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Phil loved his sticker books.
He liked sitting cross-legged in the garden, poking at the bugs, tracing their tiny legs with a fingertip and naming them things like Trevor or Pickle.
He liked cereal potions, where he’d mix three boxes into one bowl. He liked scented markers, even if they made his nose wrinkle, and blankets with satin edges that felt cool against his cheek.
Dan always dragged Phil to the utility with him, because Phil threatened to move in with the grandma next door when Dan didn’t let him pour the capful of soap in.
Phil always got too silly before bed.
Not every night. Just the ones where his body didn’t feel quite like his own, where his limbs were too floppy or his thoughts too overwhelming.
He'd twist himself into a blanket burrito, then undo it five seconds later. Burrow down, then pop up with wild hair, eyes wide and sparkly.
“I’m going to tidy up,” Phil announced, his eyes mischievous in the low light.
He wiggled out of the covers, looked around the room and then promptly pointed at the pillows he'd scattered in disarray.
“Dan, you made a mess.”
Without waiting for a response, Phil launched himself into action. He grabbed the nearest one, attempting to fluff it. The pillow promptly slipped out of his hands, knocked a photo off the nightstand, and landed on Dan’s head.
Dan blinked, staring at him.
Phil immediately burst out laughing, nearly falling sideways off the bed in the process.
“Okay, enough.” His voice was a little firmer now, but there was still a fondness to it. “You're making my forehead upset.”
"It’s happy, Dan!"
"It is not happy."
Dan carefully set the pillow aside, and bent down to pick up the picture frame, dusting it off before placing it back on the nightstand.
He gave Phil’s chest a light shove with his palm who fell dramatically onto his back, immediately flipping over and pushing himself up like a horse learning to walk.
Then he watched out of the corner of his eye as Phil clambered towards him cheeky as all hell.
"Again."
So, they did that until Phil was right in his face and his nose pressed against Dan’s cheek.
"Getting a bit close there, pal."
Dan gave his shoulder one final, half-hearted shove. Phil stayed down this time, sprawled out like he’d finally accepted defeat. Or just wore himself out.
"You look like Trevor the bug right now."
Phil fully lost his mind.
He didn’t even notice Dan dragging him back over like a sack of giggling potatoes, rolling him onto his stomach with minimal resistance.
His words spilled out in tangled, breathless bursts and Dan nodded like any of that was coherent to him.
Phil’s giggles started to fade into soft chuckles, but his grin remained, even as he buried his face deeper into the duvet like it was his new home.
“I’m a worm now,” he declared, muffled by the fabric. “I’ve evolved.”
Phil’s giggles died down, and for a moment, the room fell completely silent. Dan glanced over, confused.
Dan furrowed his brow. “You alright down there?”
There was no response.
A few seconds later, he heard it—the faintest shuffle. Then another. And another.
Dan blinked. Phil was shimmying. Slowly, purposefully, and completely under the duvet. It was like watching a snake slink across the floor.
Phil was inching his way down the bed, one little wriggling movement at a time, making his way toward the end of the bed, completely silent, like he was trying to sneak away without a sound. It was utterly baffling.
“Phil?” Dan called again, still not quite understanding what was happening.
No answer. Phil just kept shimmying, making it about halfway to the end of the bed.
Dan’s patience snapped. He yanked the duvet up to check on him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Phil looked up at him, eyes bright with pure, unfiltered joy.
Before Dan could say anything more, there was a thud as he disappeared off the side of the bed, landing with an undignified slap onto the floor.
There was a brief pause.
Phil’s voice floated up with a groan. “Well, I’m a worm. I fall off things sometimes.”
Dan couldn’t help but laugh, but quickly regained his composure. “Yeah, well, worms don’t fall off the bed that dramatically. You okay down there?”
Phil’s head popped up from the edge of the bed. “No,” he declared, with a perfectly serious tone. "Can I have a snack?"
“You’ve got two feet Phil. Get up and get it yourself.”
“I’m a worm, Dan. Worms don’t move. I need you to get it for me. That’s your job.”
"You know where your snacks are."
"I want you to get it for me."
Dan rubbed his temples in mock frustration.
He came back a few moments later, a pack of crisps in hand and a second duvet draped over his arm.
“Here,” Dan said, dropping the crisps on the floor with a quiet rustle.
With a resigned, half-assed gesture, Dan tossed the second duvet onto the floor, letting it land in a crumpled heap and folded his legs under himself as he got comfortable next to the makeshift nest.
With barely a pause, Dan reached over, his hand falling lightly on Phil’s back. He responded instantly.
Like a switch had flipped, gave a soft little huff and flopped forward, curling into the duvet without hesitation, total stillness.
Then—almost comically out cold.
Shaking his head and huffing a quiet laugh, Dan took the opportunity to try and quietly pull the crisps away from his sleeping hands. But as soon as his fingers touched the bag, Phil’s hand clenched around it with surprising strength.
“No,” Phil mumbled sleepily. “They’re mine.”
Dan stifled a laugh, giving up and gently tugging the crisps back into Phil’s grip.
“Alright. You win.”
Carefully hoisted him back up onto the bed and into the covers, brushing his hair out of his face, and gave his back one last gentle pat before settling down next to him.