Storm (G/T)

Needle and Thread

"This is too big," I say truthfully, holding the tack between my hands. The needle is too wide to work as a sewing needle. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't be sorry, I needed them anyway. That's quite cute, the teensy little thumbtack being too big for you." He sheepishly smiles, and I hold back a smile in return. I don't want him to think I'm too comfy yet, since I'm still far from comfortable being here.

"Cute for you, I suppose. Do you have any sewing pins you'd be willing to ruin? I can just break that in half."

"You're in luck," Austin replies, standing up from the edge of the bed. The weight shift causes me to drift down into the cushions of the mattress, craning up to get a good look at him. Although I'm more comfortable with his presence, I still don't trust his size for the life of me. "I'm pretty sure I have a pin in an old decoration." He leaves for a second to go retrieve it, and before I can process much of anything, he's already back with a pin, holding the pink head out between his thumb and index. "Want me to do the honors?"

"If you want. I can try, but it looks a bit too big for me to properly snap." The entirety of the pin probably comes up to about my lower waist, the pinhead being a bit bigger than a doorknob.

He eyes the pin and shrugs. "I'll let you try then." The pin is set down on the bed in front of me. "If I can prevent getting pricked again, I'd like to."

Surely the surface we're on is too cushioned for me to properly break it. It'd be nice to do it along a hard edge. "Can you take me to the nightstand? It'll be easier to break there." He slowly carries me over while I hold the pin like a katana, setting me down near the middle. Now for the moment of truth.

Setting the pin down against the very edge of the table and sitting on it, I only let the very end hang off for me to use as the sewing needle. I push down on the end of it, trying not to reopen my freshly healed palms, only for it to bend. Then I flip it over and bend it the other way. Progress is being made. This process continues for... a while.

Austin yawns loudly and stares at his wrist, which lacks a watch. "Would you look at the time."

"What time is it?" I ask.

"It's time for you to let me break that for you," he jokes. "I'm able to help if you want."

"I'd hate for you to get hurt." Wait.

"Yeah, it'd be a shame if I were at the expense of another stabbing because you can never be satisfied," he smiles slyly, putting his elbow on his knee and resting his head in his hand. "But I'm glad to see you don't want to kill me anymore."

"I never did," I reply, aggressively pushing the pinend down. "I do one violent act and you suddenly think I want to hurt you? If anything, you're the one who'd want to kill me, so don't make assumpti- oh." It hits all at once.

"Oh..." he mocks, smiling wide as a sofa. Literally. "There's your life lesson of the day."

"Thanks, mom," I joke, and something snaps. Looking down, I see the pinend finally broke. "It's off!" I declare, holding up the small needle in triumph, like a knight wielding a sword. I loop the top back over to allow the thread to be properly attached.

"Congrats," he perks up. He has his own giant-sized needle too, suspecting I'd be making clothes. "Now, what first?"

"I want to make just one or two full outfits to change into. I'm sure this one's getting nasty." My sweatshirt is becoming dingy and my pants are stretching weirdly. They could definitely use a wash. "We can make more tomorrow."

"What color do you want everything to be?"

"Well, might as well make another sweatshirt with pants since it's cold out. Pants can just be dark blue, and the sweatshirt orange." I'm a big fan of complimentary colors working out, and my hair has some blue highlights so it'll look nice.

"Do you need size calculations done? I have a calculator," he replies, pulling out a measuring roll.

"Oh, sure," I reply, laughing at the word choice to his confusion. "But I can measure myself."

"Of course. I don't want to make you uncomfortable." He hands me the length.

I hold the end of it under my foot and reach it to the top of my head, placing my fingers around where my head meets it. Pulling it back, it reads that I'm 14 zents.

"Wow," I reply.

"How tall are you?" He asks.

"I have no clue."

"How many zents?"

"Fourteen," I reply, still looking at the roll.

"AWW!" He shouts, making me topple over. "I'm 206 zents."

"Well, I'm happy one of us understands that, but it sure isn't me."

"Do you not measure in zents?" He questions.

"No, we use feet and centimeters." 

"Feet."

"Not the body part, the measurement. I'm about five-foot-five, so I guess that means each zent is..." I do the math in my head. "About five inches. So you're around..." More pause. "83 feet. EIGHTY-THREE FEET!" Now he jumps back a bit.

"Is that a lot?"

"For comparison, six feet is tall for humans." After hearing this, he bursts out laughing.

"That's great, oh my. Keep calculating, I'll turn away if you'd like."

I need to measure my bust next. "Yeah, that'd be good."

He does so, looking down and away, gathering up the materials we'll be using. I throw the tape around my chest real quick, then my waist while I'm at it, then memorize those measurements. "I'm good now." He looks back to me and claps loudly, making me fall over. I need to get over his volume. His hands rub together quickly, showing his excitement.

"Then let us make some clothes!"