Dylan sat on the gritty classroom floor, his tiny chest heaving as he caught his breath. The world loomed impossibly vast—Marcus’s sneaker, a rubber monolith, towered inches away, its tread a jagged landscape of dirt and wear. The classroom buzzed with the low rumble of giant voices, pencils scratching like distant thunder, and the occasional creak of desks under massive weight. At his rice-grain size, Dylan felt like a speck in a city of titans. “Okay, Dylan,” he whispered, brushing dust off his jacket. “You’re alive. That’s step one. Now what?”
He leaned against a stray pencil shaving, its woody scent sharp in his nose, and scanned his options. The classroom was a chaotic frontier: desks stretched like plateaus, backpacks slumped like hills, and the giants—students and the teacher—moved with earth-shaking power. “I could stay here under Marcus’s desk,” he mused, glancing at the giant’s sneaker. “Safe-ish, but boring. Or… I could explore. Find another giant to hitch a ride with.” His eyes glinted with a mix of fear and excitement. “This place is insane. Gotta see more.”
Dylan’s gaze darted to three students nearby, their backpacks resting on the floor like colorful boulders, each with a name scrawled or stitched on. He took a moment to weigh his choices, his curiosity about these giants outweighing his nerves. “Alright, let’s scope out the options,” he muttered, sizing up the trio.
First was Elliot, seated two desks to Marcus’s left. His purple backpack—bold and slightly scuffed—sat slouched against his desk leg, “Elliot” written in sharpie across the top flap. Elliot was a skyscraper of a guy, easily nine feet tall, his lanky frame all sharp angles and long limbs. His legs stretched under the desk, skinny but endless, clad in loose black jeans that pooled at his ankles. His torso was lean, almost wiry, with a plain gray hoodie that hung off his narrow shoulders. His face, partially visible as he tilted his head to scribble notes, was sharp—high cheekbones, a pointed nose, and messy brown hair flopping over his forehead. He slouched slightly, one hand tapping a pencil rhythmically, oblivious to the lecture. “Tall guy’s got reach,” Dylan noted. “Could cover ground fast, but he looks like he’d trip over his own feet.”
Next was Noah, one row ahead of Marcus. His green backpack, embroidered with “Noah” in white thread, was wedged between his chair and the desk, straining at the seams with books. Noah was chubby and shorter than the others—maybe seven feet, still a giant to Dylan—but his round frame filled the desk. His navy polo strained over a soft belly, and his khaki shorts revealed thick, pale legs dusted with dark hair. His arms, pudgy but strong, rested on the desk as he doodled lazily, his round face flushed and sweaty, with close-cropped black hair and a bored expression. He shifted, his chair creaking, and his backpack wobbled. “Chubby dude’s cozy,” Dylan said, smirking. “Probably got snacks in that bag. But he’s not moving much. Might be a slow ride.”
Last was Caleb, directly to Marcus’s right. His black backpack, “Caleb” stitched in black, lay carelessly tossed near his desk, half-open with a water bottle poking out. Caleb was a mountain of muscle, his physique dwarfing the others. At eight-and-a-half feet, he filled his desk, his massive arms bulging under a tight white t-shirt, veins visible under tanned skin. His chest was broad, pecs pushing against the fabric, and his thighs, clad in gray sweatpants, were thick as tree trunks, spreading wide as he sat. His feet, encased in huge sneakers, were planted firmly, each one a small hill to Dylan. As Caleb leaned forward to grab a pen, his sweatpants tightened, revealing a fat, round ass that strained the seams. Dylan’s eyes widened, a flush creeping up his neck. “Holy… that’s a lot of guy,” he muttered, intrigued despite himself. “Muscle dude’s built like a tank. Fast, strong, but… damn, that ass is its own planet.”
Dylan hesitated, crouched in the shadow of Marcus’s sneaker. “Elliot’s got height, Noah’s got… snacks, maybe, and Caleb’s a freakin’ powerhouse.” He glanced at Caleb again, his gaze lingering on the giant’s curves. “Okay, maybe I’m curious about muscle dude. That backpack’s close, and he’s got… presence.” He wasn’t thrilled about the danger, but the pull of adventure—and Caleb’s sheer physicality—sparked something in him
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