Light, blinding in both its suddenness and its radiance, overtook Corey as his eyes wearily fluttered open. His body reacting on its own to halt this uncomfortable invader, his eyelids quickly shut tight with a grunt as he wiggled back into a comfortable rest. Simultaneously, a familiar, comforting scent reached his nose, and he could feel his mouth begin to water in response. Moreover, as his senses gradually booted up, he was slowly becoming aware of a tickling against his scalp, of the fact that something was tousling his hair.
Turning with a grunt, his body knowing almost instinctively which way to face, he forced his weary eyes to slowly open once again. Greeting him, for the first time in quite a while in this particular manner, was the face of his mother. An adoring grin was stuck to her face as she leaned over the bed, an arm outstretched and undoubtedly the source of the mess his hair was becoming. With half-hearted frustration, he lazily brought a hand up and against her own in an attempt to force it away. Curiously, though, what his hand found...it couldn't be a hand, nor could it have been a wrist. It felt, really, more like a forearm, but that...wasn't possible. He was looking at his mother's forearm.
Curiouser, though, was that his pushes against whatever his hand had found seemed to be completely ineffective as his parent tousled away as if she were meeting no resistance at all. So, to allay his growing confusion at this, Corey began tilt his head upward, and what was happening became clear. It wasn't his mother's hand brushing tenderly through his hair.
It was her finger. His hand was barely wrapping around, and in a losing battle against, her finger.
Corey snapped awake in increasing awareness of his situation. His eyes, essentially in a spasm, took in his now foreign surroundings. His stature. And then, in a panic, he pushed his body away from Abby's looming form with almost primal terror in an attempt to distance himself, kicking at the soft surface upon which he had rested.
All for naught. Corey's flapping was put to an immediate, pitiful end as his mother's hand pressed against him from above with a ridiculous balance of speed and tenderness, her fingers wrapping around his torso. They clasped fully around him, uncompromising in their power, and showed not a hint of response to his alarmed struggle, as if he had been bound by a bronzed straight jacket. And as he continued his futile wriggling, he became aware of a gentle, soothing shushing.
"Shh, sweetie," Abigail commanded, her voice warm and tender, "everything's okay. You're okay." The security inherent in those reassurances went to work, easing his struggles. "You're at home, Corey. You're at home." His struggles cut out in earnest now, his legs stopped kicking and his elevated breathing began to calm. His composure returning, little by little, he began to take in his surroundings again.
He was in his room. Or at least, the room where he had grown up. It was...mostly unchanged. His bookshelf was still there, loaded with pages upon pages of both science fiction and science fact. His desk, too, where had spent hours reading and working - either on assignments, or on the assorted model planes and robots that adorned his furniture. Corey was somewhat surprised to find his TV, back in its usual spot atop his chest of drawers. His parents must have had it sent back from the university, he thought with a frown.
But what was he doing here? The question passed through Corey's mind, and he wasn't quite sure of the answer. The last thing he remembered was being an inch tall and making a nest for himself on his aunt's lap after she had returned and the pizza had arrived. His mother had gone to change, and in the interim, Kayla had begun to eat. She had offered him some, hadn't she? And he had eagerly accepted. So she had pinched off the tip of her slice for him, handing the greasy food over to his miniature self. And while essentially a crumb to his aunt, it had been a large slice of the pie to him, so he had gobbled it up with gusto. And then....and then...
He couldn't really remember much after that. His mother had come back, they had started the movie, and then...nothing. It was as if he had simply blacked out and been transported to his current position atop his bed; and, going by the relative size of his mother's hand as it continued to clasp him, he was certainly much bigger than before, and he estimated himself to now be at 12 inches, the largest that was...allowed to him, now.
"Everything okay now?" Abby asked in those same sweet tones, and Corey turned to face her radiant, smiling visage, to give her a quiet nod as he continued to settle. "That's good," she continued, slowly removing the hand that had held him in place even as the finger that had accosted him earlier returned to continue its ministrations upon his scalp, "I'm sorry for startling you like that. I didn't think about how you had just conked out yesterday after Kayla gave you a bit to eat." Her lips split then, to playfully reveal her immaculate pearly whites. "You just looked so precious there, I couldn't help myself." Corey grunted in mild embarrassment at his mother's doting.
"It's okay," he muttered bashfully, turning his head away for a moment to once again take in his bedroom, now a prison just like every other room in the house. Almost idly, he became aware of the obviously reduced blanket that now sat some proportional feet away from in in a woolly blue mass, and he realized he must have kicked it away in his confused scrambling. So, too, did he notice that he still wore the previous day's adornments of a dress shirt and slacks - hardly sleeping attire. Allowing him his rest had clearly been the priority. "How long was I-"
"A while," his mother gently cut off, sensing his question. "It's Friday, now. Little bit after nine."
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, almost unconsciously, as he turned his head to face his parent again. If it was nine on Friday morning, then he had been asleep for...God, over twelve hours. Well over. And bubbling up inside him was a sense of shame at his slothful behavior. He wasn't here to...
"There's no need for that," Abby assured as her tousling continued. "I told you, these next three days, I just want you to rest and adjust. I know you've been running on fumes lately, and I know you needed this."
"And," she added with a regained smile, "we've got something else you need downstairs. So let's get up and go get it, shall we?"
Though somewhat confused, Corey did sit up, and offered no resistance as his mother's hand wrapped around him, lifting him up from his comfortable bed. Deftly, she maneuvered his small form until he was sitting on her right forearm as the arm itself tucked in to it's owners stomach in an L-shape, allowing his back to rest against the soft cotton of her bright floral shirt as she stood and began to walk.
Another feeling of familiarity bubbled upward as Abby made her way to the stairs - that feeling of embarrassment at being cradled like this. It was true that, for the most part, he greatly preferred this height to the smaller ones that fit the preferences of his mother and sister, but that didn't mean that being a foot tall wasn't without its negatives in comparison. He had always felt that being cupped in a palm was a bit more...dignified, than being cradled like a little baby.
Not that he was particularly deserving of that, at the moment.
As his mother deliberately made her way down the stairs, taking care not to jostle him, Corey once more became cognizant of the scents that had initially greeted him when his eyes had first opened this morning. His mouth watering anew at the scents he recognized from years of growing up in this house, he found some feeling of anticipation as his carrier made her way into the kitchen.
"Morning, champ," greeted his father, Howard, as they passed through the threshold. Corey shuddered at the words, this being the first time he had seen the man since his incarceration had begun. That shame began to return as he looked at his father, his role model, and the tired yet friendly eyes that had been his hallmark during his career as a physician. While he did good work at the hospital, and was well compensated for that, it had always been the hours he had put in at the volunteer clinic that his father had been most proud of. It was that work that had inspired Corey in his attempt at following in his father's footsteps, becoming a doctor himself, and just...helping people, like his father. It was that same drive that saw him volunteer his time throughout high school and his two years at Aegis University to charitable causes that were in reach. That was all he wanted to do. And his dad, his mom...they had both had so many wonderful expectations for him based on that, and yet he had...
A finger press into the side of his head broke that thought.
"I know you haven't forgotten your manners," Abby chided as she pulled her finger away
"Good morning," Corey almost muttered after a hard swallow, and his father returned his response with a sad smile. That same piteous thing that had been on the faces of both Mrs. Rebecca, and his mother.
"Come over here, pick out what you want for breakfast," Howard stated kindly, pivoting to allow his wife passage past him, and pointing to the counter just beyond him. Corey's eyes widened at what awaited them. A veritable smorgasbord, with stacks of pancakes, crisp bacon and sausage, toast, eggs, and a bowl of mixed berries. He hadn't seen a breakfast like this since his last visit home, and the sight the delicious food was almost overwhelming. "Anything you want," his father added from behind them.
"Um," Corey sounded, looking over his options. "I'll have a piece of pancake, I guess."
"A piece?" he heard his mother ask above him. Her arm moved underneath him, and with a bit of care he soon found himself held in front of her face, hands grasped securely around his foot-tall body as her eyes looked at him with some curiosity. "Sweetie, just because your aunt finds it cute to watch you nibble on a little piece of her pizza doesn't mean that's going to be the norm here. We have the PMRD, we can size your meals down for you. You know that."
"Why?"
He hadn't quite meant to ask that question out loud, though his self-control obviously wasn't the best at this point. His mother's brow furrowed at the question, and it was clear she didn't care for it.
"Because I told you. You're home. With your family. And all other things considered...you're still a son in this house, Corey. And you'll be fed like one, if nothing else."
"So go ahead," his father encouraged, peaking over Abby's shoulder, "whatever you want, Corey. This breakfast is for you, for your first day back with us, and for your sister on her big day. Eat up, and enjoy it."
Corey considered their words silently for a moment, before swallowing once more.
"Can I have my usual?" he asked, still a bit out of it. His mother smiled.
"Of course. Howard, can you get it for him? I'll go show him his seat."
"I’d be glad to."
With that, his mother was on the move, though still holding him aloft before her. Within a few steps, they were at the breakfast table, and Corey caught himself being lowered onto its surface. And with that, he also noticed the varnished chair that awaited him there - his chair, reduced to be a perfect fit for him, and now placed on the area where he might have formerly received his plate. And with it, an equally reduced glass table - one he recognized as the table that had used to rest on the outside patio - upon which already sat a glass of orange juice. It almost brought upon him a sense of delight, that his place at the table had been preserved for him.
"Have a seat," his mother suggested, and Corey complied.
And just as he had, an enormous plate was placed before him, stacked high with pancakes and lined with bacon and sausage. Atop the syrup-coated pile, a square of butter melted away. A knife and a fork, he finally noticed, also joined the feast before him. Yet before he could appreciate it more, a green flash overtook it, and that feast soon became the size of a regular breakfast meal to him. He watched with some wonder as the two slender fingers approached the tiny plate and gingerly grasped it between them, lifting it up as if it were a prize in a claw game, and then deposited it upon his little table.
"There you go, sweetie," Abby cooed downward.
"Thank you," Corey stated upward. Grasping his knife and fork, he prepared to eagerly dig into the syrupy stack, only to freeze as his ears picked up on a succession of heavy footfalls from the distant stairs that soon quieted, only for them to pick up once more as their cause moved closer and closer. A gust of wind blew at his back as a presence passed behind him, causing him to lightly shudder. His eyes shifted upward from his breakfast as the screech of wooden table leg against tile met his ears. There, to the right of his position at the larger circular table, stood his sister, already in her soccer uniform. Her long black hair was already prepped for the game via being tied back into a pony-tail. As Claire took her seat, her eyes found those of her reduced brother, looking up at her with utmost trepidation. She regarded him coldly, not saying a word as she settled in.
"And what will our other champ be having?" his father called from back toward the buffet, making it no secret as to who he felt would be winning today's game.
"Usual," Claire replied rather simply, lifted her icy gaze from Corey. Suddenly feeling the need for warmth, he took a welcome bite of his pancakes, then another, and a sip from juice.
Another plate soon landed, and Corey's eyes took a furtive glance at his sister's usual breakfast. A short stack of pancakes, topped with fruit, a small selection of eggs, and a few links of sausage. A glass of juice to match his own joined it, and Claire wasted no time in spearing a sausage hunk on her fork. Corey winced, returning to his own breakfast with a mouthful of bacon. He glanced at Claire once again to find her chewing rather quickly on the sausage, her eyes locked upon him in that same chilly manner, and found it best to return his attentions back to his plate.
It didn't take much longer for their parents to join them.
"All ready for the game?" Howard asked between bites.
"As I'll ever be," came the curt response from his sister. Corey could tell that she was as zoned in as ever, as she often was in the time before an important game.
"How's the team looking for it?" Abby inquired before taking a drink of her milk.
"Me and Maggie have our offense covered," came that same curtness, though with a hint of fire behind it this time. "We'll have to."
"Keeper not working out?" came the question from their father.
"She's not Mellie," Claire answered with a shrug, and Corey found himself wondering how much of an indicator of quality that could really be. His sister's friend was the definition of prodigy, and had pretty much dominated every sport she had taken part in during her high school career.
"Well then, you'll just need to support her as much as you can," Abby calmly stated.
"Yeah," Claire replied coolly, back to that cold emotionlessness. The clank of silverware against glass caught his attention, and his eyes wafted up to find that his sister had already devoured her breakfast. That screech of her chair backing away met his ears again, just as she took another look at him, her gaze still a match for her morning mannerisms.
He hated it. It sent his stomach into a tumult, having her look at him so. With renewed shame, he returned to his own half-finished meal.
"I'm gonna go ahead and go," she announced, lifting up her plate and casting one more narrow-eyed glance at him as he faced her again. Corey's fingers wrapped around his silverware in a deathgrip. He didn't like this, this coldness. In some ways it was even worse than the boiling anger that had driven her constant demands to hold him the day before. Now it was as if wasn't...wasn't even worth that. As if he was just something to be quietly disdained as she went about her life.
Yet a part of his being told him that this was just due to the pending game. Claire always got serious as gametime approached, so her demeanor really couldn't be anything new, could it? And, he thought to himself, hadn't he always been able to pierce through that in the past, in the leadup to these important matches?
"C-Claire," he choked out as his sister passed behind him once more, and in the wake of another gust of wind. He heard her pace come to a halt, and took a cautious glance upward. She was staring down at him, of course, no change in her countenance. Just those same cold, narrowed pools. Corey swallowed again, hoping the faint light that was building up within wouldn't become a part of that motion. "G-good luck, at the game," he sputtered out, with the most encouraging voice and smile his pitiful self could manage, and with no lack of genuine care. Because he did want her to do well. He did want her to be safe out on the field, remain healthy. He did want her to win. And her brown eyes regarded him, and he thought he noticed them widen slightly with his well-wishes, as if she might perk up.
Instead, they simply narrowed again.
"Yeah. Thanks."
That chill was still there, stronger than ever, as those two words extinguished whatever little light had built up in that last moment, and Corey turned his attentions back to his plate in defeat. His words of support had always lifted her out of that pre-game seriousness, even if only temporarily. That impenetrable exterior had always melted with delight at his words, a symbol of how highly she thought of his support for her...how much it meant to her.
And yet now, as she went to clean her plate while their parents echoed his sentiment, there was nothing. His words didn't matter, nor apparently did his opinion. She had accepted that he had said them, and nothing else. She just didn't care, now, about his words, about his support.
And why should she?
The words in his head prompted him take another bite of pancakes into his mouth, even as his sister began to leave. It was an excuse to not look up again, to lose himself in his meal and in himself as one last thought came to his mind: That his sister truly did loathe him now.