Rosella Arts

It wasn’t until they were a few feet away that they instinctively stopped and turned toward the approaching group. The oldest of the two’s eyes were wide and he quickly took the younger by the hand and guided her inside. There was some kind of commotion inside and, a few seconds later, two more adults, one man and one woman who looked a little older than the man they walked outside of the structure. Their expressions told Parker everything he needed to know about seeing him with the others.

They were apprehensive, completely uneasy, and shocked into silence at seeing him.

Parker’s step faltered and he stopped dead in his tracks. He never considered himself a shy person, but too much had happened all at once and was making him retreat into himself. His body trembled as he pulled the cloak given to him by the man further over his shoulders.

This made the man stop and glance over at Parker.

“You’re alright. It’s going to be okay, kid,” said the man. The same instinct Parker had experienced all his life that raised when he sensed his mom coming or when he fell from a great distance wasn’t giving him any red flags. Usually, the hair would raise on the back of his neck or something inside him would be screaming to run away.

That was not the case here.

In fact, there was something homey about what was happening.

It was familiar.

Parker swallowed, his throat feeling like sandpaper from getting sick earlier, and followed behind the man.

The woman ushered the other two teens into the home, giving Kit a harsh stare, before her features softened as she looked back to Parker. The man did the same thing as Finnick and Kit passed, saying something along the lines of, “We’ll talk about this later,” as Kit crossed the threshold.

The woman exhaled slowly as though to calm herself down before stepping forward toward Parker. The young teen noticed she had a prosthetic leg, which seemed unfathomable. How could she have a prosthetic leg and not be human? How did she get the supplies for it? It looked 3D printed after all.

“Parker, sweetie, come on inside. I’m sure you have some questions,” said the woman as she turned on her heel and vanished inside the house. The man with her followed shortly behind after giving the man who helped Parker a stern look.

Parker wasn’t sure why, but he got the impression that there was something uneasy and unspoken between the group and the stranger. Regardless, Parker drifted along through the door and into the home. He immediately noticed so many odds and ends that were hung from the walls.

The items ranged from ones he actually used to help build his own space to creative alternatives for everyday items. Things like thumbtacks in the walls for coats and bags and twist ties for hinges on the doors. There was a cork in the corner with a paperclip in the back which made the thing look like a stool or chair and this was just the hallway.

The number of things in the kitchen and living area alone that looked like they had been fashioned out of the most obscure items and turned out okay. One of the things Parker noticed was a bundle of blankets in the corner that looked like it had been made from yarn. There were trinkets hanging in the air and cut paper dolls and origami creations that looked to be made from old gum wrappers.

The idea of using trash to decorate was an odd one to Parker, but the actual execution looked rather enchanting and homey. This was just one of so many things all around that he recognized for their actual use but appreciated its reused purpose.

What on earth is happening? This place is fascinating. They reuse everyday items to make new things and use them for something else entirely. That matchbox is a cabinet and drawers. This other one is a sofa.

Parker absentmindedly stepped into the kitchen and suddenly found himself sitting at the kitchen table with a thimble full of something that smelled like tea in front of him. The man who was in the house was sitting at the head of a table made of cards while the woman continued to bustle about the kitchen, snagging more “cups” of tea for everyone else.

Finnick, the older teen, sat next to his father at a diagonal from Parker while the girl, Kit, leaned against the door facing with her arms crossed as tightly as a twisty pretzel. The other two were in the living area. It was clear the older one was meant to watch over the youngest but was failing miserably because every few seconds the youngest managed to charge into the kitchen in pursuit of her mother.

The other man stayed leaned up against the kitchen counter as the woman sat down across from Parker. With her lack of movement, everything finally fell still in the house.

The tension was tangible, but Parker had no idea how to even begin. What did he ask? Did he have the right to leave? Was he being kept here? Were all of these people delusional and calling themselves “Borrowers?” Or was that actually what they were?

Was that what he was?

“Well, Parker, I’m sure you have a lot of questions. You can take your time if you’d like. We’re happy to answer anything,” said the woman. “I… suppose introductions are in order. I’m Mira, and this is my husband Toulouse. Our eldest is Finnick and our daughter, whom I’ve been told you met last night, is Sprokit. Our other son is Reed and our youngest is Dove. We’ve been living here for many years and, well… hearing about your arrival certainly sparked some discussion.”

Parker looked at the man in the corner. He pulled the cloak further over his shoulders and swallowed again. The smell of the tea was appealing, but Parker’s insides felt like they could turn for the worst at any moment.

“And… him?”

The man glanced up at Parker, keeping his arms folded loosely, before sighing heftily.

“Kers. I moved here with you and your mom.”

Parker recited the names a few times in his mind, but he knew they wouldn’t stick. He felt like his mind was frozen in time back when he first entered the walls, and it would take nothing short of an ice chisel to get information through his brain at the moment.

“R-right…”

“Parker, do…”

“You… said you’ve known me for a while, but what does that mean?” Parker asked, interrupting Finnick as he began speaking. Parker wanted desperately for them to stay quiet and let him process the information in front of him, but that was a pipe dream at this point. It was obvious they wanted to help and wouldn’t relent until they thought he was satisfied with their answers.

They looked over at Kers, as did Parker, and waited for the answer.

“I said it before, I was hidden. I found your home a little over four years ago and decided to live there and make sure you were okay,” said Kers. He sounded exhausted, but truthful.

But it still didn’t make sense to Parker.

“W-what? What does that even mean? Okay? Okay from what?” Parker heard Kit scoff before she piped up from her spot in the doorway.

“Oh, please,” she said exasperatedly. “Okay from the human. He was making sure you were safe from the human.”

“Sprokit!” scolded Toulouse firmly, making Parker jump slightly. Kit rolled her eyes and rolled her lips together to form a thin line on her face. The father sighed and nodded. “She means the woman you call ‘mom’.”

The woman I call “mom?”

Those words echoed hollowly in Parker’s mind. It made him bristle that these people were calling his mom “the woman,” reducing everything she did for him all of his life to two simple words that didn’t do her justice.

It also felt like a punch in the gut. “The woman” he knew as his mom wasn’t actually that thing. A mom was a woman who gave birth to you. A mom wouldn’t lie to you. A mom helped and protected as well as provided for you. A mom loved you.

Parker felt his insides swirl again and he coughed a little as his body lurched. Thankfully, nothing came up, but it did make Parker feel sicker by the second.

“B…but…”

“Parker, it’s okay. I’m sorry. We’re just not used to talking to a Borrower who has been seen and talked to a human before. Old habits die hard,” apologized Mira as she leaned forward onto the table and smiled while catching Parker’s eye.

That word is what helped snap Parker out of his stupor.

Now feeling completely detached, the questions started coming in clearer for Parker. Though still numb and waiting for something to break through his frozen mind, Parker’s questions started manifesting, and he wasn’t about to let them slip away.

“That… word… Borrower… what is it?” asked Parker. Sympathetic glances flashed from every set of eyes to one another before turning back to Parker. Mira looked visibly shaken and upset, but she still mustered a smile for the young teen.

“Well, that’s what we are. We’re Borrowers. We borrow things that humans won’t miss in order to survive. Little things like sugar, bread, pins, cloth, ribbons, and anything else we might find useful,” Mira replied.

“We usually don’t see other Borrowers often, but we all live by a code in order to keep ourselves safe,” Finnick chimed in as he too leaned forward in his chair. “It’s rare for so many Borrowers to be living together under the same roof since it’s more likely a human will notice things going missing.”

“What about those two who come to visit?” interjected Reed as he began dragging the youngest, Dove, back to the living room. “They said they come from a massive group.”

“Rey and Hero probably live in that abandoned house down by the creek. I can’t imagine they live in a human’s house, especially with a big group. You saw their clothes. Definitely Outies,” dismissed Finnick.

“Outies?” echoed Parker. Toulouse nodded.

“Yes, Borrowers are usually ‘Innies’ or ‘Outies,’ meaning where they live; either inside a house or outside in the wilds,” replied the father of four.

Parker had to physically rest his head on the table to keep from vomiting again. The entire room as spinning faster and faster, making the teen see stars, and his action quieted them for a minute while he regained his bearings.

When he did, he dared to take a sip of the tea Mira gave him just to quench his parched throat. It was soothing and made him feel a little less sick. The sweetness definitely helped add to the taste too.

“So… y-you… you’re saying… there are just… massive groups? Or… rather… small clusters of groups of B… Bor-row…” Parker couldn’t get the word out, but his meaning was understood.

“Yes, that’s correct,” replied Toulouse.

“Th-then… why haven’t I heard of you? Why isn’t it on the internet? W-why… h-how does n-no one know about you?” asked Parker.

“About us you mean,” grumbled Kit. Mira snapped her fingers harshly at her daughter and gave her a warning stare before turning back to Parker. The palpable tension dissipated after a few moments in intense silence, followed by the eldest son clearing his throat.

“Because of the rules,” Finnick replied. Parker’s blank expression prompted further explanation. This threw Parker for a loop.

“Rule? There are… rules?” Parker asked aloud unintentionally.

“Yes, quite a few of them. There are three we Borrowers generally abide by in order to keep ourselves safe.” The way Toulouse explained reminded Parker of how his mom would explain things to him. It was slow and simple, broken into multiple parts to make it easier for him to process the information.

“The first rule is to never be seen by a human because it is dangerous for you and for all of Borrower kind. The second rule flows into the first which is you must move if you think you’ve been seen. It’s for your protection, even if you weren’t seen. The last rule is to never talk to humans. If they know we’re sentient, they’ll only try and get answers out of us.”

Parker listened to the father’s explanation and something in his mind flashed. It was quick, like a lightbulb memory, but he remembered hearing those rules once before, along with the reason why. Slowly, Parker said, “Because… they’ll treat you like a… pet….”

The inquisitive glances the family members gave one another told Parker he had said something correctly.

“That’s right,” said Reed as he popped back into the kitchen to retrieve Dove once again. “You’ll get thrown in a cage and they’ll throw away the key. You’ll never be seen or heard from again, and that’ll be the exposure of Borrower kind.” Parker twisted around in the chair and glanced at the younger kid as he flashed a smile and, snagging his little sister under the armpits, hoisted her up and waddled back to the living room.

Parker’s vision blackened around the edges, and he once again needed to rest his head on the table. A cold sweat covered his body. Regret filled him as he realized he was probably soaking Kers’ cloak through with his perspiration. The family of Borrowers waited patiently for Parker’s recovery as they awaited his next question.

But his mind was running wild.

Everything and nothing made sense.

This had to be a dream, right?

Parker pinched himself under the table hard along the outside of his thigh, but the trick didn’t work, and he was met with five pairs of eyes staring at him expectantly. One thought was something he clung to, however, and he hoped in this moment to possibly disprove everything they just said.

“But… my mom… she said it was a genetic condition. She said I have Parvi Homunculi Syndrome. It’s just a rare condition. Are… you sure you don’t just have that?” Mira must’ve heard the desperation in Parker’s voice because her features filled once again sympathetically.

“I… I know how weird it must sound,” said Mira. She brushed her hair to the side and sighed before clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “But we’re Borrowers. We’re different than humans for a number of different reasons, despite how similar we might look.”

“Differences?” Parker barely uttered the word, fearing the sip of tea he just had was going to churn his insides and reappear.

“Yeah, differences. We have instincts that humans don’t have. Our vision is better in the dark. We have great balance and land on our feet; well, most of the time,” Finnick stated.

“Tell us, Parker, have you ever experiences anything like that? Sensing something before it happened? Feeling the tremors in the ground as a human walks around when they’re rooms away? Finding curious places to hide? Or feeling the need to hide when you sense something coming?” asked Toulouse. “Haven’t you ever fallen from up high and landed safely on the ground? The instinct or need to reuse or create? What about walking around here in the walls? Didn’t you notice how well you could see in such low light?”

His scenarios made Parker’s blood run cold.

Every single one of those things he mentioned was something Parker had experienced. He had always attributed those things to his condition.

So… my condition… it’s a lie?

Well… not a lie…

I do have a condition….

I’m a Borrower.

Everything they’re saying makes sense. How would they know about everything if they hadn’t experienced it themselves? They don’t know about my climbing and falling habits. They don’t know about the things I’ve invented. They couldn’t have known about my senses unless they had it too.

Mira’s face softened and she quickly pushed herself to her feet and retrieved a single square of toilet paper, tearing off a side and gently pushing it over toward Parker. It was only now he realized warm, salty tears were soaking his face. The tears glided down his cheeks and puddled at his chin before dripping onto his shirt.

His entire body shook like a leaf in a windstorm as he numbly snagged the piece of toilet paper and hid his face away. Breathing was a chore, and the few breaths he sucked in wracked his body with sobs.

Over and over, he asked himself why?

Why him?

Why was this happening?

How many Borrowers were out there? Surely there had to be some reference to them specifically out there in the world.

How could an entire race of people just be completely unnoticed like this family?

The thoughts that followed only made Parker’s sobs double him over.

How long had his mom known about him and not said anything?

Why was he just finding all of this out now?

Why had his mom lied to him?

Didn’t she love him?

Why didn’t she just tell him the truth?

Parker wasn’t sure how long he stayed hunched over smashing the now soggy piece of toilet paper to his face, but he did suddenly notice a pressure on his hand that wasn’t there before. Not like he cared. Everything was spiraling out of control and off of the edge of a cliff. What was one more thing?

Eyes red and dry despite the moist tears, Parker blinked away the blur and finally realized the pressure on his hand was Mira. She had reached forward and gently clasped his hand in her own. Parker felt the urge to resist but couldn’t tear himself away from the comfort the pressure of her hand gave. Her motherly instincts were right.

All Parker wanted right now was a hug… but from whom?

His mom?

Someone his own size?

Even now, the thought of someone being able to wrap their arms around him and him being able to do the same was unfathomable.

As his breathing calmed, Parker felt a new emotion boiling in his belly, and it quickly consumed him.

Anger.

Frustrated anger and distrust filled him like magma filling a volcano. He felt ready to burst at any moment, but he wasn’t about to leave now.

He needed to know more about these strangers like him. He needed to know more. His desire for knowledge fueled by the fact he had been deceived for his entire life hardened his features and cleared the darkness away from the corners of his eyes.

“Parker, I know this is a lot for you all at once,” said Mira, noticing the teen’s change in demeanor. “But…”

“Please…” said Parker, his voice cracking. The teenager was barely able to keep from falling apart as he sat there on that cork bottle chair. “Just… tell me what you can… about Borrowers? About what happens when… Borrowers are seen? What happens? And…. About me… and my….” Parker’s voice trailed off as he suddenly had trouble saying the word “mom.”

Toulouse sighed and leaned heavily onto the table and said, “Parker, are you sure?”

Parker nodded and squeezed Mira’s hand.

“Yes,” he said definitively. “Please.”

It took a few hours, but Toulouse and his family began telling Parker what he needed to know. They told him about how Borrowers had managed to keep themselves secret because of the rules and how they’ve had narrow misses in the past. They talked about how they went about creating their home and the balance Borrowers needed to live in secret with their human counterparts.

What really made Parker’s blood boil was the stories about what happened to Borrowers in the stories where the were caught.

Some were thrown in cages until they were rescued. Others managed to trick their ways out of their containment and away from their human captors. The one that hurt Parker the most was the ones that were treated as evolved pets.

Evolved pets had little homes they lived in with electricity and water. Repurposed doll houses were usually the container used rather than a cage with traditional bars – just like what Parker lived in.

Borrowers experienced isolation and every little thing was always taken care of. No need to borrow because food was always on the table. No need to climb because you’re carried everywhere. No need to go outside because entertainment is brought to you. The purpose of a Borrower was to go out and survive, not be taken care of at the whim of a human.

It was the exact existence Parker had been living.

It made his insides churn to think that his mom had been treating him like a pet for practically all of his life.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” said Kers, chiming in after hours of silence. He had remained practically emotionless and silent for most of the time while Toulouse and his family helped “educate” Parker in the ways of a Borrower. The family opened their mouths to object, but Kers beat them to it. “Parker has been gone for a while, and I’m sure his mom is worried sick about him being missing. She’s bound to have noticed by now. You don’t want her looking for him, do you?”

The question shut down any arguments the family might’ve had. Despite Parker’s reservations in returning, he sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

“Um… thank you… really. I…” Parker stammered over his words as he thought about everything he just learned.

“You don’t need to thank us, Parker. Just, keep yourself safe,” said Mira.

“And, if you don’t mind, keep your knowledge about this place and my family close to your chest. I apologize again on behalf of my daughter. We should’ve made it clearer that she wasn’t supposed to act rashly when it came to your… situation,” said Toulouse.

“Thanks. I… can probably do that,” said Parker. His head swirled dangerously fast with his first step, but thankfully Kers was by his side and guided Parker safely toward the door. The older Borrower watched the younger cautiously while Parker paid him no mind.

Parker’s mind was far from him. There were too many other things going on to be concerned about revealing the family’s home. With a final farewell, Parker and Kers left the house and headed back down the route they came.

The two Borrowers were completely silent for the majority of the trek, leaving Parker to fester and dwell in his own thoughts.

It wasn’t until they were by the wall at a familiar stretch that Kers physically stopped moving forward and turned to face Parker. There was something in his expression that was sorrowful and uneasy, but also determined. It reminded Parker of the look Toulouse gave him a few times.

Fatherly.

It was a new look and took the teen by surprise.

“Parker, I know this is not how any of us wanted things to go,” said Kers. “But I want you to know that I’m sorry. It was never my intention to help keep this truth from you. I… had actually planned on talking to your mom today to figure out how to talk to you.”

Parker wasn’t sure if he was buying it, but Kers continued.

“I know you’re going through a lot, and I know I have no right to ask this of you, but listen to me and don’t do anything rash,” said Kers.

Parker bristled at the words.

“Rash? You don’t want me to be rash?! You knew. You watched for years and let me believe…” Parker took a breath as his fury reared its head again. “You let me believe I was human. You and that woman both.”

Kers stiffened as he heard that word. The last thing he wanted to do was make an enemy out of Parker, but Kers needed to make a few things clear to Parker. Attempting to diffuse the situation, he kept his voice calm and low.

“Parker, that woman is still your mom. She loves you and only wants the best for you. Believe me. I’ve seen it every day for years. I don’t think she would intentionally hurt you. I don’t know why she didn’t say anything, but it can’t have been easy when your differences are so obvious,” said Kers firmly.

Parker jerked his head away as he looked down at the corner of a nearby beam.

“She lied.”

“I know, and that’s not the best look. Still, Parker, trust me on this. She loves you. Regardless of everything else, she loves you,” emphasized Kers.

“She treated me like a pet. How… can I trust someone who would lie to me so easily for so long?” The words spilled out of Parker like water leaking from a sponge. He felt like he couldn’t absorb another thing and his words were now just spilling out.

“No, she didn’t. She treated you like her son. Coming from a family who used to have pets, I can see where taking care of a kid and taking care of a pet are almost the same thing,” pointed out Kers.

“But…”

“Listen, Parker. Don’t do anything rash. Think about everything you’ve just learned and don’t act emotionally. That’ll only hurt more,” advised Kers. “Sit and think about everything. I’ll be back later tonight to check on you if you’d like.”

Parker nodded numbly, but the adult’s words simply added to the puddle that was his thoughts. Kers finished walking Parker to his room and, with a reassuring pat on his shoulder, left the teen to go back to the world he knew.

As Parker jumped back through the electrical cover and climbed the stairs to his little house, he suddenly realized he was still wearing Kers’ cloak. The heavy fabric had been draped over his shoulders the entire walk back, and Kers must’ve thought Parker needed it more.

It felt like a hug from behind, and the warmth of the fabric kept Parker’s shaking at bay.

The teen made it back into his room and into his space with every intention of resting in his bed until dinner. The words he wanted to say were locked somewhere in his brain. He just needed time to muddle through.

It was what he saw in his kitchen as he entered the little house that instantly changed his mind.

Parker noticed a massive plate with cut apples just sitting there. Before, this would have been an enjoyable treat. Now, however, all Parker saw was those videos on his social media where some tasty treat was delivered on a platter to none other than the family pet.

Something about seeing that plate snapped something in his mind.

You’re just a pet to her.

It was a bold, hateful thought that spawned out of nowhere in his mind, fueled only by recent events.

Despite Kers’ warning, he wanted to know the answers.

He wanted to know why his mom hadn’t told him anything and everything she knew about him.

Another, greater part of him hoped that everything he just heard was a lie. He wanted it to be untrue. He wanted Kers and Toulouse and Mira and Finnick and Reed and Kit all to be lying to his face to abduct him into the walls.

Parker spun on his heel and marched back down the stairs and dared to climb the steps all the way down to the kitchen where he heard his mom… that woman… working away. Trembling in his shoes, Parker finally made it to ground level and came around the corner. The urge to vomit as he saw her filled him, which contrasted greatly with the expression on her face as she saw him.

~~~^*^*^~~~

Amanda had been pacing the floor for what felt like hours. She had practically torn the house upside down trying to find her son, Parker. After their little disagreement this morning and the fear eating her alive, she couldn’t find him.

His room?

Not there.

Living area?

Not there.

Bathroom?

Nowhere to be seen.

Kitchen?

Nope.

She had cut up some apples in the hopes of luring him out and to make sure he had a little something to eat if he was still upset with her, but to no avail.

She hoped that he hadn’t done something foolish or decided to go into the walls and got hurt. It was an idea she should have supported, but was afraid to.

It was clear now more than ever that she needed to talk to Parker about everything, and now she finally had the words to do so. The moment she found him, she would tell him everything. It was long overdue, but it was time.

If only she could find him!

Now, after she was about to start calling and shouting, there he was.

Parker came out from around the corner and relief immediately flooded over her. She rushed over and knelt, which made Parker flinch and shy away. Struck by the odd interaction, Amanda glanced over him and immediately noticed his appearance.

Parker looked drained. He had obviously been crying and looked ill. What really caught her off guard was what he had draped over his shoulders. It looked like some kind of cloak, but it was way too big for him. Brown, frayed, and torn, this thing obviously didn’t come from anything either of them had made.

There was time to ask questions later.

Right now, she was relieved beyond words that Parker was here.

“Parker! I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried sick. Where were you? Are you okay? Sweetie, I’m so sorry about earlier. I don’t know what came over me. I should’ve…”

“You should’ve what?” interrupted Parker, something that wasn’t like him. Amanda, caught off guard, felt her heart clench as she met her son’s eyes. There was something in them that she registered immediately.

Hurt.

Pain.

Anger.

Frustration.

Desperation.

Before she could say anything, Parker continued.

“How long?”

Those two words shook Amanda to her bones.

No. What?

“H-how long? How long what?”

“How long have you known I’m not your son?”

The words hung in the air. Like a dense fog, Amanda suddenly felt lost. Tendrils of tension clutched her chest.

No… I’ve run out of time. I’m too late.

Amanda’s throat clenched. She knew this conversation was going to happen, but not like this. She looked into Parker’s soft brown eyes and saw he was clinging onto the last threads of hope. It was part of that desperation she saw earlier.

And she had no lifeline to give him.

“Well?!” Parker’s voice cracked as tears welled up in his eyes. He looked to be on the verge of collapse.

Amanda bit back her own emotions as they constricted her throat. A bottomless void opened in Amanda’s heart.

“Parker… you are my son. I’ve always been your mom,” said Amanda. Parker couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was she serious? Or was she lying. The tether he thought he was receiving was just within grasp. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.

Her next words shattered him.

“But I’m not your only mom. Someone… some beautiful, wonderful person gave birth to you.” Amanda’s cheeks were etched with tears at this point. With the last bit of her strength, she choked out, “I love you, Parker, as if you came from me… but you’re right. You are not mine.”

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue | Coming Soon

Previous

When she’d held me in her palm, gliding her fingers over my body, she’d trained her gaze on me in such a manner that it suddenly became difficult for my lungs to take in air. What was she thinking? Why was she looking at me like that? Why hadn’t she stopped, now that she’d released me from her grip? 

I wanted nothing more than to be able to read her mind and to keep my own from racing far beyond the bounds I was comfortable with. 

As she gazed down at me, seeming to tower a mile above despite being no more than a foot or two away, I felt completely rooted to the spot; a sensation, in any other instance, I would feel deeply resentful towards. She’d called me incredible, brave… I’d choose to ignore the mention of adorable… for now. 

As my thoughts swam, she tucked her chin into the heel of the hand I’d just occupied, and for some reason, I didn’t mind that she held me captive with her gaze. In fact, I couldn’t help but notice her other hand, which rested just out of my reach on the table beside me. Did her finger and thumb twitch when I glanced at them over my shoulder? 

There went my heart again, leaping into my throat. What was this feeling? Was something wrong with me? Was I on the verge of getting sick? I felt lightheaded and unsteady on my feet.

I clenched my jaw. I hated being out of control of my physical response to outer stimuli.

Just as the corner of her lips raised the smallest fraction of a smirk, and the hand that was far too close and much, much too far away at the same time, shifted toward me ever so slightly, we both heard the echo of distant footsteps from down the hall. I wondered if they sounded as thunderous to her as they did to me, as they practically throttled me from this kinetic moment of connection and snapped me back to my dissatisfactory reality. 

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling my shoulders rise towards my ears as the chill I’d just observed across my body boiled over and my head rushed with heat. 

Not him again. 

For a few blessed moments, I’d forgotten about him entirely. 

His clattering footfalls made my jaw ache as my scowl deepened. Wasn’t it time he let us be? What was he here for, anyway? What business did he have in continuing to disrupt our routine? 

Heat continued cascading off of me in palpable, fluctuating waves as he appeared in the threshold of the kitchen. I deeply regretted the lack of another sharp object to ward him off. 

As he crossed toward us, growing ever larger within my field of vision, I hated that I could feel the impact of his wooden soles on the linoleum floor as they rattled the table ever so slightly. The passage of his body through space rustled my hair and filled my nostrils with that infuriatingly sharp scent of soap and cinnamon.

I set my jaw, craning my neck to maintain my icy stare, refusing to flinch as he cast a shadow over me. 

The awkwardness was palpable, each of us testing the waters after the storm had ceased. As the man in the bloodied sweater returned to his seat, in the very same position where I had berated him for his ignorance just minutes ago, I could see in the depths of his eyes that a thought was percolating within him. Just what it was, I couldn’t be sure. I jumped at the chance to control the conversation, before he could get a word in. 

Squaring my shoulders and tipping my chin, I raised my voice to reach him, “So, did we learn something from our time out?” 

“Alexander!” 

“Naw, he’s right… You did kinda send me to the corner, Nat!” The man flashed a smile at her. Damn. He took that in a far better stride than I’d hoped. I felt his eyes descend on me again. I couldn’t help a subtle snarl curling the corners of my mouth. He continued, “To answer your question: yeah. I had some more time to think, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry, again. You really kinda put me in my place back there and helped put things into perspective. I guess I can see how hard it must be for you to feel like people ever hear you or take you seriously. I get wanting that, and being pretty defensive about it.” 

Spare me the lecture… and, besides, it took you long enough, dimwit. Although I had to admit, this slightly more enlightened Charles gave me less cannon fodder for verbal volleys and I was left rather disappointed. I’d just need to search more closely for a slip up. 

He cleared his throat, snapping me from my inner thoughts and cast a glance at the woman to my left, nodding slightly as though going through a routine they’d rehearsed together. Slowly, he presented his closed fist, palm upwards, to me. I hated that it was bigger than my entire body. 

As if of their own accord, my features twisted into a scowl. 

The encroaching hand stopped a bit too close for comfort as fingers unfurled to reveal a metallic object, thin, rigid and embarrassingly small in the center of his palm.

 I flashed my gaze upwards to read his expression, only to be greeted by a pathetic excuse for a smile. He was clearly unsettled: good. 

Life would be considerably better if all humans responded that way to me. 

I could feel his bespectacled eyes still trained on me, as he wrestled with himself to speak, “… Go on… you can take it… I won’t bite.” 

“Thank you for granting me permission!” I snapped, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I hoped the implication that I would be more than happy to use my teeth as a negotiation tactic was clear enough to go without saying. 

He stole a glance at Natalie, who to my great satisfaction, gave him no respite and simply raised her brows and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say: You deserved that. Points for Natalie. 

Taking advantage of the fact that his gaze was temporarily elsewhere, I leaned forward, arching my body to avoid touching him, and snatched the cane from his palm. The metal was warm to the touch and a bit damp.

Disgusting. 

I couldn’t help but scowl. 

I pulled back as quickly as I’d lunged forward, taking the object with me. I had no desire to be within reach of this human I still saw as an adversary. 

I’d hoped he would jump in surprise at my sudden movement, but to my utter frustration, it seemed he didn’t even notice it was gone. Was its weight really that negligible to him? 

Without thinking twice, I held the cane by its grip, extending its arm along the length of his little finger. And with a precise swiftness, I raised the mobility aid and cracked it down on the tip of his pinky, where the nerves were dense and sensitive. 

That certainty got his attention.

“Ow!!” He whisked his hand away, pinching his injured digit between finger and thumb. He looked pathetic like that. Cowering before a man a fraction his size. I loved it. He stared down at me with a grimace, “What was that for?!”

“Clumsy me!” I shrugged, doing my best to hide the smug smile that threatened to paint my features. I tapped my right ankle with the heel of the cane, “This damned leg makes it hard to balance, sometimes!” I flashed him a devilishly angelic grin. 

Charles’ eyes widened, before his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked as though he was about to speak, but then chose not to engage. That was the correct choice. 

At the same moment, Natalie cleared her throat. I knew precisely what look of disapproval awaited me before I turned over my shoulder to see it for myself. I stared unflinchingly right back at her, my hand upon my hip, my brow arched to provoke a challenge. 

She knew better than to test her willpower against mine, and looked to the man nursing his finger as though it’d just been sliced from his hand. 

“So—“ she was desperate for a subject change, but lacked the imagination to pull it off. 

I could help with that! 

“So!” I butted in, flourishing with my free arm over my head to garner attention, since, of course, my voice would never manage to top hers no matter how much I yelled, “—So, did your intrusion have an overarching purpose or will you be leaving now?” I took a few steps toward him, neck craned to meet his gaze. His jaw hung open slightly, looking completely incredulous. 

“Alexander!” She chastised. 

“Natalie!” I bit back. 

“You can’t just ask people to leave the second they come over!” 

“He’s been here for over an hour, that’s more than enough for a social call!” 

There was a slight rattle from the table as the man in question threw his hands up, “Hold on a second. Look, I know this is all my fault…” Correct. “...Barging in here unannounced…” Exhibit A.”... Condescending to your house guest who has the brains of a scholar and the soul of a possessed Chihuahua…” Exhibit B. Deemed admissible, as it was not altogether inaccurate. “...And now I’m making things worse by sticking around when I’m clearly not wanted…” Bingo! Exhibit C. Idiots were capable of learning after all!

I cleared my throat and smiled, “Well, perfect! I’m glad we can see eye to eye on this. It’s been far from a pleasure! Goodbye!” I waved generously, about to turn my back on him, when—

“No, no, wait! Hear me out!” 

UGH! My shoulders slumped as I turned regretfully back to face him. 

“... Look, I get that I have some, well, a lot of making up to do. The second I laid eyes on you I just saw what I wanted to see. I saw your size first, and nothing else. You don’t like me. I get it. You’ve made that abundantly clear. And, I admit, I made a pretty bad first impression. But… listen, I’m still Natalie’s friend. She’s been there for me through some really tough times and, like it or not, now she’s kinda stuck with me. The whole reason I let myself in was just to check on her, since she hadn’t been to class for a long while and wasn’t responding to my messages. I’m sorry for taking you by surprise and, well, you know, not taking you seriously. But, if you’re a part of her life now, I wanna be supportive of that. Like, truly supportive. You know?” Why did I feel a sharp dig in the pit of my stomach when he mentioned how close they were? And anyway this was all saccharinely sentimental. Was he done yet? “... So… let me make it up to you. Let me help!” 

My brow furrowed and I turned to catch Natalie’s equally confused expression. I addressed him while he fished for something in his pocket, “What help? We don’t need your–” 

Before I could finish, his gigantic fist presented itself before me once more, unfurling massive fingers until it spilt its contents on the table’s surface. 

A cascade of cardboard and leather, leaflets of paper, and spines cracking on wood pierced my ears. Tumbling out of his hand was a pile of my notebooks, perhaps half a dozen, filled cover to cover with copious notes. 

********************************

I watched the scene play out between my dear friend and the little man on the table as if from behind a screen. As soon as Charles’s hand returned to his lap and the tiny mountain of miniature journals settled at the equally miniature man’s feet, I found myself feeling just as confused as before. 

Alexander, however, always quicker on the draw at, well, pretty much everything it seemed, was already opening his mouth to respond, his little chest puffed as his face turned red. 

Charles had clearly anticipated this, raising his hands up defensively, “Wait, wait, wait! Before you get mad. I didn’t read them! I– I couldn’t… the writing is… uh, well, you know…” Alexander crossed his arms over his chest and arched a brow, his lips tight and tense, pressuring Charles to continue, “Well, okay… one of the diagrams you’d drawn matched Nat’s open notebook, so I put two and two together… but the more I thumbed through, I could tell with how filled up these things are and all the tabs and creases and notes in the margins, you aren’t just regurgitating Nat’s lectures here. When I saw these at first, and, pardon my ignorance, but I was just kinda amazed that it seems like you’re studying as much as she is. Like, is that why she wanted to keep you a secret? Are you the one that’s helping her bump her grades up? But, the way you spoke, when you were tearing me a new asshole, which I deserved… You were using legal jargon. You were cross-examining me. It was… You knew way too much for someone who’s just been sitting at Nat’s elbow and learning secondhand from some out of context online courses. These aren’t class notes. They’re case notes, aren’t they? You’re working on something, aren’t you?” Charles’s eyes were ablaze. He was enthused at having solved a mystery, yes, but I could see a certain respect, an admiration even, for one student of the law to another. 

The flush of blood that had risen to Alexander’s cheeks had now drained and he looked pale, and almost frightened. It was a version of him I hadn’t seen since those days right before and after the surgery. He looked caught, wary, defensive, as though the top had been blown off all his well-kept secrets. Remembering how hesitant he’d been with me to share his past legal studies, I understood his dilemma. 

He couldn’t have any random human he didn’t know or trust yet knowing about his intentions, his ambitions, his goals. What if they found a way to use his greatest wishes against him? 

Poor Alexander. 

I suddenly remembered that fateful afternoon where I’d reached for him and he’d collapsed into himself, quaking, as though I was going to beat him within an inch of his life. His road to get here had been far from easy. That much was obvious. He had every right to decide what he would and wouldn’t share. 

I watched as tiny fingers searched to trace his lower lip. How I loved that funny little habit of his. 

Charles relieved him of the obligation by cracking a smile and with a terrible attempt at a British accent, quoted, “All right, then, keep your secrets…” 

Alexander’s head whipped up, brow deeply furrowed, mouth tight and downturned. He’d completely missed the reference Charles was making. It was clear he thought he was being made fun of. A cardinal sin in Alexander’s book, I knew. 

Before I had a chance to clarify and save him from earning another battle scar, Charles swooped in to damage control, trying to explain, “Aww, c’mon, man! Frodo? In that opening scene in the first movie?” 

If the little man on the table had articulated ears they would’ve shot forward at this moment. 

Little nerd. I told ya you two had more in common than you think. 

Charles continued, “Look, I figured with how big a fan Nat is, she would’ve forced you to watch the extended editions of all the films at least ten times by now!” 

Alexander’s blue eyes widened to perfect circles, as his voice pitched higher than normal, “Th-There are… M-” He cleared his throat, furrowing his brow and attempting to play it cool, continued, “Uh, ahem, I mean… They made movies out of the books?” Oh my god what a fanboy. 

“Well… Yeah! Dude, you’ve been here with Nat for how long?” Charles whipped to me, eyes aglow with that mischievous gleam I’d always admired in him, “You’ve had him how fuckin’ long and you’ve NEVER shown him the best cinematic journey of our modern times?!”

My face flushed,  “I… What? Don’t look at me like that! C’mon, cut me some slack! We’ve been just a little bit busy!”

“Nat! What the hell is wrong with you? You HAVE to show him. What have you been doing all this time? OH! We could all do a marathon again! I could bring over my deluxe editions! Remember? Your Freshman year? We stayed up until 9 am the next morning watching every extended edition back to back…” 

“Oh my GOD! Yes!” I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about that entirely, “I had to time all my pee breaks for whenever Boromir was onscreen… I don’t care that he got a valiant death, fuck that guy!” 

“And remember that dude you were kinda into? The one with the weird hair? He kept doing a Gandalf voice for every goddamn line–” 

“It wasn’t even GOOD! Major turn off! I did not like him after that night!” 

“Yeah, fuck that guy!” Charles raised his glass to cheer me. 

“EXCUSE ME!!!” A tiny yet commanding voice cut our reminiscing short, “We are glossing over an EXTREMELY IMPORTANT DETAIL HERE! Can we  get back to what actually matters?! You’re telling me that humans have made motion picture films of J.R.R Tolkien’s master work? As in, an actual visual depiction of the stories? Is it all of them?”  “--Well, we don’t acknowledge the existence of the Hobbit movies…” Charles raised his brows and took a swig of his, undoubtedly by now, watered down drink. 

“Shut up! They’re not THAT BAD!” I brushed him off before resting my chin on my forearm to get closer to the little man on the table, “Yes, Alexander, they made movies of all the books–” 

“WHY HAVEN’T YOU SHOWN THEM TO ME?!” Poor thing, he was beside himself. 

“Wait, Alex, have y–” 

With the ferocity of a snarling beast, the little man’s head whipped to the right, his tiny pointer finger jabbing the space between his form and Charles. Without missing a beat, he snapped, “Alexander. My name is Alexander!” He spoke in a condescending tone, slowly and with emphasis as though speaking to a particularly idiotic child, “Not Alex. Not Al. Not Xandy…” He spit that one directly at me with a fire from the depths of his tiny soul, “Al-ex-an-der.” 

“Woah, o-kay. Seems I hit a nerve there. Sorry, Alexander. What I was gonna ask was, have you actually read the Lord of the Rings?” 

I expected Alexander to berate him again, but, instead he broke out into hysterical laughter. Charles looked completely baffled, wondering what he’d said to get such a reaction, “H-Have I read Lord of the Rings? You poor ignorant bastard! What sort of a question is that?” His laughter suddenly ceased and he became gravely serious, “Give me any of the battle cries within the canon. From the siege of Minas Tirith, to the Battle of Erebor, I can quote it for you, verbatim.” The tiny man, somehow looking far more sophisticated than the sweatpants and shirt he wore, had now settled into a profound aura of self righteousness, lips pursed, brows knit. He may never be able to beat someone big like Charles in hand to hand combat, but this was his alternative to throwing down the gauntlet. 

He was hungering for a way to show off. 

Little Nightmare. I couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear. 

“He’s not messing around.” Charles shifted in his seat, clasping his hands beneath his chin, before leaning forward and smirking, “Okay, sir: Theodin. Battle of Helm’s Deep. Go.” 

“Ha! That’s far too easy! And, technically, its official name is the Battle of Hornburg. That’s a common misconception. An easy mistake to make, of course, for an amatuer fan.” 

Charles’s jaw dropped in playful shock, “Did he just call me an–” 

Before he could finish, Alexander proudly recited the speech, word for word, beat for beat, with an ease and a grace known only to someone with total confidence in what he was doing. 

My heart melted into a puddle at my feet. 

“Oh my fucking god…” Charles burst into a grin. “That was awesome!” He offered his fist to bump and Alexander just sort of leaned in the opposite direction, regarding the hand hovering before him with distrust and confusion. 

Sensing he was lost, I tried to help, “You’re supposed to bump it, with your fist, like this!” Demonstrating, I pressed both of my fists together. 

Alexander’s eyes sunk behind their lids in an expression of exasperated deadpan, “Why on earth would I do that? You look stupid!” 

“Awww come on, man. That was cool as shit. I’m not even sure if I know that whole speech just off the top of my head. You clearly know your shit. I respect that.” 

I watched for the receiving end’s microscopic movements, the tensing of his jaw as he tried to hide the ghost of a smirk that dared to present itself. Doing his best to play it cool, he swallowed, rolled his eyes and begrudgingly pressed his clenched fist against the knuckle of the much larger man’s. 

Satisfied, Charles pulled away and took another swig of his drink, before addressing me, “So, did you–?”

“Oh! Me? No, no. I take no credit for any of the brilliance you see before you. He just showed up in my pantry one day exactly like that.” I leaned down again to look the little nightmare in his eyes, only to discover the surface of the table seemed suddenly deeply intriguing to him, “He’s way better read than either of us. He's quick to remind me of that on a daily basis.”

That made him smirk in spite of himself. Halfway joking and halfway with complete sincerity, he met my gaze and sighed, exasperated, bringing back an argument we’d had at least ten times before, “How are you a college graduate and you don’t know who Aeneas is?! What’re they teaching you?!”

“See what I mean?” I gestured broadly to the little blue eyed menace. 

Charles enjoyed quite a laugh at my expense. Ugh, now I had two mega-nerds to gang up on me, fantastic, “Well, clearly we can all appreciate some good storytelling, so... For real, I’m serious about bringing the movies over. You, of all the nerds, deserve to see them!”

Alexander paused, deciding whether this was acceptable to him or not. He brushed his bangs from his eyes before finally addressing the man towering above him, “... I suppose I’d tolerate your presence again under those extremely limited circumstances. Though don’t misconstrue this as some sort of alliance. I still hold you in disdain.” 

“Awww, not even after the Tolkien bonding moment?” Charles jokingly pouted with a quivering lip, as Alexander gave him the hardest stare a pair of eyes at that scale were capable of making. The larger man dropped it with a sigh, “Alright, fine. But, hey, no one said you had to like me for me to try and help. I’m not kidding about that ‘totally not a case’ you have going on. Let me do what I can to move the needle. I mean, I’ve already passed the bar and am working towards landing a partnership someday. Maybe, I dunno, maybe I’ll have some insight on it.” 

That’s when it hit me like a sudden flash of light in a previously pitch black room. 

“Wait… oh my god!” I straightened up from leaning on the table, both men turned to me with rapt attention, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it till now… Charles, your dad, his firm… he could sponsor us!”

“IF we have a case!” Alexander reminded me through gritted teeth. 

“Right. Hypothetically. I mean your dad could help, right? In a hypothetical scenario if a law student without a degree wants to engage in a civil suit, that student must be sponsored by a professor or practicing attorney in good standing. And let’s face it, until this past semester I haven’t exactly been a model student, and even then I’ve been skipping class. I mean, the hypothetical student…” 

“You’re a painfully terrible liar, Natalie.” Alexander’s ever critical little voice once again rang in my ears. 

“Ugh, I know, Alexander, shut up!” I rolled my eyes at the little nightmare before addressing the man in the bloodied sweater beside me, “But you said you wanted to help. This is how! It could be the key to really getting this out there! If Alexander decides he wants to share it with you, that is.” 

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. I meant like… looking over your arguments or reviewing paperwork… I dunno about–” he threw his hands up in a defensive posture, before a little voice below him demanded his attention. 

“—Charles…” Alexander shuffled forward, his free hand motioning for the bigger man to lean in closer. Charles hesitated for a moment, eyeing the aluminum cane in the tiny man’s grip and clearly questioning if this was all a set up to earn him a sharp smack across the nose or face. Eventually, hesitantly, at Alexander’s increasing persistence and ever more emphatic gestures, he leaned down closer. When he settled, Alexander continued, his voice a piercing whisper, “Does the concept of ‘integrity’ mean nothing to you? Am I to understand your word means nothing? When you said you earnestly wanted to make up for your frankly egregious behavior did you lie?”

Charles pulled away, pouting with his arms crossed. Why did he look like a kid getting told off by the principal? A very, very tiny principal, no less, “Aww, c’mon, this isn’t fair! I do want to help. I swear! I just—“ 

“—Well, then. What’re you waiting for?” Alexander bit back with equal but opposing conviction. 

Charles stammered for a worthy excuse before arriving at what he seemed to think was an ace up his sleeve, “You haven’t even told me about the case!” 

“‘Inconsequential! This is a hypothetical scenario, remember?”

“Well, hypothetically, and… regular-thetically… My dad hates my fucking guts so…” 

Alexander flashed a glance at me, a wicked gleam in his eye, “What, did you spend too much money on cable knit sweaters?” His little chin jutted and a self-satisfied, crooked smile brightened his face. Ever the insult comedian. 

“No! Man… I–” Charles looked on the verge of spilling his guts, and then, abruptly, “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You won’t care about my sob story, anyway. And why should you? After the way I acted, I don’t blame you for not giving a shit. Suffice it to say, I’m not exactly my dad’s golden child anymore, so…”

“And what regrettable faux pas did you commit to fall from his good graces?” Alexander, ever the expert at subtly navigating emotionally sensitive subjects. 

“I didn’t do anything. Let’s just say he doesn’t… approve of me…”

“Ah…” the little man paused, the wind knocked from his sails. His face twisted into a mixture of a grimace and an attempt at a mask of sympathy, “That… does sound… difficult.” There was a hollow ring of recognition in Alexander’s voice that made me wince for him. He was no stranger to that feeling. Poor man. Both of them, for that matter. 

“You don’t have to throw me a pity party or anything. It is what it is. I’m just saying I can’t just walk up to him and ask for a sponsorship, pretty please…. Again, it’s not like what you’re dealing with, or anything. I can’t imagine…” 

“No. I… I can understand what it’s like not to… measure up… to expectations.” 

“Yeah?” Charles seemed pleasantly surprised to find this common ground with the man who neasured no taller than the liquor glass he stood beside. He even managed a soft smile towards Alexander as he continued, speaking in genuine earnest, “You’ll have to tell me about it sometime. If you deem me worthy, of course. Cheers to solidarity through mutual suffering, huh?”

He offered a toast of his glass and a wink. I expected Alexander to find some fault with this, however, instead, with a curt nod of understanding, he raised an invisible glass. I could feel the tension in the room melting with each passing moment. Thank god these boys aren’t going to kill each other after all… at least, not for now. 

Charles passed his gaze between us both, before shuffling out of his seat, “Well, I think I’ve far overstayed my welcome. Sorry, again, for all the ruckus I caused. I certainly wasn’t expecting… well, yeah, this all was gonna go way differently in my head. But, hey, Alexander I need you to make sure she…” he pointed at me with a smirk, “…texts me to set up a movie marathon, because you haven't lived till you’ve seen Aragorn ride into battle! Hold her to it for me, will you?” Alexander nodded doing his level best to keep up the mask of cool indifference about the whole thing, while Charles continued, “And, I will consider broaching the subject of your ‘hypothetical case’ with my father if you can present me with a solid argument. Alright?” 

Alexander’s words seemed to catch in his throat as his little jaw went slack. He shook his head as if to break himself free from his own disbelief, “…W-wait… You’re, you’re actually serious?” I could hear the distrust in his voice. I knew firsthand how quick he was to assume an offer of help was somehow a trap or just empty words. 

Charles seemed to understand this, as he lowered himself back down into a crouch, propping his chin along his forearm, “Was Samwise serious when he pledged his loyalty to Frodo?” 

I could swear I saw that little blonde man’s face go pink to the tips of his ears. He raised his brows, slicked his hair back, adjusted the collar of his shirt and with a truly Herculean attempt to hide the joyous smile that threatened to show how truly delighted he was, finally sputtered, “You have yourself a deal!” He thrust his hand forward, offering a handshake to make it official. 

Charles’ face lit up at the gesture, before casting a glance up in my direction. I mouthed the words “thank you” before the little man below demanded our attention once more. 

“Ahem, come on, let’s shake and be done then…” he stared at the wood grain beneath his feet as he said this. Charles, ever so gently, reached his pointer finger forward, and just as he was about to make contact with the far smaller hand, Alexander pulled back, “And don’t think this makes us fast friends, or anything approaching that. This is a purely professional endeavor. I still don’t like you.” 

I groaned as Charles laughed and shrugged, “Fair enough, dude!” 

Seeming to accept his response, Alexander pressed his palm into the offered fingertip and shook once, twice, and let go, immediately adjusting his collar and smoothing his shirt as if to occupy the hand with anything other than the human before him. 

With that, Charles stood and offered me a hug, which I accepted, warmly. He turned back over his shoulder to regard the little man, “You keep an eye on her, Alexander. Don’t let her do anything too stupid.” 

“It is a valiant battle every moment of every day.” That crooked little smile livened up his eyes as he lifted his chin in defiance up at me. 

“I hate you both!” I groaned. 

“Good!” They both chimed in unison. After we stopped chuckling, or, in Alexander’s case pretending to be above it all, Charles continued with one last farewell, “Look, it was an absolute wild ride meeting you, Alexander. Thanks for the nice new scar, blood stained clothes and possible nerve damage.” He flexed the hand Alexander had smacked with the cane. 

“Thank you for the harrowing reminder of the sociopolitical limitations of my own infuriating reality, the spike in my blood pressure and for ruining the productivity of my entire afternoon.” 

Charles flashed a salute, winking, “Happy to be of service.” 

“Invade my space like that again and I’ll carve you with a fresh design to make your face symmetrical.” 

“Ouch! Touché…” Charles seemed to take it all in stride, a winning smile never fading as he started to head out.  

After pulling on his boots and dawning his coat, he shut the door to the icy outside world behind him and we were alone again. 

The moment the door latched into place, I watched as a little body slumped with exhaustion. His shoulders drooped and he favored his good leg far more. He’d been putting on a show that whole time to stay strong. 

“Alexander?” I whispered, deeply aware of how touchy a subject this was for him. Slowly drawing my cupped hands on either side of him, I continued “I know you don’t normally like to ask for or receive help, but will you let me–” 

Instead of answering me in words, he simply shuffled over to my right hand and halfway leaned, halfway collapsed into the bed of my palm. He avoided my eyes, but I understood what he was asking for. Come here. You don’t have to be strong all alone. 

Tucking my thumb underneath his left arm, I draped my digit over his chest to help keep him from slipping while my left hand came up to meet the other and support his right side. Slowly, gently, I lifted him off the table and gathered him in my hands. He felt like he was melting into the skin of my palms. 

His head leaned against my right pointer finger. I did my best to move slowly and deliberately, trying not to rock him about too much. When I stood up, I met his gaze only to find those icy irises sparkling with a smile. He shook his head, without mustering the energy to lift it away from where it rested, he arched an eyebrow at me, “You have terrible taste in friends.” 

I bit my lip, holding back a smile of my own, “Nuh uh! No I don’t…” 

He flashed his signature deadpan look, practically rolling his eyes back in their sockets. 

“I don’t! Know why? Because I have you…” Did I feel the little pitter patter of his heart spike beneath the pad of my thumb? “You were beyond amazing. Not that you don’t already know that. I’m sorry about the way he reacted. But you, little nightmare, should hold your head up with pride.”

“I know I should! I always should! I’m me!” 

“You gonna let me finish complimenting you or not?”

“You may proceed.” 

“You just won your first case today. Before a licensed attorney, you successfully argued your case and won with flying colors. You completely turned him around using your power of persuasion. That’s something to be pretty goddamn proud of.” 

I felt the smallest pressure on the side of my thumb as his hand squeezed tight. He cracked a smile, flashing his eyes up to mine before tearing them away again. 

“Now, I’m more than happy to keep singing your praises all night long but my guess is you need to rest a bit first, right?” 

“You’ll receive no pushback from me.” 

“Wow! First time for everything!” I padded my way down the hall to the bedroom, watching for the impact of my footfalls as I went. “You sure you’re okay, after everything that happened?”

“Absolutely stellar. I drew blood, after all.” His eyes were more than halfway lidded at this point. 

I crossed my bedroom, tracking over the same corridor of carpet where Alexander had attempted to drive an eye as big as his torso from its socket. Ridiculous, brave little man. 

His arms were still loosely draped over my thumb as I stopped before my bedside table, on top of which, a tiny bed, about the size of my flattened palm, was made up with military precision. I lowered my hand and began unfurling my fingers to set him down to rest. “Alright, let’s try to tone down the bloodlust for at least an hour and get some shut eye, hm?” His eyes were already closed when he nodded ‘yes’, his hair sticking up from rubbing against my finger. 

Yet, when I released him from my grip, his arms didn’t budge. He was still hugging my thumb close to his chest. I wriggled the base of my thumb a bit, letting him know he could let go now. He only squeezed tighter to keep from being shaken off. 

Was this some sort of joke? It was so unlike him to want to be held… 

I was about to ask him what he was doing when a blue iris suddenly sparkled into view as he opened one eye, “Oh, don’t let this go to your head. I’m just cold. That’s all.” He shut his eyes matter-of-factly as though that settled it. 

I couldn’t help the huge grin that brightened my face, “Is that all? Just using me for warmth, huh? No other reason you wanna fall asleep in my hand?”

He let out a little frustrated sigh and pressed his forehead into the pad of my thumb, “You humans are so obtuse.” His brow furrowed and he wrinkled his nose in agitation, “I told you I was exhausted, now, please, let me get a moment’s peace before another one of the bumbling idiots you call friends comes crashing in through a window.”

I couldn't help but tease him, just a little, “Well if you’re just cold, I can always give you a warmer blanket. I know that’d be far better than enduring the utter torture of being held. Wouldn’t it?” 

He paused. Just for a tiny fraction of a second, but I knew I’d flustered him, and that was enough to make me smile as he finally opened his eyes to glare up at me, “With the amount of time we’ve already wasted debating this subject, I could’ve been well on my way to unconsciousness by now. Stop arguing with me and lie down and let me sleep! Don’t make me regret allowing you to do this…” 

Yes, my little liege! I did as I was told and curled up on the surface of the bed, careful not to jostle the small life in my hand as I lowered him down to the pillow. As soon as I laid still, he huffed a little sigh of relief and wriggled until he was comfortable, settling for curving his spine against the bowl of my palm, and using the pad of my ring finger for a pillow. In true Alexander fashion, he kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his brow creased and his lips tight around a set jaw. I didn’t think he knew how to relax even if he tried. 

With a softness I knew he was entirely unaccustomed to in his past, I brushed the tip of my thumb over his chest, just as I had done when he’d asked for comfort at the kitchen table. I watched as he melted around me. Well, melted by Alexander standards. His brow still furrowed, his body rigid and his eyes remained closed but he didn’t flinch and instead loosened his arms and, very lightly, embraced the circumference of my thumb, about as wide as his whole chest. I leaned in, voice barely above a whisper, “Since when did you become such a cuddle bug?” 

His face flushed with color as his eyes snapped open. He shoved my thumb away immediately, and stammered, “What? I’m, I’m not a–!” As he protested, he started to squirm beneath my hand, doing his level best to turn his back on me. 

“It’s okay to want to be held, sometimes, Alexander. It doesn’t negate any of the things you said today. You can be strong and want to be loved on too…” 

He snarled and pushed at my fingers, trying to free himself of any proximity to me now, little eyes still half-lidded and glassy, “I don’t need anything of the sort!”

I provided light resistance with my fingers, even hooking him around the waist and pulling him across the surface of the pillow by an inch or two. He growled, all disheveled and discontented, “Put me back on the bedside table. I can’t endure you any longer!” 

I sighed theatrically, “Well, okay… but are you sure that’s what you really want?”

“You dense creature! Did I stutter?” 

“Okay, okay! Jeez! Come here…” It’s not what I wanted, of course, but I had faith the little nightmare would come around. Wouldn’t he? Or had I just blown my chance to hold him and show him the affection I was itching to give him every second of every day? I felt my shoulders droop as I pinched him between finger and thumb and supported his legs with my opposite fingers. I was now sitting up in bed, the little man before me, his desired destination to my left. 

I held him at eye level, seeking the truth behind that prickly exterior of his, “Do you want me to leave you alone, Alexander? I’ll do what you ask me, I promise.” I truly meant that. He was left a heaving mess, dangling in the air, hands gripping my thumb as he stared at me though his brows. Poor thing, I hadn’t meant to get him this dysregulated. 

He glared at me for what felt like forever. I wished so badly he could just ask for the love and affection he so clearly craved but was far too embarrassed to acknowledge. I bit my lip, resigned to the fact that he was inevitably going to demand to be set down and left the hell alone. After all, what choice did he have? In his black and white thinking, to desire comfort from a human meant all his talk about resistance was meaningless. I sighed, wishing I could somehow impart to him I truly meant no harm, but instead began to lower him down to the bedside table. 

“FINE!” His little voice cut through the air like a razor’s edge. I blinked, stopped all movement and returned to the scene before me. I held aloft a tiny man, his body weighing almost nothing at all. My thumb pressed against his chest while my pointer finger supported his back. He had his arms crossed somewhat awkwardly over the knuckle of my thumb, as his messy bangs hung haphazardly over his expressive little eyes, “I see what you’re doing. I see what game’s afoot!”

What the hell was he talking about? My brow furrowed. I’d been stringing him along up until this point, but now he was pulling me by the nose instead. 

“You siren! You manipulative wretch! Your reverse psychology wouldn’t normally work on me, but you’ve caught me in a momentary state of vulnerability… Your charms are… somehow, against my will, taking their hold…” 

Ohhhhh. Yet another little game because god forbid we ever be direct. Jesus Christ what a drama king. 

I’d play along, then, if that’s what he needed to feel safe asking to be held, “Ahh! Yes! My spells are working! You could only resist for so long… And now, I’ll seal your fate once and for all!” Swiftly and without pausing for breath, I propped him up before me. I leaned in ever closer, and felt his body start to stiffen and squirm. As soon as a breathy “Natalie!” escaped him, I kissed his blonde rat’s nest of hair, my lips also covering the side of his face and neck. 

When I pulled back enough to see his little face, I was met with wide, bright blue eyes that stared somewhat into the middle distance, as a tiny chest heaved up and down and a little mouth stayed open and slack jawed. Just like the last time I’d dared to kiss him, all his systems seemed to go into overload. I brushed my thumb over his hair, and whispered, “How’s that for charms, huh?” He was a brighter shade of red than any tomato I’d ever seen. He didn’t say a word, just blinking, still in shock, it seemed. Poor thing. I decided I wouldn’t put him through anything else, “Get some rest, Alexander. You blew me away today. Thank you for reminding us of how brilliant you are. Go to sleep now. You’ve had a long day…” With that, I lowered him back down to the pillow, with my hand cupped behind him.

As I watched him drift off to sleep, I could only imagine what was racing through that brilliant little mind. I wanted to watch him as long as I could, but eventually the utter exhaustion of the day caught up with me too, and despite my best efforts, I fell asleep, holding the little nightmare I adored so much. 

Tag list:

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@iinogongju @itsgothgirlthyme @make-me-giant @reborrowing @whatthisfemsheplikes

“I got a question for you: is Lorraine… tall for a miniature, or are you just…”

Joe puffed up with indignation faster than a blowfish.

“…am I what, Harry?”

“Are you… extra miniature?”

Those words were enough to get Joe to leap to his feet.

“Are you saying I’m short!?” He shouted up at Harry with curled fists.

Harry just smiled. His heart was all but melting with affection. Their time at professor Hill’s had been the first time he had seen Joe next to another miniature, and he simply couldn’t let his curiosity go.

“I’m not saying you’re short, I’m just saying she’s half a head taller than you… and giant women tend to be shorter than giant men so I just figured if you’re shorter than her…”

He watched Joe pace around in his palm. Joe grasped at his head as he did so, seemingly in search of hair to pull that was no longer there.

“I can’t believe this. I spill my guts out to you and you turn around and call me short.”

“Being short isn’t a bad thing! It’s… cute, actually.” Harry admitted.

Joe stopped suddenly and stared up at him with his hand on his chest. Harry couldn’t tell if the poor bastard was red with anger or embarrassment at this point. Either way, he was distracted, and Harry’s mission was accomplished.

“Never call me that again, Harry.” He ordered.

“What? Cute, or short?”

“Both.”

Joe, who was both cute and short, stood on his tiptoes as he jabbed a finger at Harry, and for the first time since meeting he was a smidgen taller than Harry’s thumb.

Joe was right. He wasn’t cute.

He was adorable.

-

Distance was how Harry's trauma manifested itself first and foremost. It was glass walls and mirror lakes, a discreet absence of emotion rather than the incontrovertible presence of it. Harry hid. He was a man half-made, steeped in rumination and self-blame, the sort of person who gingerly crept through life for fear that he might disturb the tender emotional core he so dutifully protected. It was a core that threatened to go critical, to collapse like a dying star and unleash incomprehensible terror in the process. This was not a part of himself he wanted Joe to see in any capacity. The war had been bigger than him. Fiercer than a hurricane, louder than thunder, a great, rolling force formed by man's collective folly. How on earth could Harry articulate it to someone as small as Joe?

It had been two days since the visit to professor Hill’s, though Harry didn’t need to look at the paper to know that. One byproduct of the trauma was the counting of days; his body remembered them differently than his mind did, and the creeping depression and lethargy that led up to particular dates were surer than clockwork. October was the worst month, but June was difficult too. For nearly every year of Harry’s young life, the third of the month had marked Georgie’s birthday, until Harry had turned twenty and Georgie had no more birthdays.

The mud made the day even worse. It had been raining at night for the last four days, and the ground was perennially damp in the morning. There were times when the mere sight of mud against a slate-grey sky was enough to take him back across the ocean.

“Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness” was what Georgie’s book had recommended to him, and Harry decided he would do just that - he would be very subtle, and very normal, for Joe’s sake as well as his. He was focusing so hard on being normal that Joe’s voice from the half-open door caused him to jump.

“Are you all right out there Harry? You’ve been out there for a while.”

Only now did Harry realize that his cigarette had burnt to a nub in his fingers. He tossed it aside and turned to Joe with the calmest, least miserable smile he could muster.

“Just getting the paper.” He assured him.

He grabbed that day’s copy of the Star and followed Joe inside with it. Setting it down on the dining room table, he scooped Joe up and put him on top of it.

“What’s that story there? On the back?” The miniature asked of it.

Curious, Harry flipped the page over and read from the headline.

“Canadian-born tiny tapper embroiled in cross-country court case…”

“What’s that mean?”

“Hmm. Looks like a miniature dancer is getting sued by Hollywood because he failed to follow through on a contract.” Harry explained. “However, in order for the contract to hold water, the judge will have to rule that the miniature has legal personhood, which under American law he doesn’t, and under Canada’s common law he… dubiously does.”

Joe looked at him in disbelief.

“So he either performs the contract and gets ruled a person, or he gets outta the contract and isn’t a person…?”

“Oh, it gets better. Even if he does get ruled a person under Canadian law, he’s maintaining the defence that since the contract was signed for work in America, where he is not a legal person, the contract is still invalid and he’s under no obligation to carry it out. I think he has Hollywood backed into a corner here.”

“Bet he only signed that thing to humour them.” Joe said. “He probably knew he could get out of it. Whoever drafted that thing was sloppy if you ask me.”

Harry studied the little man fondly. Joe was equal parts naïve and savvy, it seemed, but if protection was what he was after in seeking life among the giants, then protection was what Harry would give to him, up to and including protection from himself. After ten years of learning what worked and what didn’t, he would be able to cope with the day well enough, he reasoned.

The date, June 3, 1926, sat at the top corner of the paper like a portent of certain doom. What Harry did not realize as he glanced over it was how futile his quest for normalcy would soon become.

-

It was supposed to be a normal house call on the edge of the city, one he handled like all other house calls to date. To be a doctor, Harry had learned long ago, was synonymous with being a machine. For years he had reprogrammed his capacity for horror and leaned into what the war had left him with in the name of saving lives, so when Harry put on his suit and went out to play doctor, he saw himself less as a person and more as a thing that provided a vital function to those who needed it most.

This had left Harry on his worst days with the mistaken belief that he was, in fact, a machine, something truly invincible and not merely a human masquerading as such.

True to his programming, Harry had entered the house, greeted the family, and went to the couch in the living room to assess the patient. When he got there, a sharp-eyed boy with light hair and high cheekbones was lying with his eyes rolled up into his head and blood running from his temples.

Just like that, instead of being a doctor on a house call Harry was alone in a world abstracted, thrown off his axis like a satellite flung out of orbit. When all the horror that had been sleeping inside of him for the last ten years awakened and jammed his machinery, he both did and did not know what was happening. His conscious mind clawed and fought against the creeping dissociation, and he floated above himself as if his soul had been cleaved from his body. The part of himself he had been training for the last ten years with zero oversight or guidance to handle this trauma kicked in and told Harry's ghost what to do.

He had to call his mother.

The protestations of the family he was visiting melted into raw sound as he turned from the distressing scene. His distress rose when he couldn’t find a phone, and soon his runaway terror suffocated him and then spouted out of his mouth.

“A phone! Get me a phone, will you!?” He snapped at no one in particular.

He was pointed to a corner down the strange house and phased into the kitchen with no recollection of the hallway between the rooms. A brown box on the wall bled into Harry's field of vision, and he held onto the receiver like it was the last thing in the world he had left to hold onto.

He asked for the Avery Farm. A voice he could half understand said there was no Avery Farm, but there was an Avery residence, and that was good enough for Harry.

"Doctor Avery's office, this is Joe Piccoli speaking, how may I help you?" Said the little voice in the phone that Harry didn't fully recognize.

Georgie was still dead. That was all Harry was thinking about when he said,

"I killed him."

"Harry...? What are you talking about?" Said the man in the phone.

Harry did not know who Harry was. He couldn't even control his own mouth. He kept talking nevertheless.

"Georgie Marshall. I killed him. He’s dead and it’s my fault." Harry hissed into the receiver.

"Georgie? Your friend Georgie? Harry, I... I think you're having a bad day." The voice said. "Do you need to come home? I don’t think you should be doing doctor stuff today."

Harry had forgotten the fact that he was a doctor, and like the purging of a submarine’s ballast tank, the voice in the phone kept his head above water. Now he remembered whose voice it was, and how much he had come to trust that voice. Joe was right - though it was more than just a bad day. It was terror, and guilt, and death-rage, all of which were things Harry lacked the tools to put into words.

“…I don’t think I should be doing it either.” Was all Harry could articulate. “I don’t want to go back in there. I don’t want to see him like that. He looks so much like Georgie.”

Harry’s hand was ghostly white around the receiver.

“But he’s not Georgie, Harry. It’s the Carter residence, remember? Did they say what happened?” Joe said.

“...he fell out of a tree.” Harry remembered.

“So he probably just hit his head and passed out. He’s not dead. Just needs some first aid. Can you do that?”

Harry shifted uneasily.

“I can try.” He said.

“’cause I can call up one of your colleagues if you-”

“No! I’ll do it. I can do it.”

Harry could sense Joe’s skepticism from all the way across the phone line. He was feeling better now, more grounded in the present, to the point he could remember where he had left his bag and what inside it he would need to help the patient. He just needed to find the courage to face the grisly sight, all the courage he had not had during the war.

“Okay, Harry. I trust you. Call me if you have any more trouble all right?” Joe said.

“I will.” He promised.

Left on his own after hanging up the receiver, he felt the curious eyes of the family members on him as he re-entered the living room. It was as though Joe had brought his systems back online. He still had to fight with his own brain, but he could think more clearly now, and he held onto Joe’s words like a lifeline as he began to assess the patient.

The boy who was not Georgie was not dead, and under Harry’s care, he began to wake up.

-

If the trauma had not sunk its teeth into Harry, he would have returned to Joe grateful and relieved, thanked him profusely the moment he walked through the door and called it a day. That was not what the aftermath of an episode was like for Harry Avery. He barely thought of Joe as he stumbled through the hallway in a daze, for he was no different than a startled animal at this point. Rather than saying a single word, he trudged up the stairs and went straight to his room.

Georgie was still on the table, and Georgie was still dead. He set the picture frame face down on his way past it. Tired of being a machine, he escaped his sling and his suit the way Houdini would escape a strait jacket and sat there pathetically in his underclothes, staring ahead in a catatonic state. He could not bear to turn the light on. The dugout had taught him that darkness meant safety.

Time folded into itself, the way time does for those who have lost it. Sensing something was amiss, his unconscious stalled and then jumpstarted itself, and then came the rumination - the obsessive, half-formed thoughts, the memories of a vast grave of mud and corpses that doubled as a battlefield. He had crossed it, and there in his hand was the gun. Halfway he had fallen, and there in his hand was another hand, paper-white and swollen. He had pulled at it in the vain hope its owner might still be alive, and there in his hand was-

“Harry? What’s going on?”

…there in his hand was Joe Piccoli, covered head to toe in dust and sweat. The tickling sensation of the tiny man clambering into his palm led him back to the present once again. He remembered Joe, and his new name, and the date. He remembered what he had told himself that morning and took a moment to reflect on just how grievously he had failed.

“It’s Georgie’s birthday today.” He croaked, and into the painful silence he added, “I loved him, Joe.”

“I know you did. You wouldn’t be sad if you didn’t.” Joe studied him with a look that he couldn’t stand – one somewhere between concern and pity – then sighed and rubbed his face in exasperation. “If today was a bad day, you coulda told me, y’know? You didn’t have to go out today. You’ve been looking like a damn ghost ever since you woke up, you know that?”

Harry held Joe like a precious candle in the dark and ached with shame. He didn't feel good enough for him in some odd way. He didn't feel good enough to be loved by anyone, for any reason, and yet there was Joe Piccoli, who had climbed an entire storey through the dust bunnies in the walls just to see him. How disappointing it must be for Harry, the giant, to be acting the way he was. This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go! He was supposed to be stronger than this, Joe was not supposed to see him like this, and the breaking of Harry’s mask seared worse than any mustard gas.

“I know I failed you.” He said, more to the ghosts of Georgie and his mother than to Joe. “I keep failing everyone, don’t I?”

Joe shook his head in bewilderment without taking his eyes off of him.

“You didn’t fail anyone. You didn’t kill anyone either, you…” Joe paused and hopped into his lap, then started climbing up his undershirt all the way to his shoulder. Still in a daze, Harry helped him along when he could process what was happening. “…you’re having a bad day.”

The haunted man nodded along to what Joe was saying.

There was an uneasy pause, then Joe added, “…I know about the war, Harry. I know you were in it. You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, but you shouldn’t hide this shit from me.”

Harry was not built like Joe. He did not cry easily. Still, Joe’s words brought him the closest he had been to tears in years, and he half-listened as he concentrated on keeping them from falling.

“Just... try and go to sleep." Joe continued. "I called everyone coming in today and rescheduled the appointments. There's nothing left to do. Just go to sleep."

Harry, still beyond words, clutched his little friend to his still-beating heart and sank down into the bed. Whether physically or intellectually, he had always prided himself on his prowess, but now in the aftermath of this flashback he had neither. All he could do was lie there in desperation after the episode, exhausted as a wounded animal, as his head throbbed and his spirit kept trying to leave his body.

“You did good today.” Joe said.   

Even though Georgie was still dead Harry felt more alive at those words, and Joe curled up in his hand and was alive with him. The safety of Joe’s presence cut through the terror, and Harry accepted, albeit begrudgingly, that Joe had never needed protecting in the first place.

Sometimes, giant or not, it was the other way around.

-

Harry passed through dreamless sleep and waking nightmares as he always did this time of year, until finally he awoke to find the soap dish empty and Joe nowhere to be found. This was when a new terror struck him. Joe, he vaguely remembered, had been on his chest when he had fallen asleep, and Harry had since rolled all the way onto his front with his injured, un-slung arm at his side. He got up with a start in a panic, causing a twinge of pain to run through the healing arm as he did so. As he searched desperately for Joe, his skin prickled at the thought of finding the corpse of yet another friend on this day of all days.

He sat up and saw no sign of Joe. Tore the sheets off and shook them; still no Joe. Even removing the pillows revealed nothing, though nothing was still better than something, and Harry dragged himself to his feet and trudged downstairs without taking his eyes off the ground. He was concentrating so hard on not stepping on Joe that, when he got downstairs, it took him a moment before he was brave enough to look for where the tiny artist had gone. The sound of rustling leaves drew him to the kitchen, and when he reached its source the sight before him quickly replaced his sense of impending doom with fascination.

Somewhere beneath the pile of pink lilacs, purple phlox, and forget-me-nots, Joe was bustling about with a length of twine. Harry watched as one hand emerged from the budding bouquet, then another, until Joe wrapped the stems of the flowers together. Once they were tied, he clumsily hoisted them up, laid them out in front of himself to examine his handiwork, decided they were unsatisfactory, and began to re-tie them again. Harry’s voice stopped him.

“Joe…? What are you doing?”

Joe, who looked as though he had been caught stealing, slowly turned around to face Harry. His eyes shifted as he searched for an explanation.

“I was trying to surprise you, but now I gotta think of something else.” He finally said.

“No you don’t! This is very…” Harry trailed off as he reached out and delicately plucked the bouquet from Joe’s arms to examine it.

“Don’t say it.”

Harry couldn’t stop smiling at the tiny bouquet, and he also couldn’t keep himself from saying it.

“It’s cute. Dare I say adorable. …I’m sorry, Joe.”

Joe crossed his arms and sank down against the glass of the window, but he was smiling too now from ear to ear.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’ll put up with it coming from you.” He said.

The sweet scent of the flowers anchored Harry firmly in this less-than-stellar universe he had chosen. It was the universe where he had faced his trauma the lonely way, opened up the ugly way, and learned to trust Joe the hard way.

"Shit, where's Teddy?"

"Who?"

Right, "Edward, sorry. Where's Edward?"

Instead of giving an answer, Scotty just pointed toward the single illuminated room down the hall, the staff room. Through the glare in his glasses, Hosah caught a peak of his own reflection. Gross. The kind of face only a good nights sleep would fix.

"You should go on and get home now," the unusually nice man dragged his feet as he walked away, "Shifter Slaughterers come out at this time of night." Oh, there's the Scotty he knew all too well, he was beginning think that the security guard had been replaced by some sort of evil clone, the polar opposite of his true self. Hosah couldn't help but scoff at the term. Nice alliteration, but still sounds kind of bad on the ears.

Watching as his coworker slinked off into the cramped security office, which he was sure was just a refurbished utility closet, the shifter got up to stretch. Now really was the perfect time to get back home, not only was his ass numb from the cheap chairs Jules' gave them, but he'd also kept his assistant waiting for god knows how long. So long in fact, that it was already pitch black out.

One good thing about the office was its location. Right in the heart of the city. The shifter stared out of the window, eyes transfixed on all the little lights scattered across the street view. It was almost as illuminating as the sun during the day, as the night awoke and the paths became even busier than ever on the Friday night, ready to experience the thrilling night-life the Big Apple had to offer.

That wasn't the life for the detective. At least, not anymore it wasn't. Sleepily stumbling all the way, Hosah travelled towards the staff room where Teddy was implied to be, and sure enough, there he stood, coffee mug in hand.

The taller of the two's face seemed to light up as he walked in, "You're awake."

"Yeah, why didn't you just get me up earlier, how long have you been waiting for me?"

"Seemed like you needed the sleep, didn't want to disturb you." The kindness Teddy had shown towards the shifter sort of put him at unease, an inkling that there must be something the man was looking to gain from their friendship, although upon close inspection, Hosah found nothing of value he could be manipulated into offering.

"Right," His eyes adverted down to his feet, leaning against the door frame to support his heavy body, "I need to go to bed."

Despite wanting to say 'Yeah, you look like you do,' , Teddy refrained, instead leading his partner in crime out of the building, holding onto the oversized coat sleeve that hung from his skeletal body all the while. Upon living with the seasoned detective, he realised maybe his tired look wasn't actually due to poor sleep schedule after all, and with the recent discovery of his poor health, it seemed to just be a more sunken face situation.

The way Hosah's skin clung to his bones was always concerning, his cheekbones and jaw so sharp it looked like they'd rip straight through his flesh at any given moment, and seeing him in full without the cloak that was his work outfit definitely cemented that worry. He could see exactly where Doctor White was coming from with his theory, but didn't want to outright say that to avoid offending the malnourished man. Teddy had studied psychology for four years at university level, and only god knows for how long he'd read about it during his days at boarding school, so he considered himself an expert on how to approach and communicate with his new friend.

To be honest, as the two weaved through the busy night-life of the city, Teddy realised that was probably one of his flaws. He didn't see any of his relationships in a normal way, he saw it more as a dissection of the other person's mind, being able to tell what they're thinking and how they're feeling just from a slight glint in their eye. That was the beauty of being in a close relationship with someone. The scholar was usually very good at this, reading people's minds after a mere handful of interactions, but Hosah was very different.

It was just as the note put it, he was hot and cold, contradictory, totally unpredictable, a textbook gemini. He felt sort of bad for thinking of him in such a way, but, to the rookie detective, Hosah was sort of like a wild dog he'd embarked on taming. At first, he bit and he argued, he was cold and said very little, but as the days passed and they spent almost every second in each others company, he quite literally felt them both warming up to each other, as the shifter now willingly sat, perched in his palm, leaning into any sort of touch he was given. It was extremely cute, admittedly.

The previous weekday, although painful and possibly traumatic for the shifter, was an extreme advancement in their relationship, and Teddy couldn't help but smile when thinking back on it. He felt proud of himself as he stared down at the impossibly tiny figure beneath him on that pillow, in that moment, Hosah was no longer the scruffy stray he was when they'd first met, he was now a well-groomed house pet, almost as if he'd never been wild at all. The only thing the giant could think in that moment was 'Look at you, all domesticated now,'. That was probably an extremely unsavoury way to put it, but it was the most obvious comparison Teddy could think of to his situation.

He'd done this before many times, in terms of actual animals at least, remembering his days on the farm during the summer when stray cats would wander out of the nearest village- about four miles away, all cold and hungry, bare bones and in need of a little love to make them all better again. Maybe a cat was actually a more accurate comparison to make in regards of Hosah, still feisty, some interpreting his clear setting of boundaries as being mean or rude, but with all the ability to love and play just like that of a puppy.

As he actually sat and thought about it, the assistant felt a rush of guilt, looking to the figure sat at his side on the late night subway ride home. The shifter leant on his shoulder like he did with the door frame, eyes barely open. He really was very pretty like this, even the yellow luminescent glow of the train suited him, made him look less jaundiced by comparison. With his eyes closed, Teddy could get a proper look at his long, wispy eyelashes that usually weren't visible due to how straight they were. Very, very pretty indeed. He felt guilty for being so pitiful of the shifter. Objectively, it was understood that Hosah was a grown man with his own set of thoughts, beliefs, dreams, values, wishes, all the sort of things that made one human, which is probably why Teddy felt so bad in the first place.

He'd never really felt human himself. Teddy recalled being in the food hall during his childhood, every other boy with his eyes closed saying their graces, as he sat, wide eyed with nothing to say in regard to his meal. Maybe it was due to personal experiences, but it always confused him, why he was expected to thank god for the meal. Why not the farmers who harvested the ingredients, or the chef that prepared it? Sure, God might've put the animals there to begin with, but they were created to live, no? Sitting in that hall, the only one not following orders, was what made Teddy realise he probably was not normal. He was supposed to be god fearing , obedient without question, but his mind couldn't help but doubt what he was taught to be fact.

Although he really didn't want to admit it, all Teddy wanted to do was to show the shifter the same sort of love he did to the lost kittens that wandered onto his grandparents farm, but that was one thing his time studying the catholic bible had taught him not to engage in. Despite questioning almost every other teaching he was given, this was one that always stumped him. Thinking of Hosah in such a way made him feel like some sort of predator.

He'd watched before how the farm cats would sit and stalk the little field mice, approaching very slowly, their moves so meticulous, so calculated. That's sort of how he found himself behaving in regards to the shifter. Overthinking every word he said to make sure it only had a positive effect on their relationship, buttering him up and throwing in 'You're right'-s even when Teddy knew the man was so blatantly wrong. Just the thought of turning that into love felt completely wrong. Not that he didn't want to, the feelings were definitely there and definitely grew stronger and more persistent as the days went on, but he'd learnt these kinds of feelings should be reserved for women, and women only.

Teddy would feel totally improper entering a vulnerable persons life, having them depend on him in such literal and small, personal ways, and then asking for romance. Although he'd heard a rumour or two about Hosah's love life through the grapevine, it all sounded so vulgar, so harsh, and it more made him feel extremely bad for the shifter rather that disgusted with him. That kind of disgust he saved for himself. It was clear there was some kind of underlying problem or event that dictated Hosah's life, but it would be far too forward to confront him about it, so instead he waited with intense focus, lurking with a fixed gaze until he opened up on his own terms.

He desperately didn't want to be like those who had previously hurt the shifter, despite not even knowing if that assumption was true or not, and it would eat at him from the inside out to know he was capitalising from Hosah's misfortune to receive the kind of sick love he'd always longed for. Teddy knew it wasn't wrong to seek love, but it proved to be increasingly difficult to break out of old habits and thought processes.

Looking down at the sleepy face before him, Teddy wondered how anyone could have such hatred toward the shifter. The stalker had the general understanding of Hosah as an individual, a human being, but still despised him just for his unlucky pick at the genetic lottery. As far as he was aware, the shifter generally hadn't done much to harm others, besides being a little rude from time to time. Why anyone would come up with the conclusion that the man was a vermin to the people surrounding him puzzled Teddy greatly.

Actually, no, third times a charm, Hosah was most like a mouse. His only crime being his size, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's how Teddy felt towards all fifteen of those people they found that day. How people could be so cruel to those who, below the surface level, were the same as everyone else in the world. His job continuously hurt his heart, feeling repeatedly crushed with every day that passes, every little tidbit of new information being gathered, which is exactly why he stayed. Hosah was now a target, and he would do all he could to free the shifter from the glue trap he found himself stuck in.

"Are we almost home?" The sleepy voice was so quiet, muffled by the coat Hosah's face was pressed against.

Snapping back into reality, awakening from the depths of this own brain, Teddy reassured the heavy-eyed man whose head lay against his shoulder, "I thought you fell asleep for a second there. Not much longer now,"

Raising his arm, Teddy wrapped it around the shifters shoulder, pulling him in closer, the blond head now resting in the cavity of his shoulder between that and his chest. It didn't matter if the other commuters looked at them, shit, this was New York, people could have psychotic episodes on the tube and it'd just be another mundane Monday.

The ringing of his phone forced the assistant to shift his position, forcing Hosah to hold himself up without support. The number wasn't saved in his phone, weird.

Reluctantly, Teddy answered the call, "Hello?"

Luckily, the crazed killer had not in fact found his phone number, instead, it was far worse, "Edward? I went back an hour or so before I clocked in, there was some dude peering in the windows about.. I don't know, twenty minutes before I got there?" Scotty's voice was just as annoying when muffled through the flip phone's poor audio quality.

For fucks sake. "Think it's the same person who left the package?"

"I mean, yeah, who else would it be? Fucking idiot though, lights were off downstairs, and you guys are on the third floor. Anyway, just thought you should know. Maybe bring a gun on your way to work tomorrow or something."

Despite the clear sarcasm in Scotty's voice, that last part sounded quite serious.

Before being forced to endure chatting with the unpleasant security guard for any longer, Teddy hung up the phone, wondering if the shifter had overheard any of the conversation.

"I have a gun in my apartment, it's in a safe in the closet with all my painting stuff." Hosah clarified. The assistant couldn't picture him with such a weapon, but maybe that's just because he'd painted the man as something so delicate, so fragile, something that could only ever be hurt, and never the other way around.

The shifter continued, his big, brown eyes looking up at Teddy's face all innocently, "Can pick up a my paints and a canvas when we drop by for it, then I can return the favour you asked of me."

Ah, that's right, Hosah's art was truly beautiful, nothing outwardly unique or preposterous, in fact it was all quite close to still life, except the way he blended the paints in such a fuzzy, soft way gave all the pieces the same sort of quality you'd have looking back at old childhood memories in your mind at night, some details straight up missing, the faces of adults blurred as you've forgotten their features over time, barely able to see them as they were so far away from your pre-developed body.

Despite the fact that Hosah was probably horrified with the information that was relayed over the phone call, his assistant couldn't help but smile. Hosah would be making a painting for him. He almost felt guilty for feeling happy in this moment, but then he remembered the fact and that sort of childish excitement Teddy hadn't felt in years came rushing back. Too ecstatic for words, Teddy just nodded, agreeing to go back to the previously broken into apartment to collect the shifters things.

"Are you not worried to go back there?" He enquired, the absolute need to understand the shifter and his thought process possessing his speech.

Instead of any kind of logical, satisfactory answer, Hosah shrugged, "It's kind of the least of my worries right now. People can be arrested, detained, they can lose interest. But all of my internal problems need to be solved by myself, and I need the will power to solve them. That's way more scary. That I just won't have it in me to fix myself."

Although it was certainly stupid in terms of regards to his physical safety and wellbeing, Hosah was right. He said the most insightful things when he was tired.

-~-

It felt like it had been years since the pair were sat in Jules' office, but in reality it had been three weeks at most.

This time around, they could keep each other entertained with their casual banter whilst waiting for the ruthless woman to assign them to a new task. Something still related to the overall mystery, but more detached from the main objective. Not only would it be better in terms of keeping Hosah safe, it would also he more accurate to what he had been hired to do.

During his time living at a hospital-esque sleep away school, Hosah had learnt he was quite the good mediator. Quite literally shrinking down to his peers height, getting their version of events to a T, being a source of both comfort and logic for the troubled individuals, it was something he actually quite enjoyed. As someone who greatly enjoyed knowing about the drama going on around the so-called school, and also as someone who was a big fan of being regarded as the hero who saves the day, the one able to solve everyone's conflict. That was probably why Jules came back to butt-fuck-nowhere-town Colorado to recruit him.

Finally, maybe twenty minutes after being informed she had business for the two to attend to, Jules arrived, looking as breathtaking as ever. Even in the business casual black button down blouse and knee length pencil skirt, the woman looked completely out of this world. She could wear a raw rotisserie chicken, and all the high fashion brands would probably make a trend out of it.

"We got a call earlier ago," Jules had a concerning smile plastered onto her annoyingly perfect face as she took her seat, "Same old same old, that bakery's had their roof torn off again."

"Ughhhhh. Okay. Yeah we'll go right there." Hosah brushed his fingers through his hair, sick of this same scenario happening monthly.

Teddy on the other hand had not yet been on the bakery bandit's case, and just his face alone was enough to know that.

"What- What do you mean they've had the roof torn off?" For lack of a better word, he was flabbergasted.

The shifter waved him off as if to say 'Don't worry about it' , but Teddy was most certainly worrying about it.

"Happens all the time. Shifter grows to like , eighty feet, something like that, goes for the roof and takes their goods. Not for themself, probably, never takes all of it, just a few things." Hosah was laughing, despite his assistant's visible concern, "I kind of don't ever want to catch the guy, gotten to be quite fond of them with all the times they've done it. Seems innocent enough, just fucking annoying. This is where my taxes are going. Fixing their stupid roof. At this point it'd be cheaper to just move location."

Teddy wasn't really paying attention to the shifter's debriefing, more-so focused on the absurdity of the scenario the shifter seemed so casual about.

When they arrived, the detectives had to fight their way through the crowd of onlookers and news reporters just to get in the door and talk to the cashier. Hosah didn't understand why everyone was so fussed, this thing was a regular occurrence nowadays.

It was a sweet little cafe-bakery fusion, and when it got refurbished as it did so often, it was a real hidden gem. The walls were a soft, pastel pink, although they were now covered in dust and dirt from the rubble that had come down from the moved roof, and the decor had a very similar colour palette, with cute little flower shaped pillows on all of the painted wooden chairs, pretty lace serving as table cloths, although they'd probably have to get replacements for them now as they were dirtied beyond repair. Such a shame, Hosah would've quite liked to frequent the place if the not-so-desirable visits didn't happen so often.

The young girl behind the register looked absolutely disheveled. The shifter didn't recognise her, so he assumed she was probably a new hire. Unlucky. It wasn't unusual for the bakery's staff to quit after their first encounter with the giant, who seemed to love terrorising this specific location for no apparent reason at all.

Shifters that could grow instead of shrink weren't exactly unheard of, they just had to take extra precautions in regards to their height changes. Usually, if you have the fact stated in any of your records, the military's special forces will get straight into contact, which is where most of them ended up going. Despite wanting to understand the fear everyone felt regarding the situation at hand, Hosah just couldn't, he was far too used to being tiny, being surrounded by more giants than anyone in the vicinity could probably even comprehend.

"So. Back at it again huh." Hosah leant against the rubble covered counter top, seeing what goods the delinquent had left behind in the glass case beneath him.

The girl sniffled as she nodded, "I was-, I was warned about it, but... I need the money..."

Her name badge read Yojeong, Hosah recalled it meant 'fairy' in his mother's native language, a very cute name indeed. Yojeong's hime-cut hung loose from her short ponytail, shielding her reddened, tear streaked face. Poor kid. The shifter himself knew just how scary it was to be tiny, he couldn't imagine what it would be like for the girl, with no prior experience or exposure to that sort of horror.

"Not hurt or anything, right?" This was never the case, but it was always best to clarify before assuming.

Still, with her head hung low, she shook 'No', as expected. Although, after Hosah's sigh of boredom as he prepared to hand the girl a paper to fill out giving a statement, she seemed to have remembered something,

"He- He didn't even like... take anything, he just gave me an order and asked for it to go. So.. I don't know if I should've done, but I just bagged it up for him, and he reached down and took it."

"If he didn't pay, then he took it."

"No, no, I mean he wasn't- he wasn't forceful at all! It was so weird, he was so casual about it, like he wasn't even doing anything wrong!" The girl now had her head raised to look up at the seasoned detective, something he couldn't say happened very often, given his lack of height even when it's at its maximum capacity.

Although he did feel bad that Yojeong was in such distress, visibly shaking as she recalled the interaction through frantic stutters, it wasn't anything new to the detective.

Hosah had heard the same story about a hundred times. Handing the girl a witness form to fill out, the shifter was about to go on his merry way, until a figure he swore he recognised walked in through the front door, the little shop bell jingling sweetly as if nothing had happened at all.

Thierri!

Ah, everyone's favourite unnecessarily tall detective. Actually, the man was barely a detective at all, he was hired to do petty tasks like coffee runs and such, but just kind of inserted himself into cases nowadays. Supposed to help Jeanne out with things, but the guy was such a klutz, the shifter wasn't too sure how exactly he'd be of any benefit to the well experienced Detective Alice.

That didn't matter though, Thierri had this amazing, mind boggling personality that just made him so charming and fun to be around. Hosah had no idea why his coworker seemed to cold towards the man, he was a sweetheart! The only way the shifter knew to describe him was 'excitable puppy that knows no physical boundaries' , but that wasn't necessarily as bad of a thing as it sounded on paper.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Hosah beamed, not even noticing how the young cashier had slinked away into the kitchen.

Thierri shrugged casually, "Maternity leave."

The information just shared was most certainly not deserving of the man's nonchalant attitude.

"Oh, shit, congratulations?" The shifter's assistant held his hand out to shake Thierri's, but instead, the man continued speaking as if Teddy had said nothing at all.

"Yeah, she's a Pomeranian, got her from the shelter last week. Her names CCP."

Oh. Of course, how could the shifter be so stupid. It was no surprise his coworker had used the phrase 'maternity leave' totally wrong, he should've just known upon hearing the phrase come out of his mouth. It wasn't the first time Teddy had his mind blown today too, but the shifter knew this was classic Thierri behaviour.

Almost choking in disbelief, the assistant asked, just for clarification, "...You named your dog after the Chinese Communist Party?"

Instead of a normal reaction, Thierri scoffed as if it was the most unreasonable assumption to make after hearing the acronym, "No, it stands for Captain Cream Puff, duh."

Right, obviously, how foolish of him to assume otherwise.

"You know what we should do? Let's call Jeanne up and get lunch together, you haven't properly met Edward, have you?" Hosah inquired, although the two coworkers in front of him didn't seem too keen on the idea.

"No, you're right, I haven't been introduced yet.. which is whyyyy... we should maybe go out just us three? Right, Edward?"

Instead of taking his superior's side as he usually did, Teddy nodded in agreement. What the fuck was going on? Hosah didn't think the awkward air between them all and Jeanne was that bad, was it? What kind of beef did the two have with him?

Wanting to get to the bottom of the mysterious air of tension between all of the detectives, the shifter took the decision into his own hands.

"I'm calling Jeanne anyway. If he declines, he declines. I'm not gonna be rude and not even invite him." Hosah had already pulled out his phone by now, there was no turning back.

Also, he wanted to debrief the last couple days to everyone at once, feeling it was necessary to air out his current situation given the gravity of it all.

Joe watched Harry internally panic for a moment until he finally worked up the nerve to reach out his hand. When Joe stepped into it as he had a hundred times before, there was one major difference: now whenever Joe climbed into Harry’s hand, Harry was as fearful as a young child handling a live animal for the first time. Their interactions had been like this for the last three days, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. 

“…right. Well… if this is a simple chest cold, I’ll be back in a couple hours. If it isn’t, I won’t be back until later tonight." The second he set Joe onto the floor he started backing away. "I uh—I have to hurry, actually. Take care!” Harry said.

"Harry, wait-"

The floorboards shook as the doctor bolted from the scene like a startled deer, throwing Joe off balance. All the little man could do was cross his arms and look on in disapproval. How rude of Harry to leave so suddenly! Joe didn’t even have a chance to tell Harry where he would be going that day, something that could cost him his life if his last trip to Calloway’s was anything to go by!

The last thing Joe wanted to do was return there, but a deal was a deal and fine clothes were fine clothes. Gone were the days of wearing ten year old rags, he had decided. If he had to be a borrower of any sort, he would be an enviable one, a respectable one, winning the approval of tinies and giants alike, and maybe even Harry too.

With any luck, it might even be enough to get Harry to stop running from him.

-

The month of May was much too fleeting for Joe’s liking, and as dusk fell over the docks he wished there was a way to beg it to stay. Although Joe could hardly enjoy the weather out in the open at his scale, there was something about late spring’s ephemeral nature that gripped him tightly and refused to let go. The last few rays of the sun coloured the lake a beautiful blue, and waters that had once held a monstrosity mere days ago now sat placid and calm, sloshing lazily against the gravel. The scent of fresh grass and spring flowers perfumed the night air as it grew cool and crisp. This giant’s sunset was a borrower’s sunrise, and what a spectacular sunrise it was!

As Joe sat in the dinginess of Calloway’s and waited for the tailor to deliver on his promise, he wished he were watching it instead. The booths were closer to gull’s nests than they were proper tables and chairs, and the twigs always prodded him in the worst possible places. The unpleasantness of it all doubled when a plate of rancid offerings was slid under his nose.

“Say, Cast-iron Joe! You wouldn’t mind taking this off my hands for me, would you?”

It was the voice of Gutters, of course. Joe stared into the plate the way a traumatized war veteran would stare off onto the distance. On it there was a soggy trimming of spinach, an even soggier crumb of bread, and – crown jewel of the dish – egg whites. Two slices of them, each ice cold and utterly joyless.

Joe had no choice but to accept the offering. Anything less would be tantamount to admitting that he was a pet.

“Thanks, Gutters. You’re a real pal.” He said.

The lanky man smirked at him as he slid into the seat across from him, head bobbing with suppressed laughter.

"Saw your owner looking for ya' a few nights ago." Said Gutters.

It took everything in Joe's power to suppress the primordial terror that came over him. He kept his eyes locked onto the sad eggs and prayed that Gutters wouldn't smell his fear as adrenaline surged through him.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Joe lied as his heart thumped in his chest.

"Really? You don't know? Rumour has it there was a big guy on the beach calling your name." He said.

Joe shot Gutters a look of pure, concentrated rage. He stabbed his fork into the eggs and twisted it.

"Must've been looking for his dog or something. The hell is it with you, Gutters? You and your pet tiny conspiracy. Can’t you find something better to do?" Said Joe.

"Hey, easy! I'm just looking out for ya', Joe. I know you won't believe me, but I used to be you." Gutters said.

Something about the way Gutters spoke to Joe reminded him of the circus manager: it was a voice rife with insincerity, one clearly in search of a desired reaction. He knew exactly what Gutters was doing. Gutters was testing him, and Joe wasn't having it. As his fear gave way to calculated determination, he found he wasn't scared of losing his ear anymore. He feared losing his agency, an agency he constantly had to fight for, against regular giants, against Harry, and now against his fellow tiny.

"I don't remember asking for the help." Joe stated.

With those words, Joe locked eyes with the man across from him and saw that they were full of contempt. Gutters simply sighed in response the way a parent would sigh over a misbehaving child. Then a strange sadness seemed to possess him, one Joe had never seen before, and for one ghost of a second all the insincerity left his voice to the point Joe was thrown by what he said next.

"Just remember something for me, will ya'? If they say they love you, maybe it means they love you now, but that could change by tomorrow. They think we're stupid, Joe. They always will. They're evil." Gutters warned.

Joe tilted his head back and looked straight down his nose at Gutters. Oh, Joe knew damn well the giants were evil. He was well aware they thought tinies were stupid, too. What Gutters didn’t realize, as far as Joe was concerned, was that he was treating him no differently than any giant would.

"You obviously think I'm stupid too if you're gonna sit here and lecture me about how to live my life. What makes you any different?" Joe's voice was deadpan as he spoke. “You can sit here and act like you know what’s best for me all you want, pal, but my business is my business.”

Joe could tell by the look on Gutters' face that his opponent was stumped by this response. Victoriously, Joe took one, performative bite of his cold eggs and forced himself to swallow them down as Gutters' once rational demeanour twisted into something ugly and dark. His hand shot towards Joe faster than lightning, but Joe, who was done being talked down to by anyone, for any reason, didn’t break eye contact when it snatched his collar and pulled him in.

“Listen here, you cockroach! You might be able to lie to everyone else, but you’re not gonna lie to me! I saw what I saw.” Gutters growled.

Joe’s hands curled into fists. Joe was not a fighting man, but he was cornered and angry, which in turn made him capable of anything.

“You don’t scare me.” Joe hissed, not blinking once as he stared into Gutters’ icy eyes.

He was on the verge of throwing one of those fists when the tension was broken by a low laugh that drifted over from the bar counter.

"You can't see your own hand in front of your face, Gutters. Everyone knows that." Calloway said without even looking up from the glass he was polishing. "You're just jealous he's got himself a rich boyfriend."

"I saw what I saw." Gutters repeated.

“The hell you keeping tabs on Joe for anyways? You like him? Jealous or something? C’mon.” Said Calloway.

Joe, still halfway prepared to fling Gutters across the table, breathed a sigh of relief when his nemesis released him.

“…fine. Learn the hard way. Idiots like you are beyond helping.” Gutters said.

When Gutters released him unceremoniously and retreated to the other end of the bar, a lead weight may as well have been lifted from Joe's chest. The captain sidled up to Joe’s booth soon after, and his presence was as welcome as a breath of fresh spring air. He poured Joe a glass of spills, though after his experience the other day Joe wasn’t about to risk drinking it.

“Don’t let him get to ya’. He’s just taking his own baggage out on you, that’s all. How’s the sweetheart?” Asked Calloway.

“The uh… oh.” It took Joe a moment to remember the lie he had been telling. “Well, he'll let me sleep near him and everything, but now he won’t talk to me.” He explained.

Calloway cackled as he dusted off the twiggy booth.

“That right? Is this guy uh… unseasoned, by any chance?” Calloway's voice was low and conspiratorial, and a raised eyebrow arched over his eyepatch.

Joe nearly spat out his eggs at the question. It was something he had neither considered nor wanted to consider, but now that the subject had been brought up he knew it was going to live in his head rent free.

“I don’t know!” Joe stammered. “Haven’t asked him.”

Captain Calloway nodded.

“Well he’s acting pretty unexperienced if he can barely handle sleeping in the same room as you. See, that’s why the tailor needs to hurry up and get here. Get yourself into something nice, ease him into it, then he’ll be all over you!” The captain said.

Joe, meanwhile, was covering his face in sheer embarrassment and resisting the urge to rip his skin off completely and crawl out of it.

“I didn’t ask for your advice.” Joe groaned.

Captain Calloway gave a half-hearted shrug.

“That’ll still be 200 scraps regardless. I’ll give you the unsolicited advice discount.”

-

The tailor had arrived just in the nick of time, and Joe had escaped with an elegant fabric bag and whatever was left of his dignity. The lake and the bucket arm seemed to pity him today, for after that dreadful time at Calloway’s they didn’t even bother trying to take his life. Even the snatcher and the turtle were absent that night, and the streetcar was calm as could be.

Things were shaping up to be a little too easy, but Joe pushed that thought aside as he scampered from the trolley in a direction he thought led to home. Traveling as a miniature was an inexact art, especially where the streetcar was concerned. Sometimes Joe could head straight home without hassle; other times he would end up in the general vicinity of home and improvise. The latter was the situation he found himself in after getting off on Gerrard Street and wandering onto the edge of Riverdale Park. With the night growing older, he looked for a landmark as he always did. Tiny Town in all its electric glory would do just nicely considering it was very well lit at night.

Lit up with torches, Joe noted.

He squinted at the angry mob of miniatures that spilled out of the town's gates and watched as it descended upon a single fleeing individual. Though he immediately felt uneasy, his feet automatically carried him closer and closer to the spectacle. When he was near enough, he could see that a man was running at light speed across the field as the crowd pursued him. So hasty was the target of the crowd's ire that he didn't appear to notice a dip in the ground. It tripped the escapee and he landed violently, too shaken to get up. Joe's stomach twisted into knots as the leader of the gang loomed over the victim. He didn't tear his eyes away until the ringleader of the mob knelt on top of the target, pinched the man's ear, took his knife and-

-Joe could have sworn it was O'Grady wielding that knife.

That was enough for him. He turned around and sprinted as fast as the newly marked tiny had, taking care to watch his footing for fear he might be the next victim. Bolting into the darkness that swallowed him, he fought back tears as he wondered what evil force was possessing his fellow miniature.

When he stopped to catch his breath, a new idea came to him. Maybe tinies were just as evil as the giants were. The giants may have invented Tiny Town from what Joe could tell, but it was the tinies who invented marking. Oddly enough, Joe found himself equal parts disgusted and comforted by this thought. It meant he had nothing to lose by living as he did. It re-enforced what Joe had known to be true deep down all along: that he wasn't just a stupid borrower. He could understand the evils of war and suffering just like anyone else. He could look his own potential ruination in the face and decide it was a risk worth taking.

Faced with that grisly sight outside of Tiny Town, Joe had no choice but to make peace with his new understanding of evil.

-

The clothes were high self-esteem in fabric form. It was the latest in townie fashion: a light blue-grey suit not unlike the ones the giants wore, with a hat and shoes to go with it. Clean as a whistle and dressed to kill, the reflection that stared back at Joe from the blade of the abandoned butter knife may as well have been that of a completely different person. As he tilted his hat this way and that, trying to get it at a perfect angle that would complement his cheekbones, he wondered if Mr. Dawson would be impressed.

With that passing thought, all the horror of the night crept back over him like a cursed miasma. Although Joe had made it back home to the safety of the kitchen, he was still small and alone in a house endless and empty, and an eerie feeling came over him. He kept expecting something, or someone, to find him and attack him, to grab him by the neck or to cut off his ear - the specifics didn't matter. For years he had lived in the Stinson House without this vulnerable feeling coming over him. Then again, maybe it had always been there, and Joe had tuned it out in order to function. Now that he was sleeping in Harry’s room, he was beginning to understand what real safety felt like. It was another form of forbidden knowledge, he supposed, another thing he would miss so much in its absence that he could never bear to part with it in the first place.

The sound of Harry’s key in the front door exorcised the sense of trepidation immediately, though Joe still hid behind the cookie tin out of principle. Light after light went on in the hallway, then the parlour, and then finally the kitchen, until the darkness was purged completely and only the giant remained. Although some part of him debated remaining hidden and saving the surprise of his new clothes for later, another more tender part couldn’t resist being with Harry in that moment. For three days now Harry had been avoiding him, but Joe, especially now, couldn’t bear to avoid Harry.

So he stepped out from behind the tin and whistled as the contemplative giant leaned over the sink. As had been the case for the last three days, Harry’s eyes widened and that look of unease came over him. Now there was a new development: the giant’s face turned bright red at the sight of him.

Unseasoned. The word crept back into Joe’s mind. Calloway had a point, he realized; Harry wasn’t acting all that different from some of the lesser-experienced boys of Joe’s own size that he had toyed with. Surely, though, Harry didn’t find Joe attractive. That would be absurd!

When the giant said nothing at the sight of him, Joe took a few more cautious steps forward as the moment grew increasingly awkward. Heart-rate rising, he cleared his throat and said,

“Waddaya think?”

Harry kept on staring.

“Uhhhhhhhhh… I uh…” Sputtered the giant who was not at all thinking.

Harry rubbed his hand over his face and collected himself. Joe’s heart swelled with pride when he saw that a familiar look of wonder had returned to the doctor’s eyes. He felt oddly powerful in that moment, as he so often did at Calloway’s whenever he was drunk and flirtatious. Pretending he was there instead, he gave Harry his coyest smile and took his hat off to the giant.

“I took your advice and went clothes shopping. Thought you might wanna admire the stitching.” Joe said, thoroughly enjoying Harry’s reaction.

Absurd as it was, imagining Harry as just another flustered boy he was hitting on at a bar seemed to be helping. At the very least, the giant hadn’t turned tail and run yet. Joe kept drawing closer.

“You can have a look if you want.” He offered.

“I… okay.” Harry said, his voice wavering with surprise.

Still thoroughly malfunctioning, Harry extended his hand to Joe who noted that it was visibly shaking. Joe climbed in, careful of it at first. When he saw that Harry’s hand was clean, he didn’t stand in it, or sit in it for that matter, but lounged in it as though he owned it, then smiled up at the jittery giant who dutifully carried him upstairs.

“So how’d the visit go?” Asked Joe.

Harry shook his head gravely.

“It wasn’t a cold. Miss Wilkins’ father came down with tuberculosis. I spent the day arranging for him to be taken to the sanatorium and comforting the family.” Harry said.

Joe had no idea what to say to such a thing. In his ten years as a hermit, it was a rare occasion when he had to comfort anyone. He tried his best for Harry's sake.

“Are you all right after that?" He said.

“I'll live. It's part of the job." Harry assured him.

"Yeah, well, it's a shit job." Joe said. "You sure you'll be all right?"

"I'm sure. At least one of us had a good day by the looks of it.” Harry replied.

Joe suppressed his nervous laughter. Thought of the gruesome occurrence at Tiny Town had melted away when Harry showed up, but now it came back again in full force. He wanted to deny it away, to bury it, to pretend everything was all right. Instead, when he disembarked Harry’s hand, he stood before his new bed on the nightstand and debated with himself over whether or not to talk about it. Ultimately he decided that he wanted Harry to know. He wanted the giant to understand that tinies were also capable of evil. Maybe if he did, he would finally stop sheltering Joe.

He couldn’t turn around to face Harry when he said what came next.

“Saw a guy get marked today outside of Tiny Town today.” Joe could feel the giant’s concerned eyes on his back. “A whole crowd chased him down. I don’t know what he did. I just ran. Maybe I should’ve done more to help. Tinies are just… we’re evil, Harry. We’re just as bad as you are sometimes.”

Joe was fighting back tears again as he turned to face Harry. The giant was sitting on the bed with his chin in his hand, looking deeply worried.

“I’m glad you came home in one piece.” Harry said.

“We gotta do something about that place, Harry! Find out what’s going on. The professor might know… I should call him.” Said Joe.

“Do it tomorrow when the poor man’s awake.” The giant advised him. Then his brow furrowed. “...why didn’t you tell me you were going there?”

“You left before I could! You ran off so fast today I didn’t even get a chance to bring it up!” Joe exclaimed.

Harry’s face fell.

“…I did, didn’t I? I’m sorry for running off on you like that.” He said.

Joe had said enough about Tiny Town, he decided - more than he could stand to say. He didn’t want to dwell on the horror any further, so he shoved it away and turned his ire against Harry instead.

“Yeah, well, you should be. What’s gotten into you lately, anyways? You don’t talk over breakfast, you won’t read with me, any other time you’re busy with your files, and when I try and say anything you run out the door!” Joe ranted at Harry, who had gotten up and started rifling through his dresser. “You’re gonna leave right now, aren’t you?”

Harry froze.

“I uh… I have to get changed.” Harry insisted.

Joe crossed his arms.

“Then do it when I’m done telling you off. This is important, Harry.” Joe said. “You still scared you’re brainwashing me or something?”

Harry shook his head no. As the giant clutched his pajamas and cast a defeated look off to the side, a strange feeling of satisfaction came over Joe. It was there on the nightstand, dressed in his finest, that Joe embraced his twisted nature. He wanted Harry, and by extension he wanted to know about Harry, to learn who the real Harry was. He couldn’t do that if the giant was constantly hiding from him.

“I’m just… not good at taking compliments, I guess.” Harry said.

Joe tilted his head at him in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“The other day, you were drunk at the time and you ah… said something very nice to me.” Harry explained.

Joe couldn’t help but laugh. The horror and anger fled from him again at the sheer ridiculousness of Harry’s statement.

“That’s what you’re wound up about? Really!?” Joe cried.

The embarrassed giant nodded at him and Joe, little devil that he was, immediately took aim at Harry’s weak spot and fired away.

“Well what did I say? Did I say you were smart or handsome or kind or something?”

Joe watched in delight as Harry grew so worked up his only usable hand started to fidget. The giant sank back down onto the bed and sat there as Joe smiled with cruel joy.

“…I’m not going to repeat it.” Harry said.

“Did I say you have a nice ass? ‘cause we can add that one to the pile.” Joe continued.

“What!?”

“I said what I said.”

Poor Harry looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. Joe, meanwhile, was laughing in sadistic glee as Harry looked at him helplessly.

“What are you so afraid of?” Joe threw the question at Harry in the same deadpan fashion he had done with Gutters earlier.

“You.” Harry admitted.

“Me? Little old me? Really, Harry?” Joe said.

Harry? Afraid of him? This knowledge turned the entire world on its head. All this time he hadn’t thought it possible for Harry to get flustered at him. He had imagined the doctor a cool seducer, even, hellbent on getting Joe riled up. Learning it was the exact opposite changed everything! So Harry wasn't a seductor. He was a precious, darling innocent ignorant to the wonderful world of boys. Was that really why Harry was blushing at him so intensely?

Joe had no better option than to test his theory. He shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it over the metal lighter on the nightstand, then took off his waistcoat and tie for good measure. What he was about to do was thoroughly unprecedented. His inner, sexually confused twelve-year-old was screaming at the mere thought of it. Still, it had to be done, for Harry’s sake and for Joe’s as well.

First he took a few steps back and judged the distance from the nightstand to Harry’s left knee, then he sprinted at full speed and launched himself toward it. Harry jumped and yelped when he landed – predictably – and Joe scrambled to stay balanced as the giant panicked. Within seconds Joe was swept into Harry’s hand, and as he lay there he gave the doctor the best puppydog eyes he could muster.

“Harry, there’s a lot of awful shit in this world you need to be afraid of, but I’m not one of ‘em. You know that.” Joe assured him. “Tuberculosis, Tiny Town, that’s shit worth being afraid of. Not me.”

“…right.” Harry said.

He couldn’t stop smiling up at Harry. The giant was innocent, painfully so if the dumbstruck look on his face was anything to go by. Joe wouldn’t dare corrupt that innocence, but he would use his newfound knowledge to bridge the growing gap between them. He sat up.

“But hey, here’s an idea: if you wanna be scared you can go ahead and be scared, but that’s no reason to avoid me. Wanting to run away is normal but we’ve been through too much shit for that. Just do it scared.” Joe said.

“I’ll try to do that.” Harry sighed.

With that, a timid smile came over Harry and his thumb started stroking Joe’s face the way it used to. Joe, triumphant, leaned in to Harry’s touch. He was proud of himself, for in an odd way Joe had caught the giant, had lured him in and cornered him. Harry had no excuse now. He would have to stop running and start enduring.

“By the way, there’s something I’ve been meaning to show you…” Joe said.