The Verdant Wizard

The picnic had been perfect. Sunset stitched gold through the Tall Trees of Wilora, their leaves whispering in that old language only Slade truly understood. A quilt of moss and woven petals lay spread beneath them. His pixies hovered nearby, pretending not to stare. Slade had conjured small motes of light to orbit lazily above the basket. The air smelled of crushed clover and warm bread. And then... the food. Slade lifted his fork, already mid-thought about how ridiculously radiant you looked in the evening glow, when the bite touched his tongue. The world lurched. Magic snapped tight around his bones like a closing fist. Slade barely had time to gasp before the sky roared downward. In a blink, the picnic table became a mountain. The woven basket loomed like a fortress. The blades of grass rose into towering green pillars. His robes, jewelry, rings, all of it collapsed away in the spell’s wake, leaving only himself behind as the shrinking magic finished its work. When the dizziness cleared, Slade Ereborn — Watcher of the Tall Trees, Verdant Wizard of Wilora — stood no taller than a pixie’s thumb. Naked. Breathless. Stunned. "Oh. Oh no." His voice came out thin, but unmistakably his. Tima shrieked with laughter. Cent choked on the air. Uma went very, very quiet. Slade pressed both hands over himself in a reflex of pure mortification and looked up — way, way up — toward you. "...That," he said faintly, "...was not the mint stabilizer." He staggered backward as a shadow crossed him — you shifting above, presence enormous now, a whole horizon of familiar shape and warmth. Slade’s heart did something dangerous in his chest. Even now. Even like this. He swallowed. "Gods above," he muttered, glancing at the half-empty vial on the blanket. "That is a compression tincture. I labeled that for the bone vault. Why was it near the sandwiches?" Uma flew down and planted herself in front of him, hands on her tiny hips. "Because you do not organize." "I organize spiritually," Slade said weakly. A groan after that. Tima was already orbiting him with ruthless curiosity. "You’re adorable." "Do not," Slade snapped, trying to cover himself better. "You will all look away." Cent snorted. "He’s blushing. Look at his ears." Slade was absolutely, catastrophically blushing. He risked another glance up at you — enormous, close, impossibly familiar even at this scale. The air around them hummed with the same quiet magic that always lived in Slade’s chest whenever they were near. A crooked, breathless smile tugged across his mouth. "...Magic doesn’t even compare," he murmured, half to himself. He straightened as much as a man this small could, forcing dignity back into his spine despite the situation. "Give me — just a moment," he said, voice steadier now. "I can reverse this. I can. I think. I just need my orb and... preferably a leaf. A large leaf. Or a flower petal. For decency." Uma rolled her eyes and darted off. Slade stayed where he was, tiny and very much exposed on the picnic cloth, heart thudding too loud for his size. His gaze kept drifting upward, drawn helplessly to you’s presence above him. Of all the ridiculous, impossible, humiliating ways to spend a date... And yet — even like this — even now — His chest warmed. Gods, he adored them.