(Emily’s P.O.V)

Getting the fact that Andrew Lawson is an actual human being and not some made up cartoon is hard to take in fully. Particularly since the tiny guy, the guy who was rumoured to have emerged from the neck of Andrew himself is also one hundred percent legitimate. He’s standing on my desk now, for Christ’s sake! I have to hope I’m not going mad, like my sister once was.

I try to remember the Andrew Lawson from my past. Back when he and Megan were a ‘thing’, my life practically evolved around hospital visits and operations. My sister’s love life was quite frankly the least of my worries. I wasn’t that social, back in my early teens. But there is one memory that stands out amongst the others. Megan’s fourteenth birthday party. Andrew had always been a fraction younger than my sister, but neither he nor she minded. I guess it was just another strike of teenage love.

I’d gone to that birthday party, complete with the countless medical stands, IV poles and tubes surrounding me. My body was at its worst at that point, and my life counted solely on a hospital bed, a scalpel and my last resort, which was to have a permanent, surgically implanted NJ tube woven into the pit of my stomach. At the time, my stomach was bony, malnourished and stitch free. That didn’t mean my arms weren’t. Needles of all sizes had jutted from my arms, pumping liquids into my body so that it was healthy enough to survive the surgery.  

Andrew had stood beside my sister as the cake was cut. He was much shorter then and his muscles less pronounced. He draped his arm around Megan’s shoulders and whispered something in her ear while she blew out the candles. Megan had smiled widely and threw her arms around his neck.

I wonder if Andrew truly loved her. When she kissed him, did he feel anything? My eyes wander from the screen of the computer to his tiny form. He doesn’t feel it, anyway, stupid. I think. He lives in a freaking robot. It’s on his bed, for god’s sake!

I hit enter on the keyboard, the computer’s screen instantly loading up images of the Andrew Lawson Disorder. I’ve seen these photos, drawings and quotes too often to be natural, but I have a feeling the tiny guy hasn’t.

“Oh shit.” He mutters under his breath. Andrew Lawson’s tiny face pales. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his navy hoody. His eyes skim across picture after picture, taking them in. That’s because every photo which pops up under the Andrew Lawson Disorder is a splitting image of his perfect face. “That’s me, right?” He peers at each photo, taking in the porcelain features, gleaming yellow eyes and fuzzy brown hair of his face. “How long have these photos been up?”

I shrug lightly, running the mouse over one of the pictures. It’s a photo of a capital ‘A’ drawn in curly yellow writing. Inside the ‘A’ is a second, smaller letter drawn in the centre of the triangular arch. The website reads: ‘Andrew Lawson Support Centre.’ “These have been up ever since Megan.” I say softly. Andrew lets out a small groan. He takes a step back and sits down hard onto the edge of the keyboard and buries his head in his hands.

“They know who I am.” I barely catch his words.

I find myself feeling sorry for the tiny guy. Judging from the rumours going around about his assistance, Andrew Lawson has never had a place to call home. He’s been around Australia on foot, away from his old life. He’d told a few of his girlfriends that his parents thought he’d died. Andrew Lawson has no one in his life that has been permanent. He travels to often to have that opportunity.

And now he’s here, in my dorm. Sobbing softly into his palms, his tiny frame shaking. I feel a sudden urge to reach out and… what could I do? Pat his head with my finger? Rub his back? I bunch the hand in my lap into a fist. He’d probably think I was some kind of mother figure. Taking a deep breath, I decide to try a safer approach.

“Are you okay?” I ask. Talk about ‘safer’, Emily… you probably just broke the freaking record for phenomenal comforting strategies…

Andrew wipes a few stray tears off his cheeks with his sweater sleave. He stands up slowly and turns around to face me. His bright yellow eyes shimmer a little, but he’s so small that I really can’t tell if he’s even crying at all anymore. He stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets.

“It’s two in the morning.” He says quietly, not meeting my eyes. “I should go.” I open my mouth to speak but no sound comes out. My throat clogs up with unstrung sentences. Andrew hesitates, shuffling on his feet. “Um… thanks for this.” He says. “For… well, not screaming.”

“It’s a nice change.” He mutters as he begins walking towards the edge of the desk. He bends down, ready to jump.

“Holy shit- wait!!!” I yelp suddenly, the words flying from my mouth like water shooting from the cracks in a bucket. I sway forward in my seat, stretching out my hand. As Andrew jumps, I catch him shakily in the palm of my hand. The tiny guy stiffens at the last minute, landing awkwardly in a crouch. He snaps into standing instantly, balancing in the centre of my hand. If I hadn’t been looking, I wouldn’t have felt him standing there. He must be so light…

“Okay.” Andrew says suddenly, almost making me jump on the spot. He sidesteps awkwardly to his left and leaps back onto the polished wooden desk. “That was a little unexpected.”

I’m surprised at how unfazed he is to my rash movements. He retains the same calm façade as he faces me from the edge of the desk. Geeze. If I were tiny then I’d be pretty freaked out. As an afterthought I reel back, shoving my hand into my lap. My cheeks heat up almost instantly. “I-I-I’m sorry.” I say. “I thought you were going to jump.”

Andrew smiles faintly. “I was.”

I try my best in scaling up the height between the desk and the ground below. “But that’s like… a fifty or so storey drop!” I say.

“Erm yes… I’m used to heights.” He points across the room to his bed, occupied by the currently headless robot/human or whatever it is. “I’ve lived in that for the past four years.” He says.

“B-b-b-but… I mean, you were going to die!” I exclaim, my eyes darting from the edge of the desk to the ground.

Andrew simply shrugs. “I wouldn’t have died. I’m pretty light, compared to a human, so gravity doesn’t really affect me.” To demonstrate, Andrew squats down a little and jumps, rising at least thirty centimetres off the desk. It’s barely a jump to me, but to someone that size… It’d be like jumping ten or so meters into the air. Andrew hits the ground again, barely making a noise. 

“That’s awesome!” I grin, causing the tiny guy to blush a little and shrug.

“It can be fun.” He says.

“So…” I say. “Are the rumours true, then?”

Andrew flinches at the question. “Which ones? I know there’ve been quite a few…”

“You know…” I say awkwardly. “The one where you date a girl and at the last minute, come out of that… robot’s head.”

It takes Andrew a while to find his voice. It’s barely a croak when he does. “Listen, I wanted to apologise for Megan. I was just freaking out about my curse and wanted to return to normal so I went to Ipswich and hooked up with the first girl I met…”

I raise a hand slowly and he clamps his mouth shut. “It’s cool.” I sigh. “Is it real though? Like, the head part?”

Andrew’s shoulders slump like a deflating balloon. “Yeah. That’s all true.” He mumbles… and lets out a long, droning yawn. I giggle a little, and he perks up slightly. “What? You’ve kept me up till two thirty in the morning! I’m tired!”

“Do you… sleep in that robot?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“Is it comfortable?”

“Nope.” He laughs. “I miss sleeping in a human bed…”

“Well.” I say, taking it slow, so that I can get my head around what I’m saying. “You don’t have to hide in that thing, if you’re sick of it…. I know your secret now…”

“That’s a long shot, Emily.” Andrew sighs, running his hand down the back of his neck. “I really hate staying outside for too long…”

“Outside?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Andrew takes a moment to realise what I’ve just asked. “Ohhh. Sorry, I meant the robot.” He says. “Although I call it Andrew Jr. these days.”

“Well that’s random.”

“I guess that’s just my personality.” He smiles.

“Well, we randoms gotta stick together then!” I declare.

“That was random.” Andrew says, yawning halfway through the statement.

“It was.” I say, standing up. I hesitate, wondering what to say or what to do. Should I just leave him here and go back to bed? Or should I… Should I do what I wanted to do… Oh god that’s an embarrassing thing to want…

“You going to bed?” Andrew asks warily from the desk. I stiffen, my thoughts shattering like glass. My inner yearnings slip away. I nod, gripping my IV pole for support as I stretch my legs. I watch the tiny guy for a minute, unsure. He seems just as awkward. At least we have one thing in common. Finally, I sigh in defeat.

“I don’t want to impose on your routine or anything, but do you want me to take you back to your… Andrew Jr.?” I ask, biting my lip to stop myself choking up air.

“That’d be nice.” Andrew smiles.

Okay, Emily. He said yes. See? That wasn’t so hard, asking if you can pick up a little dude…

Gripping my pole with one hand, I place the other palm up in front of him. Andrew stays still for a moment, before letting out a small sigh and stepping up and into my hand. His tiny feet pad across my palm, before he settles down into the centre with his legs crossed. Careful not to startle him or anything, I raise my hand up off the desk and hobble over to bed.

“Talk about Nazaree service!” Andrew says happily as I bend down so that he can step lightly back onto the mattress of his bed. Just as he’s reaching for a button on the side of his robot’s severed neck, he freezes. “Did I just say that?”

I straighten up, practically towering over the tiny guy. Andrew flinches. “What’s a Nazaree?” I ask, confused.

Andrew moves away from the robot, Andrew Jr. He plonks himself down at the edge of the bed and sighs.

“Are you tired?” He asks.

“No.” I answer, before adding. “Feeds make too much noise to let me sleep.” My IV whirs as if in approval.

“Good.” Andrew says softly. “I would lie down if I was you.”

“Why?”

I sit down in my bed, lying back against the pillow. Andrew straightens up from his own bed, his tiny body barely visible in the moonlight. “Because I’m going to tell you a story.” He says.

“About?”

The tiny guy’s shoulders slump. “About a Nazaree.”

“About me.”