The darkness of the pocket enveloped Matt, the swaying motion and muffled sounds keeping his heart in a frantic rhythm. His tiny hands clutched at the fabric, desperate for stability. Then, a distinct *click* echoed from beyond the pocket—the sound of a door closing and locking. Matt froze, his breath catching. The faint scrape of a chair scooting across the floor followed, then a heavy creak as someone settled into it. The air felt different, quieter, like the chaos of the locker room had been sealed away.
A massive hand slipped into the pocket, its approach slow and deliberate, fingers brushing the fabric with a gentleness that contrasted their size. Matt tensed but didn’t struggle as the hand curled around him, lifting him out. Light flooded his vision, and he blinked rapidly, finding himself placed on a worn wooden desk. Towering above him was Coach Stevens, his grizzled face etched with surprise, his steely eyes narrowing as they locked onto Matt’s tiny form. The coach’s barrel chest heaved slightly, his whistle still dangling from his neck, glinting under the dim office light.
“What in the hell… Matt?” Coach’s voice was a low growl, rough but tinged with disbelief. “How’d you get like this? What’re you doin’ sneakin’ around my locker room?” He leaned forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the desk, his weathered hands resting on either side of Matt like twin pillars.
Matt’s mouth opened, but no words came. His mind blanked under the weight of Coach’s questions and the surreal reality of his size. “I-I… I don’t…” he stammered, his tiny voice barely audible. He stared up, wide-eyed, at the coach’s stern face, unable to form a coherent answer.
Coach’s bushy brows furrowed, and he leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. “Seems you don’t wanna talk, kid,” he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. He rubbed his jaw, studying Matt like he was a puzzle to solve. Then, a glint of something unreadable flashed in his eyes. “Alright. I won’t tell anyone about this… if you come home with me tonight. Gotta figure out what’s goin’ on here, and I ain’t leavin’ you runnin’ around like this.”
Matt’s heart lurched, fear and confusion swirling in his chest. “O-okay,” he squeaked, the word slipping out before he could process it. The agreement felt like a reflex, driven by the overwhelming presence of the coach and the uncertainty of his situation.
Coach nodded, his expression unreadable. Without warning, his massive hand swooped down, scooping Matt up with surprising care. Before Matt could react, he was slipped into the deep pocket of Coach Stevens’ athletic shorts, the fabric warm and slightly coarse against his tiny body. The pocket was deeper than Jack’s, and Matt slid down, pressed against the heat of Coach’s thigh as the man stood and began to walk. Each step sent Matt swaying, the rhythmic thud of Coach’s boots against the floor vibrating through him.
The muffled sound of a car door opening reached Matt’s ears, followed by the creak of Coach settling into the driver’s seat. The sudden motion jolted Matt, and the pocket shifted, loosening just enough for him to slip through a small gap. He tumbled out, landing with a soft *thud* on the side of Coach’s massive thigh, the coarse fabric of the shorts rough beneath him. Matt froze, staring up at the towering figure of Coach Stevens, who hadn’t yet noticed his tiny passenger’s escape. The car’s interior loomed around him, the dashboard and steering wheel like distant mountains. Matt’s heart pounded, his mind racing with what might happen next.
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