The resident human bean was not okay.
Larson wasn't the brightest borrower in his den, but when the human opened the door to his house, face red and cheeks pink from tears, he knew that something was wrong.
At first he'd thought it was only temporary, a one-time thing. But every single day, the human would come back shaking, crying, panting.
It had already been a week.
Larson hated hearing the human flop onto his bed, and sob into the pillow, letting out rapid hiccups and raspy coughs now and then. Sometimes, Larson would slip out of the entrance on top of the bookshelf, and would see the human bean, shaking in his bed, eyes squeezed tight, hands clenched into tight, pale fists.
It made Larson's heart crash, his head hurt, those rasping whimpers echoing throughout the tunnels of the walls like ghosts.
He had to do something, and fast. This wasn't just affecting his feelings - it was affecting his borrowings as well.
The human liked to sow and liked to knit small scarves and socks. And luckily for Larson, he left the needles out often, allowing him to snatch up one, usually broken, or too blunt to use, and shape it into a hook, a sword, an eating utensil - anything!
But the human now left his cabinets shut, his needles in a tightly shut closet. Larson's food supply was running out. And eber increasing, was his desperation.
So, one day, he exited his home, clutching a small slip of paper. It wasn't for borrowing, no. Instead, he might consider this... a giving trip.
He emerged from the small hole underneath the bedroom table, and scanned the room. The human was still at school, and the coast was clear. Larson quickly lobbed his climbing hook as far up as he could, and briefly grinned as it secured itself to the top of the table with a light clink.
The plan was simple, really. Leave the paper where it could be seen by the human, and go.
He hoisted the thick, heavy paper behind him as he shimmied up the line. He reached the top, and was about to place the paper down when -
Thump.
Thump.
THUMP.
The human bean had returned, and it seemed he was in a hurry too. Larson barely had time to react before...
Click.
The borrower spun around and spotted the human, just as tearful and flushed as he'd always been, entering the room. But from this distance, not even a few feet away, he was a mountain, a monolithic titan. His face was terrible, covered in shadow as it hung down. His clenched fists were thick with muscle, flexed and tight.
Larson began to run. He tripped over the paper, falling flat onto his face. He quickly scrambled back up, abandoning the paper, and dashing across the tabletop. He heard a sudden sharp intake of breath not a moment later, and nearly tripped when he saw a dark, looming shadow fall onto the table.
He dove to the hook and attempted to slide down, crying out as the rope burned his fingers. But he managed to slow his fall to the floor, and darted back into the hole in wall. Away from the human.
He glanced fearfully back at the hole, but no sound came out. He backed away from the light outside, and left, wondering how wrong everything had gone.
It was such a bad letter, anyways.
...
Mags gasped as he spotted the tiny man running across his tabletop. He had shaggy, unkempt brown hair, and ragged, faded brown clothes. But he was tiny, alive, and running.
