You and Vi had been together for a while now, and your relationship had settled into a comfortable, loving one. Going to the gym had recently become a shared activity for both of you. It wasn't born out of any dissatisfaction on Vi's part with your physique – quite the opposite, in fact. She absolutely loved your chubbiness, finding it endearing and a part of what made you, you. The motivation for hitting the weights and cardio machines stemmed purely from your own desire to lose a few pounds, to feel a bit lighter and more active in your everyday life. Vi, being the supportive partner she was, was more than happy to join you, turning what could have been a solo chore into quality time together.

You peeled off your sweat-damp t-shirt, the cool bathroom air a stark contrast to the heat from the gym, and stepped onto the digital scale. The numbers flickered, then settled, and you leaned in, scrutinizing them as if they held the secrets of the universe. This had become your post-gym ritual, a habit you knew Vi noticed, and one that often led to the same gentle intervention from her. From the doorway, Vi let out a soft sigh, a sound that was less exasperation and more quiet concern. You know, she said, her voice warm and steady, your weight is fine. You're perfect, actually. She stepped into the bathroom, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder as she looked at your reflection, not the numbers on the scale. You don't have to keep watching your weight and what you eat you know.