Chapter Text
Zach woke to the pleasant warmth of early morning sun on his face, sighing contentedly. He wriggled down further into the clean-smelling sheets even as he allowed the bright birdsong outside the window to bring him more fully awake. Lifting his arms from under the covers, he stretched languidly, rolling over onto his back – and then immediately tensed at the sensation of a small, warm body struggling beneath him.
“What the – Harold!” he exclaimed, sitting up. But his cat lay at the foot of the bed where he usually took up space, blinking at Zach sleepily.
“Harold?“ Zach gaped at the animal.
“Hey man,” a small, outraged voice protested behind him, and Zach looked over at Chris – except Chris was not there in the bed beside him.
Zach glanced around the room. “Babe?”
The sound of struggling beneath the covers got his attention, and he looked on in fascinated horror as a small lump began to move around beneath the covers. He’d seen enough horror movies to know he didn't want to wait to find out what it was, so he threw the covers back – and found himself staring down at a tiny version of his boyfriend.
“The hell?!” Chris yelled.
Zach blinked, astonished. Chris was on his knees, naked, and appeared to have been shrunken down to a height of eleven or twelve inches. He was nestled amid the folds of the t-shirt he’d worn to bed, fists resting on his hips, and glaring up at Zach. “Chris?”
Chris’s anger quickly diminished as realization dawned. He looked around himself, at the relative mountain of bedding piled beside him and at Zach looming over him, then fainted dead away.
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“Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up,” Zach urged as he leaned over Chris’s limp form on the bed, pressing gently on his tiny shoulder and wondering if any kind of CPR might be necessary and how, exactly, he’d perform it. Thankfully, he didn't have to ponder the effects rescue breathing might have on a set of 1-inch lungs, because Chris soon stirred.
“Mmmf,” Chris moaned.
“Chris,” Zach said with relief, caressing the small face with a knuckle.
Chris leaned into the touch and opened his eyes. “Zach?” His voice was small and tinny, as if it was being broadcast over an old telephone receiver, but it was still undeniably his. “What happened?”
“I don’t know – I mean, you were fine when we went to bed last night.” Except he hadn’t been – he’d complained of feeling strange and light-headed and had turned in at 8:30. They’d both chalked it up to a mild case of heat stroke or exhaustion – they’d spent the day in the sun, helping Zoë plant a vegetable patch, and Chris, with his usual enthusiasm for working in the soil, had overdone it. “I mean, mostly fine – right?” Zach added.
Chris tried to sit up, but the soft bedding beneath him made it difficult. Zach helped him sit up with a gentle nudge to the middle of his back.
“How do you feel now?”
“You mean except for the fact I’m about the size of a Ken doll? I feel like a million bucks!” Chris said bitterly. He looked down at himself. “I don’t even know where to begin to feel about this.”
“Well, like, maybe it’s only temporary,” Zach said, sitting up himself. A gentle nudge at his elbow alerted him to Harold’s presence; he raised his arm to let the cat get closer, knowing that in a moment Harold would flop down against his hip for snuggles and head skritches, a frequent ritual of theirs.
But not today. When Harold caught sight of Chris, he tensed, back arching and tail whipping about as his ears laid back against his head and he growled.
“Harold!” Zach admonished, but the feline advanced on Chris, paw raised and claws bared, spitting menacingly.
Chris crawled backwards and away, a look of terror on his face. Zach gathered the hissing cat into his arms and scrambled out of the bed, struggling to open the door while keeping a hold on Harold. He took him to the laundry room where the litter box was and quickly closed the door before Harold could escape. When he returned to the bedroom, he found Noah half atop it, sniffing at Chris with interest. Chris, for his part, was trying to burrow under the pillows completely.
“Noah! Get down!” Zach ordered, and the dog backed off immediately. “Sorry,” Zach said, sitting back down on the bed. “He’ll be OK – he’s just curious. Chris?”
Chris stayed under the pillow, unseen.
“Babe?” Zach pulled the pillow back to find Chris curled up in the fetal position, arms over his head and shaking. “Hey,” he said softly, touching Chris gently on the back. Chris flinched but then turned over, clutching at Zach’s hand desperately. Making a sympathetic noise, Zach gently scooped him up and held him against his chest, where he grasped onto Zach’s t-shirt and buried his small face in the soft cotton. This close up, and with a moment to truly observe him, Zach saw that he was utterly and perfectly Chris, complete with morning bed-head and stubble, except impossibly tiny now. He didn't know what happened and he didn't know what to do about it, but he had to say something. “It’ll be OK,” he said as reassuringly as he could, holding the small body protectively and leaning forward to kiss him on top of his head.
“Yeah?” said a tiny, muffled voice.
“Yeah.”