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It just sort of came out. They were having a nice time, chatting, maybe flirting a little bit (okay, he was, and more than a bit) and—
“Would you love me if I was a worm?”
Oh god why did he say that?
“Like me, I mean! Not that you like me, but you don’t hate me I don’t think and…I’m shutting the fuck up now.”
What the fuck was wrong with him? This was his thing. What he did. Charm. Flirt. Except Frannie—er, just Fran—turned him into some kind of babbling idiot.
Fran stared at him, her mouth set in a firm line. Her eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down. “Possibly more than I like you now,” she said with a little dip of her head, a twitch of her lips that he could almost convince himself was a smile. “You’d be quieter.”
Lip quirk. Dimples.
Fuck.
“Haha! Yeah!” Phillip looked away, increasingly awkward, and he’d never been more grateful for an interruption than when the server brought the check.
They both reached for it at once, fingertips brushing, and a shivery, squirmy feeling fluttered low in his gut.
“It’s my turn,” Fran said, glancing at him from under her lashes, chin tilted down so that her hair fell forward. Damn. Hiding again. Phillip tapped the little leather (was it leather? Plastic? Did it matter) folder with two fingers and slid his hand away. Fran tugged it closer and fiddled with her wallet, tucking a card in and giving him a small smile. His stomach muscles shuddered and he swallowed hard and glanced out the window.
“I’m this way,” Fran said, gesturing vaguely to her right (was that north?).
“I’m—” he began, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder. She glanced past him, eyes on his car as she nodded.
“Well—”
“I could take you—”
They paused, staring at one another again for what felt like forever, a moment frozen in time and stretched thin. Fran nodded.
“Really?”
“Yes, I…that would be nice.” She smiled again and ducked her head, hands in her pockets as she walked past when he gestured. It was all he could do not to rest his hand on the small of her back, but they weren’t there yet.
Maybe never.
Phillip glanced up and frowned.
“Phillip?”
He shook his head, gaze snapping to where Fran stook by the passenger door of his Porsche, shoulders hunched as she huddled in her jacket.
“You okay? You were kind of staring…at the moon…”
“Shit, sorry, sorry, just thinking!” He took a hurried step. “Doors are unlocked.”
Fran made a face and tugged the handle, opening the door and fuck, he should have done that for her.
They rode in relative silence, a common enough occurrence that it startled him when Fran leaned forward and sniffed, nose and lips curled. “Is that patchouli?” she asked, almost suspiciously. Again. “And leather?”
“Ah, yeah, my manly air freshener.”
“Smells kind of like dirt.”
“Kind of.” Phillip turned left and shrugged. “I don’t know, I like it.”
“What kind of worm?”
“What?” She flinched. “Shit, sorry, that was loud.”
“And shrill.”
“Hey!”
Fran giggled and it zinged right through him. She shook her head and sighed. “If you were a worm, what kind would you be? Because you asked, at the restaurant, and I—”
“Earthworm,” Phillip muttered under his breath.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Uh, ear-earworm! You know, a song, the kind that gets stuck in your head but it’s not so bad, because at least you like it.” He could feel the side-eye glance.
Fran crossed her arms and leaned back against the headrest. “Right.”
He’d bet all or nothing her eyes were narrowed again.
So far no one had noticed a pattern when he called out sick. No dots connected. He’d been worried about Fran, to be honest. She paid attention, maybe a little too well. But so far, so good. He checked his supplies again, then double and triple checked that the doors were locked, windows closed and covered.
Couldn’t let anyone figure it out.
He had to be careful, with the digging. Didn’t want to neighborhood to collapse. Hopefully he wouldn’t forget himself the next few days—and nights.
One final round and Phillip crawled into bed, exhausted and anxious. He hoped the dreams stayed away. The previous night he’d had a nightmare that Fran was a giant bird set on eating him. Woke up soaked in sweat and trembling, convinced he was about to dehydrate completely.
Not fun.
Fran.
His cell phone rattled against the nightstand, vibrating with an incoming text.
I have decided ear worm doesn’t count.
Book worm might, but that doesn’t seem a good fit.
Flatworm? Wooly worm? No, I think earthworm.
Why would you say that?
Good night, Phillip.
He huffed and selected an array of emojis that meant nothing in context but would drive her mad.
It was warm, in the basement. He’d picked the house because the previous owners hadn’t “gotten around to” repairing the cracks in the concrete floor. Hadn’t taken much to remove a good sized slab. Phillip stretched out on the cold earth and sighed, a shiver skittering up his spine.
A little dry, maybe.
He closed his eyes and breathed in, slow and deep. Earth. Slightly stale, but not as much as it had been. Cool and warm at once, silky on his delicate skin.
He knew when the moon rose, felt it before it even started.
A delicate sigh slipped past his lips as he shuddered and squirmed against the soil. It was his favorite part, the feeling as his senses faded. He couldn’t stay for long, but surely another minute wouldn’t hurt.
“Phillip?”
The thump of feet on the stairs vibrated through him and panic set in, sent him desperately thrashing, dirt clumps spraying onto the edge of the concrete flooring he hadn’t removed yet.
No, he wanted to shout. Stay away! Don’t look!
Rattle. Buzz. Thump.
Light, even though he couldn’t see it, and she was…oh no, oh God, this was terrible…
“Guess I was right.”
He could hear her even though he couldn’t. It was odd and not something his worm brain could quite process. His muscles flexed and coiled, displacing dirt and tunneling away.
“You don’t have to go,” she said softly.
Yes, he did.
“I thought about it, the question you asked me.”
Phillip blinked, brushing clumps of dirt from his hair. “Huh?” he croaked, desperately thirsty. Where was his…ah, there! He fumbled until the top of the reusable water bottle popped up and took a long pull, pausing only to gasp for more hair before downing nearly half the contents.
“You asked me, the other night, if I—”
“Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned, both hands pressed to his face, making his hoarse voice echo strangely in the open space.
Fran giggled and it was somehow slightly better.
“How did you get in?”
“You gave me a key. For emergencies.”
He looked at her then let his head fall back to the dirt with a thump. “Apparently, I’m an idiot.”
They lay in silence for a while, him on the dirt and her on the concrete beside him.
“What’s it like?” Fran whispered, shattering the hush of the early hour.
Phillip shrugged. He could say it was awful, but he was loath to tell her lies. “It isn’t all bad,” he admitted. “Different.”
“I think I could, you know,” she said. “If you were a worm…if you weren’t…I think—” Phillip reached out until he felt her arm, traced down to find her hand and squeeze.
She stayed, when the change came over him again, let him crawl over and around her, marveled and giggled at the strange sensation of being thoroughly slimed by a giant earthworm. “Would it be like this,” she mused. “After I’m gone? When the worms come?”
Phillip thrashed his tail angrily and she laughed, the sound carrying through him.
“Possessive?”
He looped around her, a loose oval surrounding her there in his basement dirt patch. “Would you tunnel through the earth to get to me? Devour me when I’m gone?” Phillip kind of squeezed, his worm-self understanding what his human mind would have rejected without consideration for her feelings on the subject.
Her fingers played lightly over his worm-body. “I don’t just think,” Fran whispered. “I could. I know I could.” She yawned, sleepily murmured, “I do.”
The sun came up.