“Matt,” Jack said, his voice soft but firm. “I know it’s a lot, but I’m not leaving you here to get stepped on. Pick one, or I’m choosing for you. I’ve got you, okay?”
Matt nodded, his tiny hands clutching Jack’s skin for balance.
Matt’s voice wavered as he squeaked, “The… cleat. Put me in your cleat.”
Jack raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure. It’s not exactly a luxury suite, but it’ll keep you safe.” He stood, carrying Matt to his locker, where a pair of massive size 13 cleats sat, their black leather scuffed and damp from practice. Jack picked one up, the faint scent of sweat and grass wafting out, and tilted it to inspect the insole. “Toe’s got a good curve,” he muttered. “You’ll fit there.”
He gently placed Matt inside, near the toe, where the insole dipped into a soft, worn groove. The leather was warm and slightly slick, the air thick with the musky aroma of Jack’s post-practice scent. Matt clung to the insole, his tiny hands gripping the fabric as Jack laced the cleat loosely, leaving gaps for air. “You good?” Jack asked, his voice muffled through the leather. Matt squeaked a shaky “Yeah,” though the confined space made his heart race.
Jack tucked the cleat into his gym bag, zipping it partway to keep Matt hidden. The world tilted as Jack slung the bag over his shoulder, each step sending vibrations through the cleat. Matt bounced slightly, the insole’s curve cradling him like a hammock but pressing him against the warm, damp leather. The smell was overwhelming—sweat, grass, and a hint of Jack’s natural scent—but it was also strangely grounding, a reminder of whose cleat he was in.
The locker room filled with the team’s noise—shouts, laughter, the clatter of gear. Matt heard Jacob’s grating voice nearby, mocking someone about a missed tackle, and Daniel’s quick retort. Coach Stevens’ foghorn voice cut through, delivering a brief post-practice speech. Matt stayed still, praying no one noticed the cleat in Jack’s bag. Jack’s voice joined the chatter, calm and casual, betraying nothing.
After what felt like an eternity, the bag was set down with a thud. Matt heard a door close, and Jack’s voice came closer. “We’re at my dorm, Matt. Hold on.” The cleat was lifted out, unlaced, and tilted, sending Matt sliding onto Jack’s desk. He landed in a heap, blinking up at Jack’s concerned face.
“You smell like my cleat now,” Jack teased, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Matt’s face burned, but he managed a weak laugh. “Yeah, well… it worked.”
Jack sat on his bed, his massive frame making the room feel smaller. “We gotta get you un-shrunk, man. This is nuts. Let’s just focus on keeping you alive first, yeah?”
Matt’s heart pounded, hope and fear swirling. Before he could respond, a loud knock startled them. “Jack! Open up!” It was Jacob’s voice, gruff and demanding. Jack cursed under his breath, scooping Matt up. “Hide,” he whispered, placing Matt behind a stack of books on the desk. As Jack opened the door, Jacob’s hulking form filled the doorway, his cruel smirk making Matt’s tiny body tense. Whatever Jacob wanted, it wasn’t good—and Matt’s precarious situation just got a lot more dangerous.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author