**Waking**

"Andrew?" 

Her voice warbled out in the darkness, unsure and uncertain. The fear that has gripped her heart when in sleep kept with her in the immediate wakefulness- it made her sharp and alert, fighting effectively against grogginess even after interrupting midway through a sleep cycle.

"Andrew?"

She tried again, maybe a little more desperate his time. Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to down her cheeks. She was careful to not move too much in her bed- what if he had strayed from his futon and was near her? Crawled under her sheets and used her as a mountain? Tickled around her feet as he was wont to do some nights? She didn't want to risk it. Not now. Not after that dream.

Slowly she reached over across the inky black, her memory and cochlear reckonings guiding her hand. It lighted on the switch and she turned it, the flood of light making her squint and press more tears out of her eyes. 

The world came slowly from the white haze and took shape, the shades and shadows filling in like an artist's charcoal sketch in becoming. She saw her bed sheet, wide and white but almost blue spread before her, a solitary half-foot and toes poking out, perhaps a heat sink. She searched hurriedly along the minor expanse but found nothing, to her delighted dismay. 

And then she heard him. 

Oh, how she heard. The tiny snores emitting softy from the bed side on the nightstand, some twigs being sawn apart. Below the lamp on the nightstand lay a printed bed, the handsewn mattress supporting the subject of her small horrors and her fears and her love. Wrapped in a standard blanket that came with the mattress, but yet under was a handsewn two layered microfelt, made by she herself, wrapped around his bantam body and keeping him warm, even in the heat of the Georgian nights. Her breath caught in her throat and swallowed it back down. She wanted more than anything to reach out and pluck him up, hold him to her face and bosom, shower him with a thousand full-lipped kisses- yet she knew she couldn't. Not out of any physical barring, at least- but tact and skill was a requirement, lest she fulfill the somniatic prophecy. 

Her hand stroked his back to wake him. Gentle strokes that had an entire life behind them, from neck to knee. He stirred with a start, a sharp falsetto breath leaping into his lungs. She watched him turn to her and squint his eyes.

"Darc? Babe? What's wrong?" His voice raspy and harsh, even at this size. 

"I had a nightmare."

"Oh." 

A sigh. Perhaps frustration. Maybe relief. 

All of a sudden she felt foolish- to wake him up with that kind of thing, a grown woman no less. And here she was, back in her mid twenties coming  to pine at her boyfriend like some kid. Darcy was a rational creature, neither had any doubt about that, and she could easily discern from dream and reality. But she had thought it real- at the time. The amygdala wreaking havoc in her brain had thought it real, and the muscles and pumping palpitation had all be informed by that perceived realness.

The truth of it notwithstanding, she couldn't shake it. It stuck with her, and made her shiver. 

"Hey babe."

She looked over and saw him sitting up in bed, shed of the blankets he wrapped himself in. No shirt and messy blonde hair (in need of a trim, he had told her). He was looking at her intently, hands on his legs and eyebrow half-cocked in that little way that he did. She felt small under that gaze, despite their size relation. 

"What was your dream? Nightmare?"

She debated making something up. Saying she was being chased or falling or something. Telling the truth might've been okay in the short but not so great in the long run. Would it affect the way he saw her? Not so much a girlfriend but as a hazard? The most vivid and disturbing aspect was that it was entirely plausible. Had she not woken up it would have passed as real.

He called her name out again, and she hesitated, but in the end didn't decide but rather committed to tell him the naked truth. 

"We were having dinner. Or breakfast. I made you chicken and waffles, like a couple nights ago. Remember?"

A half-grin and nod. Details.

"You'd asked me to get some more syrup, and so I got up, and..." She swallowed. "And my hand flew into you, and I knocked you off the table."

"Hm." He nodded, still watching her. Sleep had partly left him and he was more cognizant, it seemed. What his reaction to the dream was lost on her. She waited a second for any sort of emotion but none came. Naught but that intentful and patient gaze.

"It was an accident of course. I wouldn't ever do that to you," she laughed, trying to ease her own mind. "But," she continued, "that wasn't the worst part."

A nod.

"What was?"

Darcy let a heavy sigh out, tears reforming in her eyes as she thought and dread to say it. She didn't want to at all, no, but she had to. She had to let him know. 

"I ran over to look for you, behind the chair. I had hoped you'd fallen on the cushion, but you didn't. You..." She shuddered, that pre-cry sob that came before the release. She looked at him with her browns and her lips quivered. "You were on the ground, and your back was broken. You were screaming. And you... You wouldn't stop. You just kept on and on."

The dam burst and she let her head fall into her hands, her sobs coming in painful lurches. The kind of crying that came from a really bad breakup or terrible news. She brought her knees up to her chest through the blanket, resting her hands and head there.

"I know it was just a dream, I know. But it just... It just seemed so-"

"-seemed so real," he finished with her. "Yeah, I know. I know the feeling." 

Andrew nodded at her and watched the fear etched on her face. He felt like it might've been more than a nightmare. Maybe indicative of something deeper. He got up and grabbed the felt blanket she had made him, heading towards the edge. Darcy, peeking out from her crying position, watched with surprise and not a small bit of fear as he leapt from wooden precipice and onto her mattress.

"Oh," she breathed out, her head rising slightly. He'd never done that before. She sniffled and wiped her nose, about to shift herself to accommodate him and check if he was alright, but... She stopped. Clear as day, she watched him rise up and continue walking towards her, her felt gift still wrapped around him. 

"Pick me up please?"

Darcy wiped her nose and relaxed down, her hand delicately wrapping about the little guy gently. She pulled him up to her chest level and watched him squeeze himself up to free his arms. 

"Closer, please. Your face."

She brought him face level, her wet brown eyes regarding him thoughtfully. He shook his head and smiled sadly. 

"No, Darc. Closer. Your nose."

Darcy complied, bringing him up to her noble and shapely nose. Her brown, and wet, and now perplexed eyes crossed to see him, her heat flush off her brow and face. She felt the air coming through her nose pass by him and made his hair move with the current. 

She saw him reach up, his hand extending and him straining to touch, and cup the wetness below her eye. She felt his hand pass by and on her skin, skimming across and grabbing the tears still under, wiping them off and flipping them away. He did this with one eye, causing her to wonder, and then he did it with the other eye, making her smile wide and in gratitude. 

Once finished and wiped of tears, Andrew then took Darcy by the nose, each hand placing itself on the two and opposite alas. 

He looked her dead in right eye, her dominant, as he understood.

"Darcy. I'm okay." His voice came forth commanding and... Well, if Darcy was being honest with herself, manly. His words resounded in her and tugged at her heart. The big words that came out of his tiny body made her breath stop, the same way it did when her father tried to use his influence to relay something very important to her. 

"Darcy, I am alright. I'm safe. I'm here."

He swallowed and blinked. He was struggling with this next part, she thought, trying to find the right words. 

"I know why the nightmare upset you. It makes sense. I get it, I really do. You don't want to see me hurt. But please understand,"

Her face grew flush, her nose clogged and she felt more hot tears welling under the surface at the lacrimal glands.

"You're not a danger to me. You're not."

A sob erupted from Darcy's throat, and the waterworks began again, streaking down her cheeks. He watched her for a moment, wishing he wasn't diminished. He couldn't stand it sometimes, being small, and this was one of those times. Lack of physical intimacy notwithstanding, he spoke out again.

"I know it scares you- I've noticed you've become more careful in your movements, more deliberate. I reckon you will now more so, after that dream. Darcy, I've never felt in danger with you. I never have. I'm not scared of you, Darcy, and I don't think I ever will be."

He leaned over and planted a kiss on the very tip of her nose. He felt the skin heat up, smooth with a light coating of oil and sweat. The sour tang of makeup remover. Her lower lip quivered, and she laughed, despite herself, and happier tears came squeezing out of squinted eyes. She nodded her head rapidly, her thin lipped smile threatening to overtake her entire face.

The sense of relief came rushing into her, reinforced by the subtle movement of the little man in her hands. She cupped her digits round him and leaned in, planting a wet and eager kiss on his face. He laughed and brushed parting hand on her chin, his fingers scraping her softly.

He cocked his head and yawned, but then regarded her thoughtfully when he found her staring at him.

"Wanna cuddle for a bit?" Asked he.

"Yes."

"Until you fall asleep?"

"Uh huh."

Her fingers wrapped him around, bringing him over to her heart while she shifted away from the penetrative glow of the lamp and lay down lengthwise on the bed. As she released him and he got comfortable, she reached behind to grab her phone, deft fingers unlocking the slide and pulling up Netflix.

"Hey, Andrew."

He looked up from his perched bedding, her unbra-ed breast, and up into her brown eyes. 

"Yes?" The answer came from his blue eyes, his beating heart. His cautious and quaint concern.

She sighed, letting the corner of her mouth peek up into a half-smile. 

"Thanks."