Big, Warm Hands
“Darling, your hands are so big and warm.”
How long had I been asleep? “Darling. Darling.” Small hands patted my cheek. I opened my eyes. It was Elma.
“Urk…?!” I accidentally swallowed wrong for a second. What a sight. My head was dusted with white powder. My apron was soaked in some unidentified red liquid. Smudges of soot on my cheeks too.
Did she go cook in Kabul or Mogadishu or something?
“Get up. Time to eat.” Elma grabbed my arm and tugged, grinning triumphantly. Her mouth stretched all the way to her ears.
“You must've worked hard…” As she dragged me to the table, I snuck a glance at the kitchen. It was worse than I'd imagined. Splattered broth everywhere. A frying pan embedded in the ceiling. Shards of broken plates littering the floor.
Cleaning this up's gonna take forever. I swallowed a bitter smile. I'd leave the cleanup to the golems this time.
On the table, an unidentified hangover stew bubbled away in a stone pot. Bubble bubble. No, more like gurgle gurgle. Crimson broth like molten lava. And packed full of nothing but “meat.” Not a vegetable in sight—an extreme carnivore's dream. So very Elma.
“How is it?” Elma pressed right up against my side. Her upturned eyes sparkled. Like a puppy waiting for praise. Her plump hips wagged like a tail.
“It's the traditional hangover stew a dwarf wife makes for her husband!”
“Just looking at it makes me feel stronger already.” A morning visual that screamed for mercy from my veins. But I couldn't betray those expectant eyes. I scooped up a big spoonful and shoveled it in.
“……!” My eyes flew open. Delicious. Deep, rich flavor. Spicy yet hearty garlic notes. The classic gut-clearing hangover cure. The looks were a mess, but the result was perfection. Just like Elma.
“How is it? Huh? How is it?”
“It's really good. Clears my stomach right up.” Genuine admiration. Elma's face lit up.
“Right?! Who do you think I am! The great and revered grand magitech engineer, Elma Bronzebeer! Cooking's a piece of cake!”
“Yeah, yeah. Nothing you can't do.”
Elma, buzzing with excitement, climbed onto my thigh. She settled naturally into my lap.
“Feed me too—ahh.”
“What about my feeding?”
“Housework stops at cooking! Feeding's your job, darling!”
Flawless logic. I blew on a chunk of meat and popped it into Elma's mouth. Nom nom. Her cheeks bulged like a hamster's as she chewed. And just like that, we polished off breakfast.
After breakfast, we headed to the bathroom. The recently remodeled high sink came into view. Elma stood in front of me and raised both arms like a “victory” pose. I slipped my hands under her armpits. Up. Her tiny body floated into the air. A routine I'd grown used to over the past few days.
In front of the mirror. Elma's soft back pressed against my chest. I supported her butt with one hand. Our sizes differed by so much. Like holding a porcelain doll.
“Can you see okay?”
“Yeah.”
Elma fidgeted bashfully, as if suddenly self-conscious.
“Brush first?” I squeezed toothpaste onto the brush with my free hand.
“Ahh—.”
“Ahh—.”
Her small lips parted obediently. I slid the brush in and scrubbed every corner. Scrub scrub. Elma meekly lowered her eyes and let me handle her. White foam bubbled at her mouth. Utterly defenseless, entrusting everything to my touch. So incredibly lovable.
But.
“Guh… urk!” A little gag when I brushed her tongue.
“Spit.”
“Kahk, ptoo—!” She threw her head back, gargled fiercely, and spat out a thick glob. A rough sound utterly mismatched to her tiny frame. Moments like this made her seem just like some old uncle.
“Hahhm, ihssanghan saenggak haessji? (You just had a weird thought, didn't you?)”
“No.”
She's got sharp instincts. I cupped water in my hand for her to rinse, then moved on to washing her face. I soaked my hands in warm water and gently wiped her petite face.
“Ugh… tickles.”
Cute little hums escaped with every touch. I kneaded her cheeks. Wiped around her eyes. Rubbed her freckled nose bridge. Her barley-pale skin fluffed up soft and dry. Freckles glistened with moisture. Her reflection in the mirror was dazzlingly adorable. I patted her dry with a towel.
“All done, Your Majesty.”
“Don't call me Your Majesty…”
“Yes, yes, Princess.”
“Hmph…”
Elma shyly buried her face in my chest. I set the towel down and looked in the mirror. My wife still dangled from my arms like an ornament.
“……Tch.”
Elma pouted and glared at my reflection.
“Ended up relying on your hands first thing in the morning, huh.”
“Uncomfortable?”
“No.”
Elma tilted her head back. Her crown rested against my solar plexus with a soft thunk.
“I love it. Makes me happy.”
I looked down at Elma's face. Despite her grumbly tone, her lips curved high in a smile. A grin like she owned the world. Her small hand overlapped mine on my arm.
“Darling, your hands are so big and warm.”
“That's 'cause you're so small, Elma.”
“Ugh. Fact-checking violence first thing in the morning.”
Bickering banter. Yet we hugged each other even tighter. The bizarre size difference in the mirror. Even that felt like a pleasant morning.
A few days later.
“Nooooo…”
On the living room sofa. Her arms around my waist wouldn't let go. Her little head glued to my chest.
“Can't you just skip it? I reeeeally don't wanna.”
Elma whined nonstop. Like an elementary kid refusing school. She shook her head side to side. Wet forest scent. Nutty aroma. Every turn filled my nose with her smell.
“You still have to. It's an important meeting, right?”
“No way! Can't the golems just send the email?”
“They said they'd only give the minerals if the professor attends in person.”
The dwarf alliance from the other world, Arcadia. A remote conference linked to their academy. The reason Elma dreaded it but couldn't skip. Rare ores monopolized by dwarf society. To secure materials, she had to cooperate with “them” back home.
“Ughhh… Seeing those stuck-up old fogeys really shortens my lifespan.”
“Just grit your teeth and bear it for a bit.”
“Then charge me up first.”
Elma popped her head up. Almond eyes gazed up at me. Wet, pitiful, seductive.
“If I don't get my darling fix, I might wither and die mid-meeting.”
What an excuse. But I didn't mind the coquetry. I hugged her waist tight. Soft, springy flesh filled my palms.
“How much do you need?”
“A ton.”
Mwah. Elma stretched up and pressed her lips to mine. Tongues tangled. A long, sticky kiss.
“Haa…”
Lips parted. A transparent thread stretched between us. Elma's cheeks flushed pink.
“Now I feel alive.”
“Alright, charged up? Time to get ready. It's almost time.”
“My husband knows I hate this. Those boomers. Forty-somethings. Fifty-somethings.”
“Yeah, yeah, this boomer'll set it up, so get to it.”
Now she's fabricating my age too.
“Tch.”
Elma pouted and hopped off the sofa.
Moments later. Gothic dress. Elma's formal wear. She sat at the living room table in her changed outfit. Laptop and webcam set up.
“Darling, stay quiet in the corner. Important meeting—no showing up on camera.”
“Got it. I'll be a church mouse.”
I settled in the sofa corner.
“Hoo—ha—hoo—ha—”
Elma took deep breaths. Composed her expression. The whiny hamster from my lap vanished. Cold, rational gaze. The mask of the unapproachable “genius professor.”
Beep—connection established. A crude conference room appeared on screen. Then bushy-bearded dwarf elders materialized.
[Connected. Elma Bronzebeer.]
“It's been a while, Elders. Have you reviewed the molecular bonding magitech paper I sent?”
Elma opened in a businesslike tone. Normal so far.
[Yes. We read the paper. The theory was flawless.]
[But what's the point?]
The mood turned strange.
[What's the use of a brain if you don't use your hands? We're children of the earth. True dwarves hammer metal and wield fire!]
An old dwarf stroking his beard clicked his tongue.
[Can't even swing a proper hammer with that cursed body of yours.]
Elma flinched. Her straight shoulders trembled.
[Yeah. Abandoned by your own parents because of that freak body from birth, right?]
[Disgrace to the Bronzebeer clan. Tsk tsk.]
Is this a meeting? More like a roast.
[Still pretending to be tall with magic among those weak humans?]
[Hiding your looks doesn't change that freakish body. Tsk tsk.]
Crossing the line. Personality assassination. Her 90cm dwarf stature—extreme even by dwarf standards, a source of trauma. The old bastards were digging into it.
“……”
Elma said nothing. Couldn't. Her small fists clenched white-knuckled on her lap. Lips bitten till they bled. Face paling.
Those fucking bastards. Rage boiled up. My woman, my wife, insulted. I couldn't stand it. I shot to my feet. Ready to chew out the old geezers on the monitor—or smash it. I strode forward.
Thud! Then. Elma slammed the laptop keyboard. Muted the mic. Slammed the lid shut.
“D-Darling.”
Elma whipped her head around.
Oh god…
Up close, her face was wrecked. Almond eyes shook violently. Holding back tears by force. Forcing her lips into a grotesque smile.
“D-Don't come… stay right there…”
“You gonna let that slide?!”
“Please…”
Elma clasped her hands. Begging.
“Please just stay put. Okay? It's nothing.”
“……!”
“Th-This is just work, so it's fine. It's always like this. I just need the ores anyway.”
Her voice trembled. Eyes already red-rimmed. No way it was fine.
“Please, darling. I beg you…”
I couldn't move closer. To that desperate plea. Those fragile shaking shoulders. I just stopped, clenching my fists.
Elma hurriedly wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Forced her face into a smile. Click. Opened the laptop again.
“Sorry… connection was unstable.”
[Technical excuses now?]
Blame intensified under the guise of connection error. Elma's face went paper-white. My fault. My chest ached like it was tearing.
“…Yes, I'll take your valuable advice to heart, Elders.”
A voice bending obsequiously, terrifyingly so.
“As long as the supply chain holds, I'll deliver next quarter's tech without issue.”
[Your tech's decent, so we'll let it slide. Lucky freak.]
How long did that torture last? The meeting ended. Silence.
“……”
Elma sat frozen like stone. Tiny shoulders quivering. White-knuckled fists on her lap. I couldn't approach. Scared. Of what expression she'd have. What comfort to offer.
Swish. Elma slowly turned her head.
“……”
Forced-upturned lips. Quivering cheeks. Almond eyes soaked. Desperately holding back a flood of tears.
“I… d-did okay…”
Voice cracked raw.
“I m-managed…”
Elma eyed me. Like a kid seeking praise.
“I didn't cry and held it together, right…? Darling…?”
“Elma.”
“I held back sooo much… to end the meeting properly…”
“…”
“Th-This makes me… a pretty good professor, right…? Mature…?”
Thud. My heart collapsed. After that abuse. Still trying to “act grown-up.” Scared I'd be disappointed.
I approached silently. Dropped to one knee. Met her eyes. Took her trembling hands in both of mine.
“……”
Elma's eyes shook fiercely. Plip. A tear dropped.
“Eh…?”
Elma touched her face in panic. Too late. The dam burst.
“Hic… sob…!”
Sobs. Mask shattered.
“Waaahhh!!”
A wail near a scream. Elma curled forward, howling. Her tiny fragile body toppled. I yanked her into my arms.
“It's okay, Elma. You're okay now.”
“Waaah! Darling…! Darliiiing…!”
Nails dug into my collar, piercing skin. She wailed like a beast. Face buried in my chest.