“Look, it was an accident,” the woman said to the tiny man sitting at her plate, “I’m sorry! Won’t you please eat something? I know you like breakfast…”

The tiny man in question was cross-legged at the edge of the woman’s breakfast, folding his arms in resolute defiance, not even bothering to look at the portion of bacon and eggs that she had lovingly cut from her own. There was even a sliver of toast to boot.  The woman watched him with a frown as she chewed her last bit of bacon- he was determined, it seemed, to win out this battle of attrition. Silly, she realized, since she had already apologized to him. 

Darcy knew that he was intentionally prolonging this out- her roommate had pulled this tactic several times during their tenure together, some for slights and others for actual insults. For as long as Darcy had known Andrew, she had known his propensity for long and dramatic broods- it was something of his character, a trait that was all at once annoying and yet impossibly endearing. 

When she had first met him at the party of a mutual friend, they had gotten into an argument about some such or other, but she remembered vividly about how adamant he was about his point. He argued empathetically, letting his emotions play a large part of it. He was deathly determined to win, and even when it was clear that she'd the stronger argument, he wouldn't be put down. The argument continued even on the begrudged 'date' their mutual friend had set them up on while still under the influence. Andrew was cute and all, and they got along fine and well as friends, but Darcy didn’t feel the spark she (or more accurately their mutual friend) expected. She told him as much, and he agreed. He was nice enough to let her win the bowling game, paying for the drinks anyhow. After, they met by chance, and they became something she valued even more- good friends, and eventually, roommates.

She finally set her fork down, putting her arms on the table and lowering her head slightly. He needed to eat something, she knew- at his current size, there was no telling how badly he needed the nutrition. He would need to be tip top today for his appointment.

“Andrew,” she said, softly, “I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. I know that this is a pretty scary time right now for you, and I should have thought about that before I," she slowed, reaching for the right words, "well, before I said what I said." Then as an afterthought, surprising to her because it sounded like an excuse, "but I was only trying to make things lighter!”

He was silent for a moment, but then looked up at her. It was a shock to her, how piercing his eyes could be.

“Darcy, you called me your pet,” was the curt reply. It cut her deeply, and she felt the pang and weight of her carelessness run through her.

She nodded her head, and folded her arms back down on her lap. She had to take the bullet for this one, she knew- and rightfully so, she thought. Ever since Andrew had shrunk down to a little smaller than the size of her thumb, he’d been understandably on edge about it. It was something that happened occasionally to people, seemingly at random, and scientists still after a couple of years had no clue why. It certainly wasn’t a death sentence - but for some, it might as well be. The news never ended without at least one report of a reduction or a death related to it. A recent one in popular memory was a European prime minister being smothered under his wife during sleep. The accidents, while slowly getting less frequent (or at least less reported), were still in abundant supply, and always on the public mind. Such fears were present during a chat the two roommates had shortly after she had discovered him in his new size. Darcy, in a possibly ill-thought and misguided attempt to lighten the mood shortly after Andrew's accident, suggested that even though he was shrunken down, they could still be roommates- he could live in a bird cage and sing for her and she would teach him to stand on her shoulder and squawk. She had giggled at the thought, but that turned to horror when she realized that Andrew wasn’t laughing at the quip. Quite the opposite she realized; he hadn’t spoken to her for the rest of that night. And now, she was paying the piper, even after making his favorite meal for him.

 “I did, I know.” She looked up back at him, her eyes sincere. “And I’m sorry. I really am, Andrew.”

Darcy held out her finger to the tiny man across the plate. It still amazed her that he was this tiny- he was dwarfed by only her little bit of her finger- if she ran it into him, he would have been knocked over. She felt a tinge of regret, right then in having those thoughts, solidifying her guilt in demeaning him to be her handheld pet. Here Andrew was, still in a familiar place with a familiar face, but now very, very small, where even something as simple as breakfast became difficult to accomplish without assistance. How would he live, how would he eat, survive? Find shelter? It must have been terrifying for him, she realized. Worse, she thought, to hear such lightness being made by the very person he'd come to rely on. 

Andrew looked up from his scowl and looked at his roommate's finger, extended out to him, the long fingernail, unpolished but well-kept, protruding out. He then looked up at her, saw her hopeful but cautious face. He looked at her curiously. He might've been coming around, she thought. 

“I’m a big dummy, I know,” Darcy continued, “but can you please forgive me?” She smiled at him hopefully, grinning a bit.  

The tiny man with the scowl cracked into a smirky grin of his own- he rose up from off the table and brushed off his shirt. With a gusto that Darcy knew to be acceptance, she watched as Andrew stuck out his hands to take her finger. She had to giggle when she felt his movements of shaking her finger up and down violently; it was so strange to see how different even something like a handshake was when their scales differed. When the hand/arm/finger shake was over, Andrew bounced back and stretched up to the sky, now much further away for him.

“Of course I can! Noooo sweat.”

Darcy smiled at that- this was typical of Andrew: lightning fast disposition changes. It took some getting used to, to be sure, but Darcy came to see it as something indispensable from Andrew- she saw that he just simply wouldn’t be him without that trait. He was the forgiving type, and that was something she admired greatly in the little man. 

“I guess,” he started sheepishly, but still possessing of a bravado, “that I had overreacted a little to what you said.”

The girl chuckled, folding her arms close to her stomach and leaning forward slightly, relieved.

“A little?”

He grinned, toothy like a kid covered in mud, “OK, maybe a lot.”

She chuckled, smirking a bit herself. In truth, he was a little bit of a drama king. Emphasis on little, she supposed now.

“Uhh yeah no. You were on one, buddy.”

She giggled again when he shook his head and folded his arms. He was taking this admirably.

“Anyway,” she began again, desirous to switch gears, “I’m going to go shower. Are you going to eat? Or should I heat it up?” The relief she felt was palpable, but so welcome. 

Andrew had already begun to sit down when Darcy started to talk, right next to the plate that she had been eating off of. He scooped a bit of egg and started eating. He shook his head, saying, “No, it’s alright like this.”

She nodded, satisfied.

“Well then,” she began, pushing out slightly from the table, “I guess I’ll head to the bathroom. Do you need anything before I go?”

Andrew shook his head, his mouth occupied by the handful of bacon that he was working on. Darcy smiled at his attention to his meal. She nodded at him, satisfied that he would be ok. She pushed out from the table some more, standing up from the chair to her full height and on her toes, stretching her arms up. The stretch brought up the short night shirt and exposed her stomach. Morning still hadn’t quite left her, and the early spring chill was still in her bones, making waking up difficult still. Not that her guilt from sleepless last night helped her any better. She looked down again at her tiny roommate, and found that he was looking at her, his handful of yolk halfway between the plate and his mouth.

“Can I help you, buddy?” she teased, smiling then laughing as he quickly shot his face back down to his plate. He started to shovel handfuls of food into his mouth embarrassingly, not taking his eyes off of his plate. Darcy laughed at that- at a normal size she might have reprimanded or even yelled at him, but at this size, she thought it was cute, adorable even.

She got done stretching and set her hands back down at her sides, letting the RHCP shirt recover her stomach once again. She walked towards the bathroom, carpet soft under bare feet, still giggling at the incident. Darcy, to her knowledge, knew that Andrew had been a long time dry when it came to girls, so she supposed that it was natural that he had snuck a peek. It had been a long time since he had brought a girl home, for drinks or for something else. Granted, she knew that he was a lawyer, a contract lawyer, and that kept him fairly occupied, especially at his busy firm. When she had met him at that party years ago, from what she heard from his friends, he had been something of a player or ladies man, and that had even continued for some time while working at his law firm. She wondered why that had dropped off- she supposed it had something to do with work. Occasionally, however, he would bring home flowers and put them in a vase, but Darcy had never seen a note from a girl or from a friend. This happened quite frequently, she realized. Maybe he was sprucing up the place. He was a graduated professional, after all.

Despite his lack of female callers, Andrew was ever a perfect gentleman. More than once had he been her crying shoulder after a difficult break up or bad day always seemingly ready with a cold brew or a peanut butter cup (her favorite!), seemingly always stocked. He was always respectful of distance and privacy, save for the few times that she had caught him lookylooing- but that was always from a distance and it never came off as lecherous to her. More so, he was tidy, clean, and always considerate. Andrew was, by all counts, a good guy. A good man- if not a little dorky. She supposed that he could have an excuse to be a lecher every once so often. 

She stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and then locked it. Shortly afterward, she unlocked it, realizing the futility of the action. As she undressed, she examined herself in the mirror, one of her morning rituals. She was a tall girl, she knew, called lanky by some, skinny by others, but always and invariably ‘hopelessly skinny, you need to eat, dear’ by her grandmother. It was funny to Darcy; no matter how much she ate, there always seemed to reappear more food on her plate while visiting family. Her hair, a wild and curly black fro (as per her mother), was pushed to one side thanks to her sleeping position. Her face, centered on her dark almond eyes, shapely nose, and full lips, was looking, for once, to her delight, very clean. Those pore strips were working.

“Yaaaaaaay,” she celebrated as much as morning would allow, using her finger to inspect more.

Her skin, although notorious for breakouts, was a warm café au lait, a gift from her white physician father and her black collegiate mother, a tenured academic working in a university just north in Appalachia. More than once Andrew had called Darcy 'latte girl' on account of her complexion. Andrew himself, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, was shot back as ‘die übermensch’ by her. She had heard, however, that occasionally the appearance of the affected persons changed as they shrank down. Small things, like eye color or hair color- even one report that skin pigmentation had been affected. Then again, Darcy hadn’t really thought much about appearances outside of the fact that he was now the size of a child’s toy.

“Small enough to…” she let her voice trail off.

She remembered that she found him on the ground, screaming his lungs out when she had just entered the door.  She had just come from work, and noticed something, something very tiny, moving near her feet. She looked down, and nearly screamed- there he was, jumping up and down, banging his fists on her red canvas sneaker. The real horror, she realized later that night, was when she realized how close her foot was to him when she noticed her tiny friend.

She had nearly stepped on him.

The thought even now made her shudder- she would never hurt anyone, let alone step on them. She, like every other person, heard occasional horror stories that came with the growing population of people who were now tiny; horror stories like crushed spouses and siblings, or sex slavery. But she always thought that these were deviants, not the norm.

Right?

Shaking her head from those kinds of thoughts, Darcy turned the water on and stepped into the shower. Regardless of how it came to be (no one really knew why shrinking happened), today would be a life changing event for Andrew.

Darcy had made the call shortly after finding him yesterday, a call that the government advised everyone afflicted by this certain condition, or their family or friends, to make. After a brief hold by what sounded like a very tired woman not but days to retirement, she was connected with a local physician's office that specialized in something called 'post-incident well-being and psychological assessment and counseling.' Darcy was no doctor, but she could reckon well enough what that meant- it was a check-up. She had no clue what the details were, but she knew it was necessary.

Despite her knowing that things would be alright, Darcy couldn’t help but feeling that things were about to change forever. It was a bit in her stomach that grew while she had made the call. Whether I was just anxiety or adrenaline from the incident, she could not tell. She couldn’t tell anyone why, but it just made her hair stand up on end, or that sinking feelings. She knew that this would be good for Andrew, no matter how it played out. He would be safe, in good hands.

Right?

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When she emerged out of the bathroom, her towel on her head, she found Andrew sitting on the table next to his now very clean plate. He was hovering over his phone, something that now dwarfed him. She smirked at that thought: in a world of large screen phones, her roommate had insisted on a smaller one; she wondered if he could see the irony of it. He was playing a game, and even at this size he could use his hand to direct incensed avians into verdant boars. His fist popped up into the air in apparent victory.

“Three stars?" she called out, approaching the table.

He looked up from his phone, almost surprised to see her there. He looked up and cranked his head way back, straining to see Darcy, who had come up to the table and rested her hands on it. She was leaning over him, and her shadow fell directly on top of him.

“Ahh, no, I didn’t, just two of them.”

“Ha, still beating you at it, I see.”

He raspberried his tongue and scoffed.

“Anyway,” she said, grinning and leaning back, “are you ready for a shower?” she stopped herself, knowing that wasn’t true, “err, your bath? Your washing?”

She took the towel off her hair, and curly, fluffy locks spilled out in all directions. She shook her head, trying to get all the strands loose, as he answered.

“Yeah, I am… by the way,” he said turning off his phone and smirking, “Don King called- he wants his wig back.”

“Ah-ha! Ah-ha,” she exaggerated, leaning down, hands on her knees and bringing her face close to him, “You funny! Little! Bastard,” she said, accentuating each word. “You should do comedy!”

Andrew smirked his smirk and stood up to stretch. “Y’know, you’re right,” he began, his arms going behind his head, “I should ditch my two hundred thousand dollar education and make people laugh through slapstick and cheap shots. You think the firm would dig that?”

She shook her head, smiling. She really didn’t know too well the firm that he worked for, she thought, but she knew it was pretty ancient. She’d met his boss once, and the term ‘held together with a prayer’ came to mind. However, that brought up an interesting question for her, one that she didn’t even consider during the hullabaloo. Thinking about how to word it, Darcy rose her face up and set her hand down, palm facing up. Andrew, seeing the hand, looked at it for a second, and glanced back up at her. She gave a wry smile- this was literally the only viable way she felt comfortable transporting him.

He gingerly stepped up onto her palm, and for half a thought Darcy didn’t think she felt him. It was only after the other half of the thought that the sensation registered in her hand- his tiny footsteps pressed onto her hand, and she was reminded of a mouse that she’d kept as a pet (she cringed, the recency of such an implication fresh in her mind) when she was younger, and how lightly its tiny feet felt on her palm. Finally, Andrew sat down with an ‘ayumph’ in the center of her palm.

“By the way,” she began, lifting her hand up, “do you know…” she stopped talking and made a quiet but sharp inhalation- she looked down at Andrew, sitting placidly in her palm, and she found herself awestruck- how light he was! It took Darcy’s heart in a grip, a poignant combination of sadness and… something else. She didn’t know what, but it made her feel, or rather know very acutely, that there was a tiny person, a tiny man, sitting in her palm. How surreal! She felt… big. She felt… an inkling in her lower stomach.

But she couldn't identify it. She shook herself from the almost trance and took a step forward. Of course she felt big, duh. The lanky woman that she was already put most people she knew below her forehead- it was natural that she tower, quite literally, over this little guy. She supposed that she would feel those feelings, wouldn’t she?

“Yes?” Andrew prompted, curious about the question that Darcy left hanging, “do I know…?”

Darcy, snapped out of her trance, reformed the question in her mind.

“Oh, uh, do you know what you’re going to do about the firm?” she asked, making her way to the bathroom. She opened the door and felt a mild blast of moisture- it was still wet in there. “I know you had mentioned them, and I was just curious. What will you do?”

Andrew thought about it for a moment. She took the time to place her hand on the bathroom counter to allow him to step off, which he did. She then got the faucet running and kept her finger under it to test it.

He said something, but she didn’t hear him.

“What?”

He said it again, this time with his hands cupping his mouth.

“Hold on,” she said, leaning over to turn the faucet off. Once it was off, she asked, “ok, sorry, one more time?”

“I said,” Andrew cried, then lowering his voice once he realized that he was shouting, “I think I’ll call them after the appointment today. Talk to them about it.”

“Hmm,” Darcy said, grabbing a small washcloth from out of the sink cupboard, “what do you think’s going to happen?” She turned the faucet on again, running the washcloth under, filling it with warm water.

“I really don’t know,” he said, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Andrew had that bravado with him almost always, but now, it was different. And why wouldn’t it be? 

“But,” he continued, “we’ll figure something out!”

She smiled, glad his confidence had returned. Or at least, his optimism. She set the moist towel on the counter, folding it so it would retain warmth during his washing. She realized that she'd never explained to Andrew what she was had in mind, so she did, and he nodded thoughtfully. 

"Better than swimming in a warm, slick bottom pool." 

"Yep," she affirmed, and reaching into the shower, she grabbed his bottle of shampoo and a sliver of soap. She set a drop on the towel and then placed the sliver next to it. 

"That should cover it," she said, placing hands on hips. "Anything else? I'll come back in ten minutes."

"Okay. Oh," he snapped his finger, pointing to another washcloth, "may I have a towel please?" 

She nodded and set one down next to the wet washcloth before leaving. Just as she closed the the door, she heard something muffled come through the wood. Perplexed, she opened the door just a crack to speak inside.

"What was that?" She inquired.

"I said," Andrew called back, still struggling to get his clothes off of him, "thanks, for everything," said he through the muffle of his shirt. When he finally was able to yank it off, he looked over at Darcy, who had poked her head in.

"Seriously," he continued, “it means a lot to me." He gave a warm smile at her and she returned it.

"'Course!" She exclaimed, scratching her nose, "I'd do this anytime for you. You'd do the same for me, I thinks." Her smile turned to a concerned frown. "I hope," she began, "that it doesn't happen to me." She let that hang for a moment, then added, almost hurriedly, "at least, not before we get stuff sorted for you."

Andrew chuckled. 

"You're telling me. Who would take me out of the bathroom then?"

She stuck her tongue out at him and closed the door after her.

Darcy’s sandals tapped quietly on the ground as she and Andrew descended down the steps into the apartment garage. He sat in her hand, watching the world go by. He inched closer to the edge, daringly, looking down on the ground- it seemed so far away. He knew it was only a couple of feet, to be sure, but to him the distance was far too long to fall. Moreover, there were feet down there. 

He watched Darcy’s feet step lightly down the flight of stone stairs, barely making any but a light sound, despite her wearing her gladiator sandals. He wondered, absently, if the doors they passed by had ever heard louder people stomping by. Maybe. They probably didn't hear Darcy and her tip toeing. Even if they did, they probably had no idea that there were in fact two people were passing. 

He was here yet not here, he mused.

"Hey," a voice called from above. It shook him out of thoughts. He looked up to Darcy who was looking down simultaneously at where her feet were going and her other hand placed on the rail for balance. After she stepped back onto the blackened tar ground of the garage, she regained her thoughts. "Um, would you like to go to Tino's after this? Maybe split a burger?"

Andrew nodded at the prospect.

"That sounds like a capital idea. You pay though," he added quickly. Then, as if to amend and justify the claim, "I think you'll be eating a fair bit more than I will."

Darcy chuckled at that, retrieving the keys from her purse. She clicked a button that caused a green Subaru to chirp in the corner of the garage.

"That sounds fair. However," she started, a smirk coming to her lips, "since I'm paying, I get to decide what burger we get. None of your weird pastrami and Swiss burgers. Straight up, good old all-American beef and cheddar!"

Andrew scoffed at the idea. 

"Oh come on, pastrami and swiss make for good burgers! Just because you're too..." he made chicken wings from his arms and imitated the noise, "to try anything new..."

"It's a classic, distinctly American," Darcy said empathetically, ignoring the rebuttal. She swung the car door open in a wide sweep of her arm, "and that sort of thing just has to be. It's like apple pie, or fireworks on the fourth, or,"

"Indentured servitude? That's pretty American."

Darcy frowned down at him as she sat down into the car seat. She closed the door and then set her hand which held him down onto the passenger car seat, letting him scootch off her hand and onto the plush cushion.

"You know what I meant," she droned, placing her handbag on the seat in front of him. She then paused, looking at him and the seat. A thought crossed her mind that never had before- a question of logistics.

Andrew seemed to perceive that Darcy was thinking about something- that was a look he knew. 

"What are you thinking?"

Darcy put a finger to her lip, squinting her eyes. Then finally, she set her hand down in front of him once again, prompting him to hop on. Once he did and was safely out of the way, she set her purse right before the crack where the seat and the back cushion met. Once that was done, she reached over, took the seatbelt, and fastened it over the purse, securing it in place. 

Andrew might have seen where it was going. He was about to ask her when, all of a sudden, her palm started to move. She held him just over the back of the seat and the purse, carefully cupping her fingers, apparently anticipating him falling from her own instability. He did not, however. Her other hand reached over, and with lithe fingers, opened a small space between the back of the seat and the purse. 

He had guessed right. 

Gently, but maybe a little too speedily, Darcy overturned her hand and sloped Andrew into the tiny crack. He slipped down and fell with a soft plop between the two encompassing walls. She eased the purse back, creating a tension that held her tiny passenger in place.  

“There we go,” she said, not suppressing a smile. Andrew shifted uncomfortably. 

 “Yeah, there we go to the chiropractor’s… let me… if I could just…”

He struggled and wiggled himself up- he was pinned between the purse and seat cushion, something that wasn't terrible, but not exactly comfortable either. He pulled, grunted, and shimmied up to his legs, not without considerable work.

He noted, wryly, that Darcy had not helped. 

He sought to find a more comfortable position for himself, maybe sitting-

"Ahh." He breathed more than said.

His leg caught on the buckle of the purse as he shifted his weight and he started to tilt. His leg was fixed to the buckle, but the rest of him kept going. He flipped down, his head rushing down. He yanked his weight away from the purse and into the small space between cushion and handbag, extending his arms out in front of him to break his fall on, naturally, air. 

He came to an abrupt stop, his arms wedged into the tight space, facedown. 

As he tried, nay, struggled to get free, Andrew thought he heard a joyful laughter above him, booming yet feminine, but unmistakably familiar. 

---------------------

"Hmm, looks good, looks good," a gruff and well-travelled voice thrummed. The voice belonged to a white haired doctor who was currently hovering over Andrew with a magnifying glass, making his already large brown eye seem positively enormous. He eye would blink every so often, and the entire lens would turn a skin color, then open up back again, minute changes in the iris flaring out, in, then reaching an equilibrium. 

"Demeanor looks alright," he said to no one in particular, perhaps himself. His hand flicked a check across a box on the clipboard he held. He made the movement with years of experience behind it.

"No mental issues, babbling, delusions or anything like that?" His eyes flicked over to Darcy. The girl, watching intently with her arms over her handbag, quickly shook her head.

"No, I haven't," the patient piped up, his voice a bit louder, a bit more distinct.

The doctor made a grunt of approval, checking another box. His eyes turned back to his clipboard, where he scrawled some final notes in a practiced hand- one that, if Andrew could only guess, was in a style that was legible to the doctor alone. In law school, Andrew had been ridiculed for his sloppy handwriting, his professors often commenting that he'd chosen the wrong graduate program, and should switch over to the university's medical studies. He wondered briefly what his Juris Doctors would think of this doctor's chicken scratch. 

The doctor in question seemed to be satisfied, as he had cleared his throat and set the pencil down on the table next to the examination table.

"Well," he started, placing aged hands on his knees, glancing at Andrew and then back to Darcy, "y'all've got some choices to make." His soft Dixie drawl bespoke his birth, hidden deep behind years of formal education and worldliness. "I don't see any defects that are troubling- as far as his health, he seems to be just fine, and I don't foresee any issues in the future given his good condition."

"That's good," Andrew said. "So I'm healthy."

"Yes," confirmed the doc. He scratched his chin, the afternoon stubble just now appearing. "This may not interest you two, but there're some pretty great social programs put into place, some very recently. They call them diminished homes- they have entire communities built, from houses, workspaces, parks," he rose from his seat and walked over to the display of pamphlets and grabbed a few. He handed them to Darcy, then continued.

"All sorts of things. My wife's niece is a social worker, at the one called, mm, 'Leafstone,' I believe, and she's got nothing but good to say about it. Best part is that it was only just recently cleared by the UCA- it's become a government operated deal, so it's free to family to send their loved ones there."

Darcy leafed through the pamphlets- they all showed stock photos of happy smiling people having dinner or playing in the park. A few of them contained the odd photo of their facilities. The 'Leafstone' community boasted of some famous residents (former actors and the like), a swimming pool, tennis courts, and a real live honest-to-God play house. It also claimed round the clock security, a specialized medical team and appropriate facilities, and in-house counseling.
Words like 'dignity' and 'safety' were quite frequently seen in the descriptions, she noticed. It then struck her- this wasn't for the small people it spoke about- it was for their families.

She saw Andrew motion at her from the corner of her eye. She sauntered over to the examination table, setting the pamphlets in front of him. She watched him eye them intently.

"New York?" He asked, pointing to the very impressive pamphlet. "The Leafstone facility is in New York?"

"Oh, yes," the doctor didn't say but instead reassured, "there, somewhere upstate. Another's in Colorado and another one, the not so great one, located in California."

Darcy's heart dropped. So far away. She hadn't even considered the prospect of him leaving, and she had to admit, it wasn't the most pleasant idea- she figured that it would be a big change.

Andrew nodded thoughtfully, sitting down on one of the pamphlets. 

"Well," he began, putting his hand to his chin, "I think I don't want to go to one of those, if possible. I mean," he scowled and shook his head, "I'll probably not be working any more at the firm, but I should have enough in reserves to pay rent for a while." He looked up at Darcy, expectant for a reaction. She caught herself with an open mouth and a wry smile.

"I mean," he added, "if that's alright with you." He grinned sheepishly. "I really like that apartment, and it just got a lot more roomy!" 

Darcy chuckled and gave a warm smile. 

"Our grocery bill would be quartered, so we could even live on my salary!" She pointed at Andrew and looked at the doctor. "Guy eats like he's twelve. I've never seen someone pound down so many burritos."

The doctor smiled tiredly and nodded his head at them- he seemed satisfied with that answer. Something told both Andrew and Darcy that he'd seen a lot of people pass through in the same condition, and probably not all of their varying circumstances were favorable. It was a good thing, they thought, to see such well-meshed people. Hopeful, even. The aged M.D. gathered up his clip board and magnifying glass, and hurried to the door.

"That seems settled. Good. I’ll speak to the nurse and have her draw up a couple’s diminished cohabitation form. The Feds have been cracking down on registration of each diminished, so you have to fill it out prior to leaving. Oh, and everything’s covered by the Universal Care Act." He was about to leave for another appointment when Darcy piped up.

"Oh, doctor, we're not... Uh, together or, cohabitating; we're just roommates, actually. Is there a different form we need?"

The doctor stopped and peered at Darcy, then Andrew. 

"Huh." He wore a surprised expression. 

He looked back at his chart, scribbled out something, and then wrote another scrawl. 

"I see. That's fine. I'll tell the nurse. Thank you for stopping by."

The doctor left and shortly after Andrew donned his clothes again, so did they. He didn't say a word after, even when Darcy had picked him up of the examination table to carry him out. He sat stoically and looked ahead. However, when they arrived at the nurses' station to fill out the forms, he blurted out and asked if he could see that Leafstone pamphlet again. Darcy dug it out of her purse, and unfolded the propaganda in front of him. He looked over it once, and then cleared his throat.

"I've thought about it, and I think I'd like to go to Leafstone."

Darcy was thunderstruck. Why in the world had he suddenly had a change of heart? The nurse that was attending them looked confounded as well. All the same, she tore up the current form and began a new one. 

Darcy couldn't wrap her head around it.

"What? I- I mean, are you sure?" She asked the little man in her hand. He nodded assuredly. 

"I am," he began, confidence bursting in his voice. "I've thought about it, and, Darcy, you can't live and look after me. It wouldn't be fair to you. You've got friends and family and it shouldn't be wasted on taking care of someone who would have to be brought with you everywhere." He looked up at her with honest eyes. For a split second, however, Darcy thought she saw hurt. "I can't be that guy, Darcy. I couldn’t live with myself."

She swallowed and nodded. Couldn’t live with himself? Her heart skipped. But again, this had to be his decision. It made her a little more than uncomfortable, but she figured that it was just the prospect of change.

Still...

The nurse handed the form, a lengthy document that contained words like 'guardianship,' and 'release' and 'liability.' It had an overly long title punctuated by a very official looking form number like 4-7dh or 1078. Darcy didn't get a great look at it. She watched passively as Andrew was handed an ink pad to use his finger to sign, followed by a witness signature by the nurse. The form was filed, and the nurse said in a very articulate tone that the social workers would come not tomorrow morning but the morning after to pick Andrew up. A that time, Darcy's temporary legal stewardship of Andrew would end and he'd be put into the hands of the state, something the nurse said with a little less that discomfort. 

"You know, I voted for that... that Johnson candidate and..." 

She continued on for a bit but Darcy didn't hear. The whole process of it all, the doctor's appointment, the changing of forms, it all unsettled her. Most of all, however, she was puzzled over why her friend's sudden change of heart.

-----------------------------

Darcy had decided to not broach the subject over lunch. They'd kept their promise and went to Tino's for a burger and fries to split. Darcy had gotten her wish, much to Andrew's chagrin- an all-American beef and cheddar. Then again, she was the one paying for it, and she would in fact be the one who ate the most of it.

The burger itself was massive, even by Darcy’s standard. It easily dwarfed Andrew and then some- in fact the sight of him standing next to the kaiju-like monstrosity was near comical. He stood up very nearly to the top of the crown bun, and the doctor had put his new height at two point fifty three inches- a little less than the length of Darcy's lithe thumb. As he stood there gathering a handful of bun, burger, cheese, and trimmings, she watched him. She wasn't going to dig in to her lunch until her friend was clear from any potential areas where he might grabbed and harmed by mistake.

It was then, like an unbidden and unannounced houseguest, that an idea creeped into Darcy's head. She imagined, just hypothetically, Andrew crawling between the buns of the burger, just above the cheese, just below the lettuce and pickles and onions. He would do so willingly, not making a peep, but instead resigning himself to his lot. She then, impossibly, imagined reaching down with both hands. 

Uh oh, she thought to herself.

Her nimble hands gripped the burger, tiny passenger still snug between condiments, not even complaining. She brought it up, her heart pounding, rising every inch in anticipation that was to come. Still he lay within, wriggling only slightly. Did he know what was going to happen to him, to his life?

Despite herself and the growing urgency to show self-restraint, the hamburger sandwich kept coming towards her face, a patty (all-American, she remembered) topped with cheese, lettuce, pickles and Juris Doctor. 

She had licked her lips, she guessed, because she was suddenly salivating, her mouth open wide. She could only imagine what it looked like to him, sitting there, about to become a meal for his best friend. She wanted to scream out, throw the burger down and save her friend's life.

But she was so hungry. And… excited?

Her lips felt the soft sponge dough of crown and heel when she heard a cry. It couldn't have been Andrew- she would have barely heard him, buried under all that food. But there it was again, clear as day. She felt her pearly whites sink deeply into bread, beef, trimmings. He was saying something…

"You can start now."

Darcy blinked. Once, twice. 

"What?" She could only gape, suddenly woken from her daydream. It took her a split second to realize what planet she was on, then another to remember and become very, very embarrassed. Andrew, she saw, was standing on the other side of the tray with his fistful of lunch, watching her with curious eyes.

He took a bite of greasy meat. “I said,” struggling through a full mouth, “that you can start now, I’m clear. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Well… yes. Just not…” she trailed off from what little retort she could muster. Before she made a bigger fool of herself, she practically swiped up the burger and took a huge bite of it, a small irrational part of her cursing for not checking between the buns for any tiny roommates.

What the heck was that, she wondered.

“Geez, it’s like you’ve never eaten,” he chuckled, dipping a bit of bun into his dap of fry sauce.

She ignored that quip; though that would normally have earned him a punch in the arm, she was a pretty concerned with the day dream that was, in her opinion, a little too vivid. She would never dream of eating Andrew, let alone anyone for that matter. Sure, she’d heard of it happening in the past when the whole diminished person thing came into being, but that was few and far between.

Still. She couldn’t, try as she might, deny that she had felt during her imaginings. She had felt something like anticipation, like butterflies in the stomach, like excitement, like… Something like a lust, munchies, whatever it might be called. It was that feeling one got whenever they knew something was waiting for them at home after delivery, like a package from a courier service, or a week out before you see a movie in theaters you just know you’re gonna love, or popcorn in the microwave…

She sulked, kicking herself for that last bit. Why, she wondered, taking another bite of burger, did it always have to go back to food?

The video conference meeting with his firm lasted only ten minutes. Darcy had stood by the side while Andrew talked at his request, but he didn’t make it entirely clear why. When the call had started, she quickly moved to the side so as to be out of the camera’s view but still able to watch the screen. The withered, down right ancient man on the other side of the screen had nodded a lot, occasionally hmming and huhing at Andrew’s long-winded explanations. The boss at the first seemed pretty surprised as to his employee’s condition- he asked a few questions as to how he was found, was he alright, could he breathe okay, queries that were not dissimilar to the ones that were put forth by the doctor that very same morning; but soon after he and Andrew were all smiles and chuckles.

Darcy had to assume that something similar happened to a coworker of Andrew- they had talked at length about the circumstances of the other case rather than Andrew’s own. In fact, they hardly seemed concerned about the situation at hand, by the sound of them. She wondered how closely this resembled any given workplace conversation. She then imagined, a wry grin creeping across her face, a big conference room where ‘shop talk’ ceased and several lawyers in Sid Mashburn three-pieces buddied and biddied it up like bros in college or women at the washing well- talking about the big game or big gossip in place of the big case.

The final word came quick as heat lightning. Andrew had agreed to leave the company amicably and all his holdings transferred over to his bank immediately- in fact, a couple of hours; their accountant, Audrey (“You know, the one with the nose ring?”), would be heading over with a fresh cut check chock full of real American dollars- after tax, of course. 

“Best of luck to you, Andrew. You will be missed.” The screen flicked over to the placeholder screen all a-bubbly. Andrew turned on his heel and held is arms out. 

“’Tis done.”

Darcy walked over to the desk and sat down at the chair where he might’ve sat were he normal-sized. He was hopping along the keyboard spelling out gaudy words. 

“So, how does it feel,” she began, setting a hand under her chin and crinkling her nose at a word he spelled out and ignoring his self-satisfied chuckle. “Oh, Andrew, gross. Are you going to miss it? Working there, I mean?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Also, 'you will be missed?'"

Andrew hopped over, with considerable effort, over to the ‘n’ key. 

“Nah,” he completed, realizing he couldn’t get over to the ‘o’ without crashing. “I think it was best. I dunno,” he hopped on the spacebar and then slid down the edge of the board onto the desk. “It’ll be nice to be independent. Kind of felt like I was working for Dewey, Cheatam, and Howe some days. Still.” He sat down on Darcy’s finger. “I will miss them.” He resisted Darcy’s playful fingerwag, keeping on and holding.

He slid down again onto his butt and lay down next to her finger. God, he was so small, she again realized. Not even as tall as her index. He just lay there, hands behind his head, and she could easily just pick him up and take him anywhere he- or she, Darcy realized with a start- desired to go. To the dinner table, in front of the television, to the kitchen- that last a bit difficult considering her wild mind wanderings this afternoon- anywhere. 

As if he had read her thoughts, he piped back up again. 

“Besides,” he said, closing his eyes, “I don’t think I could do much for them at this point, not at this size.”

There was an unmistakable sadness in his tone, she realized- tried as hard as he might have, his sunny disposition of always belied anxiety or grief this time. Darcy had to admit, she had never thought of his situation in relation to how it affected him in spirit. Sure, she focused plenty on the physical, making sure that he wasn’t crushed or suffocating or say, starving, but she thought that maybe a clear examination on his psyche would be in order now or in the future. 

Did being diminished of body also diminish your spirit, your soul?

True to form, Andrew appeared his own self quickly enough. He got up and prompted Darcy to set her hand down for him. She complied, placing it flat on the desk next to the computer. He hopped on again, sat down, then lay down with his hands behind his hand, like a beach goer catching some sun. 

Darcy bit her lip. Again, that pervasive sensation. A low pit in her stomach. Bigness. Potential. A thought crossed her mind, one involving her hand and the little man on it... but she quickly pushed it out of her head. 

She blinked. There it was again! Why did that happen? This morning after the shower, at Tino's, and now. Why did these thoughts invade her mind so? Why were they so frequent now, so at times disturbing?

So desirable?

Her revelry was disturbed by Andrew calling out to her once more. Her eyes focused, slowly, and the picture came to mind. He was kneeling in her palm again, his head cocked very cutely to the side, Darcy had to admit. He has his hands on his legs, tapping away. She suddenly became very self-conscious of her and diverted her eyes.

"Are you alright? You're being a real space cadet today, kiddo."

"Um. Yes, I'm okay."

Darcy blushed, finding the courage to lift her eyes again. Andrew smiled at her moment of embarrassment.

"You sure?" 

Darcy nodded at him, pushing a toothy grin at him, which he responded in kind. She knew, honestly, that her pushing those thoughts out probably wasn't the best solution, but... Why did she have to deal with it at all right now? Couldn't she just forget her own deal right now so she could concentrate on supporting Andrew? Almost automatically, she sauntered over to the couch and sat down, pulling off her sandals and lifting her feet up onto the coffee table, pushing a cup out of the way with her toe. She placed Andrew on her thigh and leaned her head onto the back of the plush couch.

This was nice, she thought. Just her chilling and feeling Andrew sitting on her leg, warm yellow midday sunlight pouring through the windows. 

She could do this forever, she thought. Just lounging with her pal. 

"Oh hey, you're going to hate me, but..."

Darcy opened a single eye and peeked over at her leg. She frowned at him, pouting her lips. 

"But Andreeeeeew,” she whined in a sing-song voice, “I just got comfy!" She teased, barely suppressing a smile that came out from behind the frown. 

"I know. I don't think we have to go now, but later I would like to go to the bank. Like, after two thirty- that's about when Audrey will drop-"

"Wait, Audrey with the lip ring?"

"Nose ring!" He corrected with a pointed finger. "And yes, the very same. She'll drop off the check into my account, and I'd like to go to the bank to close things up, maybe move some around."

"Sure. But..."

She looked down at Andrew hopefully. He rolled his eyes and smiled at her. 

"Yes, yes, we can chill here for a bit. We've got an hour anyway."

Darcy smiled and lay her head down back again.

"But set an alarm! I can't wake you up if you start snoozing.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Darcy sat on the cold marble bench waiting for Andrew. She half watched him speaking with a banker at a big oaken desk, and saw him occasionally waving his arms and gesturing emphatically. She smiled, knowing that he could often not communicate to people without the aid of his hands- it was something of a quirk of his, one that Darcy poked fun at every chance she got. There was something endearing about them, the little ways he operated and functioned- little signs that gave away his mood or his attitude. She remembered when they had first started rooming together, how some of his more... Masculine habits, such as leaving towels on the bathroom floor, leaving the milk out, and for gods sake why can't you lift the damned toilet seat I feel like your mother sometimes. They really had etched marks into her. They were certainly annoying at the time, but the course of many 'rent due' periods, she had grown accustomed to it. She wondered if that had been a bad thing. Of course, that was not to say that he didn't improve in at least some areas, but just... Used to it. His habits, and him, grew on her. 

She wondered, half watching him, half flipping through a copy of People, wholly shivering, if she'd ever pick up after another roommate when he left. 

She couldn't lie to herself and say that she wasn't going to miss him. He was probably her best friend, ever since graduation- he had, technically, and slightly embarrassingly for Darcy (and possibly him), met her parents more than any boyfriend. She'd cried on that now tiny shoulder more times than she could count, had listened to her vent her problems long into the night, had relied on him from being swindled in a car deal thanks to his eagle eye for law... To speak nothing of the late night Tampax runs. 

To say that Andrew was a large emotional element in her life would be a gross understatement. 

It felt like he was moving away, somehow. On the drive over, she had told him that she'd built up frequent flyer miles over the past few years and could visit him often enough and "oh did you know I found this one website and its basically like a search engine for flights and..."

And on and on. 

Through the whole chat though, Andrew had only smiled softly an nodded. 

"I'd like that." But he also added, "but you should concentrate on yourself! Use those miles to go to Switzerland, or visit your mother's family homelands. Not many people get to do that!"

She admitted, that would be a grand idea... But she couldn't. It was difficult to imagine doing those things without her best friend. Traveling had always been something they shared since that wonderful trip to DC and the Smithsonian. To go new and exciting places like Europe or Africa without Andrew would be... Well, not Europe or Africa. Not the kind she wanted.

"So wishy washy." She whispered to herself. Then, because she liked the sound, she said it again three times fast. 

She was just turning the page on a downright uninteresting piece on the pregnancy of some such other celebrity when she felt someone come near her. She looked up and saw a plump, bespectacled, and pretty woman holding an envelope. It was the banker that had helped Andrew, she had realized.

"Ms. Darcy? This is for you." She gave her the envelope, the sealant still wet from closing. It was thin and light, but sill opaque- it had security scattering inside that helped prevent snooping. On the corner of the envelope was the prestigious bank's logo, timeless yet crafted by modernity. On the front of it, in writing that was certainly not Andrew's own was 'Darcy'. Under that, in neat and anal little parenthesis, (for rent). 

She flipped it over in her hands, puzzled. He hadn't mentioned anything about this. Wasn't he supposed to close his bank accounts? Maybe transfer it over to some place or put into government hands? Or maybe it was a letter. 

"Darcy, huh?" 

The so-named looked up- the banker was grinning and twiddling her fingers. "Your parents must have really liked Pride and Prejudice."

Darcy chuckled at that. She'd never actually read the book itself (she found herself more a fan of the Bronte sisters), but this, or similar variants of the same question, was asked quite frequently at her.

"My mom teaches English literature up north."

"Well, that certainly explains it!"

It was true. Her mother, a certified bibliophile, taught lecture in Western European literature. She had a particular fetish for all things Austen. 

"Anyway," the bankette continued, "you're a lucky gal. Not many people would leave that kind of thing, especially that much, to their friends. He must really care for you!"

She waved and took off back to her desk, sliding down and continuing talking to her little client. 

'Especially that much?' Darcy pondered. How much could he have left, she thought. They had discussed setting aside a years rent for just in case in the car, but Darcy had tried to dissuade him of the idea. She was a big girl ("literally!" He'd cried out in the car ride), she could take care of herself. Worse comes to worst, she could find another place if rent proved too insurmountable a challenge. She found herself getting huffy- yeah, it was sweet and quite a gesture to pay rent for a bit, but come on. She wasn't helpless.

The sealant was still wet, she realized, not yet set. Temptation. Temptation like Sunday morning before church.

Before she even completed the thought, she found herself opening the envelope with lithe dexterity, and not a small amount of guilt. She probably didn't expect her to open this until rent time and the-

"Oh my God," she said as the breath leapt out of her. 

The cashier’s check inside was addressed to her, her full name written out. Under that was a number that she had to read thrice before truly comprehending the import of it. She read the numerical amount, written, then numerical once more- she almost couldn't pronounce it.

Two hundred sixty eight thousand, four hundred and twenty nine point fifty four.

Over a quarter of a million dollars.

This had to be a mistake, she concluded- no one could ever give her that much money. That's... Illegal, right? Wait, Andrew couldn't even have that much! He bought generic brand all the time! He squirted spare ketchup packets from burger joints into the Heinz bottle at home, for God’s sake! 

Her heart was racing. There it was, her name, from the first to her embarrassing middle to her last, then six digits just below it, and the plump woman's signature that below that. Satisfied on the one but also deeply anxious on another level, Darcy calmly put the check back into the envelope, and resealed it.

One breath. Two.

A quarter of a million dollars.

She had dreamed as a young girl (and maybe a young adult) what she might do if she ever came into that kind of money; vacations, dream homes, fast cars had come to mind. But now, actually having that amount, she felt nothing but unease. 

Three. Four.

No one just gave that kind of money out on a whim. There had to be something behind it. Some, some, some thought process driving and motivating such absurd generosity. Why couldn’t he use it, at Leafstone? Surely they might’ve had a way in place to manage his finances. He might use the funds to help the facility, promote research, heck, even start a law firm for the diminished. There had to be something there for him.

Unless, of course, there was nothing there for him. Nothing left. The pit dropped in her stomach even lower- she found herself remembering, that sense of terrible dread growing within, what he had told her this past day.

Andrew wouldn’t really take his own life. Right?

Then she remembered. His intonation that he couldn’t do anything for anybody, not at his current size. He couldn’t lawyer up, take cases, continue working for his law firm. And why couldn’t he? Who would take in earnest contracts written by a man the size of a mouse? Who could trust the words of a tiny speck?

She shuddered. And that wasn’t even the worst part of it, she realized- Darcy had recalled his admission as she held him in her hand at the doctor’s office. The defeated affect when he resigned to Leafstone, citing that he didn’t want to be a burden. Not to anyone, not to her.

“I can’t be that guy, Darcy. I couldn’t live with myself.”

Live with myself.

Darcy found her heart racing again- the thought that Andrew could kill himself, might kill himself set her ill at ease, no doubt- more so than any event that had been in the past thirty hours. She had heard of this happening before- articles and news videos on the internet, the growing concern of the behavioral health community over the psychology of being small. Record number of suicides growing among affected diminished- most psychologists pontificated that it was the extreme trauma, emotional helplessness, or shame that came from new life conditions. In fact, an entire journal had been published just to address these problems. Still, try as everyone might, there was still a terrifying rise in the number of suicide cases- and those just being the ones reported.

He didn’t want to be a liability, she realized- he didn’t want to live with the shame of being waited on. He probably truly meant it when he had told her that he didn’t want to burden her and keep her from living life. He was independent from his family, she knew, maybe even estranged, from high school. He just wasn’t that guy to depend on others.

“I can’t be that guy, Darcy. I couldn’t live with myself.”

The thought made her want to cry. Why did he have to be so goddamn noble? Hell, she wouldn’t mind being his roommate forever - he had taken such efforts to be a good guy, a wonderful roommate, and an even better friend! She could be with him, take care of him, cook for them both… ah, what was she even thinking? That’s exactly why he wanted to die.

She grimaced, closed her eyes. She gripped the envelope tightly in her hand, crinkling the paper and bending the check. She couldn’t let him go through with it. She simply couldn’t. Biting her lip, she thought about what she might say to him. She had to confront him- she couldn’t let her friend, (she shuddered) no, her best friend murder himself. Not while there were still people out in the world who supported him.

Tonight, she thought, watching the plump banker bring Andrew to her in an open palm, tonight she would confront him, stop him from this madness. 

Darcy almost burned the vegetables that night. Her world famous chicken fajitas (according to herself, but Andrew had always been suspect of that claim) was a dish she had made no less than what had to be a hundred times, but she simply could not keep her mind on her work that evening.

She had decided early on (during the drive back, in fact) that asking him directly was the best course of action. She didn't want to be ambiguous or vague when she spoke about it, because firstly, Andrew was a direct person: he'd get impatient with pandering and beating round the bush. Secondly, she wanted absolutely no misunderstandings about what she had in mind.

No questions tonight. None at all. Too much was at stake. 

They ate dinner at the coffee table while watching a movie, some hyperviolent show that was also, perplexingly, a political drama. It was one of Andrew's favorites. He had initially suggested The Incredible Shrinking Man with a wry smile, but Darcy could only blush and quickly switched channels. 

The show drug on. It was interesting, but not enough to take usurp her thoughts at hand. She had pushed around the last bit of pepper around her plate with her fork, shoveling it and trying to gather the juice into one part of it. 

"I saw the check today," she began flatly. The cat was out of the bag now, for better or worse. Silence dominated the air save for the dialogue on the screen. For a half second Darcy's heart stopped. What if she had said the wrong thing? What had been the most strict of confidences, what if she had only just waited for instruction? Why couldn't she just have waited?

Andrew wiped his mouth and hands on the shred of paper towel provided to him. She watched him do this, an anxiety budding in her stomach. He nodded.

"I see."

Darcy reached over and turned off the television with the remote that sat next to him. He leaned back, letting himself fall into the cushion behind. He still stared straight forward at the empty and grey screen of the television, the lights within still glowing somewhat from their residual power. 

"So you did, huh?"

Darcy nodded weakly. 

"I did." She swallowed, the lump sticking in her throat. "That's a lot of money, Andrew." 

He nodded. 

"That it is. And it's all going to you."

Darcy crossed her bare feet anxiously. Something about that phrase had a dark finality to it. 

"Andrew, please listen."

He shook his hand, prompting her to stop.

"No, Darcy, hear me ou-"

"Wait, no. Andrew." The sudden cut off made the man start. Something told Darcy he wasn’t expecting it.

“I know…” Here it came. “I know that you don’t want to be a liability to me. I get that. You think you might be a burden on me, that if I stay here and watch you, I won’t go out and live life. But…” She raised her voice slightly. “I… I can’t… I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

He eyed her curiously, crossing his arms.

“I’ve… well, I’ve read about this- in magazines and some journals. People who become diminished are more like to… well, hurt themselves. Or,” She swallowed, the lump welling in her throat. “Or worse. Andrew…!” She hated saying it, but here it came. “I don’t want you to kill yourself! I couldn’t live with myself if you died…”

Her eyes had started watering now. Andrew could only stare in disbelief, as this giant girl gushed out before him. 

"I know things are hard now, I know, but... Andrew, you don't have to suffer through this alone- I mean," the words were flowing now, like an unstopped fountain, "I mean, you're not a liability to me- you can come with me to Africa or Europe or wherever! You can live and stay with me as long as you need to, as long as it takes to help you recover." She wiped the forming tears from her eyes. "I'm here for you, Andrew. You're the best roommate, and you'll always be my best friend."

For a second, all was quiet. Andrew had relaxed his expression from one of disbelief to a flat stare.

He seemed to gnaw on his tongue for a moment. He did this occasionally- She recalled that past times he had done so- before a large purchase, mulling over a particular legalese-choked contract, deciding on vending machine products. He nodded slowly, and she could tell that he was thinking deeply about something. 

"Well," he began, looking up at her, "that's exactly why I’m leaving.”

Darcy felt her breath catch.

"W, What do you mean?"

"I mean," he began, standing and placing his hands on his hips. She felt the edge rise in his voice. "I can't be around you. Not anymore, anyhow. That's why I chose to go to Leafstone."

Darcy's breath again caught in her throat.

"You... You're not going to kill yourself?"

"NO!" He shouted, something wildly uncharacteristic of him. It startled her, such a noise coming from such a tiny person- louder than any person of his size had any right to be. Darcy, putting her hands up to her chest reflexively, suddenly felt very, very small. Her feet crossed again in reverse.

"How could you even think that? For Christ’s sake, I'm moving away, Darcy; I'm not going to prison or a gulag. Why would I even think to do that? God." 

She shifted uncomfortably and felt the red show on her face.

"Then," she began, meekly as a mouse, "why are you-"

"Why am I going to Leafstone?" His voice cut knives. It still bewildered her how such volume came from a man no bigger than her thumb. "Because, Darcy..." she heard him grind his teeth, but his voice softened somewhat.

"I can't be a burden on you. And yes, I know that I have said that before, but I don't think you understand." He cleared his throat, swallowed. "I thought that I could get by as your friend, your roommate. It was nice, being with you and being able to be a part of your life. You came to me in confidence and cried on my shoulder. I was happy, joyful even, to provide that for you. You trusted me." He sat down again, crossing his arms. "But when this..." He held out his arms, looking down painfully at his body, "thing... happened to me, this fucking diminishing bullshit, I realized that I couldn't just... Get by anymore. Not while being around you." He laid down and shut his eyes. 

"I can't deny to myself how much you mean to me anymore, Darcy.”

Darcy had only ever been too shocked to speak twice before in her life. Once when her mother had slapped her for backtalk, the second during the turning point of her favorite book. This one may have beat all those by far, however. 

He loved her. Not the fraternal or human sense... But love. Infatuation. Romantic. Deep, resounding affection.

And she never once suspected.

She apparently took such a long time to even say something that Andrew had opened his eyes. He looked up at her, and then sat back up, sitting cross legged with his hands in front. 

"I could never tell you," he half-admitted, maybe to himself. "I never knew how to bring it up. Maybe, I don't know, I was too busy with work. I didn't want to keep you up at night while I worked long hours. What if the firm moved, sent me to our attaché in California? I couldn't uproot you from near your family just for me, as badly as I wanted it.”

She heard a deep sigh.

“I wanted to be with you, I found out. Sometime after you moved in, actually. We had tried, yes, once, but I thought that was the end of it. I liked you well enough to be your roommate. Thought maybe you had some friends I could get to. I didnt know," he rubbed his chin, smiling, the slightest hint of remembrance, "that I would fall for you hard like this."

His hand dropped down from his chin and he nodded thoughtfully. His blue eyes, even visible at this size, shone in the slight dark.

“That’s why I left you that money, you know? It was something of a gift for you.” He sighed, his breath leaving him in a deep way. “Something to help you along. Maybe help you get your graduate degree. Travel the world. Buy a house… maybe even start a family.” He chuckled. “It might be old fashioned, but…” he trailed off. “Hell, I sure couldn’t use it. Why not give it away, and why not to you?”

He stood back up, walked over to the edge of the couch. Reflexively, Darcy moved forward and began to outstretch a hand- but it was too late- she saw the tiny scowl that spoke volumes appear on his face.

"See, right there. There." He raised his voice again ever so slightly. "That's why I can't be here, Darcy- with the roommate relationship, I could at least not be seen as a liability. Now, don't get me wrong, I know you'd give up your life in a second for me- that's one of the many elements of why I love you- but there's an absolute disparity between us now that I’ve shrunk. See, you don’t look at me as see me as a roommate anymore.”

She felt like she had been slapped in the face.

“I saw it, Darcy, I saw it in your eyes last night when we talked. I’m no longer your roommate, but something you look after, something you make sure doesn’t accidentally die. I’m an obligation now, not a friend. At least, with being your roommate, you were my friend, or bro, or... Shit, even the 'girl next door.' I could live with that- I may have had a chance. But now, like this, you'd be my caretaker, my older sister, my owner. And I'd be your pet, Darcy- if not in name, then in practice. That's what upset me so much last night."

He shook his head, looked up at her. 

"If I knew it would be like that for the rest of my life, it would've been better if you had just stepped on me yesterday. Because I'd rather be crushed under your foot knowing that you saw me as your best friend, an equal, rather than living at your feet, being looked after, with not even a chance of ever having your love."

Darcy was silent. Andrew half wondered if maybe he had gone too far in telling her all this. Might it just have been better to leave it at 'I don't want to live here anymore? Still, the confession and erupted out of him, unbidden, and before he knew it, it was all out there for her and the gods to hear. 

"Listen, I know that- wait, Darcy? What're you- where are you going? Darcy?"

He was still calling out to her when he heard her bedroom door lock- she had gotten up and left without a word.

-----------------------------------------------------

Right under her nose.

Right under her damned nose.

Darcy was still bewildered by the whole of it- by how blind she had been for the past year, for how insensitive she had been to Andrew's feelings. God, how stupid. 

She lay there in her bed, the lights off, her day clothes still on, covered by her blankets, as if they were some sort of safety. She had been crying softly into the pillow for the past half hour, unable to stop try as she might- the revelation and painful realizations that had accompanied it were, as combined, a little too overwhelming for her to handle. In fact, this might've been on several orders of magnitude larger than what she had ever encountered before. 

Still.

All the signs had been there, she had realized. In going over the event in her mind, she found that each little piece of evidence made manifest to her now in painful, slack-jaw clarity, that it seemed absurd that she hadn’t seen it before. Everything could be explained- the flowers that had spruced up the apartment. The cold brew waiting and ready shoulder to cry on. The occasional peanut butter cup that seemed to spring up at the most oh-so-opportune times. And now, most clearly, Andrew’s dry spell with girls. He hadn’t brought home a girl since, what, a year and half or so? 

Way too long to be any sort of unintentional thing, she realized.

So, why didn’t he confess that he loved her? Sure, he was busy, but so was she. Maybe he had been afraid? 

Wiping her eyes, Darcy couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought. Andrew, the guy who had ridden a bull, who had skydove, who, if rumors were true, was banned from the Grand Canyon for reckless behavior on the cliffs, afraid? Of little ol’ Darcy? Though she supposed she wasn't so little to him now. It was hard to believe for her; she felt like she really knew the guy. 

But did she really? Did she really know him? If she did, wouldn’t she have known that he loved her? Picked up all the now very obvious signs? Still, the thought occurred to her that she may have partially been to blame for his silence on the subject- she had been so wrapped up in herself, in her own problems, with work or friends or other boys, she had hardly noticed him as the man in her life. She realized that maybe if she had been more attentive, more receptive, maybe had opened her dark brown eyes every once in a while, she would have seen it. She might have seen just how very much this man was an element in her life. Intertwined with it, she would even argue.

The thought Darcy had earlier in the day still made her giggle- the late night tampax runs by Andrew. She could just see him puzzling over the daunting, vaguely terrifying wall of feminine products before him, with only strange and menstrual-rage words uttered by Darcy to guide him along. The thought prompted others- Andrew accompanying her to a court date to argue a speeding ticket. Attending a gala event put on by the firm during Christmas. Spontaneous trips to see midnight showings at the theatre. And once, a very awkward Skype session with a distant relative of his, one that had apparently questioned his sexuality, hence why he had asked her to be there with. 

She smiled, remembering. She had stopped crying now, for which she was grateful- she hadn't taken her make up off and she reckoned she now looked somewhat like a raccoon. Her eyes drifted to her nightstand, where her phone was now charging (she had the presence of mind to plug it in, at least, but not take off her clothes). Above that was a framed photo- one of Darcy and her grandmother, the very last she had ever taken before her death. The photo, in fact, had been taken in the hospital not hours before her death on the operating table.

Darcy exhaled. Now that was a day to remember. 

It was the cancer, her mother had told her frantically over the phone. Metastasized, very aggressive. Something about her liver function down to practically zero. The truth was, she probably wasn’t very long for the world. The doctors were going to try something radical at her university, some new treatment, but it wasn’t a sure thing. She had been told the surgery was in eight short hours, so it was practically impossible for her to come see them before. Try as she might, no current flights were scheduled until tomorrow night between the two cities, and worse yet, Darcy’s car was in the shop. 

And then her knight in shining armor had appeared.

Andrew had driven Darcy, who was an emotional wreck, up six hours north to the very hospital, through the night. He didn’t even hesitate, she remembered, and practically had started the car before Darcy had gotten off the phone with her mother. In her grief, Darcy hadn’t even realized that it was a Tuesday, and Andrew had work the next morning, along with a very important legal doc he needed to finish. When she expressed that to him halfway into Appalachia, he simply shook his head, smiled, and said, 

“Well… this is more important, isn’t it?”

And so they drove. Darcy at some point fell asleep during the night, but when she woke they were parked just outside the university’s teaching hospital, the blue and white logo plastered all over the side of the building, a hot coffee and bagel waiting for her in the car’s cup holder. They had made it with only a couple of hours to spare, and Darcy was able to say her goodbyes to her grandmother. Andrew had taken the picture that was now framed on Darcy’s night stand, something that she realized that would not have ever even been possible without the help of her best friend. 

The thought made her tear up again. Andrew had placed her before himself that time, something above and beyond even what she might have done for a friend. He had done that before and after, now thinking about it- given up his own wants just so she might have hers. He had risked his job, she realized, just so she wouldn’t miss out on the last time she would ever see her grandmother. Driven through the night, dropping everything, just for her. 

If that wasn’t affection, if that wasn’t love, what was it?

Darcy sighed and put down the picture, turning over in her bed. She shifted a couple of times, realizing that her clothes were making it absurdly difficult to get comfortable. With a grunt, she hoisted herself up and started to undress, taking off her pants and shirt and, after a second’s consideration, her bra, letting herself be free before going back under the covers, wearing naught but lacy britches to cover her nethers. Then, arising once more, she got up and sauntered over to her dresser. She dug through it, cursing herself for letting it be so messy- she knew that one day she would have to clean it out, give some of her newer clothes to the thrift. She certainly wasn’t wearing a lot of them anymore. She picked out a sports shirt with a huge ‘A’ plastered over it, one she’d bought at a game but never wore out, which explained why it ended up in her pajama drawer. Fitting it over her bare breasts, the cool spring air scraping softly against the cloth, she went back to bed.

She tried to sleep. Five minutes. Ten.

“I can’t let him leave,” she admitted, softly, finally, to the dark. That much was clear to her now. It was the obvious solution to the problem presented, only enhanced by the realization found by her today at the bank- Andrew was a large, if not the biggest, emotional component of her life. Yeah, she realized that it may have been self-interested, but… 

She found that she really cared for Andrew. A lot. On a lot of levels.

Maybe she hadn’t seen it prior to events- maybe it took a cloudy day to appreciate the sun. But it was clear to her now- something was there. Something… bonding. Something sweet. Some kind of affection. She tittered when she thought about it, the novelty of it. It was like that tickling when you first started seeing someone new. Hell, maybe that is what it was. Maybe she had never really... seen Andrew for what he was to her.

What he IS to me, she thought to herself.

She bit her lip, that old feeling of tittering coming up again, stirring in her loins like a mild anticipation. Could something like love grow between them? Obviously, he had practically confessed it to her so she knew that it had grown, bloomed, and sprouted everywhere for him- so at least, that half was covered. And, while Darcy hated to be... y'know, 'that girl,' she had to admit, she had taken a couple of sidelong glances at Andrew himself, not dissimilar to the way that Andrew looked at her- God knew that he wasn't bad-looking, she thought. Warm blue eyes, golden blonde hair, an active body and lifestyle (he ran semi-frequently, she recalled). He wasn't Fabio, but she couldn't deny that there was a certain sexual appeal to him. Certainly, he possessed desirable personality, emotional, and physical traits...

But what about her? Yes, she cared for him, deeply. But on what level? Did it stop at best friends, or could this affection go someplace else, somewhere in their secret places where only a few had gone for her? Might that spark she didn't feel on their first date be nurtured? Was it something she wanted? Could she trust this man with her heart?

She knew, smiling to herself, that she could. The answer seemed obvious- shared events, heartfelt bonding, a million laughs, all of it seemed to point to a natural progression now, made clear by his confession and imminent departure. He couldn't leave, she thought to herself. She didn't WANT him to leave. It may be juvenile, selfish, even, but she couldn't deny it- she wanted to keep Andrew in her life. 

Somehow. 

She shifted once again in her bed, trying to find a comfy position. 

Well, that was the problem now, wasn't it? 'Somehow.' 

She wanted, in short, to try a relationship with him, something deeper than just roommates. She wanted to be his girlfriend, if she could- or at least try it. But how? She couldn't just... go out there and tell him- that would be too jarring, no- hell, it would probably make things worse. No, she had to think about this. She would have to know exactly what she wanted to say.

Andrew was someone she cared about very deeply- she wanted to show that to him, not come crying to him like a wishy washy lovesick puppy. No- he needed something special.

She thought. And thought. And thought. She checked her smart phone for thoughts. And then she thought some more. 

And then Darcy, about an hour later, thought no more, but smiled to herself- she knew then exactly what she wanted to do.

Andrew was already up when Darcy had emerged from her room, bathed in golden sunlight, browsing on his phone. The dirty plate that once held his dinner was still there, sitting on the couch next to him, as was Darcy's own on the coffee table. Silly her, she forgot to take those away last night. Then again, she hadn't really thought about it after her conversation.

"Morning," Andrew offered, not taking his eyes off of his phone.

"Heya," Darcy called back, weakly. She didn't know how this morning would go. She cantered over to the couch, picking up the dishes from the cushions and from the table, then grabbing the glass of water she had poured for herself.

"Sorry I didn't take these last night. Careless, wasn't I?" 

Andrew chuckled.

"Yeah. Though," she began, leaning back and looking up at her, "you probably didn't have that on your mind."

Darcy nodded, smiling a bit.

"I most certainly did not."

She took the dishes over to the sink, scraping the gunk and leftovers into the trash and then rinsing them off. She did the same with the pan that contained the rest of fajitas, but instead put the leftovers into a plasticware container, setting them in the fridge. Lunch for another day, perhaps. She rinsed out the pan, and, knowing that it wasn't a good idea, put hot water and soap in them to let them soak- which of course, is the thing people do when they want to justify not doing the dishes right now. 

She retrieved milk and cereal from the cupboard and fridge, along with a bowl, a single spoon, and a tiny saucer. Setting these on the table, she braced herself and went back out into the living room, and walked over to Andrew, still on his phone. 

"Hey," she began, kneeling down to get her face closer to him, "I'm sorry about last night. It wasn't good of me to just walk out like that, leaving you alone. I-"

"Wait, Darcy, please." he held up his hand, sighing. Darcy did so, swallowing the welling lump in her throat. She had not a clue what to expect from him- when she it's woke up it hit her that she had left him unattended, without a blanket or anything last night- stranded on the couch. She bemoaned, with a literal moan of disbelief, knowing that she would have to own up to her negligence. However, there was something there, the way that he had told her that 'didn't have that on your mind:' maybe he had understood- he was pretty empathetic, after all. 

The little man put his hands on his hips, and after chewing his tongue for a second, spoke up.

"I..." He began, searching for the word, "didn't really reveal that stuff in the most graceful way. A lot came out and before I knew it, I was just vomiting my thoughts. And," he grit his teeth, digging a toe into the blanket that covered the couch, "I probably shouldn't have taken my anger out on you, especially when you tried to keep me safe. I'm grateful, Darcy, really, for everything you have done- you really have been my best friend, looked out for me all the time- even when I was normal sized. For me to snap at you like that, that's..." He searched for the right word, waving his hand almost to clear away other unsatisfactory words, "unmanly, I guess? I dunno. I know you're a feminist and all, but I just-"

"Hey." 

He stopped midsentence, almost looking surprised or offended by the interruption. He was greeted by her smiling face beaming down on him.

"It's alright. I promise. All is forgiven."

Andrew seemed nonplussed about it- but his face eventually warped back to one of understanding, and maybe even acceptance. He realized that he was barfing words, so that may have prompted it.

He nodded, smiling back. 

"Good," she continued. "Shall we have some breakfast?"

"I'd like that."

Darcy lay her palm down on the couch for him, prompting him on. Andrew climbed up, got to the center, then squat back down. 

"You sure things are alright? With all that I said?"

Darcy nodded, looking down at him.

"Mm-hm. I can't begin to understand how stressful it is for you." He bit her lip, letting her words form before she said them, "and... Well, I will admit that it really did surprise me." 

Darcy spoke truth there- it really had struck her out of the blue.

"Actually..." She put her free finger to her lip. "Could we maybe talk about that tonight? After dinner perhaps? Maybe get everything out on the table?"

He nodded at her, smiling. He seemed to her content in that answer- maybe they'd come to an understanding, clear the air.

Darcy stood back up, and started back to the table. As she walked, keeping her hand level and looking down at him- again, her breath caught in her throat.

There it was, that feeling again.

But this time, delightedly so, she knew exactly what it was.

"Andrew, you're so..." She started, bewildered that the words even came out of her, "tiny."

Andrew frowned up at her, rolling his eyes.

"Now that's something I definitely never wanted to hear from a girl."

Darcy rolled her eyes as well, unsuccessfully suppressing a smile. 

"You know what I mean, you goof."

"Mm." He continued. "And by the way, Don King called..." He looked up at Darcy with a grin, glancing at her unkempt, shaggy hair. "He DOESNT want his-"

"Hush, you."

-------------

Darcy- "hey jane, thanks again for letting me take off early. I'll make up for it soon, I promise!!!! :P"

Seen 4:34pm.

Jane- "no prob dude- I heard about drew"

Jane- "also ur covered for tomorrwq"

Jane- "fck"

Jane- "FUCK"

Jane- "tomorrow"

Jane- "fat fingers :("

Darcy smiled and put her phone away. It was incredibly kind of Jane to let her use some vacation time on such short notice, as well as take off early for the day. It was Thursday today, meaning she had a long three day weekend ahead of her. Things were slowing down at the office so it wasn't too much of stretch to do so, she reckoned- but still, she decided to type a text to her manager who had allowed and approved the sudden request. Jane was a good gal, kind too, if not a little eccentric- she also swore like a drunken sailor.

Darcy had taken this time off to get some shopping done- as per Andrew's request, she would make some alfredo sauce tonight, followed by splitting a bottle of his favorite bourbon. Something, he intoned, of a going away party, done while the getting was good and they could enjoy themselves. The social worker was planning on coming by tomorrow to pick him up early in the morning, eight a.m. in fact, so he had decided to do it tonight, maybe let the hangover wash off and prepare him for the journey.

Darcy sighed, thinking of that talk. It had felt so final, like she really was going to lose her best friend. 

She hoped, as she pulled into the store parking lot, that it would not be so. She had spent a good deal of last night planning and thinking, weighing options and trying her best to find the best outcome. Her end goal was clear, and her methodology was, she hoped, effective. 

She had gone to the grocery store first, and picked up ingredients for Alfredo and the bottle of drink. Now, she only had one last place to go.

It was a quiet, unassuming store that she had parked outside of- far different than the items and ideas she expected to find inside. All the same, it took a bit of nerve for Darcy to just get out of the car. Nestled just south of 11th and West Peachtree, she had passed by it maybe a million times- but had never really seen it. An odd phenomenon. 

She walked towards the entrance, feeling faintly guilty.

Despite her open-mindedness and decided liberalism (she drove a Subaru, after all), Darcy couldn't help but feel the old fires of her mother's evangelical teachings tugging at her as she approached the storefront. She knew that there was naught to fear, all would be well, but she suddenly caught herself thinking that she was doing something... Naughty. Dirty, even. Like the act itself would be something she might be held accountable for come that great and terrible day. Quick and the dead. Patently absurd, she believed, but still. It was there.

She kept on walking, despite her hymnal humming.

"It was good for my grandmother," she sang softly, then softer still under her breath when she noticed someone looking at her, "it's good enough for me~"

Old habits died hard, she supposed. 

The store, she found, after being bombarded by a wave of a million different incenses and what she believed to be the smell of latex mingled with regret, was quite welcoming. Maybe it was the man behind the counter, greasy long haired and pimpled, holding, bewilderingly, a Nora Roberts paperback. 

"And a good evening to you, good Madame," he drawled, a practiced opener of someone who probably really loved his job but was grossly underpaid for it, "what can I do for y'all?"

Darcy cleared her throat. Here she went.

"Well, you see, my friend shrank down..."

---------------------

It was around six when Darcy finally arrived home that night, her arms full of bags. Andrew, out of a force of habit, made a motion to get up and help her- he stopped short, and cursed when he found that he had nearly plummeted down the couch onto the carpet below. 

That was probably the worst thing for him, he found- helplessness. He wanted desperately to help the woman he loved, but the powers-that-be had other plans. Still, though small in stature, he was able to assist her in other ways on her transition from being a roommate to single apartment bachelorette. 

The day had been spent writing legal documents of various kinds, wills, transfers of ownership, and contracts, all with the intent of transferring all of his worldly possessions to Darcy. His car, various stocks he had in companies, and even the contents of the safe below his bed. 

He was glad he could do this for her at the very least- his legal know how and the almighty notary public stamp gave him quite a bit of clout and power to provide Darcy the life that, he believed, she deserved. 

After writing these documents all up, he sent them to his coworker, Dave, to finalize. Dave was a true bro to Andrew, and graduated with him from law school. He could count on Dave to deliver the documents to Darcy. 

It would be the last good thing Andrew could do for her, he believed.

With a sigh, hoping that it was enough, he watched guiltily as Darcy carried, with some trepidation, the bags she had to the kitchen counter. She set them down with an 'ayumph,' and then, oddly, quickly set a pink bag he had not seen previously behind the bar, intending it to not be seen, it seemed. 

Curious. 

"Hey, Andrew!" Darcy had called out cheerfully when she saw him watching. "How was your day?"

Andrew walked over to close his phone off, finished with his work. He did so and scratched his head. 

"It was good, I suppose- just finishing up some business before tomorrow. How was work? Jane still have a mouth like a sailor?"

Darcy chuckled at that, remembering her text conversation with her supervisor earlier that evening. She had started unpacking groceries and pulling out some pans to make dinner. 

"Yup, that she does. And it was good- not too much trouble. Kind of winding down now, but it ought to pick up soon enough." 

Andrew nodded.

"Cool. Hey," he started, climbing up one of the couch cushions to get a better view, "want some company while you make dinner?"

For a moment, he saw her eyes flicker over to the bag, the pink one, behind the counter.

Was it some sort of secret?

"Uh... Yyyyyyyyyeah." Quickly, she made a move to drag the bag down off the counter, and then Andrew heard a cupboard door open and close. "Sure. Let me come and get you." 

She sauntered over to the couch, pulling off her sneakers first and setting them aside. Bending over so that her hair was tumbling over her shoulders and head, she set her hand down, palm up, to let Andrew on. Tiny man in hand, she walked back to the kitchen and was set down. 

"Thanks. Just haven't talked much to anyone all day."

Darcy nodded, a wry smile coming across her lips. She retrieved a paring knife from the drawer and peeled a couple of garlic cloves from the bunch she bought. 

"I totally understand- it'd be tough, not having anyone to talk to all day." She smirked at him again. "Especially you, mister socialite." She was peeled the cloves and began to cut them. The garlic was old, the smell very powerful. 

Andrew laughed and leaned back against the counter. "That is true. Although, it has been nice not having to hold paralegals by the hand all day. So I got that going for me, I suppose. Still," he continued, "it's been boring. Not much happens on TV. Christ, that garlic is strong." 

Darcy laughed, and set the cut aromatic aside. She wiped her hands off, then reached over Andrew for something else yet wrapped in a brown bag.

"That sucks. Well, hopefully," she pulled a long stocky bottle out of the bag, filled with a brown liquid- bourbon. The bottle was capped with a gray wax, along with a symbol pushed into it. On the paper label, a black outline of a state with emboldened words in it. It read 'Louisiana Grey.'
"Hopefully, this will cheer you up!"

Andrew lifted his hands in victory- this kind just happened to be his favorite. Something of a treat that Darcy knew he would enjoy.

"Dude, Darcy... You are my hero. My saint. My matron goddess of spirits. My heart's gladness-"

"And your liver's bane. You know my dad used to clean out his lawn mower engine with that stuff?"

Andrew chuckled. 

"Waste of damn fine bourbon, that is. Your dad and I are gonna have words."

Darcy returned a tentative chuckle, setting down the knife and placing both hands on either side of Andrew. She let her head hang low and looked right at him. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I could take him!"

Darcy laughed at that. She grabbed a cut of fresh mozzarella sliced off a sliver for him, placing it in front Andrew. He looked up at her, apparently waiting for instruction. 

"Suuure ya could. Totally, bro. Now," she began, trying not to giggle as she playfully patronized him, "could you please... Uh..." She snapped her fingers, pointing at the white fresh cheese. "You know..." She made slicing motions with her hand.

Andrew seemed to understand and hunkered over the stuff and started to rip the cheese into tiny bits. 

"Cut the cheese? Sure-oh godDAMN it, Darcy!"

He watched giggling as she almost fell on the floor laughing. 

Darcy grew more and more nervous throughout their little dinner- she had smiled and nodded at Andrew's compliments on the sauce, but as the night and unbearably bad film they watched drew on, the realization that what she was planning on doing was going to happened crept up on her like the sudden, ever marching dawn. She knew that she was excited, yes, even giddy, but even so, the idea of it made her nervous as all get out. 

She recalled that she had felt like this only one time before- it was when she had found out she had been accepted to her top university of choice and she was planning on telling her parents. She had come home early from school to bake a cake, and she had planned on serving it to them directly after dinner. She remembered, quite vividly, the frustration she felt at trying to make the perfect shade of blue for the frosting, the painstaking effort she had put into the white icing, and, maddeningly, her misspelling the phrase 'cor prudentis possidebit scientiam' on the school crest. 
Her dad, perhaps tired from that evening's clinical shift, had lamented at her,

"All I'm sayin' is that 'Roll Tide' would have been easier."

Her mother still, to this day, harried him about it. Despite the joy she felt at being accepted to her university of choice, Darcy had sweat bullets that entire dinner. Every bite, every chew, every nervous drink, she wanted to burst out and tell them.

It was the same now, she found- she wanted to burst out, clutch little Andrew in her hands and tell him the wonderful news. 

But...

She couldn't. It was too delicate of a subject- she had to get the words, and, she shivered, presentation just right. 

Even still, dinner had been quiet and the movie long. Darcy had to admit, she may never have made such good (to her) alfredo before, but that was something only half of her mind could be dedicated to- the rest was her trying to not implode. 

Andrew might have noticed her discomfort, and perhaps provided several sidelong glances over at his humongous roommate- she really couldn't tell. If he did notice, he hadn't said anything. 
Finally, mercifully, the film was over. The final credit roll, which was hipsterly and merrily droning some Sigur Ros tune, was the finally bit in which Andrew arose from his seat. Darcy had noticed that he ate most of his food, which, admittedly, wasn't too much in the grand scheme of things, but it made her happy that he had enjoyed it. 

He then trotted over to Darcy, and then with the practiced ease of someone who knew all of the right things to do in college, set his hands behind his head and leaned on Darcy's leg. He let out a ponderous sigh and closed his eyes.

"Ahhh. That was great, Darc. You've outdone yourself. Best sauce ever.”

Darcy favored him with a wry smile. 

"Oh, you charmer. You say that every time."

He slid down to sit at her leg, sinking slightly in the cushion, and set his hands forward to rest on his legs. He let out a deep breath, accompanying it was something sounding like acceptance. 

"Do I?" He queried. After a short pause, he began to nod his head slowly, and Darcy felt the minuscule rhythmic movement on her skin. "Well. I mean it."

His new tone, remarkably softer and more bittersweet than before, had struck a couple of heartstrings in Darcy- he was getting somber she realized. But about what?

She supposed it wasn't too hard to see- he was probably still in the mind of Leafstone, she reckoned. It must have been... Well, terrifying. Not in the mortal sense, she pondered- but in something about traveling to the great Next in life. Here he was, about to be uprooted and supplanted from all he had known- work, social life, home... Everything. For him, it may well have been the death she thought he was going to inflict on himself. 

To him, this would be the last time he might ever have a dinner in this apartment, the last terrible film he insisted on watching with her. 

With her. With Darcy.

That may have stung more than anything, she realized. Sure, it may have been rather self-centered on her part to think so, but based on what she had heard from him last night… it may very well have been true. 

In fact, it was what she was banking on tonight. 

After a moment's thought, she had decided what to do next- now was good a time as any, she supposed. Better now before Andrew got in too deep of a somber mood. 

Darcy took two fingers and pulled her little friend by the arms off of her leg- she wanted to get up. He sat there, his head drooping back, held in place while she contorted herself away from the seat all the while holding her friend- it was difficult; he was so damn light. He limpnoddled and when Darcy was clear of the couch, she let go and let Andrew fall onto his back with a 'guh'. She knew nothing was wrong- he got this way, all limpnoodle-like when he was going into one of his half-joking moods. She watched as he lay there, arms out, mouth open. Then, chuckling as she walked over to the kitchen, as called out, 

"Hey, don't do that- you'll let the flies in."

Andrew moaned like an undead then laughed. 

"Now that would be a terrible prospect- a fly the size of a cat jumping into my mouth."

Darcy let out a shudder. That was a terrifying thought indeed. She tried her best to concentrate on something else before she grabbed one, then two, then replaced one shot glass back into the cupboard. It had a small orange peach on it. Tourist fare.

"I think i would literally keel over and die."

"Literally?" Andrew favored her.

She walked over to the counter and hefted up the bottle of Louisiana Grey in her hand, careful to grip the bottle and not just the wax up top. She ambled over to the couch and nodded her head. 

"Literally. Now scootch your butt over, little guy." 

Andrew complied, and crawled away from the cushion where Darcy intended to sit. He knew full well that she would never sit on him an would take every care not to, but the phrase was... Comforting. Friendly. 

She hefted down, setting the tourist kitschy piece of glassware down and tore off the wax, then the cork. 

A sour smell wafted through the air, and Darcy already felt the fumes drift into her brain, hints of what the liquid gold would bring after consumption. She was never much of a hard drinker, preferring wine or beer and social drinks, but she had to admit, this stuff had its charm. 

She poured herself a shot into the glass, and then set the bottle down. She then reached over to Andrew and set her palm down, let him climb on, then brought him over to the table, where she got him a little drop of the brown, and then set him back down onto the couch. 

Here she went. 

When both had their drinks, Andrew raised his little drop. 

"To years of friendship and fun. You've been," he paused, his voice so very close to breaking, "you've been one hell of a roommate and pal, Darcy. I could never have asked for a more wonderful and caring woman to call a friend, and I will never forget you as long as I live."

He raised his hand out and waited for Darcy to do the same. For a split second... She hesitated. She was a whirl of emotion, of stress. She wanted so badly to tell him that he didn't have to worry, to not go, to not say all those things but... She did.

"To us," she said with a smile, and then tapped his hand with her glass.

Down the hatch it went, stinging and refreshing and terrible and very Hemingway. Darcy set the glass down and gritted her teeth. 

"Jeeeesus... Andrew, that stuff is powerful..."

Andrew laughed at that. He was happy to have drank it, most especially with Darcy. He had in fact been preparing all night what he might say, what he might explain to better ease his confession of his loving her. He thought that he had come up with a good bit of exposition that would explain where he was coming from, and he hoped that it would clear things up for both him and her. A clean break. A complete open air to which to leave. He had some stuff he wanted to say, and he hoped that she understood. 

"Darcy," he began, softly, closing his eyes. "There's something I want to tell yo-whoa." 

When he looked up at her, he realized that she had taken her second shot. 

"Whoa," he began with a smile, "you're hitting that pretty hard, dude... You should slow, uh, down?"

His confusion continued when she saw Darcy rise up from her seat and wipe her mouth. She looked down at her little friend and without expression stated,

"Here we go," she said herself. Then, to Andrew, "I'll be right back."

With that, she dashed over to the kitchen, flung the cabinet doors open, retrieved the little pink bag, then power walked over to her room, shutting the door.

For a moment, Andrew was dumbstruck. A bit of him shuddered and started to kick himself for what he said, but he didn't think that those words were anything harmful or revealing. Still. 

"Shiiiit." He couldn't shake that feeling again. That feeling he had when she confessed himself to her, vomited out his feelings. Had he screwed it up again already? Stupid.

He set himself back down and licked the rest of the bourbon from his hand. Wasn't as tasty the second time. For a moment he just sat there, idly watching the television- some such or other late night program was on, reruns of legendary old shows about nothing in particular. Quaint oddities and concerns. 

He let the bourbon take hold of his senses and soul. It was pleasant, the way it subtlety numbed his body without his knowing. Like some alcohol dawn. It took more than a shot or two to get him loose, but then again, this was the first time he drank while diminished. The doctor, or rather, the paper that was given to him by the doctor, advised him to abstain from alcoholic beverages, especially while pregnant and tiny. Andrew was not pregnant (he hoped), but he was in fact tiny. Something, he believed, required a drink or two to deal with. 

His eyes started to grow heavy and begin to droop when his phone vibrated, causing him to nearly piss himself. 

"Jesus."

He arose up, shaking his head and trying to get the booze buzz out. He wasn't quite drunk, but only a buzzy bee. He hit the center button and swiped away the lock screen. One new message. 

"Huh."

He tapped it, the application fleeting to life and displayed pixelated words.

Read at 9:13p.

Darcy- "will you turn off the tv please?"

Andrew was nonplussed. Why didn't she come and it off herself? It certainly would be simpler... He winced at the thought- how annoying. He knew he couldn't be expected because of his size, but it was really irritating to realize. 

Nonetheless, he walked away from his phone and over to the controller that was on the other side of the cushion. Searching for the red power button, he hopped up and pressed down on it with both hands- a trick he learned last night when going to bed. 

He replied back,

Andrew- "k done"

Seen at 9:15p.

Silence for a minute. Andrew sat and listened intently for a minute and heard Darcy at her bedroom door. He thought he heard a deep breath and exhale. 

Then, suddenly, the door cracked open and then, bit by bit, it opened wide to Darcy's room.

Standing there at the doorway was Darcy herself. There, the southern moonlight shining through the pines and illuminating her hair and skin and smile, stood she in a black tight-fitting corset, black lace panties, and black heels. Dark eye liner surrounded her warm and inviting eyes, and she wore a more brilliantly red shade of lipstick than he'd ever seen on her soft lips.

She stood with her legs crossed, the toe of her shoe on the carpet twisting. Atop her head were a pair of fuzzy leopard-print cat ears, parting her wild fro and pushing the front to drape slightly over her eyes.

She smiled softly at him, her hands brushing up her body and then finally coming to rest on the door frame on either side of her. 

"Hi, Andrew."

She looked a mix of nervous and excited to him, some blushing virgin on her wedding night. 

"H... Hi, there... Darcy." He swallowed the lump in his throat down. "What are... What are you, w-wearing? I mean, Jesus, you look great, but..." 

He could barely choke the words out. Even across the room Darcy could make out his blushing red cheeks. She chuckled, closed the door behind her, and started forward, purposefully swaying her hips to and fro. Andrew could only continue to gape and stare up at this titanic beauty of a woman. Her approach was like, in his mind, watching a tidal wave coming towards you at the beach- something terrible, beauteous, ruinous, captivating. Impossible to run from.

And he didn't mind it one bit, he found.

Darcy knelt down as she got to the couch, holding both of her hands out and palms up. Andrew, still in an eager shock, climbed on but didn't sit down- like he forgot to or something. 

She raised him to her face, still kneeling, smiling and warm and beaming down on him. She felt like some benevolent goddess, favoring a subject with an audience with hers truly- a thought she didn't seem to mind entertaining, actually. Still, as eager as she was to act on those urges, she had a business to attend to. Some words she has to say. 

"Andrew..." She began. 

For a moment, the whole bit evaporated from her mind- she had forgotten what to say, and she had suddenly realized that this silly little charade was a folly. Who was she to make things right, to patch it over? She couldn't dissuade him from Leafstone, any more than she could persuade herself to accept it.

But then he spoke out to her... 

"Yeah, Darcy?"

And she remembered.

"I can't tell you how much I want to you to stay." The open was direct, to the point. "I can't stand the thought of you leaving. It makes my stomach hurt. I know it's unfair of me to do this, and, man, Andrew, I feel like a wishy washy jerk to say this but," 

She swallowed. Andrew watched intently, his hands relaxed at his sides. 

"But I never realized how much a part of my life you are. How huge of an element you are to me. You... You've always been there. Always. Every bad time, every good time. Every break up, bad day at work, every crisis, every birthday. Always. You're the best roommate, confidante, and I... Well, the best friend I could ever have hoped to have in my life. You're the perfect guy. You're a gentleman, and you've been my knight in shining armor more than once."

She watched Andrew closely. Some impassive look crept on his face, and she knew that he'd heard this before. What she was saying didn't help the fact, didn't help who he wanted to be. She had to get to it.

"And," she continued, "I've been thinking about it... Since last night, I mean. I realized that... Well, dammit Drew, I just can't think of a life without you! Sure, I might manage well enough, and maybe I could be happy but I..."

She hung her head and closed her eyes.

"I don't want to just manage, Andrew. I want to be with you. I can't think of a life without your smile, your support, your laugh...your love..."

She looked up at him, her eyes showing the very hint of moisture.

"Andrew, I want you by my side, I want you with me. But I don't want you as just my best friend."

She watched him and he watched her. He began to nod, slowly, his blue eyes shining in the starlight. 

"I'm so sorry I didn't see it before, I was so blind. Everything was there, right under my nose. The flowers you always bought and put in the kitchen, the way you always had my favorite candy. The so many times you've listened to my problems with your open shoulder and a cold drink. Everything. You've always been there for me."

She brought him closer to her face.

"I... I want to be there for you, Andrew. Not just as a friend, I mean. I think..." She swallowed, cracking a bit of a smile, "I think I've fallen for you too. I just didn't know it."

She saw him crack a smile as well. Her heart felt all the lighter for it.

"I want to try a relationship with you, Andrew. If you still want to, I mean. I've been neglectful, and, well, downright stupid and blind, I know, and you've all the right to say hell no or call me a jerk and a hypocrite... But Andrew... If you give me a chance..."

She let the words hang at that. Andrew seemed to just look at her for a bit, studying her face. She recognized that look- it was the same he had when he was thinking hard on something. She saw his tongue being chewed in his mouth, indicating that he was indeed mulling it over.

She grew… a bit nervous, she had to admit. Granted, this was all probably a shock to him, her confession of romantic intent on the eve of his departure… a bit of her felt guilty for that, in fact. But still. She had to say it, otherwise it would have driven her insane. She did have those feelings for Andrew, she knew that now, having him stand in her hands in the moonlight. She didn’t want to keep those feelings to herself. It may have been self-centered, short-sighted, and very weak-kneed on her part, but… to her, it felt like the right thing to do. She hoped that he appreciated that.

Andrew nodded his head thoughtfully, and threw up at Darcy the toothiest grin she’d ever seen on the little guy.

“Darcy, there’s nothing I’d love more. Let’s try it.”

"So... You'll stay?"

He nodded, smiling.

"Yeah. I'll stay... With you."

The dam burst, and despite herself, she shed a couple of hot but very happy tears. 

“Oh, Andrew…”

She leaned over, full red lips pursed, and gave him the biggest kiss on the head he’d ever be like to receive. He met the lips full on, smiling his biggest and wrapping his arms on either side of her mouth.

She dared, and her tongue flicked across his little body, massaging him in his torso and stomach. The feeling brought a shudder to both participants, and Darcy found herself enraptured by the feeling.

The kiss was ecstatic, for both! To Darcy, it seemed the logical conclusion of all those funny feelings she’d had over the past few days while holding or carrying Andrew- some exciting lust at the novelty of having a tiny man in her life. She realized now (or rather last night) that it was an anticipation for him, a sexual drive that made her feel like this. In short, she felt like a predator over prey, a guardian, a caretaker, and a lover, all towards this little man. She got curious enough to look it up at work today- some hotshot German psychologist had taken to calling it geschrumpftenlust, or ‘shrunken lust.’

Darcy wasn’t a scientist, but she knew one thing for sure- it drove her absolutely wild to feel like a giant for Andrew.

She drew back from her tiny love, licking her lips and savoring the taste of his skin and hair, the sweat he had felt in the heat of the moment.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "you taste good!"

Andrew rolled his eyes and laughed. 

"That's only slightly terrifying." 

She giggled at that as well. For a second, they just stood there, Andrew in her hands and she kneeling at the couch. The novel feelings overtaking them and making them feel... Well, contented.

Darcy let out a happy sigh. She felt this was right. Sure, it was exciting to have a tiny boyfriend (far smaller than anyone she had ever had by at least five and half feet, she mused), but it was also comforting, warm, to know that she was in a relationship with someone she cared for- not some guy she met at a bar, not a friend from work- but a true, honest-to-God bro. 

Of course, she had to admit, he was devilishly handsome at times. Not to mention handily cute at this size.

Out of habit she bit her lip. He grinned and looked her up and down.

"So, uh," he started, his eyes hanging a little too long at her barely covered bosom, "what's with the get up?"

She chuckled, looking herself down as well to her legs, then back up at him. She shifted her weight and torqued over, leaning to the side and setting Andrew down onto the carpet below.

"Well," she started, rising up and standing up to her full height. Now that must have been a sight to behold. Even without heels, Darcy towered over most women. The sight of her on all black with her black heels must have been something bordering on the divine. She looked down at Andrew from between her chest, the little man cranking his head up and baking away, out of some possibly animal fear, her big and pointer toes poking out from the shoes.

He looked so small. Even her toe dwarfed the miniscule man. 

And that pleased her all the better.

"Well... I want to do something for you..."

She bent over him and bit her lip. Her hands found her breasts and kneaded softly.

"Something I should have done for you a long time ago."

She flashed him a coy smile, southern moonlight through the pines playing across her skin.

Andrew found himself recalling the first time he'd stood in front of a skyscraper when he was a young boy. He remembered thinking very hard about the name itself, 'sky scraper.' Something that literally reached up and touched the blue above. He thought about the metal from the antennae and railings and air conditioning units screeching along the clouds and making hideous metallic scratching noises, nails on chalkboards. He imagined, with surprising vividness, tiny streaks following the path where the earth and sky met, leaving a line tracing the path of the earth as it rotated on its axial tilt. 

He remembered how breathtaking it was, how up and up and high and high it went. He wondered what it might've been like to be of the top floor. Or even the roof- could he hold out his hand, grab a piece of the clouds? Would it taste like cotton candy, like he always thought it might? Looking back, it was in Manhattan that this incident occurred, so the cotton candy probably tasted like smog. Smog and the Staten Island ferry. Gross.

Now over two decades later, standing in his apartment several hundreds of miles south and west of the bustling burg, Andrew got that same funny feeling he did all those years ago- compared to this tall, warm, cafe au lait beauty before him, towering over him like some goddess in black, he felt small, tiny, insignificant. But, he felt, not in a bad way.

Strange- it may have been the alcohol, that lovely bourbon burn, but he was okay with that feeling of smallness, of insignificance. 

In fact, for the first time since his diminishing, he felt great. Things were looking up, he found- he had to quit his job, be prodded by a doctor like some animal, and deal with some hard realities of being the size of a convenience store action figure. But now, being literally dwarfed by the toes of his... Well, now girlfriend... He was part surprised and part relieved that he was feeling alright. 

He suspected that Darcy was primarily the cause of his okayness- the palpable relief that she reciprocated his feelings (or at least, she had intentions to) was in of itself a wonderful feeling. His last big confession and potential regret was no more- all of his focus now was Darcy. 

Boy, did that feel good.

Speaking of, he heard Darcy above him sigh contentedly. He watched her wriggle her boulder-sized digits inside of her peep toe heels, then followed her legs up and up and up. He admired her face, surrounded by two firm breasts wrapped in her corset. He smiled up at her and she grinned back. 

"How's the weath-"

"That," she interrupted, pointing a finger down at him, "is way lame. Don't even, Andrew." 

He chuckled, backing away. "Hey now," he started, "just making conversation- one of us had to start, right?"

She popped an eyebrow at him, leaning slightly forward. "Mm-hmm. And the oldest joke in the book was the best you could come up with?"

Andrew shrugged, cocking his head to the right. 

"These are uncharted lands for me- I've never dated Darcyzilla before."

"Darcyzil- what?! Now that's just plain rude, Andrew." She smiled wide. 

Andrew chuckled, opening his arms wide. 

"Well, you're tall, furthermore in heels, and you look ready for some action. Plus," he continued, "you look a little taller than fifty feet to me, so there goes that useless reference."

"But I'm not gonna stomp through Tokyo! I'm not some big giant meanie!" She continue her mock-horrified tirade, pouting her lips adorably. "Andrew, you don't just tell a girl that she's... Y'know, a zilla." She shook we head playfully and let out a laugh. "What a terribly mean boyfriend I've chosen. Hmph." She lifted her foot above him, leaning back slightly. She had a mischievous grin plastered all over her face.

"I'll show you Darcyzilla," she teased in a singsong voice, "I'm gonna- ah! Ohnononono-" 

It was quite fortuitous that she had leaned back- her ankle on the ground buckled and she fell onto the couch, away from Andrew's form on the ground. She was able to torque her body so that she fell on her butt, and felt her back crash into the back of the plush couch. In all the twisting, she had flung her leg up, and it hung in the air after she had landed. She looked desperately to see Andrew, the sudden fear of hurting him gripping her heart in an icy fear. 

She exhaled loudly when she saw him laughing and rolling on the floor, pointing and giggling uncontrollably.

"Oh, thank God..." She muttered under her breath. 

"Worst monster ever!" He said between laughs. "You'd wreck Japan before you ever even tried to stomp anybody!"

Darcy rubbed the bridge of her nose, exasperated. She listened to Andrew continue his guffaw until he simmered down, then propped herself up and leaned forward. A tired smiled passed across her face, and she leaned farther down, reaching for her feet. 

Andrew watched as she began to take off her heels, one at a time. Despite himself, he couldn't help but admire her wiggling toes. She kept her nails trim, but she didn't like to color them with lacquer. The resultants were healthy, clear toenails. Cute to boot, he thought. He wasn't a foot guy (though he had once dated a girl who demanded that he worship her feet), but he couldn't deny that they were indeed... He searched for the right word... Comely. 

"Never been great at heels," she intoned, giggling a bit, "remember that gala event we went to? Y'know, for your big anniversary or something at work?"

Andrew chuckled. That he did. It was a few months into their relationship as roommates, and Andrew's then girlfriend had just flew out of town for some business conference or other. He remembered asking her, practically pleading her, to come with him- he'd bought the two tickets, after all. It was a simple black tie, black dress affair, but God, he remembered her sparkling like a diamond that night. He also remembered, with a rueful smile, all his nearly broken toes, caused by that same sparkly klutz.

"Yesssss," Andrew drew out, "yes I do. If I recall correctly, you had heel malfunctions that night as well. Though now, I think more than my toes are in danger of being stepped on..."

The girl sighed, yanking off the last heel, and giving her feet a short rub. She cast a sidelong glance at her tiny friend, smirking as she massaged.

"Hence why these feetdemons are coming off... Gimme sandals or sneakers any day."

Darcy set the heels off to the side and stood back up to her full height, still bewilderingly tall. 
"Now," she began, setting her hands on shapely hips, "where were we?" 

Again, that feeling he got when he was a lad. Again, that insignificance. 

She smirked down at him again, grinning wildly and swaying her hips. Then, in a flashy grin, she lifted her foot up over him, the majestic toes still a-wiggling.

"Better start running, little maaaaan~," she began in a sweet singsong, "or else you might get stepped oooon~"

She playfully brought her foot down, allowing for just enough time for Andrew to back out of the way, the ground below her thrumming slightly. He looked back up at her, his eye brow cocked and questioning, shaking his head at her. 

"Is this how you treat all your new boyfriends?"

She stuck a tongue out and raised her other foot to hover over him. 

"Only the very squishy ones!"

Again she brought it down, giggling at her own little joke. She saw Andrew back away again, this time a little faster, then again lifted her foot, determined to place it on the little guy. 

"Gonna get ya, little bug!" She cried out, "better run for your life!"

Andrew turned and sprinted away- the hunt was on. 

She chased him with big and soft steps falling right behind him as he ran- at this size, Darcy found that she had to compensate her steps so as to not overtake him, and worse, possibly hurt or actually step on him. Still, he was a quick little bug, especially when he ducked and dodged potential obstacles and navigated the furniture legs. 

One memorable moment found her on her hands and knees, trying to reach under the couch with her hand. Andrew had taunted her, slapping her outstretched fingers. She had actually felt him knocked down by a sweep of her finger, and nearly had a hold of his leg. She was about to softly grip him by her thumb and fore, when he slipped out again. He disappeared…

In fact, more than a few times had she nearly lost track of him.

“Fe fi fo fum!” her voice tittered, bending down to look beneath the coffee table. Not there. "I smell the blood of a... lawyer, uh, guy. A lawyermun!"

For a terrifying moment, she wondered- had she actually lost him? Now that would be terrible. First date and already she misplaced him.

That would have to be some kind of record, she mused. She didn’t actually think that she would lose him- it’s not like he had anywhere to escape. She smiled at that prospect- it was silly of her to think in those terms- escaping, capturing- like he was an actual prisoner. Still, she felt it was appropriate.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bit of movement near her sneakers from earlier today. Andrew practically nose-dove into her red canvas footwear. She smirked. He was trying to find a good hiding spot- where better than a place she’d least expect it? She wasn’t planning on going anywhere that night, so he probably thought her shoes, a necessary item before travel, would suffice better than most.

She watched her step, then skipped across the floor to over to her shoes. As she approached, she slowed her pace, taking long and intentionally booming strides. 

"Well, gee, I guess he's gone!" She drew out in a long and deliberate manner. "That's too baaaaad. I'm kind of hungry, though..." She heard a snicker from inside her shoe. The left one, it seemed. "Guess I'll have to go back to Tino's and get a burger... But first!" She acted, "I should put on some shoes."

She couldn't help but giggle as she reached down and grabbed her red sneaker. She heard him laugh as she stuck her toes inside, wiggling them, then gasped, startled, when she felt his hands tickling. 

God, this feeling! It wasn't just that new boyfriend feeling, where her stomach churned and she felt butterflies- it was something else. It was that gentle... Touch, that feeling of having someone close to her toes, someone to protect, have as your pet (she winced), someone to look after. She realized that it was that initial 'bigness' she felt when she had first picked Andrew up in her hands. She enjoyed being a giant, she realized. A smile crossed her lips, and she continued her charade- she gasped aloud, mocking and teasing in its tone.

"Oh my goodness! Someone's in my shoe- could it be..."

She up ended her sneaker and dumped the little guy into her hand, dropping the shoe and bringing her hand up to her mouth in mock horror and in authentic delight.

"Why, there you are!" She grinned mischievously. "You thought you could get away from me, didn't you?"

He turned in her hand on his side to face her, still orienting himself- but he sure did have a smile on him. He shrugged and held his arms out. 

"The jig is up, I guess. By the way," he said with a wild smirk, pressing himself upright, "we should invest in some odor eaters- your toe marks smell like-"

"Hey!" Darcy said poutingly. "That's so mean. I wash my feet everyday! You've got nooooo basis to say that. And like you’re one to talk, mister I-wear-the-same-socks-everyday!"

Andrew shrugged again at her.

"Hey, I’m just saying-"

"Hush, little man." She brought her finger up and placed it over his mouth, rolling her eyes. "I'm in charge now... And now that I finally caught you, ya little scamp,"

She licked her lips and looked at him with something like wolfish intent. 

"You're all mine, now..."

She felt Andrew breathing while he was wrapped up in her hand, and she saw the lump pass from his mouth to throat. For a slight second, she was concerned- had she gone too far? Was that actual fear in his eyes?

The little man in her hand, much to her relief, cracked a smile at her. His breath came in deep, ragged pauses and pulls. He had the look of a man who was indeed the rabbit, but, dare she say, he enjoyed it.

"Is that right?" He taunted. 

She nodded and swallowed.

"That's right." 

She began to knead his stomach with her thumb, softly, feeling the flesh give way. She felt also the hardness of his ribs, and, careful not to strain him, pressed up again and into them. He let out a soft but sharp exhale.

"Too much?" Darcy offered, retracting her thumb only slightly. She didn’t want to bruise a rib or worse. He gave a slow shake of his head, keeping his eyes affixed to Darcy. She felt a murmur in her heart as his eyes gazed on her face. For once, Darcy felt like she was the one being drilled by those cerulean orbs, as if instead, she was the one being held in his hands.

“No. You’re perfect.” He said. 

Darcy smiled, feeling like it was better to believe both meanings of that phrase. It made her feel warm, despite the spring night chill.

“That’s good. Because,” she made for the couch again, and sat herself down, “you’re going to do something like that for me.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. I caught you, remember? That means you’re my pe… slave.”

“Peslave? That’s a new one.” 

Darcy scrunched up her nose and cocked an eyebrow at him, leaning over and setting him on the couch arm. And then, slowly, she turned over and lay down flat on the couch, setting her feet, very, very, very carefully, flanking him.

Andrew, in all his years, had never seen anything like it. 

Darcy’s smooth soles gave way to long, toned legs and stretched, it seemed, for days. A black lacey panty brought the two together seamlessly, a tiny hole in the stitching showing a bit of crevice and promising something more. Beyond that, a patch of bare skin on bare back that connected to yet another lacey article of clothing, her brassiere and corset. Farther, down into the next week, were set of shouldered crowned by Darcy’s gorgeous mop of black fro hanging down.

It was like a painting- the forms in their own natural order (Andrew found himself thinking, rather suddenly, about Plato), the curve of femininity. Innate evolutionary imperatives that drove him to seek more curvaceous mates. It was enrapturing, captivating. He desired, very very badly. Without his knowing, he had walked over and touched a soft patch of skin on her sole of her foot, rubbing it with his single digit and tracing a small circle. 

He was broken from his thoughts of philosophy and arts by a giggle from ahead.

“That tickles, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrew hastily apologized, then suddenly feeling foolish. He wasn’t sorry at all, to be honest. But he apologized anyway.

“It’s fine,” Darcy cooed. “Why don’t you make it up to me and come give me a shoulder massage? I’ve had an awful long day at work…”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just set me on your back?”

He saw the fro bob up and down ahead of him.

“Probably. But this way,” she began, wiggling her toes in front of him, “you get to have the grand tour!"

“’The grand tour?’” Andrew echoed.

He could practically hear her smirking. He couldn't stop his smile either, honestly. This was extremely uncharacteristic of Darcy to be so... well, narcisstic. But something told Andrew that it was alright- maybe the current situation had brought it out. Probably not a permanent change.

Probably.

"I remember all those times you've snuck peeks at me, you know. Think of this as... looking all you want, carte blanche!"

Andrew felt the sharp tang of embarrassment he always did when he was caught (and even the other times he wasn't)- it was something he always indulged his guilty pleasure in, but now, to have it called out and used like that seemed doubly embarrassing. 

"I can hear you blushing!"

He shot out a laugh, more than he had intended. It was pretty funny, after all.

"Crimson red, in fact." he offered. Then, feeling bold, and leaning against one of her feet, he called out, "And what do you mean 'grand tour'? I think I know your body plenty well. And," he raised his voice, "not even from lookylooing! Remember that wardrobe malfunction you had at your office Christmas party last December? Or those maaaaany times you asked me to pick up your 'feminine hygenie products? Aaaaaand," he drew out, "that one time we went to your folks' place last Fourth of July? Remember, we had those cabbage rolls, and after you let out this huuuuuge-"

He backed away when he saw Darcy's body twist and torque around- it startled the hell out of him. In an instant, she was on her back, looking down at him, her face a beet red and a half annoyed, half enthralled look on her face. He felt like a kid who was just caught with his hands buried deep inside the cake his mother was planning on serving guests: dirty, smiley, guilty, but deeply satisfied and victorious. In big trouble, devil may care. 

Her chagrin turned to a bewildered smile, matching that of Andrew's. She lifted her foot and held it right in front of him, her toes extended up so the ball of it was smooth and hard as worn leather.

"Andrew!" She began deliberately, accentuating the words. The rest that followed were in the same manner. "Do you see my foot! Do you see it!" Staccato words that were, well, statements rather than questions. "Looooook," she said, flex and extending her foot and toes wildly, "at how big it is compared to you! You! Are! Nooooothiiiiing!" They giggled together. "Compared to it. I could squish you like a bug and not even feel it! You are, like, the size of my big toe!" Her playful threats devolved and mingled with her laughter. "Keep, ha ha, keep at it, and you will get VEEEEEERY acquainted with the bottom of my foot."

Despite himself, Andrew reached over and tickled her extended toe, eliciting an exasperated moan, one filled with anything but frustration. 

She flipped back over, still taking care to place her feet carefully flanking him. She stuck out a solitary thumb in the direction of her shoulders. 

"Back rub, you little meanie!"

He thought about saying something snarky, but he didn't want to press his luck- this little conversation of theirs was completely new to both of them, and while he knew that he teased a fair bit, he didn't at all want to offend her. 

Not that he feared her, like she might actually step on him or something. 

Right?

He shook his head- his imagination was running wild! Come on, this was Darcy we're talking about. She wouldn't. 

Still.

He couldn't help but feel that size difference when he stepped onto her right foot, beginning to climb. She had extended her foot so that the toes created a little platform for him to start walking on. Before him was a soft and smooth ball and heel, straightened, he realized, as best she could manage. She smiled as he took another step- despite having worn sneakers all day, he found the faint perfume of her lotion waft through his nostrils. Peaches, he remembered. Something she put on everyday. 

Another step. Darcy shivered beneath him. 

"Hey Andrew." She cranked her head back a little bit. "Will you take your socks off? I don't want you slipping off my leg." Then, hurriedly, “please, I mean?”

He saw the wisdom in that. He did so, balling up his socks and chucking them away. God knows where, probably lost in some crevice of the couch. 

He continued to walk, feeling the skin of the bare feet beneath his own. As far as feelings went, it was pretty surreal. He realized that he was walking, literally, in the footprint of a giant, and it became remarkably obvious, more so than before, how easily one misstep from this giant beauty could snuff his life out. 

"Mmmm," Darcy moaned ahead of him. Was she enjoying this?

He climbed up the remarkably smooth heel and tiptoed down the thin ankle, then lower leg, and arrived at her thigh. Here it was easier by far to keep a balance, and he felt he could stretch his legs without fearing too much a fall to the couch below. 

He felt the muscles cord and ripple beneath him- Darcy was flexing her calve, probably unintentionally. 

Walking up her thigh was uneventful- Darcy apparently acclimated to his footsteps, because he thought the thigh felt rather loose as he walked its length. It got softer and softer, until he reached...

The mountains. 

Darcy was by no means an out of shape woman- she was tall and lanky and had muscle where it counted, a gift from years of junior high and high school basketball (though she wasn't averse to occasionally strapping on some Jordans and playing with friends nowadays); but now, flourishing in the peak years of her womanhood, Darcy had developed the curves that hallmarked her sex's appeal- the kind of curves that belonged to dangerous femme fatales with names like Helen, Sita, or Delilah. Her breasts were full, bursting with life, her rear backside round and perky, indicative of, he recalled reading somewhere, of better neural development in offspring.

Andrew took a tenuous step forward, placing his hand ahead of him to steady himself for the long climb. As he did, he heard Darcy inhale sharply, and saw her back rise. He gripped onto the lace of her underwear, suddenly very conscious of his (and her) every movement. Convinced it was safe, he started to climb up.

It certainly wasn't a steep climb. It was, however, very soft. He had a hard time getting footholds, and what might have been a leisurely climb had she been flat caused his knees to drive up into his stomach.

Despite his frequent runs, he found himself winded by the ascent, which was rather annoying to him. Then again, he wasn't used to steep climbs like so.

Pausing a moment to rest, he took a second to look at the cloth below him. Now, up close, he saw the fine lattice work, admired the intricate ins and outs of the thousands of separate pieces of string. Further above, the makers mark- some popular lingerie brand that sold... Well, panties and corsets. 

"Admiring the view?" The sudden question shook him from his reverie. 

"No, no... Well, I mean, yeah, I really am, but..."

A giggle from behind the black hair mop. He smiled too- he was indeed getting tongue tied, something that didn't happen very often for him. 

"Just catching my breath."

The flesh underneath him flexed ever so slightly and then relaxed. It was very odd to feel, for it to turn from flesh to almost like concrete in a smooth motion.

"I see. Well," she cooed, "don't get too comfortable- I still want my back rub from my little slave!" She teased.

Andrew chuckled and started the shorter climb down- it was easier than going up, but it was difficult to slow down. Before he reached the flat of her lower back, he was practically jogging, and had a hard time slowing down. In fact, he almost got slowed down completely before reaching the edge of the corset. He tried to twist his legs so as to break the momentum but instead, like in the purse yesterday, his foot got caught underneath. The momentum unchanged, he tripped, gloriously, epically, onto his face, onto the black lace of the corset, and, mercifully, not on the zipper.

"Ow." He droned into the lace. The vibration apparently tickled Darcy.

"Gaah!" She yelped. Then, cranking her head around, "Andrew? Are you okay back there?"

He nodded as he got up in all fours. 

"You're dangerous, Darcy."

She smirked slightly, relieved that he was okay.

"Mmhmm. And don't you forget it, little man."

He chuckled at that, continuing forward and beginning the slight incline of the rest of her back. The same material that graced her bottom was spread all across her back, the same patterns and intricacies interplaying one to another. Latticework. Almost as complex, he imagined, as the machines that created the fabric and material used to create the corset. 

The incline was only mild, he found, and gave him no trouble. 

Darcy was practically shivering when he arrived at her shoulders, the anticipation budding and building in her, growing a lovely little pit in her stomach. She couldn't see him, to be sure, but she felt his tiny feet pad across most of her body, and that in of itself was an indescribable sensation. To know that a tiny man, a real live person, was walking all over her like she was a mountain, gave her that same feeling she had earlier yesterday when she had noted the several size differences. 

She felt him squat down, felt him begin to knead the skin of her left shoulder. The sensation was only just within her perception, but it was there all the same. And, she found, it was pleasant- not in the consciousness or novelty of it alone, but it being combined to form the idea that, yes, her boyfriend could fit in the palm of her hand, and yes, beyond reason, he’d consented to the Herculean task of giving a giant woman a loving massage. 

She thought about that as she felt him move from millimeter by millimeter across her scapula- the idea that he’d in fact consented to do so. Looking back now, she probably shouldn’t have used the word ‘slave’ so liberally in her conversation with him. Even still, when she had nearly dropped the word ‘pet,’ she thought she might explode with embarrassment. That close, with that recent event in mind... That was too much. 

Still. He probably knew what she was going to say; he wasn't a dummy.

She lay there, thinking about that, the millimeter movement slowing a bit behind her. He was probably getting tired, walking and kneading a billboard-sized back. 

She decided to ask him for his thoughts. 

"Hey Andrew."

The movement stopped, and she heard a tiny exhale. A bit of footfall. She continued.

"Is this okay? The massage, I mean? Are you okay doing this?" 

A pause.

"Well, yeah, I mean... Yes. It's alright. Is it not working? Does it feel okay?"

Darcy blushed. He thought he wasn't doing a good job. 

Oh, my heart, she thought to herself. She wanted to clarify. She pointed dexterously with her nose to her left shoulder.

"Will you come up here to the edge?"

"Sure."

She felt the pads of his feet saunter lazily over, stumbling only once when she shifted her head slightly, putting him off kilter. She cranked her head to the left, seeing Andrew just enter her field of vision. It was difficult, and she strained her eyes doing so. This wasn't working for her.

"Wait a second... In fact... Uh. Go ahead and hop on." Her hand appeared before the toy man, who obliged and hopped up to her hand. Her fingers wrapped around him for safety, she being very careful to hold him above her head while she turned round and sat up. She brought him to her face and smiled sadly.

"No, no, you're doing wonderful," she reassured him, as sincere as she ever meant anything. She stroked his head softly. "I just worry that..." She bobbed her head back and forth, the fuzzy cat ears swaying with her hair. "I worry that I overstepped my bounds. Like, making you massage me, calling you my slave, stuff like that." She leaned back down, her head resting on the armrest of the couch.

Andrew nodded, thoughtfully. He chewed his tongue. 

"You don't want to make me feel like a pet." It was a half a question, half a statement. She nodded weakly.

"You figured, huh?"

He chuckled.

"Ha, you practically said it before you corrected yourself." He giggled as he saw her turn a vivid red. 

"I," she stammered, embarrassed, "I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to, to, to say-"

"Darcy."

"I mean, I think I just, yknow, got caught up in the moment, and-"

"Daaaaarrrcyyyy~"

"Andrew, no, you're not a pet, or a slave, or something to be used; you're a man and you deserve-"
"I like it!" He finally blurted.

It was like a cork had suddenly been put into the pouring bottle. It took Darcy a couple of seconds to understand what he had almost shouted, and another to comprehend the meaning.

"You what?" She tried, letting the words out like a hesitant batch of honey dripping out from the bottle. 

Andrew shook his head, pointing down to Darcy's chest. She picked up his meaning, and set him down, very gently, on her tummy. Again, she felt the tiny footpads lurch across her stomach as Andrew trotted up the incline to come between her ample breasts, wrapped tightly in the again black, again intricate lacework of the corset. 

He came to a stop, then, casually, cool as a cucumber and nerdy as hell, rested his hand on her left breast, crossing his legs. 

"I said, babydahl," adopting not a New York but a Noo Yawk affect, "I likes it, see?"

Smiling at one corner, Darcy asked, "what do you mean?"

"Well, I don't really mind," he continued, back to his usual, "the whole pet thing. I mean, not now, I suppose."

"Really?" A hopeful relief sound in her voice. 

He nodded, sighing and widening his eyes, almost like he didn't believe it himself. 

"Yeah. I know, weird, especially after all that crap I gave you yesterday. But it's true." He looked up at her. "I guess... It really, doesn't, uh, have that same negative connotation, right?" He leaned back and say down at her boob, then shifted slightly up her chest so he wasn't working against gravity. "When you said it before, it felt like that weird owner and pet sort of deal, like I was a pet first who occasionally would be remembered as your roommate and friend."

Darcy swallowed, causing Andrew to stabilize himself as her chest rose and fell. 

"Whoa. Anyway, now that we're," he chuckled, scratching a cheek and grinning like hubris, "well, together, it feels different. Like this is just a temporary relationship."

He saw the confusion in her eyes. 

"I mean," he continued, hurriedly, "after this massage is done and I'm done getting your slippers for you or cleaning your teeth or whatever, we'll be back to, yknow, us. A couple. You and me. Does that make sense?"

Darcy grinned, couldn't stop smiling. 

"Yes," she began. "That makes perfect sense. But there's one thing you forgot..."

Andrew's ears perked up at that. 

"Oh? And what is that?"

"I don't have any slippers."

She giggled as she saw him roll his eyes, watched him crank his head up to look at her breast that he was currently leaning on. 

"Well, maybe not slippers. Maybe a bra?"

Darcy mmm'd, causing Andrew to titter- the rumble in her throat vibrating under him. 

"Now that would be a sight to see- my bra walking across the floor, all by itself. But wouldn't that be heavy?"

"I don't think the bra would be too big or heavy... I mean..."

It was a little too late before he realized his mistake- Darcy playfully squeezed her breasts together and closed then in on Andrew. The tiny man was quick, however- he was able to rise up from sitting and make a break towards her neck. He barely escaped, the huge boobs closing in behind him with a lovely squish. He tried to break for her shoulder was blocked by her face coming down and blocking the way. She pursed her lips and kissed him as he ran, knocking him back onto the soft wall of flesh an lace behind him.

"Now now," she teased, flashing a smile, "that's very rude- you like them, and I know it! I've seen you take plenty of peeks at my boobs when you thought you were bein' slick!" She chuckle at his face turning a red. 

"Yuh-huh, I've been watching, little guy," she cooed. "And now you're gonna make up for all those lookyloos you've taken at them. That's a loooot of back massages and foot rubs~!"

Andrew got up and got into a tiny little football stance, his hands clawed out in front of him. 

"Oh yeah, and who's gonna make me?" He shot back, planting his feet into the flesh behind him at the base of the breasts. He gave a teeth-baring grin at her- if Darcy hadn’t known he was posturing, she might’ve been mildly intimidated. “Remember, even a cornered rabbit might turn on the predator…” 

For a second, a silence hung on the air, Andrew continuing in his attack position and Darcy wearing that little smirk of hers. For a minute, Andrew wasn’t sure if he’d said an okay thing. He thought that maybe he’d offended her, maybe she’d taken his comments as an actual challenge.

No, he thought, confident that she wouldn’t be sensitive like that. Andrew had known Darcy for a characteristically level-headed woman- she had often been a great mirror to bounce ideas off of and offer another perspective to a side of something he was thinking about. She, like him, could be a fantastical example of a drama queen, but most of the time she was adroit in her thoughts and words. Still, he knew, she had her wild, chaotic side. 

Something about that smirk she was wearing, in fact, had reminded him of that. It was cute, yes, no doubt, but it was also… animalistic. Ravishing. Even, he might contend… predatory.

As if on cue, she dragged her soft tongue across her upper lip, wetting it with a thin coat of saliva, making it glisten and shine in the moonlight pouring through the window. Andrew had found the gesture both fairly terrifying and, strangely, wildly erotic. He suddenly felt like that rabbit he had championed in his play-defiance.

“So, you’re my prey now, huh?” She smirkingly pursed her ruby red lips and squinted at him. An alarm in his head, one put there by millions of years of animal conditioning but only recently suppressed by the emergence of being the apex species, began blaring deafeningly. Fight or flight. Flight. Flight.

She licked her scarlet lips again.

“Guess that makes me your predator…”

Andrew's mind snapped back to attention- predator?

There was something about that word- something... Dangerous, he vaguely recalled.

He only just put his thoughts together when Darcy opened her mouth and pressed her head forward, faster than heat lightning. His legs could only half react as he smelled, saw, felt her nimble tongue wrap around his body, forcing him to collide with a waiting cheek and be drawn into the giantess’ waiting mouth. 

In he went, her rouge lips wrapping around the tiny man’s waist and feeling his arms and hands push against her tongue. She was very careful not to bite with her teeth, but instead caught him firm between the muscles of her lips, being oh so careful.

She was… well, enraptured. Stupified. Compeltely enamored with what she was doing, hardly believing the feelings she was having. The idea had come in a flash, and before she knew what she was doing, she had Andrew in her mouth. 

I have, she thought, her heart racing, a tiny man in my mouth. I could literally swallow and feel him writhe down my throat and into my stomach. I could feel him in there, wriggling and swimming my tummy. 

Such thoughts came unbidden, but Darcy amused them briefly. She was no cannibal, and she would never eat anyone, Andrew least of all. Still.

It felt good. Goddamn good. Better than anything she’d ever had before. It was strange, she found, that how welcoming she was of the feelings she had shunned not a day ago- letting her mind wander at Tino’s. Pretending to bite into the little man. Washing him between her cheeks. Passing between her teeth using her tongue. Biting down firmly on the writhing piece of flesh. It was strange, now, that it was something that had turned her on to a degree beyond description. No harlequin novel, no late night film, no down and dirty wham bam thank you ma’am foxtrot uniform charlie kilo with any boyfriend had revved her engine quite like this. 

Her hand reached down and was unsurprised to find herself moist, even through the soft lace. 

She had to tell him.

She lashed her tongue across his face gently, feeling his hands try and grab her. Suddenly concerned he might not be getting enough air, she promptly sucked Andrew into her mouth, slurping him up like she had with her alfredo that night. She giggled at the thought- it was just too funny not to. She felt him bounce around, then, as she laughed, being sure to suck some fresh air in, passed him closer to the back of her mouth, right between her molars. 

Thinking it was crazy but not giving a damn, she experimentally bit down very softly, feeling Andrew's body give ever so slightly. It was like chewing on a piece of rubber, she thought. 

She held him there, lightly flicking her tongue across what she thought was his hands. Concerned again that he wasn't getting enough air, she kept her jaw pinned shut but let her mouth open, exaggerating her breath and passing air back and forth from her lungs. Mercifully, and with no small relief, she felt Andrew's tiny respiration pressing against her teeth and pushing up, down, up, down. He's breathing, she thought. 

After a moment's respite, she closed her mouth again and loosened her grip on him. Using her tongue, she corralled him to the center of her mouth and pressed him up to the slick roof.

She started to suck softly, letting the pressure of each pull caress Andrew over his body. Darcy found herself remembering those cinnamon candies she got from her dad when she was a kid- the way they would melt in her mouth and she could slurp up the juices for hours on a single piece. 

She felt like she could do that now, she realized...

But that probably wasn't a good idea- Andrew was probably very fond of air in his lungs. And, of course, the whole not being eaten thing.

Using her tongue to flip him around and down away from her roof, she opened her mouth slightly and pushed what she hoped was his upper half out of her mouth- she was relieved to hear him coughing to clear out his throat.

A sudden pang of guilt. She hoped that she didn’t overdo it in her indulgence and hurt him...

“D… Darcy…” he sputtered between chokes. “That… that was… incredible.”

She felt her lips cocoon around him again, her smile widening on her mouth. She felt relieved.

“I mean, scary as hell, yeah, but,” he rested his hands behind his head and smiled up at her- something she could barely see, in fact, without pursing her lips forward. “Pretty amazing stuff.” 

She mmm’d in agreement, and he immediately shivered. Something about the vibration in her voice, she realized. She got an idea.

"Your tongue, it was like... Mm." His talk was interrupted as he felt that same muscle flick across his bare feet. It was soft, yes, even loving at first, but it became more... Predatory. Less of a caress and more of a tasting.

Her tongue worked over his feet, and then his legs, building and cresting and falling in pressure. She stroked each leg with her tongue, felt his tense muscles under wen his pants. It made for a weird taste, but that didn't matter to her. 

She dared, and, with a little giggle, she passed her tongue long over the bulge she felt between his legs, just once, a teasing taste, and then returned to work on his legs. His breath caught in him, and inhaled sharply. 

The act of caressing the little man combined with the novelty of it was too much- she had to let him know. Without any ado she stopped tonguing him and brought her hand up to her mouth, resting it just below him and supporting his back. She opened her mouth and pulled him out, her tongue pushing him out like a parting lover's kiss.

He lay there, enveloped in a thin layer of saliva, his legs and feet mostly getting the brunt of it. He was smiling and had his eyes closed.

"Andrew..."

He stood up, opened his cerulean eyes to her, this goddess of his. 

"Yes?"

Darcy bit her lip, her other hand still occasionally caressing herself, still wet, still revved. 

"I want you. Bad. So, so bad."

"I want you too, Darcy." He smiled at her and cocked his head. "So what are we gonna do about that?" He teased.

She continued to bite her lip. 

"Take off your clothes, please."

He complied. As she watched him pull his shirt off, relishing every second, every movement his body made, she was stunned by how excited she found herself. She realized, she remembered, how long it's been since something like this has happened. Obviously, never with someone so small, but the size didn't change the fact.

There was a boy, and she, as a girl, wanted him. 

His pants came next, soaking in saliva. He left his belt on, and the sweet tinkling sound of it jingling on itself drove Darcy wild. He watched her intently as he took off his clothes- his eyes seeing past her beautiful face and into, she felt, completely comfortable with it, her soul. He wore a benign, satisfied smile on his lips, a quiet confidence that comes with years of sexual competence. 

Last was his underwear. It was a pair that she'd seen before- on the ground in the bathroom. She smiled, remembering the thought, and it only reinforced for her how comfortable she was with this man- it was as if they'd been a couple for years, and just now they were getting romantic...

He pulled them off slowly, knowing full well she was watching him. It slid off, down his legs, and rested as his feet. He stood there, now, in her open palm, his own hands at his sides, displaying himself for his lady. 

Darcy had never seen Andrew's genitals, not even on accident, not even walking in on him in the shower or bathroom (which happened an embarrassing amount of times over the years). Even at this size, she still felt... That pull. That primal desire. 

He was a boy, and she was a girl.

She exhaled and inhaled sharply, her free fingers caressing herself and hitting a very sweet spot.

"Hello there, Andrew," she began, unsure of what else to say. 

Andre cocked an eyebrow and set his hands on his hips.

"That's it? 'Hello?' That's all you've got to say?" 

It might have sounded rude, but Darcy knew from his smile that he was teasing her. Again, that confidence (not so quiet, she supposed now). 

"Ha, well," she shot back- two could play at this. "Did you expect me to swoon at the sight of your twig and berries?"

"Maybe. Most girls just faint."

She rolled her eyes, moaning. 

"Oh I'm sure that they do, Andrew..." She giggled. "Keeeeeep on tellin' yourself that."

"Every night before bed. Oh, and," he grabbed himself by the shaft and flipped it up towards her, the head and single eye pointing at her face. "He says hello also."

"I see! Well, I hope he's a good conversationalist, because tonight, we've got lots... To, um... Discuss.... Hmm."

Her voice trailed off for a second, her head cocking slightly. Andrew realized that she was looking at his penis, rather uncomfortably inquisitive about it. 

"Waitaminute," she breathed out. 

"What is it?" He looked down to inspect himself, removing his hand. Nothing seemed to be amiss...

"No, wait, put your hand back there." She brought her hand up next to her face and laid it flat in to the air. "Like this. Can you put to next to... Yeah, like that."

Andrew did so, putting his outstretched hand next his shaft, still slightly engorged from the tongue lashing. Where was she going with this?

Darcy looked at his hand, and then her own. Then back again. Then at her own.

"Andrew," she questioned softly, "we've worn the same gloves, uh, before... Right?"

He seemed confused, and gave her a corresponding look. 

"Well, yeah, that one time... But what difference would that- oh."

He noticed a big smile as she watched her fingers curl and lengthen out. 

"I knew it!" She exclaimed finally.

Andrew nearly fell down with uproarious laughter.

------------------------------------------

Darcy bumped her bedroom door open with her bum, making a satisfying thud as it did so. It made complete sense to her, as both her hands had precious cargo in tow- Andrew gracing her right hand and the bottle of Louisiana Grey in the other. She couldn't reasonably, she found, open the door without risking either dropping the bottle or squishing Andrew, so her rear end would have to suffice. When she did so, Andrew gave a very bro-ish 'nice' and thumbs up as a commentary, which made her chuckle. Her body had started to feel the effects of the double shot of bourbon earlier after dinner, and that was some time ago, so everything was not quite in that haze she usually expected, but things like 'nice' did become a little more funny than usual. 

She had considered taking another drink when she came in, but thankfully, caution had taken precedence for her and she thought twice. She loved the way that she had felt, but she realized, with a clarity that was uncharacteristic of her while ever drinking, that she was dangerous to little people while under the influence. If she became inebriated, Andrew could be hurt by a careless or ill thought idea or action on her part.

Scary.

Still, it had been about an hour since her double, and she felt confident that she was in control of her actions- she felt abuzz, but not drunk. The realization had also sobered her somewhat. For what she had in mind, she would need as much mental faculty as possible. 

She walked over to her bed and set little Andrew down on the ruffled sheets. He sat down easy, spreading out his legs and laying out, moaning softly as he did so. 

“So comfy.”

Darcy smiled at that. She walked over to her nightstand and plugged her phone into the charger and auxiliary cords.

“You know what I think?”

She favored him with a grin.

“What do you think?”

“I think,” he paused for a second, gathering his thoughts, “that bedsheet companies tend to make nicer and fancier sheets for girls.”

Darcy mmhmm’d and went over to kneel next to Andrew on her bed. Doing so, she felt the satin sheets under her arms, and she admitted, conceding the point to Andrew, it was pretty comfy. She supposed she had just gotten used to it over her years of sleeping in the same sheets. Although, she probably knew that the whole novelty of bring Andrew in here for… well, fun and games, definitely had something to do with her suddenly remembering how comfy they were. She mused on that- how a new outlook or event in life could make the old new again.

She wondered- maybe that had something to do with why she was receptive to Andrew now as a lover as opposed to some years ago. His size change made him more attractive somehow, or maybe she felt less vulnerable. She supposed, though, that it wasn’t very important now. 

Right guy, wrong time, she concluded.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” She spoke out, continuing her conversation.

Andrew leaned back and shut his eyes, raspberrying his lips.

“To sell more diapers, of course. Waitshitwaitwait wrong theory."

"What? Diapers?"

"Forget I said that, wrong industrial complex, uh, thing. Theory."

Darcy cocked her eye brow and head at him curiously. 

"What in the world are you..." She laughed and shook her head ruefully. 

"No wait- seriously. I think they make them nicer because guys want to get into them. It's a ploy, right? For the sextoy industry. Guys and gals in sheets together want to, like, hanky panky play, right, and who supplies them with those toys? Adam and... Whoever. Steve. Gay guys. Right? And the sheets get worn out, so they buy new ones..." A pause for dramatic effect. "And the cycle begins anew."

He held out his arms, mightily impressed with himself. Darcy thought to clap, but she did not- she thought it might not be better to encourage him to more tonight. 

"So..." He waited, "what do you think."

Darcy looked at this little man not a few inches from her face and sighed. 

"I think," she began, rising to her feet and setting her hands on her hips, "that I was going to offer you another shot of whiskey, but now I don't really think you need it..." 

She couldn't help but laugh at his tiny groan and lean back. 

"Dude, Darcy, that is so rude. Whatever happened to my matron goddess of spirits?"

She smirked at him while walking over to the bottle of bourbon and picked up the cork. 

"She doesn't want you puking up your liver tomorrow, and she thinks your conspiracy theories will keep coming if you have any more. Besides," she continued, pressing the cork stop hard into the glass opening, "conspiracy theories make for terrible foreplay. For me, at least."

Andrew chuckled, even faced with the absence of future liqueur. 

"Baby let me tell you about the moon landing." He crooned, sticking a finger up at her and pursing his lips. The gesture seemed lewd and nerdy.

She let out a laugh, despite herself. 

Andrew kept leaning back, bringing his hand to his face and waving dismissively. 

"You like it and you know it, Darc." He flipped over on his side and set his feet swinging into the air. "That's what I think, anyhow. It got me this far, right?"

"That is," she was half-loathe to say, "pretty true. But do you want to know what I think?" 

Darcy leaned over to her nightstand and turned on a small globe. Red and green laser and spot lights flighted out and shone on the walls and ceiling, like lighting a candle through a colander. The globe spun. She then hit the play button on her phone- a rich and deep bass groove flowed out of the speakers, accompanied by a modulating guitar pick and punctuated by a snare at two and four. 

"I think dancing makes for much better foreplay…" 

Her hips began to sway slowly side to side, seductively, dangerously. She gracefully circled the bed to where Andrew was sitting near the edge, pointing her fingers in time and smiling her sweet smile at him. 

Andrew softly nodded in time.

“Ah, m'boys Earth Wind and Fire.”

Darcy snickered at him, turning round and circling her rear in front of him like a pendulum. She grinned at him through the fro draping her eyes. 

“Nice try, 8 Mile. It’s Oliver Cheatham.”

Andrewed mmm’d and leaned back up to sit with his legs out. 

“8 Mile,” he muttered, cracking a smile notwithstanding the low tease. He sighed out loud, enjoying the view considerably. Something about the way Darcy moved was really pleasant to see and watch. It might have been the bourbon, but he couldn’t stop watching those swaying hips. The way they moved to and fro, coming towards with each swing and retreating as they fled the opposite direction. 

He watched with rapt attention as she closed her eyes and started to lose herself into the groove. The syrupy tenor washed over her and her hands found their way up and down her body and through her hair. She moved her body rhythmically and she found herself dancing in ways she never had before. Swirling and writhing, swaying and swinging. He found himself enraptured by this colossus, her dark skin and shining smile.

She opened her eyes and smiled with both her mouth and eyes at the little man at her bed, so far down there but so close now to her heart. A hand went up and plucked the cat ears from her head, tossing them away onto the bed and shaking her hair out- all to the rhythm and timing of the groove.

As Darcy bumped, she leaned down and let her hair fall over Andrew like a shaggy black rain. Even the dim light, he saw her smiling widely and he in turn smiled as well- he was so happy that she was. 

The song continued on, and so did the dance. Slowly, her hips and legs ever moving to the beat, Darcy began to turn her back to him and find the seam at the back of her black corset. With slow, molasses movement, she undid the clasps and unzipped the revealing brassiere, letting it fall to the floor below without a sound, the ruffle of motion lost in the music. She knew she had his attention now, so she decided to make it interesting. Her hands, stretched taut, caressed her own smooth back with a loving tenderness that made Andrew bite his lip. The skin where her finger touched became riddled with gooseflesh, the spry spring air partly responsible. 

She ever so slowly turned and presented herself to him, the breath escaping her ruby lips by way of a soft and willing shudder- she felt vulnerable, and above all, excited. Her full, perky breasts, capped by erect and dark nipples, swayed rhythmically just delayed by her hips, the areola prickled with goose flesh, visible even in the moonlight. They bounced, full of life and promise.

Andrew shuddered out a breath and continued to watch her intently. He was leaning forward when he smirked- he was going to say something, she knew. 

"You know, I feel bad," he sighed. "Usually I'd have some dollar bills on hand for this."

Darcy clicked her tongue chidingly at him, frowning and lowering her eyebrows at him.

"Oh Andrew." She bemoaned, swirling her hips around and turning. "I'm happy to do this. Now that we're together, I can do stuff like this for you pro-bono."

"Pro-boner?" 

"Well, I certainly hope you would be..."

The two shared a quiet laugh, and Darcy continued with her little strip tease. As the disco tune continued to pound on, her feet stomping and hips bumping with the beat, her hands found their ways to her panties. 

Andrew's member grew turgid with each lithe movement of her hands. He held his breath as she gazed at him with a smirk and mirthful eyes, and she wiggled her hips and pulled down the last lace cover to her sanctum sanctorum, nestled between two closed and warm thighs. A tuft of curly black hair adorned her genitalia, a soft cloak to warm herself and any visitor she let pass.

She stood back up now, panties at her pigeon-toed feet, a light blush reddening her face. She took a slight step forward and a breath parted her lips- the sudden onrush of air on her moistened labia cooling and shocking her in the most delightful of ways. 

There she was, and Andrew couldn't help but be enthralled by her. She stood there nude and enormous and naked and gigantic and above all beautiful, all her parts laid bare before God all His angels and the world. 

He finally let in a breath and smiled.

"You are lovely, Darcy."

She took another step forward, smiling coyly at him- the coyness itself merely a screen for the much wilder and animal intent skimming the surface not right below it.

"Lovely, huh?" She shook her head side to side and her hair went every which way. "I'll bet you use that line on all the girls."

She continued forward and leaned forward so as to be directly on top of him. Before he knew it she was closing down on him with naught but a smile on her face. He tried to kick back hurriedly away but something in her method told him that this breast drop was intentional.

He gasped softy as Darcy's flush warm breasts fell on him and gently pressed on top of him. He was caught between the two as she leaned down, pinning him to the smooth sheets and mattress. 
Darcy shifted her weight to balance slightly on one foot while the other popped into the air- just like in the movies, she thought somewhere in the back of her mind. Her hands placed themselves wide on the bed and that carried a great deal of her weight as well. Secured, she leaned her head forward and draped Andrew in a forest of black Afro vines, darkening his vision and making the only light seeping through the thick hair shine in her warm and deep brown pools of eyes. 

He felt her breathe. In. Out. In. Out. 

"Yeah, but," he stammered.

In. Out.

"I mean it this time."

Then, the sudden revelation shocking even him, and words pouring out, 

"I'm being completely serious. I don't think I've met someone quite like you, or anyone so pretty... On so many levels."

He shot air out of his nose, amused by his thoughts. He'd never said anything like that before. 

"It's kind of wigging me out, actually."

In. Then a long drawn out.

"I think," she started, "I see what you mean." She lifted her head and gazed down at him from under her nose. She cast her eyes slightly to the side, still blushing.

"It never felt so..." She searched for the right word, "natural, I guess? Natural... Getting undressed for you. Y'know? Like," she paused, swallowing. "I've never done that for a guy before. 

In. Out.

A smile cracked its way across Andrew's lips. 

"Well, lucky me. Now I don't feel so bad, not having any ones with me..."

His giggles turned into a stifled breath as Darcy rubbed him between her breasts, stiffening his member even more. Her head came back down and kissed him, her lips engulfing his head completely in a quick peck. 

"Well. Don't worry- you'll going to pay me back for this, since you're just so insistent," she teased.

She climbed over the little man then, releasing him from his pin. Andrew watched, awestruck, as her body passed over him- it was like watching a Boeing pass overhead flying low. He was, he found, absurdly delighted by the soft scent of her sex, a heady aroma, as her crawled over him. It caught in the light glistening and wet. 

He twisted around and watched Darcy go to the head of her bed turning round and, sitting up, set her legs in front of him, her toes pointing upward. She presented herself to him, her breasts and womanhood, ready and oh so willing. 

She looked across her bed at the little man and smirked, gripping the bedsheets in her hands, anticipating what was to come.

"Well, little guy..." she began, gripping the sheets tighter still and wiggling her toes, biting her lip and flashing her eyes at him, 

"Come and get me."

The little man took a couple of tentative steps in the direction of his love. The lights had dimmed, giving the room a soft ambiance that drew out comfort. Moonlight streaming in from behind the closed silk blinds. A song played on her phone connected to the speakers, one of her favorites, he remembered. Before him was the impossibly tall woman, one he cared for deeply and in ways appreciated by him alone, presenting herself to him for the very first time. She had taken off her lacey black panties and sat in front of him, her legs and feet stretched out before her. He marveled at the great walls of smooth skin surrounding him, seeing the minute shifts of muscle that rippled as Darcy wiggled her feet or toes in excited anticipation. At the end of the soft corridor was her sex, a set of warm lips that beckoned him to come forward, inviting him to come and see, and worship at the altar. Even from this far a distance, she saw her already wet with anticipation. Her fragrance, the natural and heady musk that women had was in the air, enticing and arousing, calling the wild from within.

As he walked, he reached out and lighted a finger along Darcy’s leg, sending a titter through the girl. He looked up and saw that she had her eyes closed, but her wide smile told him all he needed to know. He kneaded the soft skin further, eliciting a sharp breath from above.

“Oh…” a purr from above. Andrew looked up and saw her biting her lip. “that feels wonderful…” she looked down at him through a smile, “but won’t you keep going?” He didn’t need to be told twice. Still sliding his finger along, the little man leisurely sauntered forward, his head spinning from the marvelous scent of woman.

In anticipation of his arrival, Darcy slipped a hand up her leg to her crotch, lightly brushing her sex. Her finger reached down and slid up the opening between her labia, showing the bright pink insides that glistened with wetness, slick in anticipation of what was to come. Andrew continued forward on the bed, dragging his finger along the skin. The bed was soft, spongy, but he somehow managed to keep his footholds, never stumbling or breaking contact. 

“Come on over, little guy.” She bit her lip, suppressing a tremor that crept through her, her mind awash with pleasure, the flood of endorphins that rushed through her.

Andrew drank deeply the air then. This was happening. It was really happening. He felt himself stiffen, both his neck and his member. It was a stomach pit of wonderful mixture- excitement, nervousness, eagerness. He found himself almost jogging to her, to his woman, and treasure that lay before him.

The waiting prize at the end of the corridor was only a bit shorter than him from tip to tip, and was robed by a truss of curly black hair, the very same that adorned her head. Crowning her womanhood was her clitoris, erect in anticipation and glimmering wet. Andrew’s heart pounded so fast he thought it might burst from out his chest. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but he was even more ecstatic about it happening with this girl. This felt… natural, to him. Like it was the best thing that could possibly happen, was meant to happen, what he had always wanted to happen. He couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot.

“Well,” Darcy’s soft voice tittered high above, “someone seems pretty excited…” She smiled at him and giggled.

“What can I say?” he retorted. “I can’t keep the grin off my face.”

She chuckled. “yeah, and you can’t stop smiling down there, either.” She took her free hand and made a motion with her finger. ‘Look down there, big boy,’ was the unspoken hint. He looked down, unsurprised to see himself engorged. What can I say, he thought. I'm only a guy, after all, tiny or not. 

He continued his walk and slowed down the pace as he arrived to the soft folds of skin that comprised Darcy's sex.

Darcy’s hand had moved back down to her crux and in front of Andrew. She gave Andrew a playful poke in his stomach and smiled at him.

"Hey there, little pal." She shivered and ran her finger to split her labia again. "You like what you see?"

Andrew remembered nodding as maybe saying something as he reached out with both hands and softly gripped both lips softly. The woman shuddered wildly, inhaling with sharp breaths and a sharper smile on her other set of lips.

She moaned softly as he redoubled his grasp, sliding his hands up and down the silken skin and making her quiver. 

"Oh Drew..." Came the distant warble from somewhere above. 

He stuck his hands deeper inside her, eliciting another shake snaking through her. His fingers played up and down the wet inside, with each passing moment becoming more lubricated. She responded in kind, making the bed tremble as she struggled to keep her legs in a position that would not crush her little lover. 

He leaned over and kissed the crowning fold of skin atop Darcy's sex, and he saw her chew raggedly on her lip above her.

"Oh my god... Andrew..." Her voice lilting ever so slightly into another falsetto gasp.

Darcy reached down a hand and began to stroke Andrew along the back, pressing him forward ever so slightly. His body run up against her labia, engulfing him in her folds and dousing him in the wet discharge. The heady aroma became more heady still. 

He went in to his shoulders, sticking his hands and arms deep into the surprisingly warm opening- he wagged and waved them rhythmically, sometimes at odds with one another, stroking and pressing and pulling and rubbing. The thought passed his kind briefly, that it was like  running yours hands across a wet silken sheet- but so much more the warm. 

On a whim, he enfolded the piece of wet flesh, her clitoris, her crown jewel, into his mouth. Even at this size, it wasn't too hard a task. He worked his tongue across and around it, writing his name like he always did when performing such an act. 

Darcy shook, a soft moan and contented sigh issuing from her lips. She seemed to be enjoying this newfound attention to her little bean. 

Pleased with the results, Andrew found his rhythm then, massaging and sucking. He used his tongue masterfully, and, unbeknownst to him, giving his new girlfriend quite possibly the best cunnilingus of her life. A thought, more a dare, in fact, popped into his head- he began to bite softy into it. It was not much at the first- barely a nibble. Darcy yelped and laughed, her voice lilting across the room. That worked, didn't it, his little experiment?

He again found his rhythm, his groove- Bite, knead, suck. Bite, knead, suck. As he did so, some of the natural wetness spilled into his mouth- she was… slightly salty. Sour. 

She was delicious, he realized, then finding it funny- the little man was eating the giant. He then thought, with a bit more than embarrassing relief, that she wasn't in fact eating him. Not that she would... Right? Right. Trying to take his kind off such strange thoughts, he again poured into his work. Bite, knead, suck. And, occasionally, slurp. 

He found, in a brief moment of clarity during his oral sexery, that he felt wonderfully... Comfortable. At home. It had never occurred to him that sex with a person several dozen times your height and many more times your weight would be a whole different dynamic, and by God it should have been- but here, despite that 'should have,' he felt in his element. On his own turf, so to speak. Like he wouldn't turn into paste between Darcy's magnificent thighs because she was far too careful. He'd had many partners prior to this, more than he could reasonably remember- but here it was familiar. Again, it felt so natural to him- Darcy was home. 

A yelp above shocked him out of his reverie. He unlatched his mouth from her clitoris and looked up at her slightly concerned. He found, to his relief and delight, that she was smiling very widely, and looking down at him with some kind of mix of adoration and wanton lust. She cocked an eyebrow down at him and grinned. 

"You keep surprising me tonight, big guy..."

Her hand ceased to caress his back and instead plucked between her index and thumb. She brought him to her face and kissed him tenderly, her lipstick starting to run. It left a slight smudge on his chest.

"Oh," she giggled, rubbing her thumb of his chest, "sorry about that..."

He shook his head and smiled at her. 

"It'll wash off." And then, impishlygrinning, "Unlike those stains you left on the couch." 

She moaned as rolled her eyes at him. 

"Oh, come on," she lamented at him, "that was a year ago. And those stains came off..." She bit her lip, embarrassed. "...mostly." She smiled sheepishly as Andrew held up his arms play-reproachfully. 

She kissed him again and swallowed.

"So mean, making a girl anxious like that in a first date." She flipped him over and held him by the two legs. Andrew noted, with much relief and a bit of a chuckle, that Darcy held her other hand below him to catch him, lest he fall or her grip fail. 

"Someone ought to teach you a lesson."

She poked her tongue out and gave Andrew a playful brush across his face. He held out his arms and hands to push against the wagging tongue, but it only got his arms and hands wet in the process. 

She smooched him on the face once again and then flipped him over once more, holding him again in her hand.

"And I think I know just the punishment."

She held him above her head and lowered him to her mouth. She slightly opened her wide red lips but then closed them again. She flattened her mouth, and then, with a swallow going down her throat, she purred at him softly,

"Don't be afraid."

"I'm not," came the reply, not entirely convincing in its tone. 

She seemed satisfied as she stuck out her tongue again and lowered him onto it, setting his legs on either side of the writhing muscle. He straddled her tongue, like a bullrider on his first attempt. Andrew looked into her eye with a confused visage until it dawned on him, a wide grin passing over his face. 

Darcy, with Andrew still sitting on her tongue, began to push her tongue up and down, down and up, the massive muscle fondling and manipulating Andrew's genitals. A soft breath drew into Andrew, and he gasped. With the tenderness of a longtime lover, and a sweetness that she had never maybe felt before, she massaged him gently, occasionally breathing and letting her exhale wash over him like the tide. She, through the machinations and mechanics of her tongue, felt him stiffen, and she was pleased- with him, with herself, with the now.

She drew him in, her lips wrapping around him at his waist, as tickling his feet with her tongue. Then, pulling him out, she held him between her face and bare her teeth at him.

"Darcy... You make-gaahh!"

His praise was cut off by a wild shiver that shot through his body like cold water down a bare back on a hot summer's day. She had pursed her  mouth, he found, and was blowing on him.

She laughed as he shivered.

"So," he stammered, "c-c-cold. So m-m-m-mean."

She wrapped both her hands around him and held him to her breast. A gesture that didn’t make raise his temperature so much as provide comfort.

"I know, I know... But that'll teach you to tease me like that, huh?" She saw him peer up at him and offer a warm smile. She was comforted by the idea that he wasn't afraid or that he understood. She also noted, with utter and toe curling delight, that his new size had given him a maybe more humble perspective- he was tiny, and he knew it. More so, he acted as though Darcy was not only his lover but his mountain, and his all, as well. 

Again, that bigness. That feeling of potential and wonder. Gigantic.

She was his giantess, she knew, and he was her little man. 

She withdrew him and gave him a little peck. 

"I know a good way to warm you up,"

“As long as it doesn’t involve your mouth.”

“Hush, you.”

She lowered him back down to her still wet, still ready pussy. They both moaned as she pressed him against the soft folds, his penis erecting despite the cruel and cold jape she had put him through. Even considerably reduced, Darcy thought she felt him penetrate her. Or maybe it was her imagination. But to her, did it really matter?

She was happy, and she thought he was too. 

She closed her eyes and felt him there, working to please her and get his body warmed up. With her eyes closed, she felt that the ever sensitive nerve endings down there could pick up more tactile and minute movements, be it hands, fingers, penis, or, dare she hope, tongue and mouth. 

She felt him rhythmically work there, enjoying the ride she was getting. But, she realized, that it had suddenly stopped. Maybe he tuckered out- disappointing, considering she was only halfway to what would no doubt be a glorious and singularly spectacular orgasm. Maybe, she thought, more worryingly, he got lost. Or caught. And, as she might've known, a guy no smaller than your thumb could easily get into a whole mess of trouble between the thighs of a woman much bigger than him.

She had just opened her eyes when she felt two hands grab hold not softly her outer labia, followed by an object thrusting suddenly deep into her womanhood.

To say she was surprised would be... An understatement, much in the same way that saying a world war was at most a minor cultural disagreement is an understatement. 

She had never felt anything so simultaneously shocking, pleasurable, awkward, delightful, and surreal as she had feeling Andrew literally jump feet first into her vagina. 

She yelped and moaned and blushed and gasped all at once, and her fingers dug so far into the bedsheets she may as well have ripped them. 

"Andrew... J... J-J-Jesus... What... Ohhh!"

A minor shift in his feet caused her to curl her toes and writhe her legs, stopping effectively any statement of reproach or praise (she hadn't decided which it would be) she might have been forming. 

"Sorry," came the unsorry apology from Andrew. "Couldn't resist."

She finally got the wherewithal to look down and spy just what her little lover was doing- his face, etched with a grin usually reserved for rascals who had just raided the cookie jar, was sitting atop a chest that just barely poked out of her sex, anchored by two arms that prevented him from entering any further. 

She grimaced slightly, gritting her teeth.

“Andrew… this is too weird, man…. Mmmm.”

He nodded, shifting slightly- a shudder ran down her spine, despite herself. He cracked a smile then, realizing just what exactly he had done then. He wiggled his foot again, deep inside her recesses. Again that shiver. 

“Drew…?” she offered, starting her hand down but then clenching her fist and biting her lip- she couldn’t decide, he realized. She grinned sheepishly at him, almost like she was ashamed of enjoying it so much.

“Stop tha… oh…”

She melted as she felt him twist and turn inside of her. He turned round and round then, torqueing himself with all his upper body strength that he could muster. It was a strange sensation, feeling the pleated skin inside, slick, wet, and comfortably warm. How it caressed his skin softly, how the slightest touch could make Darcy move and shake and croon like some blushing virgin. More discharge fell into his mouth, but he didn’t mind the heady scent, or the sour taste. Or was it basic? He couldn’t tell. But, all the same. He loved it. 

“Andrew… oh, my god, Andrew…” 

He slowed down his little spin cycle, instead turning up to her and watching her. She kneaded her breast lovingly with one hand and was reaching down with the other. Without ado, she plucked him up with fore and thumb, pulling him up and out with a wet popping noise and a sharp inhale- the rush of cool air entering her. She brought him, once more up to her face and planted a large kiss smack dab onto his chest. She licked him from his crotch up to his chest, redoubling the erection he maintained and slightly diluting the lubricant that wet her sex.

“I,” she said with a smile, “I want to try something. Hold on tight.”

He did so, and was glad he did- she lifted him high into the air and wrapped her fingers around him. He watched as she turned round on the bed, arching her back like a cat and getting into position. She then, pressing up on one arm, held him before her face.

“I’m going to put you inside like…” she blushed, her eyes fluttering to behind her, indicating her now outstuck rear, “like… y’know…”

Andrew nodded.

“Is… is that okay? Can I do that?”

Andrew nodded again, but decided to vocally speak out as well, if not to just ease her mind.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Darcy grinned at him, and then, with a small kiss, she slid him in hand under her breasts, stomach, and up to her waiting womanhood once again. She then lay her front end down, splaying her breasts and setting one arm in front of her, all the while resting on her knees. Andrew recognized the form she was attempting, even from his underbelly position- back entrance. The manner of dogs. Coitus more ferarum.  

With lithe fingers, she navigated him and flipped him over, and he straightened into position. With a deep breath, she slid him into, once again, the wet and wild place. Andrew, after a brainwave, clenched his legs together and tried to make as straight a rod possible. He was greeted by warm flesh enveloping his feet, legs, then hips and finally chest. It was slick, it was warm. It was better than anything, he found.

The rhythm was slow at first- testing the waters. No doubt, she was concerned for his safety during this new and exciting method. Slowly, but ever so building confidence, Darcy became faster, more consistent in her penetration. With the new speed came the sharper, more desperate breathes that accompanied approaching climax. In. Out. In. Out.

Andrew, as well as he could, reached his own sex and began to stroke. It wasn’t perfect, but the feeling was outside the realm of normal and very pleasurable.

In. Out.

More than once, Darcy had let him slip inside past his head. She did this by gripping him by his chest and back and let him slide in very deeply. It was during those times that Andrew had the hardest time pleasuring himself. But, in consolation, he found that if he thrust his hips out just slightly, his head would rub against the vaginal wall.

In. Out. Keeping out.

He opened his eyes, lost in the feel of it all, and saw Darcy not an inch (to him, not her) from his face.

“Pull my hair, will you?” she half asked, half demanded. A kiss planted on his body, a tongue flicking across his skin. Andrew could only blink, dumbstruck.

“What?”

Her eyes slowly opened, and then she passed across her face a look of sudden realization. She… had misunderstood, instinct had taken over her- she realized that her lover wasn’t exactly in that position that normally necessitated that body placement.

“Wait, uh, shit… nevermind. Forget I said that…”

She reached back down and continued.

In. Out. In. Out.

Haggard breathing. 

He continued stroke himself when suddenly Darcy's vaginal muscles clamped tightly around him.

“Oh, oh,”

Darcy herself found her breath being caught inside of her- the repeated act of in, out, pressing him against herself and sliding him across her clitoris had finally triggered that glorious feeling of cresting and going past the event horizon of orgasm, that event potential that released floods of serotonin and dopamine. She had felt it begin when he was inside of her, her muscles closing tightly around him. Concerned for his safety, but also wanting more, Darcy slowly slid him out and brushed her button one last time. The act sent explosive waves of neurotransmitters rippling through her womanhood, spine, and brain.

She gasped, a happy, very fulfilled gasp, rasping and she grit her teeth as she rode the sensation higher and higher. Despite what she had ever felt, what she had learned about her climax, this one persisted, endured, far longer than any she had ever felt before. Ever higher she rode the wave, even starting to shiver, to shake even, shutting her legs in a vice. Even Andrew, safely enclosed in her hand below her stomach, was squeezed a little too firmly for comfort. 

“Oh, oh, oooooohhhhh my gooood, Andrewwwww!”

Finally, mercifully and happily, she reached the peak and began the leisurely descent back, her mind blanking to the white hot like it never had before. How long had that lasted? One second? One year? She did not know. All she knew then, as she fluttered back down on a cloud, her mind awash in the pleasure that was orgasm, was that she wanted very much to kiss the man who had given it to her.

She brought him, still quivering and her legs turned to jelly, up to her placid and serene face.

 
"You, little man..." She pressed him to her lips, squeezing his body in a warm and loving embrace, the heat washing off of her and onto him. 

"You... Have... Me... Like rocked..." She raspberried her lips in exasperation at him. She got onto her knees, sitting on her feet. Her legs still felt like they wouldn’t be usable had she tried to stand up on the floor. “See what you do to me?”

Andrew wore a bigger sized self-satisfied smile than was probably warranted. Darcy let it slide, her brain being scrambled too much anyhow to think of a coherent retort.

"I rock you so hard that you can't even speak?" Andrew offered with probably a little too smug of a shit-eating grin.

"Yuh-huh." She smiled at him, brushing a stray lock of curly black hair that found its way into her eyes. "Eeeeeexactly, little guy." She then, a smirk passing across her lips, took him by the legs and held him upside down. The motion took Andrew by surprise, and he yelped aloud as she did so. His arms hung limp below his head, and he gave up after a few tries of lifting himself up to grip onto Darcy’s thumb or forefinger. 

“But don’t you dare think,” she began, bring him close to her face and letting her tongue pat his head from below, “that I’m done with you. You’re not the only one who can make someone else like putty in their hands…”

With a laugh, she hung him above her head and lowered him into her cavernous mouth, closing her lips around his ankles. She pulled him out then, slowly, her muscles and lips and tongue wiping across him as he emerged from out of the mouth. 

“Mmmm…” she moaned, laying him then her in her hand. She brought him close to her face, and blew softly from pursed lips- he stiffened, the sudden chill shooting through Andrew like lightning. But, Darcy saw, he was all smiles. She kissed him again up and down, engulfing him in a shower of lips and small suctions, pulling his body slightly up off the hand each time. It was irresistible, doing this. 

For good measure, she dragged her tongue around his arms and legs and chest, his chest, and even between his legs. 

She noticed, with no small delight, that his member was still erect, standing there high and proud like it was on display. She gave him a grin as she spied and then flicked it softly with her tongue. She realized that he probably hadn’t released yet… how sad.

I ought to change that, she told herself, shivering anticipatorily at the prospect.

“Hey Andrew…” 

He looked at her, completely intoxicated by the love she was giving him. She narrowed her eyes and smirked at him.

“Did I ever show you that thing I could do with cherry stems?”

She didn’t wait for an answer- her head lowered and his waist was completely enveloped by a pair of soft red lips. He felt those lips close on him, narrowing their scope and wrapping around one particular part of him. He felt the tongue, lithe like her fingers, dexterously navigate up his inner thighs and under his testicles, fondling them up and passing up and up until they stopped and she continued up his shaft. 

He moaned, his hands reaching out and touching Darcy on the face, trying desperately to not claw marks into her skin. He grabbed, instead, her upper lip, again, not too hard. She did so again, and he felt himself stiffen even further, harder than he had ever been in his entire life. Her tongue moved then, far more deftly than any tongue had a right to be (though Andrew would be the last to complain, like, ever)- she had cupped, twirled, smooched, fondled, played with, nibbled at, and even caressed his balls and penis like no other had ever done so. 

He bit his lip, almost reverentially. He got lost in that oral pleasure, her tongue caressing him back and forth, up and down, occasionally feeling the rush of air pass by him was she breathed. Slowly, but ever so surely, he felt himself begin to build up. It was unmistakable. As he did, he tightened his grip on her lips, clench his glutes, curled and wiggled his toes. He began to inhale sharply, just as Darcy had, feeling the heavenly crest just round the corner. Higher and higher he flew on his own cloud.

Just before he came, right before the plateau, he tapped Darcy on the lip- surely she could stop now, the work was done. 

“Darcy, Dar, jesu---fffuck, Darcy. Let go…” he clenched his lip between his teeth and almost drew blood.

He felt her smile and saw those big, beautiful, brown pools of love look up at him. He perceived, he thought, a shake of her head.

“Mm-mm!” she hummed, refusing his request. The vibration was too much; it sent ripples throughout his body, but moreso through his sex organs- the vibration was beyond pleasurable, and he finally released his load. 

“Aaa…. Oh god…” he sharply gasped, biting his lip in pure ecstasy. His breathing became rapid and shallow, and he gritted his teeth and smiled. His seed shot out in a stream of brilliant white past Darcy’s lips and deposited right at the center of her tongue, the nerve-endings there suddenly detecting salt.

His body shook, finally reaching the apex of his climactic orgasm and he finally released the tension of all his muscles firing at once and relaxed. He unarched his back and lay down flat in Darcy’s soft hand, his penis drooping already to one side and covered in the afters his explosive load. 

Darcy herself removed her lips from her side and smiled down on him, swallowing the load whole down to her stomach. Andrew thought he saw the lump in her throat move down and down, but he couldn’t be sure.

There part of me goes, he mused.

Darcy watched with amusement as Andrew ran his hands down his face, utterly spent.

“Mmm,” she began, prompting Andrew to look up with one eye up at her. She licked her lips when she knew he was watching. “You really do taste good, you know…” 

She heard Andrew chuckle at that. 

“Well,” he croaked out, softly, “you are welcome at Buffet Andrew anytime you damn well please, darlin’…” 

That made her laugh, and she flipped over and plopped down on her bed, laying down. She set Andrew on her stomach, who simply collapsed on her belly and moaned. She sighed contentedly. 

This is perfect, she thought. A girl could get used to this.

Her finger reached up and began to stroke Andrew on the back, eliciting soft breath release from the tiny man under her finger. After what seemed not fifteen seconds, he began to snore softly. 

Her heart melted. She loved it. She knew it. She knew that this was the right choice that she had made. Any doubt she may have had was suddenly erased from her mind. She knew, she realized, that she could grow to love this man on her stomach, this little man who had so much love in his heart and who gave everything he had to her- he gave so much, and for it, she adored him. 

She began, she thought, to see the seed of love blossom between them. Not just carnality, the wonderful biblical knowledge they had just learned of each other… but real love. Tender feelings. Deep and resounding affection. 

There would be challenges, she knew- real ones. Dynamics, logistics. Physical danger. Maybe even social challenges. The most pressing, she knew, arriving very soon- tomorrow, actually. She glanced at the clock, the red phosphor lights read 11:34 P.M. In short eight hours, they knew they’d have to deal with the social worker coming to pick up someone who they thought was coming with them. 

She knew, or rather probably guessed, that Andrew could whip up something real quick that would negate the forms he signed in the clinic during his check up. She really… wasn’t worried. Diminished people had the same basic rights, she knew, she learned from the recent court cases. Surely, they’d find away. If there were boundaries, they could knock them down. 

She reached over to her phone, and pressed a few quick buttons in quick succession. An alarm was set, for an hour or two. Setting the phone right back down on the nightstand, she looked down at the man on her tummy. Her hand, perhaps in part predatory, part maternal instinct, reached over him and covered him like a warm blanket of flesh. She felt his body move up and down ever so imperceptibly with his respiration. He was warm to the touch, she found delighted.

“Amazing. All this time, little guy…” She smiled softly and lay her head back, closing her eyes.

“You’ve been right under my nose.”

She eventually drifted off to a peaceful sleep, and dreamed wonderful dreams.

Sara, a social worker of some eight years, hated this part. When the call had come yesterday from her supervisor that a voluntary pick up was needed at this apartment complex, she had practically cried. Not that she didn't mind helping someone transition their lives to what she truly believed to be a brighter future, but she hated it because of two things- firstly, she didn't like the method of transporting diminished folk away to governmental buildings; the container at her side, what was officially called Transportation Pods for Dignified Diminished Human Movement, amounted to little more than a couple of public bus seats glued to a container that Sara had faintest suspicion had once held rats. It was officially a transport apparatus, but, her liberal sensibilities informed her that it simply was a birdcage- they just didn't want to say it out loud.

The second reason she wanted to cry was because it was her daughter's big softball game today. Her husband, thankfully, had the day off and could take her, but her motherly sensibilities informed her that work on Saturday's, especially pick ups, blew. Not only did she not take her daughter to the game, it started in thirty minutes- and once this guy was picked up, it would be at least two hours of processing and paperwork. She would miss the game completely. 

Still, she had agreed to go. Despite the high demands and almost constant stress, she loved her job- she felt like she was contributing to something larger than herself. She was happy that she was able to take some people out of not good situations before, and she hoped, with all her heart, that this would be the case today. But, then again, some were not.

It was with this thought on her mind that she had approached the apartment door designated in her legal documentation- The great city of Atlanta in the state of Georgia had sent her here to pick up one Andrew, a lawyer, to be sent over to The Leafstone facility in New York.

She knocked, once arrived, five times on the door. Then, not getting an answer, she knocked once more. 

Still no. 

Again. 

Again. 

One last time. 

Sara frowned, shaking her head. 

"It's gonna be one of those days, huh?" She asked whoever might be listening. 

Sometimes this happened- someone might flee the premises, or worse, kidnap one of the diminished. If such was the case, the authorities would have to get involved. 

Dreading the extra hours of paperwork that was to come, Sara pulled out her phone as she heard someone coming up the stairs.

She glanced over to the stairwell, seeing a black mop of fro done up in a bun give way to a very tall, lanky black woman. Perhaps another apartment tenant? Not that it mattered. She had something in each of her hands.

Sara was about to hit the call button on her phone when she realized that the woman had ambled up to her and was now reaching for the keys. Surprised, she found that she was looking at her. 

"Hi, are you the, uh, the folks from the..."

Sara nodded, producing a smile that was only half really sincere. Was this Andrew's roommate perhaps?

Sara held out her hand, cordially as possible, though she wasn't feeling it. Females living with diminished folk could sometimes put up a fight, she remembered, and that made her tense up slightly. Still, as Sara locked hands and then eyes with the tall, cafe au lait skinned (I am so jealous, she thought) woman, she didn't have that fight in her eyes. Something about them seemed almost... Relaxed. Calm. 

Unworried.

"Yes ma'am. My name is Sara, and I'm here to pick up Andrew." Pick up was the preferred euphemism for 'obtain for processing.' 

"Is he in the apartment, ma'am?"

Darcy shifted her hands again, passing the few items that Sarah had just now noticed. A package of bacon, a small half dozen carton of eggs, and a can of whipped sweet cream. 

Maybe she’s making waffles, thought Sara absent-mindedly. She watched her dig the keys from her pocket, flipping dexterously to find the appropriate one. 

“Oh, uh, noooOOOo…” 

The sudden lilt in Darcy’s voice threw off the other woman. She cocked an eyebrow, watching carefully as Darcy’s brown eyes flickered down to her own chest, up again, and then bite her lip. 

“No… no, he’s not…” Darcy said, struggling to fit the key into the door lock. Sara wasn’t absultely sure, but she thought she saw Darcy twitch slightly, and maybe, if her ears didn’t deceive her, giggle. 

“No. And, actually, I nnnnnnneeeEEEeed to, uh, get you something, S-suh, Sara.” Darcy hurriedly rushed through the door. “I’ll be right back!” The door closed just as quickly.

The social worker, one of the most unsung heroes on God’s green earth, stood there in awe. She’d been to many tweaked out, very run-down drug houses with enough chemical substance to stock a hospital pharmacy. She’d seen drug-addled men and hooked women sing, dance, vomit, and scream their lives out. She’d administered the healing arts to many people who were so far gone in mental and muscular degeneration that they could only eat through a tube in their stomach and weren’t allowed anything sharp to use for fear of what they might do. She’d seen a lot of strange things- Darcy’s zero to sixty spaz out might have been one of the stranger. 

“Great,” she mumbled to herself. “Now I’m gonna have to deal with some drug-“

She stopped the grievance midway to listen- through the door she heard another muffled yelp, one that spoke of utter delight mixed with consternation. 

“Andrew! If you’re gonna keep wiggling around like that in there, I’m not gonna keep you tucked in there… wait, hold on, let me just…” 

The last few words came closer to the door, and then, just as Sara thought the apartment door would swing open, an envelope slid under and landed at her feet.

“Now, little guy… why don’t we have some dessert in bed before breakfast?”

The accompanying giggle faded down the hall and Sara heard no more. She stood there for a second, still awestruck.

Maybe the whipped cream wasn’t for waffles after all. A smile crept across her face.

Bending over, Sara snatched up the envelope that had been deposited at her feet, apparently meant for her- it was addressed to ‘Social Worker.’

She tore open the envelope, and inside was a handful of papers, what looked like forms. At the front of the stack was what looked like a cover letter.

“To Whom It May Concern, or to the Social Worker in the employment of the City of Atlanta, Georgia-

Upon review of the contract and release-to-state-care form signed by myself and witnesses at the office of Dr. White and co., it was brought to my attention that there is an escape clause that is active when criteria are duly fulfilled and notarized. The following is attached to fulfill aforementioned criteria.

1. Diminished adult party has been cleared by licensed healthcare professional to act as agent for self (Cleared by Dr. James White, bill of health incl.)

2. Written declaration of intent by diminished adult party notarized by licensed attorney (Dictated by Andrew Beckermann, JD; notarized by David Syrett, JD)

3. Written declaration of acceptance of responsibility of guardianship of diminished adult party notarized by licensed attorney (Acceptance by Darcy Okoye-Mercier; notarized by David Syrett, JD)

4. Cohabitation formed signed by two parties and notarized etc. (Signed by both Beckermann, Okoye-Mercier; notarized by Syrett)

5. $39 US dollars service charge (provided by check)

Consider this letter as an initiation of the escape clause within the former contract and release form. If there are any questions, do contact David Syrett at the number provided below. 

Sincerely,

Andrew J. Beckermann, J.D.”

There was a tiny signature below the printed name. Sara stared at it for a few seconds, and then read the letter again, and then, for good measure, once more. After, she checked the papers that were attached, and was even surprised (though she could not tell you why) to find the check attached to it as well- it was written out from Darcy, the woman whom she had just met. 

She sighed aloud. Everything was there. It was technically all good- Sara was no lawyer, but she had taken a few required law classes during her graduate coursework (mostly macro-level policy) and everything seemed to be in order. The only thing that she had to reasonable worry about was if she had any reason to believe Andrew was in some sort of duress during this transaction or signature.

As if on cue, she heard another stifled, delighted yelp and giggle, along with something that sounded like a soft moan come from inside the door. 

"Oh, Andrew~"

Something told her she didn’t have to sweat the duress thing. 

Smiling, Sara began to walk away when she went back to the door. 

“You could have just said ‘I don’t want to go, I changed my mind,’ you know!”

She then began down the stairs again, pocketing the letter in one fist and clutching the cage in the other hand by the handle. She would have to take this information back to her office in Atlanta, but then again, that could be done later- Sara had a softball game to catch.

~Fin~