't need it."

  He laughed, short, breathless, filled with disbelief. He took another massive breath just because he could.

  Then he looked down at himself and froze.

  His shirt was tight. Not just snug, but proper tight, pulling across his chest and shoulders in a way it never had before.

  He stood and pulled the shirt off, staring down at his torso.

  Muscle. Actual muscle stared back at him. His chest had filled out, shoulders broader, arms thicker. He'd gone from stick-thin to well built, not huge, but not rake like either. His body now looked defined.

  Parmo flexed experimentally, watching his bicep move under the skin, and grinned.

  "Holy shit," he breathed. "I've got a chest. I've got shoulders. Look at this!"

  He twisted, checking himself out, the grin widening. For the first time in his life, he didn't look fragile. He looked strong.

  Liam sat up and immediately felt wrong.

  Not bad just different. He couldnt place what was off at first but then he noticed a few things.

  The room looked smaller. Or he looked bigger. The ceiling felt closer. The doorframe ahead was lower than he remembered.

  He stood, and his head came up higher than it should have. He looked down at the chair he'd been sitting in.

  "Bloody hell," he muttered, stretching his arms overhead. His jumper rode up, too short now, and his shoulders felt wider, solid. Like someone had taken his frame and just... expanded it. Reinforced it.

  He flexed his hands. Rolled his shoulders. Everything moved smoothly, no stiffness, no hesitation. He was in shape before he fell asleep but now he felt in the greatest shape of his life. He felt like he could run through a brick wall and come out the other side grinning.

  "I'm taller," he said, half to himself. "This is going to take some getting used to."

  Ste blinked and sat up, rubbing his face.

  Something felt off. Not wrong, no quite the opposite actually. Everything was suddenly sharper.

  Like the fog he hadn't realized was there had lifted. His thoughts came quicker, realisation hit faster.

  He looked around the room, taking it in. Small details felt easier to make out. The way things connected, Cause and effect, felt easy to identify in a thought, instantly.

  He flexed his fingers, frowning slightly.

  "Feels like someone's cleaned out the cobwebs," he muttered. "Brain's just... running smoother, I guess."

  It wasn't flashy, it didn't feel superhuman. More like someone had taken his CPU and swapped in a newer model. Like an upgrade he'd only notice by using it.

  And then Lee moved.

  He sat up, or tried to. The motion he'd done a thousand times, the familiar groan-and-heave of shifting weight, bracing against his gut to lever himself upright,

  It didn't happen.

  He shot up too fast, almost pitching sideways, arms flailing to catch himself.

  No weight or resistance. It was effortless.

  His hands hit the armrests and he stared down at himself, breath catching.

  His shirt was oversized, a safety blanket he had hid behind It now hung off him like a tent. It clung at his arms, tight around new muscle, but everywhere else it billowed, empty.

  His joggers sagged dangerously low, waistband loose, threatening to fall down his to knees.

  Lee stood shakily, grabbing the waistband with one hand to keep them up.

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  "What the fuck," he breathed, voice thin and shaking. "What the..."

  He looked at Paul. At Parmo. At Liam. At Ste.

  They were all staring at him.

  "Mate," Paul said slowly, eyes wide. "You look like a different person."

  "No way," Parmo laughed, still shirtless and flexing. "How do you even fit in that shirt? Looks like wearing a friggin' bed sheet with holes cut in it."

  Liam tugged at his own sleeves, shaking his head. "I'm definitely taller... and this jumper rides up now. But mate, you've changed the most."

  Voices overlapped, excitement and disbelief tumbling over each other.

  "Jesus, Lee, you're a beast."

  "Yeah, man, you're a tank. That's insane."

  Parmo chimed back in with "I don't know if you're aware chaps but round these parts, people call me Parmie Schwarzenegger."

  "You're a fucking idiot," grinned Ste.

  Lee tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat.

  "Two minutes," he said suddenly, voice tight. "Be right back."

  He got up fast, almost too fast, stumbling as the joggers slipped, yanking them higher as he bolted for the bathroom.

  "Wait..." Liam started.

  But Lee was already gone, disappearing down the hallway toward the bathroom.

  The door clicked shut behind him.

  Silence settled again, broken only by the faint creak of a floorboard and a long, shaky breath from inside.

  Then a sound. Muffled. A stifled sob, maybe. Footsteps. Pacing.

  None of them moved towards the door.

  Paul rubbed the back of his neck. "That's gotta be a lot to take in."

  Parmo nodded slowly. "Can't blame him."

  Ste's eyes stayed fixed on the closed door. "We all changed. Lee just... needs the time to deal with it."

  ***

  No one said anything for a long moment.

  The room felt bigger without Lee in it, like some of the air had gone with him. The silence wasn’t awkward, but no one really knew what to say following Lee's departure. Everyone looked at the hallway like they expected him to come straight back, like they were waiting for the next bit to happen.

  Liam finally broke it with a quiet, “Reckon he’s gunna be alright?”

  “Aye,” Parmo nodded. “He'll be back out in a few minutes. Just needs to get his head in check.”

  Ste leaned back on his hands, eyes still on the hallway. “You’d leg it too if a ton of the shit you had to deal with every day was suddenly stripped away. You know his weight isn't really an issue with his diet.”

  “Your not wrong, I get it though.” Paul agreed before his lip started curling up into a smirk. “I’m surprised he didn’t take the door off when he rushed in. He’s obviously a lot stronger now — and he’s clearly not used to it. Dude really does look like a beast.”Ste let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. “I still can’t get over it, man. He looks he did way back; if that guy was shredded as fuck and didn't have his eczema to worry about. Can you imagine what his kids, or his ex, or even Carl, Anth and Jack’ll say when they see him?”

  Liam looked over. “I mean that goes for all of us. When we get back, people are going to be like "Woah get a look at those hotties over there. Oof" The rest of the lads are going to have to find some new material, Lees not fat, I'm a giant among men; that's like 80% of their jokes right there.”

  "A giant among men?" chuckled Parmo. "Yeah sure man, my sisters still taller than you..."

  Paul flexed his ankle slightly, testing it. Then sprinted a short burst from one end of the flat to the other. He made a Sharp stop.

  He looked down at his leg.

  “Bloody hell. That’d have dropped me a few hours ago.”

  “I mean that’s sick and all, you’d make a mean Barry Allen if they ever wanted to recast with even dumber actors,” Parmo grinned.

  He stood and went back to flexing both arms with the subtlety of a brick. Then threw an over-the-top wink and struck another ridiculous pose.

  “Check out the gun show,” he grinned. “Tickets are free but tips are appreciated. Don’t all drool at once.”

  Liam snorted, shaking his head. “Tips are: put your shirt back on before I’m sick or go blind from looking at your pasty self.”

  “Yeah, ’cause I’m gonna take that from Casper the fucking ghost.” Parmo shot back, smirking.

  “Dear diary, today I faced prejudice and discrimination based on the colour of my skin...” Liam said, hand over his heart, deadpan.

  “Wow, dude, that’s so not cool,” Paul added, grinning.

  Seeing a chance to pile on, Ste shook his head. “Yeah man, what the hell, that’s kinda racist, dude.” He tutted, deadpan. Paul joined in, shaking his head.

  Everyone laughed, some of the tension bleeding away into the sound.

  Parmo turned to the side and studied his reflection in the dark of the TV. “Can’t lie though... I used to have the build of a wet string. Look at me now. Chest, arms, abs. I’ve got abs, dudes. What the fuck.”

  Liam stretched, eyes widening slightly at how easily his joints moved. “Yeah man, definitely. Lees not the only one who's had a huge makeover. I feel... sturdier. Like, really solid. Taller, yeah, but it’s more than that. I feel like I could jump out that window and just... walk it off. No clue why, just doesn’t feel like it’d break me.”

  Ste raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t try it. I don’t fancy dragging your fat head back upstairs.”

  “Cheers for the concern,” Liam said with a grin.

  Ste smiled to himself. “I’m not saying I don't feel stronger, or faster. I do but I just... feel like I could do things. Work stuff out. Like... you know that meme with the woman and all the equations floating around her?”

  “The gormless one?” Parmo asked.

  “Aye. I feel like that. Like I could solve stuff that’d normally need a calculator. Or a spreadsheet. Or a laptop. Just... in my head. Like my brain’s running faster than it should.”

  “Should we be worried?” Paul asked. “You gunna turn into Neo or something?”

  Ste shrugged. “If I do, I’ll be very efficient about it.”

  They laughed again, less shocked now, more like themselves. A group of mates who’d just gone through something life changing, but were still them at the core of it all.

  Still trying to make sense of it.

  Still waiting for their friend in the bathroom to come back out.