My Brob GF Ch 25: Drinking Together, The Problem Of This Relationship!

Standing on the glass table, I couldn't stop myself from glancing down—and regretting it instantly. Beneath my feet, the ground seemed impossibly far away, a hazy blur of polished hardwood that stretched out like the surface of an alien world.

"Don't think about it," I muttered to myself. "It's probably reinforced with some unbreakable Brob material. Probably."

Still, the idea of a crack forming under me and sending me plummeting to my very splat-worthy death wasn't exactly doing wonders for my nerves. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep my focus on the horizon—or rather, the impossibly high walls of Harper's room.

And then the ground began to shake.

It wasn't violent, just a rhythmic rumbling that grew louder and stronger, and I didn't need to guess the cause. Turning, I saw Harper stepping into the room, and for a second, I forgot all about the glass floor.

She carried what looked like an entire wine bottle, only this one was scaled to her size, which meant it could've flooded half my hometown if someone tipped it over. The weight of it alone must've been incredible, but in her hand, it looked like little more than a casual drink to bring along for company.

Harper didn't say anything as she crossed the room, her steps deliberate and careful, but every movement made the glass beneath me hum faintly. She lowered herself down onto the floor with an ease I could only admire—because if I sat down that fast, I'd probably dislocate something.

She placed the bottle of wine on the table a short distance away from me, and I swore I felt the tremor as its base made contact. It loomed like a tower, condensation clinging to its dark glass surface.

"Comfortable up here?" she asked, arching a brow as she leaned in slightly.

"Sure," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "This is exactly how I imagined my evening—standing on a glorified window a mile off the ground."

Her lips twitched into a smirk, and she reached out with one finger, the sheer scale of it enough to make my legs stiffen. The finger came closer, the tip easily larger than my entire body, and I fought the urge to close my eyes.

"You've got something stuck there," she muttered to herself, rotating her hand slightly so she could see her fingernail. Sure enough, there was a tiny speck of something wedged under it, and with a slight shake of her hand, the object dislodged and landed on the glass table with a faint clink.

I stared at the object as her finger withdrew, my brain needing a moment to process what I was seeing.

It was a desk. A wooden desk.

"What the..." I muttered, walking over to it. The thing looked like it had been plucked straight out of an office, complete with tiny drawers and a few stray papers still clinging to the surface.

"Guess it got stuck to me earlier when I was buying a few Lilliputian products," Harper said, her tone casual as if this was the kind of thing that happened every day. "Oops."

"Oops?" I repeated, staring at her. "You're walking around with furniture stuck to your nails, and all you've got is oops?"

She gave a soft laugh, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Relax. It's not like it's yours. Anyway, there's a bottle of wine in one of the drawers. Why don't you grab it?"

"A bottle of wine? In this desk?" I asked, giving her a skeptical look.

"It's scaled for you," she replied, gesturing vaguely. "Go on, check it out."

Still not entirely sure I wasn't being pranked, I knelt down and tugged one of the drawers open. Sure enough, there it was—a perfectly proportioned bottle of wine, along with a set of tiny glasses neatly tucked into their own compartments.

"Well, I'll be damned," I said, pulling out the bottle. "Who just leaves wine in a desk like this?"

"I thought you'd appreciate it," Harper said, leaning her chin on her palm as she watched me. Her expression was calm, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Right," I muttered, pouring myself a glass. The act of pouring the wine was oddly soothing, and I took a sip almost immediately, letting the warmth settle in my chest. "You know, this isn't bad."

"I'm glad it meets your refined standards," she teased, her voice rumbling faintly through the table.

I glanced up at her, the sheer size difference between us feeling almost comical. Here I was, standing on her glass table, sipping wine from what might as well be a shot glass to her, while she loomed above me like some kind of living mountain.

"Well," I said, raising my glass, "here's to not falling through the floor."

She rolled her eyes but clinked an imaginary glass in the air. "Cheers to that."

I took another sip, feeling some of my nerves begin to fade. If I was going to be here for a few days, I might as well start getting comfortable.

***

The wine bottle was a comforting weight in my hand as I poured another glass for myself, watching Ethan from my place on the floor. He was still nursing his first drink, his small figure lit by the warm light of the room. The tiny desk with its miniature bottle and glasses sat neatly on the glass table, just one of the many accommodations I'd prepared, though he hadn't commented much on it.

"So," I said, breaking the silence, "you haven't really told me much about your work. What's it like being an inter-dimensional analyst?"

Ethan chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck. "It's... complicated," he said, his voice careful. "A lot of reports, a lot of sitting in front of a screen trying to piece together puzzles that no one else wants to touch. And, sometimes, a little more action than I'd like."

I tilted my head, leaning forward slightly. "Like what happened in the Gulliverian lands?"

He nodded, his expression darkening for a moment. "Yeah. Stuff like that. Look, I can't go into too much detail—it's classified—but let's just say it's not exactly boring."

I gave him a small smile, trying to ease the tension. "Well, you certainly don't make it sound boring. You're out there trying to keep people safe, Ethan. That's no small thing."

"Yeah, I guess," he muttered, looking down at his glass.

"What about you?" he asked after a moment, looking up at me. "What's life like on this side of the veil?"

I let out a soft sigh, swirling the wine in my glass. "Slow," I admitted. "Work's been slow. The medical field here has its ups and downs, but lately, it feels like I've been on standby more than anything else. I think that's part of why I wanted to go to the Gulliverian lands—do something that mattered for once."

Ethan nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "I get that. It's hard when you feel like you're just... waiting."

There was a pause, and I realized we were both avoiding the subject hanging heavy in the air between us. I took another sip of wine, steeling myself before finally saying, "So, what about us?"

Ethan looked up at me sharply, his expression guarded. "Us?"

"Yeah, Ethan. Us," I said softly, setting my glass down on the floor beside me. "I know things have been... complicated. But I think we should talk about it."

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Harper, I... I do want to be with you. I really do. But..."

"But what?" I pressed gently, my heart pounding in my chest.

He looked up at me, his expression a mixture of guilt and fear. "I'm just not sure this would work. I mean, look at you."

I blinked, unsure whether to be offended or worried. "What do you mean, 'look at me'?"

"You're... you," he said, gesturing vaguely toward my towering form. "You could kill me with the greatest of ease, Harper. Do you realize that? One wrong move, one careless moment, and I'm gone. Forever. How could we ever make this work when you'd always have to hold back? Always have to worry about hurting me?"

His words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, I didn't know what to say. I stared down at him, this tiny man who had somehow managed to wedge himself into my life, and I felt the weight of his fears pressing down on me.

I lowered my head, my hair falling in a curtain around my face as I whispered, "Yes."

"What?" Ethan said, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," I said, more firmly this time, lifting my head to look at him. "I do want to be with you, Ethan. I know it won't be easy, and I know you're scared. But do you think I'm not scared, too? I was raised by Lilliputians, Ethan. Rich ones, sure, but still Lilliputians. I know what it's like to feel out of place, to feel like you don't belong. And you're stronger than you think you are. If you weren't, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

He stared at me, his expression unreadable, and I felt my heart ache at the distance between us—even though it was only a few feet by my perspective.

"If you're truly afraid of me," I said softly, leaning in slightly, "then I'm going to change that during these next few days."

"How?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I gave him a small, knowing smile. "You'll see."