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Story Notes:

This was originally meant to be a one-off chapter in my 'Tales of the SHIV' story. But the chapter ended up longer than I expected, and I couldn't decide on a definitive ending. So, there will probably be a few branching paths.



Coach Matt Garrison paced back and forth across his hotel room, clad only in his gray boxer briefs and a slightly wrinkled T-shirt. His fingers trembled as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and his heart pounded in his chest, not with the usual pre-tournament nerves, but with something far more unsettling. A strange, weightless sensation clung to his body, as if his limbs weren’t quite connected to the ground.

He stopped abruptly, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. His head buzzed with an airy, almost dizzying lightness, like he was on the verge of either floating away or collapsing entirely. Was he coming down with something? A fever, maybe? He hadn’t felt sick earlier, just exhausted from travel, the endless logistics, and the pressure of leading his team into one of the biggest competitions of the season. But there was no time for rest. His girls were waiting downstairs, probably stuffing last-minute snacks into their bags while Hannah, his assistant coach, double-checked that everyone had their uniforms and gear.

His gaze flicked to his phone, lying face-up on the rumpled hotel bed. The screen pulsed with a stream of unread messages. The team group chat was blowing up with last-minute updates, memes, and a barrage of impatient inquiries: Where’s Coach? We’re waiting! Did he fall asleep??

Matt sighed, feeling the pressure mount. He had no time to waste. He turned toward his suitcase, ready to grab his pants and force himself to shake off whatever weird fatigue was settling over him. 

But then the world shifted.

His stomach churned, a wave of nausea spiraling sharply through him as his vision blurred. The room around him seemed to warp and distort, as if reality itself were bending. The walls expanded outward, and the ceiling, once just above his head, seemed to shoot upward into the sky. The air thickened, pressing against his skin with a suffocating weight. He gasped, stumbling forward, hands flailing instinctively as he reached out to steady himself. But there was nothing to hold onto. The ground beneath him began to disappear, falling away into nothingness.

He hit the floor hard. Or at least, what he thought should have been the floor. The sensation didn’t feel right. Instead of the soft hotel carpet, it was... something else. Rough fibers pressed against his skin, biting into him in a way that made his stomach turn. He blinked, disoriented, and fought to push himself up. His limbs trembled, uncooperative and weak, as his body wavered, struggling to steady itself. His eyes fought to adjust, trying to make sense of the bizarre, shifting world around him.

A cold wave of fear washed over him as his surroundings slowly came into focus. The hotel bed loomed above him like a monstrous fortress, its comforter cascading down in massive folds, resembling a sheer cliff that seemed impossible to scale. The TV mounted on the far wall was now distant, its size so vast it felt like it could be miles away. The desk chair, the luggage rack, even his own sneakers near the bathroom door, they weren’t just far away. They were colossal, impossibly large, towering over him like he'd suddenly been thrust into a giant's world.

A sudden realization hit him as his eyes landed on his own clothes, discarded in a heap beside him. His shirt, once a snug fit, now appeared as a massive swath of fabric, bunched up and unfathomably large. The waistband of his underwear alone looked big enough to form a makeshift tent. Panic gripped his chest as he took in the sight of it all. The room hadn’t grown; he had shrunk.

He stumbled to his feet, his tiny legs trembling beneath him. Every muscle in his body shook violently, his heart thumping with raw, unrelenting fear. He was barely an inch tall, maybe even smaller. His mind reeled in shock, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force himself to believe what was happening.

He spun around, eyes locking onto the massive hotel bed. His phone, his only chance at getting help, was sitting atop it, impossibly high above. Even if he made it to the bed, even if he somehow scaled the blanket, the phone itself was enormous, its touchscreen now an unmovable slab of glass.

But he had to try to get help. There was no other choice. Desperation surged through him as he cupped his hands around his mouth, inhaled deeply, and screamed as loud as he could.

Nothing. 

His voice came out as a pathetic squeak, barely a whisper even to himself. His breath hitched, his tiny chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow gasps as panic settled over him. He was trapped, he was completely alone, and no one had the faintest idea where he was. 

Then, without warning, the door swung open, the sound a deafening creak to Matt’s tiny ears. His body stiffened, every muscle locking into place as two towering figures stepped into the room, their enormous silhouettes blotting out the warm yellow light spilling in from the hall. He barely had time to react before the first colossal foot slammed down onto the carpeted floor, followed by another, each step shaking the ground beneath him. It was Hannah, accompanied by Jasmine, one of the players. But to Matt, they weren’t just women anymore. They were titans.

His gaze snapped to the pair of black Nike trainers that crashed down just a few feet away, each one a mountain of smooth, textured mesh. His eyes drifted upward, past the snug cuff of her black ankle socks, where a sliver of tanned skin peeked out before disappearing under the tight, athletic fit of her gray leggings. His eyes traced higher, crossing the navy-blue club jacket zipped snugly over her torso, until they reached her face. 

Hannah’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression a mask of irritation and confusion. Her sharp, well-defined eyebrows furrowed together, deepening the crease between them as her caramel brown ponytail bobbed slightly with her movements. She exhaled sharply through her nose, the subtle flare of her nostrils giving away her growing impatience as her eyes swept the room.

“I swear, he was supposed to meet us downstairs fifteen minutes ago.” Hannah muttered, her voice a rumbling force from the heavens. She crossed her arms, fingers tapping against her bicep in irritation. “And his phone? Straight to voicemail. This doesn’t make any sense.”

Before Matt could even process her words, a second quake rippled through the ground, causing him to stumble backwards. His stomach flipped as he looked up at Jasmine, the towering volleyball player standing just beside Hannah. Her thick white crew socks hugged her calves, scrunching slightly at her ankles as they disappeared into an enormous pair of casual white Crocs. The soft, molded plastic flexed slightly with her movements, emitting a faint creak as she adjusted her stance.

His gaze continued upward, past her smooth, pale legs to her toned thighs, partially obscured by the hem of her navy-blue volleyball shorts. The crisp white jersey she wore clung just enough to highlight her form, its fabric slightly creased from where the strap of her duffle bag rested on her shoulder. She toyed idly with the strap as she sighed, her chocolate-brown hair, neatly braided down her back, swaying slightly when she turned her head.

“He’s probably just playing another prank on us.” She mused, though a hint of concern flickered in her voice. She lifted one foot slightly before setting it back down with a heavy thud. The impact rattled Matt’s bones, and he instinctively clutched at the ground. From his perspective, her Croc-clad foot was a rubber behemoth, each subtle shift sending tremors rippling through the ground. His heart pounded. One careless step, just one, and he’d be nothing more than an unrecognizable smear beneath her sole. “Should we check the bathroom?”

Hannah exhaled sharply, her frustration palpable, before she turned toward the bathroom and peered inside. She paused for a moment, scanning every corner, then stepped back out, hands firmly placed on her hips. “Nothing. It’s like he just... vanished.” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and began to scan the room, her eyes darting from one spot to another, as if expecting to find some hidden clue or sign that might explain his sudden disappearance.

Jasmine frowned. “Maybe he went to get coffee and lost track of time?”

Matt watched helplessly, knowing full well they would never find him unless they realized he had shrunk. He waved his arms frantically, screaming at the top of his lungs, but to the two towering women, his cries were nothing more than faint whispers lost to the air.

Jasmine shifted her weight and took a step toward the nightstand, her Croc-clad foot slamming down just inches from Matt. The force of the impact sent a blast of air his way, nearly toppling him over. Realizing the danger, he knew he had to act fast. This was his only chance. His eyes locked onto the Croc. The distinctive holes in the rubber were large enough for him to squeeze through. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a way to hitch a ride. And if he could just get on, maybe he could find a way to get her attention.

Summoning every ounce of strength, he took off. His tiny legs pumped furiously as he sprinted across the vast stretch of carpet, launching himself onto the massive rubber surface. He scrambled up, his fingers struggling to find purchase on the slick material, but desperation kept his grip tight. With one last, desperate push, he wedged himself through one of the round holes and collapsed inside, panting with exhaustion.

Instantly, a wave of humid air swallowed him, thick with the mingling scents of rubber and body heat. A faint, salty tang of sweat clung to the air, not overpowering but unmistakable, seeping into his lungs with every shallow breath. Just beside him, the massive wall of her sock loomed, a white expanse of thick cotton that seemed to shift with her every movement. The fabric stretched and flexed as her foot adjusted, sending waves of trapped heat out into the air. It was stifling, almost suffocating. Yet, as unbearable as the conditions were, it was safer than being crushed underfoot out in the open.

Above him, Hannah paced, her irritation growing. Every thunderous footstep sent tremors through the floor. “We don’t have time to wait around.” she said, her voice edged with frustration. “We need to get to the tournament. If he’s not back by the time we leave... we’ll just have to go without him.”

Matt tensed as Jasmine shifted. Her foot tilted slightly, and he felt himself slide deeper into the shoe, his tiny body slipping further along the curve of the rubber sole. Above him, Jasmine merely shrugged. “Yeah, we really should get going.”

And then, she stepped forward. The moment her foot lifted, gravity shifted violently. Matt’s stomach lurched as the sudden movement sent him tumbling backward, rolling across the rubber sole. Before he could react, Jasmine’s foot slammed back down. The impact rattled through his bones, the force pinning him against the curved insole, crushing the air from his lungs for a split second. He gasped, scrambling for anything to hold onto.

The thick cotton sock was his only option. Without thinking, he latched onto the nearest fold in the fabric. His fingers sank into the damp fibers as he pulled himself up, his tiny limbs trembling with exertion. The scent of sweat clung to the material, strong but bearable, mingling with the lingering rubbery odor of the Croc itself. He didn’t care. He just had to stay above the sole. If he slipped down, there would be no saving him.

He dug his knees into the fabric and began climbing, his body bouncing with each step Jasmine took. Every time her foot lifted, he tightened his grip, holding on for dear life as she moved. The motion was relentless, an endless cycle of ascent and abrupt, crushing descent.

Then, everything changed. Instead of the predictable rhythm of walking, there was a sudden incline, steeper than before. Jasmine’s foot lifted much higher this time, the motion slower, more deliberate. Matt barely had time to register the shift before a loud metallic clang rang out. A low murmur of voices followed, the distant hum of conversation echoing through the enclosed space.

She had stepped onto the bus. The chaos of movement finally ceased as Jasmine lowered herself into a seat. Her foot adjusted slightly, angling to a more relaxed position, giving Matt a brief reprieve from the constant jolts. He clung to the sock, his breathing ragged, his tiny muscles burning from the strain of staying in place.

Around him, he could hear the rest of the team settling in. Bags thudded against the floor, laughter rippled through the air, and snippets of conversation filled the space above. Some girls chatted about the upcoming tournament, while others joked about the possibility of their coach getting lost in the hotel lobby. For the first time since shrinking, Matt felt a flicker of relief. At least the constant walking had stopped. 

But his relief was short-lived. He was still inside Jasmine’s shoe, still trapped against the burning heat of her foot, still one wrong move away from a horrific fate. If she shifted too suddenly, if someone accidentally stepped on her foot, if she decided to kick off her Crocs and shake out whatever phantom itch she felt inside, he was done for. He needed a plan. And fast.

A sudden motion yanked him from his thoughts. Jasmine fidgeted in her seat, and Matt was abruptly reminded of just how precarious his position truly was. She tapped her Crocs together absentmindedly, the motion shaking the entire world around him. He tried to adjust his grip on her sock, shifting higher to avoid the flattening pressure of her foot as it pressed into the Croc.

Then, laughter.

A loud, unexpected burst of it from one of the players startled Jasmine, and her whole leg jerked. The sudden shift nearly sent Matt tumbling. His fingers dug desperately into the soft fibers, his body drenched in sweat, both his own and the accumulated warmth of her foot. His arms ached from clinging on for dear life, but he had no choice. Letting go meant tumbling down to where her toes flexed and scrunched absentmindedly, a horrifying prospect he refused to entertain.

Above him, the conversation continued, utterly oblivious to the tiny man trapped below.

“Hey, Jasmine, you ready to dominate today?” one of the players playfully teased.

“Of course.” Jasmine responded, and though Matt couldn’t see her face from his cramped position, he could hear the smug grin in her tone. “Hope Coach Matt’s not too mad about us leaving without him. I still can’t believe he didn’t show up.”

“Yeah, seriously, what’s up with that? He’s never late.” another girl chimed in.

Matt gritted his teeth in frustration. He wanted to scream, to jump, to wave his arms wildly, anything to make them notice. But it was futile. His voice was nothing but a pathetic whisper in the grand scheme of their world. From inside Jasmine’s shoe, he might as well be a speck of dust.

Jasmine’s foot flexed again, and Matt felt the terrifying slip of his grip. His heart pounded as he began to slide downward. His tiny fingers scrambled against the sock fibers, but the damp cotton offered little traction. He was falling. Down, down toward her massive toes, which pressed idly into the Croc’s sole as she shifted. A horrifying image flashed through his mind: his tiny body caught beneath the overwhelming weight of her toes, flattened and smothered under the heat and pressure. He had to move, and fast.

Summoning all his strength, he kicked and pulled himself upward, gripping the sock with renewed desperation. Every muscle in his minuscule body screamed in protest, but he managed to crawl his way up, inch by grueling inch, toward the small space where her ankle met the top of the Croc. It was cramped, but there was less pressure here, a small haven from the constant shifting of her foot.

Panting, he forced himself to stay still, to catch his breath. The low hum of the bus’s engine thrummed beneath him, vibrating through the air like a distant drum. The entire situation was surreal. He was a grown man, a volleyball coach, now reduced to clinging to the sock of one of his players, riding along unnoticed as if he were nothing more than a speck of lint.

As he tried to regain his composure, a sudden movement from Jasmine sent a tremor through his body. A rush of cooler air hit him as she slid her feet out of her Crocs. His heart raced as he clung to the soft fibers of her sock, his fingers tightening instinctively. He was no longer confined in the stifling space of her shoe, but that didn’t mean he was safe. If anything, this was an even more vulnerable position.

Jasmine shifted again, pulling her legs up onto the bus seat, tucking them sideways. Matt’s world jolted as she propped her feet flat on the cushion, her towering form settling into a more relaxed posture. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he managed to crane his neck upward and see beyond the vast expanse of her foot. His tiny chest heaved as he took in the colossal sight of her looming face in the distance, her dark eyes focused downward. This was it. This was his chance. He had to be seen. He would be seen.

But his heart plummeted. Jasmine wasn’t looking at her feet. She wasn’t even remotely aware of him. Her attention was fully consumed by the glow of her phone screen, her thumb lazily flicking upward as she scrolled, completely oblivious to the desperate, microscopic figure clinging to the top of her sock.

A strangled groan of frustration tore from Matt’s throat. His voice was nothing more than a pathetic whisper against the ambient hum of the bus, drowned out by the chatter of the other girls. He waved his arms frantically, jumping up and down with every ounce of strength he had left.

“Jasmine! Down here! Look at your damn foot!” he screamed.

Jasmine didn’t react. Her gaze remained fixed on whatever mindless content had captured her interest, her expression relaxed and distant.

Panic threatened to take hold, but Matt forced himself to think. If Jasmine wasn’t going to notice him… maybe someone else would. With a desperate gulp, he turned his head, scanning the bus aisle, eyes darting over the enormous figures around him. His gaze locked onto another player sitting just across from Jasmine and hope flickered in his chest.

Amber. She was hard to miss. Tall and tanned, her brunette hair shimmered with golden highlights, tied back into a loose ponytail that swayed slightly as she shifted in her seat. Her athletic build was accentuated by the snug fit of her team jacket, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She lounged casually in her seat, one leg stretched out across the cushion, the other planted on the floor. If she even so much as glanced forward, just a quick flick of her eyes toward Jasmine, she might see him. She had to see him.

Matt didn’t hesitate. He waved his arms wildly, screaming as loud as his tiny lungs would allow. “Amber! Look over here! Please!”

His voice was hoarse, his throat raw, but he didn’t stop. He jumped, flailed, did anything he could to make himself noticeable.

But just like Jasmine… Amber didn’t look. She sat, entirely at ease, her eyes locked onto the screen of her phone. White earbuds were nestled firmly in her ears, drowning out the world around her. Matt’s stomach twisted as the realization settled in. He was right there. Right in front of them. And still… utterly invisible.

He felt himself slipping into despair. The bus rumbled beneath him, and the vibrations of the road sent tiny shudders up through Jasmine’s legs. Her foot flexed slightly, and suddenly, she shifted once more.

Before Matt could react, her leg lifted. The motion sent a violent tilt through his world as she crossed one leg over the other, resting her ankle on her knee. The sudden incline made his entire body dangle precariously from her sock, his fingers digging desperately into the cotton as gravity pulled at him with merciless force. He barely stifled a terrified gasp as his tiny body swayed in the open air.

Jasmine, oblivious to the microscopic man clinging for dear life, absentmindedly fidgeted. She lazily bounced her foot in the air, her socked toes flexing slightly as she swung her leg. Each motion sent Matt swinging right along with it, his already strained muscles screaming in protest. His heart pounded against his ribs as he squeezed his eyes shut. If he let go now, he’d plummet to the seat below, or worse, the floor, where he could be lost forever, stepped on, or even accidentally kicked into the depths of the bus.

He gritted his teeth, wrapping his arms even tighter around the sock’s fibers, his fingers aching from the relentless strain. He couldn’t afford to loosen his hold. His muscles burned, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

Jasmine let out a quiet sigh, shifting her position ever so slightly. Matt’s blood ran cold as her foot brushed against the edge of the seat. His entire body went rigid. If she rubbed her foot against the cushion, if she so much as scraped it absentmindedly, he’d be peeled away like lint. His hope was fading fast. The only thing keeping him from falling to his doom was the very sock that had been tormenting him this entire ride. And Jasmine had no idea he was even there. His arms trembled violently. His grip was failing.

He shut his eyes tight, forcing himself to hold on just a little longer. Someone had to notice him. Someone had to see him before it was too late. But as Jasmine’s foot continued to dangle effortlessly in the air, swaying with each small movement, the truth loomed over him. How much longer could he last? He needed to be noticed, now, before his strength gave out.

Then, he heard movement behind him. A rustling of fabric. A subtle shift in weight. And then—

“Hey, Jasmine, check this out.”

The voice was loud, casual, cutting through the low hum of the bus engine. Matt froze, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. That was Maddie, one of the other volleyball players, seated directly behind Jasmine. He could hear her leaning forward, her voice laced with intrigue as she held out her phone. He twisted his head, struggling to turn enough to see, but all he could do was listen.

Maddie tilted her phone toward Jasmine, the glow from the screen briefly illuminating both their faces. “Have you heard about this shrinking disease? It’s all over the news.”

Matt’s breath caught in his throat. This was it. This was his chance. If they were talking about shrinking, maybe, just maybe, they’d put two and two together.

Jasmine let out a short laugh, barely glancing up from her own phone. “Oh my God, are you serious? You actually believe that stuff?” She shook her head, her foot bouncing slightly as she spoke, sending Matt jolting downward before he caught himself again.

Maddie shrugged. “I mean, it’s not just some random TikTok thing. People have actually been going missing. And they’re saying it’s not normal missing-person cases, either. They’re just gone. Like, their clothes are left behind, but no sign of them anywhere.”

Matt’s pulse pounded against his skull. His tiny fists clenched tighter. This was real. It was happening to people. To him.

Jasmine snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, because they probably just left their clothes somewhere and dipped. Or it’s some elaborate prank.” She shook her head again. “C’mon, you really think people are just shrinking? That’s straight-up sci-fi movie crap.”

Matt grit his teeth, rage bubbling inside him. He was right here, hanging off the very sock of the girl dismissing the entire idea.

“Okay, but—” Maddie scrolled through her phone, bringing up another post. “Look, there was a dude in New York who supposedly shrunk right in front of his girlfriend. She said one second he was standing there, and then boom, he was like, an inch tall. And he got lost before she could even react.”

Jasmine let out a laugh. “That’s so fake. Probably a staged video or something. You really think people are just randomly shrinking? Like, what? I could just—” she gestured vaguely at herself, “—poof! Turn into a doll-size version of me?”

Maddie rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to believe it, but I think it’s weird how many people have disappeared the same way. Like, what if it’s actually real?”

Jasmine waved her off. “Please. If people were actually shrinking, we’d know by now. The government would be all over that.” She smirked. “Besides, if someone did shrink, what are they supposed to do? Scream for help?” She giggled. “No one would hear them.”

Matt let out a bitter, breathless laugh of his own. There he was, a shrunken man, her very own coach, clinging to her sock for dear life, literally screaming for help not long ago. And she had no idea.

Jasmine leaned back in her seat, still amused. “Honestly, if someone shrank, they’d probably get stuck somewhere stupid, like under a couch, or—” she wiggled her foot absently, flexing her toes, “—inside a shoe or something.”

Matt barely stifled a yelp as her foot shifted, the movement nearly peeling him away from the sock. His grip faltered for a split second before he managed to cling tighter, every muscle in his body burning from exertion.

Maddie chuckled. “Okay, okay, fine. You don’t believe it. But if I wake up one day and find you missing, I’m gonna assume you shrank and got lost in your own laundry.”

Jasmine smirked. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. If I shrink, just promise me you won’t step on me.”

Matt shuddered at the joke, his stomach twisting violently. If only she knew how close she already was to doing just that.

The conversation drifted after that, Maddie switching topics to something about their upcoming tournament, and Jasmine following along as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, Matt dangled helplessly from her sock, the cruel reality of his situation hitting him all over again.

Even when the topic was literally about shrinking, even when they joked about it happening inside a shoe, they still didn’t put two and two together. Matt was right there. Struggling. Clinging. Screaming. And yet, to them, he was nothing. A speck. Invisible. And if something didn’t change soon, he might stay that way forever.

His tiny body shuddered as Jasmine finally uncrossed her legs, her socked foot descending from its swaying perch and settling firmly onto the seat. The wild, stomach-churning motion stopped at last. He could finally breathe, finally take a moment to recover. His arms ached, his fingers burned from gripping the cotton for so long, and his entire body was drenched in sweat from exertion and the lingering warmth of her foot.

He collapsed against the soft fabric of her sock, chest heaving. This was his chance. Her foot was still. If he could get her attention now, if she just looked down, she’d finally see him. She couldn't ignore him forever. Sooner or later, she would notice. She had to.

But before he could so much as open his mouth, a massive force slammed into him from above. The impact was instantaneous, crushing him deep into the plush surface of Jasmine’s sock. His lungs emptied in a strangled, breathless gasp as every inch of his body was squeezed at once. His ribs compressed, his limbs locked in place, his world reduced to heat, cotton, and unrelenting pressure.

Jasmine had absentmindedly rubbed her other foot on top of him. Thick layers of warm cotton swallowed him whole, pressing into his face, chest, and legs. The heat of her body soaked into him, trapping him in a humid prison of fabric and sweat. The pressure wasn’t unbearable, not yet, but it was all-consuming. The weight of both feet held him firmly in place, a minuscule bug caught between two moving walls of soft, sweltering cotton. He was utterly trapped, his body sinking into the soft warmth of the socks as Jasmine mindlessly moved her feet against each other.

His muffled screams were useless. The fabric muffled everything, turning his cries into nothing more than the faintest vibrations. And worse, she wasn’t even pressing down hard. This was just idle fidgeting, an unconscious motion as she lazily rubbed her feet together. If she put any real force into it, he’d be flattened.

Matt squirmed, trying to free himself, but every movement only made his situation worse. The thick cotton fibers clung to him, surrounding him in their oppressive warmth, and every tiny struggle was swallowed by the sheer massiveness of her feet. He could hear Jasmine’s voice above, still chatting away with Maddie, completely oblivious to the tiny man currently trapped between her feet. He fought harder, trying to push himself free, but Jasmine’s foot simply shifted again, rolling over him slightly, pressing him deeper into the fold of the fabric. 

This isn’t happening, he thought desperately. This cannot be happening.

He was a coach. A full-grown man. He was supposed to be leading his team to victory right now, not getting casually smothered between the socked feet of one of his own players.

And yet, here he was. Jasmine’s foot pressed down slightly, adjusting position, and for a terrifying moment, the pressure increased. Matt let out a strangled gasp, barely able to expand his lungs under the weight. Then, just as quickly as it came, the pressure lightened again as she shifted. His mind raced. He had to get out of this. He couldn’t just wait and hope she noticed him. He had to force her to feel him, had to make himself known.

Summoning every last ounce of strength in his tiny, exhausted body, he twisted desperately and sank his teeth into the cotton of Jasmine’s sock. Would she feel it? Would she finally notice? Or was he truly, utterly helpless?

He bit down harder, his jaw aching, his teeth scraping against the thick fabric. The fibers pressed against his tongue, dry and slightly damp in places from residual sweat. He clenched his eyes shut, willing the pain to register, pleading for some kind of reaction. But to his horror… Nothing. Not even a flinch. The sock was simply too thick. Any tiny, insignificant sensation his bite might have caused was absorbed by the dense weave of cotton before it could ever reach her skin. To Jasmine, he was nothing. Just a speck, a stray thread caught in her sock, an invisible, meaningless presence beneath her feet.

Matt’s body ached, crushed beneath the relentless warmth and weight of her absentminded fidgeting. The heat was suffocating, a stifling pocket of stale air thick with the scent of well-worn cotton and faint traces of foot sweat. He tried again to push himself free, anything to break loose, but every feeble effort was met with another shift of her foot, pressing him down all over again. He was trapped. Helpless. Invisible.

Then, suddenly, the movement stopped. A deep vibration rumbled through the seat beneath them, rattling every bone in Matt’s tiny body. The entire bus shuddered, and the familiar feeling of deceleration rippled through the floor. The steady hum of the tires against the pavement faded, giving way to the occasional bump as the bus eased toward its stop.

Excited voices erupted around him, an unmistakable buzz of anticipation filling the air. The girls began shuffling, stretching stiff limbs, slinging bags over their shoulders as the familiar hiss of brakes cut through the noise. The bus let out a final, jolting lurch, rocking them all slightly forward as it came to a full stop. The engine groaned, settling into idleness, the rhythmic pulse of the tires falling into silence. They had arrived.

Matt barely had time to process this before Jasmine’s feet moved again. The crushing weight of her other foot lifted, peeling away at last. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, light flooded his vision. The pressure vanished, and with it, the overwhelming heat. A rush of cool, fresh air surged in, hitting his sweat-drenched body. His skin prickled at the sudden contrast, his lungs heaving, desperate to breathe freely again.

His breaths came in ragged, shuddering gasps, his tiny chest rising and falling erratically. His muscles twitched, every nerve still screaming from the relentless compression he had endured. His arms felt weak, his legs barely responding. But he had seconds, mere seconds, before she moved again. This was his chance. If he could just move, if he could just—

But Jasmine shifted. His stomach plummeted as her foot lifted off the seat, taking him with it. His battered body, still clinging weakly to the damp fibers of her sock, was dragged upward with the motion. He had no control, no way to fight back against the sheer force of her movements. And then, before he could react, she slid her foot straight back into her Croc.

The descent was immediate. Gravity wrenched him downward, his weakened limbs flailing uselessly as her foot slid inside, dragging him with it. He tumbled helplessly, plummeting toward the rubber abyss. With a muffled thud, his tiny form collapsed in a crumpled heap atop the curve of her foot. And then, before he could even attempt to move, she settled in completely.

The rubber walls of the Croc sealed shut around him, trapping him once more in the humid, enclosed space. The last remnants of cool, fresh air were snuffed out, replaced instantly by the sweltering heat of her foot reclaiming its territory. The air thickened, growing stuffy, stagnant, drenched in the lingering scent of warm cotton and the faint musk of sweat. He barely had time to register his predicament before his entire world shifted again.

Jasmine stood up. 

His stomach flipped, his tiny hands grasping frantically at the sock’s thick fabric, clinging for dear life as she threw her bag over her shoulder. The bus doors hissed open, and a rush of outside air flooded in, bringing with it the sharp contrast of the crisp, open world beyond.

For a fleeting moment, cool air filtered through the ventilation holes of her Croc, seeping in, swirling weakly around him. It was a cruel tease, a brief whisper of freshness against the overwhelming heat still radiating from her foot. The relief was minimal, barely reaching him before it was smothered by the lingering warmth trapped within the shoe. Circulation existed, yes, but it wasn’t nearly enough. The air inside remained thick, damp, and tainted with the faint, ever-present scent of worn cotton and residual sweat.

One by one, the team filed out onto the pavement, stepping into the bustling tournament venue, their voices buzzing with excitement. Matt could hear everything: the echoing chatter of athletes, the squeak of sneakers against polished gym floors, the distant whistle of a referee. But to him, it all felt distant, warped, muffled by the massive, oppressive walls of Jasmine’s Croc.

He was inside, deep inside, swallowed up by her footwear, just another unnoticed presence at her feet. He wanted to scream, to thrash and beg for help. But it was useless. No one could hear him in here. No one even knew he was missing. And as Jasmine stepped forward, her Croc clapping against the ground with every heavy footfall, Matt could do nothing but brace himself, helpless, as she carried him deeper into the chaos of the tournament.

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