G/T One-Shots

Clean

-borrower?? I'm not used to writing borrower stories but fuck it, also Beau is whatever gender you want-

The only good thing about living secretly with someone else is they give you things  without them even knowing. You know, the generic tiny-living-thing in the walls with a washcloth for a bed and a dress made of burlap and twine, a fishing hook and string to swing around on marvelous adventures.

This wouldn't be a problem, and I could totally do this, if there were things available for me to take. The motherfucker I live with is so clean, it's gotta be an obsession. Everyday, when he comes home from work, if it's not already spotless, he makes it that way. Gotta clean dishes, gotta sweep and mop, gotta make sure there's nothing on the counters.

Well just open the cabinets, dumbass! Wow, if only I'd thought of that before. The thing is, everything stowed away is impossible to open. I could open cabinets if I had something to latch onto it with, but nothing has ever lain out for me. It's not that I lack creativity, I wouldn't be alive if I hadn't worked my away around things, it's just that everything is off and away. The only room I can possibly imagine with things lying around is his bedroom, and the door is always closed, the space between the door and floor being  too small for me to go through.

So, I eat sparingly, as you can imagine. Once every couple of days, every few when the going gets tough. Whenever the right time strikes where food is left out, which is only once a week, maybe every couple of weeks- and only for a minute or so- I have to run out of the wall like a maniac, throw a bag out that I made from that pink fluffy stuff in the walls (it's super itchy but oh well) and stuff it, immediately running back at the very last possible second. I've never been caught, but I've come damn close.

It's been a while since I've last eaten. I'm not sure how many days, but I'm rapidly losing weight now, and it's stressful. I'm overreacting, though, it's been less than two weeks, I know, but I don't think it's been less than a week. I'm weighed down with two options: sit and wait more, hoping hunger doesn't lead to my demise, or face the human and hope that doesn't kill me either.

Here's the thing: borrowers can go 15 days without eating before serious health hazards set in, only two weeks if they're extremely young or old. We're bred to go longer without eating, but our limited diet and size pushes it back more. I'm at my wits end, and I don't want to imagine going out like that. I spend the entire day preparing for my confrontation.

-

He's on his laptop, scrolling through something. His eyes are so pretty, and he's really skinny and tall, even by human standards I imagine. Is now the right time? I'm already out here, so I guess not I can't go back. Mustering up the last bit of courage I can, I shout out as loud as possible, "EXCUSE ME!"

He turns to me, standing on the counter, wide eyes and wearing only an over-crinkled paper, constantly overused to go soft. My hair is beyond oily and my skin is dry and pale. I've never felt more like a mess. He quickly throws down his laptop and approaches me, towering over me when reaching me, then crouching down to my height. I forget why I planned on this, and immediately begin panicking.

"Woah..." he whispers, still loud. "Uh, hello."

"Hi," I choke out. "I kind of live here- well, in the walls- you live here- I mean-"

"You don't need to be scared." His deep blue eyes won't look away from me.

I pause. "I know. I just wanted to ask you something, but I haven't been able to talk to you."

"Okay... what is it?" He's stopped whispering, but is talking at a volume he probably hears as quiet.

"Can you start setting out food more? I don't want to bother you, I just haven't eaten in so long, and it's literally killing me. I swear I don't eat much, I'm clearly really tiny and I can't stomach much right now anyway, since I'm not used to eating a lot at a time." My shaking subsides slightly, but I'm still visibly terrified.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. You don't need to hide, you know, I'm willing to let you actually live here, instead of in the walls..." his eyes shift from me to the wall, where there's a now visible crack that I'm usually able to repair.

"No, I don't want to get in your way, we're both better off if I'm hidden-" I freeze as he stands to his full height again, and I fold into myself, a sharp pain hitting my stomach in the process.

"Sorry again, I'm just getting you food. What's your name again? I don't think I asked." he walks over to the refrigerator.

I freak out once again. "Uh... fuck, it's... I never needed one, I guess. Call me what you want, I guess, but can you make it an actual human name?"

"Oh, sure. Um..." his eyes move around a bit. "I'm used to naming pets, not humans. Well, you're not really human, I guess. Beau is a simple name, do you like that?"

"Sure, yeah. I guess no one really gets a choice in their name, what's yours?"

"Mitch. Can I get you anything else, Beau?" he asks, handing me a green grape. I jab my thumb through the skin, pull at it and begin working at the inside, probably looking like a maniac.

"I mean... I don't need anything else." But he's already opening up his phone.

"I'll get you clothes, or at least the best I can. Only toy clothes have a chance of fitting you well, which is kind of sad," he chuckles. After a minute or so of tapping, he clicks it off and stuffs it in his pocket.

"Well then," Mitch says, holding his palm out in front of me. "Let's give you a tour."