#kid!phan

Phil couldn’t wait for his first year of Hogwarts. His older brother, Martyn, has always talked about how amazing the school is, and Phil would listen in awe, dreaming about the day he would get his letter for the wizarding school.

And today was the day Phil would begin his first year at Hogwarts. Phil shoved his breakfast in his mouth, desperate to get on the way to the train station. Phil’s mother smiled at his enthusiasm and told him to “calm down now dear, don’t want you choking before you can even get on the train.”

After breakfast Phil got dressed and ready to leave. He knew that they weren’t leaving until 9:30, (he has the exact time embedded into his brain) but he wanted to be 100 percent ready, trunk packed with all his needed belongings.

By 9:00, the Lesters had the car all packed and ready. Phil reminded everyone in the house, (even the family owl), that they were leaving in 30 minutes. He was jumping on the balls of his feet in front of the front door, smiling like a maniac. He couldn’t help it, he was ecstatic.

Finally, 9:30 arrived and the family of four piled into their car. On the way to Kings Cross, Phil was bouncing in his seat, going on and on about how he couldn’t decide on what house would be best for him. His mother said that Phil would do well in any house and Martyn said that he thinks he’ll end up in Hufflepuff.

“What’s wrong with Hufflepuff?” Phil asked Martyn.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong with it, it’s just you’re too nice and happy to be in any of the others.” His brother shrugged.

Phil rolled his eyes. So what if he was nice and happy? He honestly didn’t see anything wrong with that, or with Hufflepuff, and he looked out of his window.

They pulled into the train station at 10:25.

Phil’s face stretched into the widest smile he feels he’s ever given. His parents unloaded the car and Phil hurried to the back of the car to grab his trunk. He wanted to squeal in happiness. Right across from him was his gateway to the best school of witchcraft and wizardry. In that moment, Phil decided that he would become the best wizard he could be. He wanted to create history.

~~~

Finding his way on the train and into an open compartment was fairly easy, much to Phil’s surprise. Martyn had told Phil that, “the easiest way to make friends was to sit by yourself and look like you’re welcoming.” Obviously, Phil believed him and went into the first open compartment he could find.

Sitting down on the squishy train seats and swinging his legs, Phil put on his bet smile and waited for someone to find his compartment. People would walk past him, some with friends, some without, but none stopped at his compartment. Phil didn’t understand, why didn’t anyone want to sit with him? Did he not look welcoming enough?

Just as Phil was about to give up hope and try and find his brother, the door slide open, revealing and boy about his height, with curly brown hair and warm brown eyes. He had an anxious look about him, chewing his bottom lip and eyes wide with something Phil could only associate with fear.

“Um, hello,” the curly-haired boy said in a small voice. “Is this seat taken?”

Phil’s face spread into a grin. “No, not yet. You can have it, if you’d like.”

The boy’s face flooded with relief and he breathed out a small “thank you.” Phil looked at the boy as he placed his trunk above him. The boy then sat back down, book in hand, and began to read. Phil wanted to ask for his name, but he didn’t want to disturb the boy’s reading.

After about a few minutes of silence, the compartment door slide open again. Phil perked up, maybe this will be the person who will become his best friend.

Stood in the opening of the compartment was two boys and one girl, all three looking very serious. Like they meant business.

“Hello,” Phil began as cheerful as he could. The curly-haired boy who was reading slowly lowered his book to look over at the door.

“Hi,” One boy, supposably the leader or the group, said with a tone that slightly took the tone of disgust. He looked over at the curly-haired boy, who was looking determinedly out the window.

“Dan,” The same boy said. “What are you doing in here?”

The curly-haired boy—Dan—kept his eyes focused firmly out the window. The boy raised his eyebrow.

“Dan?”

The boy called Dan made a small noise in his throat and swallowed. He muttered something to the boy at the door.

“What was that?” The boy asked. Phil was starting to think he was slightly annoying.

“I wanted to be alone, Chris.” Dan said in a quiet voice. Everything about this boy seemed soft and quiet, and, for some reason, Phil wanted to see the real Dan, see what he really was like.

“Alone? Why?” The boy Dan had called Chris said the last part like he thought it was wrong for someone to be alone. Phil didn’t blame Dan though. If he was hanging around someone like Chris, he’d want some alone time too.

Dan’s cheeks started to take on a pink tint. “And you’re not even alone. He’s in here with you.”

Phil furrowed his eyebrows. What was wrong with him? Why did Chris say it like Phil was terrible or something of the sort.

“Yeah, well he isn’t rude to me,” Dan murmured so Chris couldn’t here him.

“What was that?” Chris said in a menacing tone.

Well, so much for Chris not hearing him.

Immediately, Dan’s eyes widened and Dan finally looked over at the door. “Nothing!” Dan exclaimed. “I didn’t say anything!”

Chris grunted. “Listen here, Howell, my parents told he to become friends with you because our parents are friends. I promised them I’d be nice to you, but if you’re not gonna corporate, I’ll have no choice but to force you to be my friend. I don’t want this anymore than you do. Alright?”

Phil felt that things were getting a little too far, so he stepped in. “I’m sure Dan can find other people who actually want to be his friend.”

All four students shifted their eyes onto Phil, who was looking at Chris. Phil shifted his eyes to Dan who looked shocked at Phil’s interjection, with his cheeks now bright red.

“Oh yeah? And who would want to be friends with him?” Chris narrowed his eyes at Dan. “He’s a pathetic little gay-”

“Excuse me!” Dan glared at Chris. “I am not gay!” He said, tone almost angry. Phil didn’t understand. Gay? What was wrong with being gay? Phil’s parents are friends with a gay couple, and he had never thought anything wrong of someone fancying the same gender. 

Chris rolled his eyes. Phil got up from his seat to move next to Dan and put his arm around him. Dan blushed.

“I’ll be his friend.” Phil said determinedly. Dan whipped his head around to look at Phil. He stared incredulously at Phil. Chris scoffed. “Right good luck with that. PJ, Zoe, let’s go back to our carriage.”

And with that, the three students left. Phil got up and closed the door, then sat back down, this time across from Dan.

“Thanks.” Dan said, in that small voice again, looking at his shoes.

“Don’t mention it. That Chris guy seemed really annoying.”

Dan chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve known him for five years. Our parents are good friends, but, obviously, we aren’t.”

Phil nodded. “I’m Phil.” He extended his hand, which Dan shook timidly.

“Nice to meet you, Phil. I’m Dan.”

The rest of the train ride was spent talking and laughing, and Phil felt like there was a start to a long friendship, right here, sitting across from him, brown eyes, curly hair and all.

~~~~

“Dan, honey! It's time to leave for the Lesters’, come on, we've got quite the drive ahead of us!” Mrs. Howell’s voice drifted up the stairs as 6-year-old Dan immediately tossed his Winnie the Pooh figurines aside to thunder downstairs. Finally! Dan’s mind zoomed with endless possibilities of the day ahead of him. Between 10-year-old Phil and his 16-year-old brother Martyn, the Lesters had all the best PlayStation games. Phil’s make believe games, too, always left Dan breathless from laughter and endless chasing, wishing he could come up with something just as genius and entertaining.

“Thank you for coming down so quickly. Now, you don't want to forget Phil’s presents, do you?” Dan’s mother gently reminded him, baby Adrian asleep in the slightly beat-up carrier slung over her arm.

“Oh yeah!” Dan exclaimed, dashing over to the Christmas tree in the living room to snatch up Phil’s gifts. Dan had picked out each item especially for Phil this year--a Zombie Art Studio set, a Tamagotchi, and the final few Star Wars figures to complete his collection--and he couldn't wait to see the delight in his friend’s face when he unwrapped them.

Dan felt like that car ride would never end. After hours of colouring, napping and countless are we there yets, the little black Honda finally pulled up in front of the Lesters’ familiar dusty yellow house and it was all Dan could do to keep himself from barrelling down the big oak front door. A soft doorbell chime and a few heavy footsteps later, the threesome was greeted by a beaming, chubby-cheeked face. The young boy wore a red vest over a white and grey plaid shirt and tan chinos, appearing to be positively bursting. “Dan!! You’re never gonna believe what I got as an early Christmas present from my aunt and uncle! Come on, I know you’re gonna love it!” The Northern-accented little boy grabbed Dan by his black coat sleeve, pulling him inside the warm embrace of the house. His mum stepped up behind him to welcome in Mrs. Howell and her infant son.

“Wait, Phil! I still have to give you your presents! I think you’re gonna really like them, I picked them out special!” Dan’s fingers trembled as he set down the carefully wrapped gifts, unzipping his coat and pulling off his big snow boots. “Oh that’s right! I have some things for you too!” Phil dashed upstairs to quickly return with his very own trio of boxes wrapped in candy cane paper. “You first,” he instructed, pushing them straight into Dan’s chest perhaps a bit too forcefully.

“Phil, Dan, why don’t you open your gifts in the kitchen so you can sit at the table?” Phil’s mum gently suggested and the two boys scrambled into the kitchen, climbing up into adjacent cushioned chairs.

Dan started with the top present, haphazardly ripping off the paper to discover--”A Tamagotchi! Cool! Thank you, Phil!” It was all he could do to keep himself from bursting out laughing, knowing what lay in one of the snowman paper-wrapped packages in front of his friend. The next parcel, slightly bigger than the Tamagotchi, contained a book about dinosaurs, complete with big, colourful illustrations. Dan’s entire face lit up. “Whoa! This is so cool! I can’t wait for my mum and dad to read this to me--and maybe I can even read it myself one day! Thanks, Phil!” Finally, he was down to the largest present, a thin rectangular box. Ripping off the candy cane paper and throwing it aside without a care in the world, Dan uncovered a Winnie the Pooh Monopoly game. “No way! I didn’t even know this was a thing! Thank you Phil, these are the best Christmas presents ever!” He leaned over to embrace his friend in a bear hug.

“You’re welcome, Dan, I’m so happy you like it!” Phil replied once they had pulled away, in the same tone Dan had often heard his mother use. “Can I open mine now?”

“Yeah, go ahead!” Dan grinned. “I think you’ll really like them!”

Phil bounced up and down in his seat, eagerly tearing off the wrapping paper on the smallest parcel to reveal the same Tamagotchi he had given Dan. Both boys doubled over in peals of giggles. “Hey, now we can have twin Tamagotchis! We can call each other to say how they’re doing! They can be like brothers!” Dan exclaimed. Phil enthusiastically agreed. Moving on to the next present, Phil let out a mighty whoop that frightened Dan’s baby brother in the living room nearby. “Chewbacca and C3PO! These are the last two I needed, I’ve been wanting these for so long! Thank you, Dan!”

“You’re welcome. Now come on, the last one is the best part!”

“Really?” Phil’s blue eyes widened as he shred the wrapping paper from the final package, uncovering a grey box with a photo of a gruesome-looking zombie head and “Zombie Art Studio” written in a creepy-looking font.

“I thought it would be really cool to put together and then you could use it in your films! Do you like it?” Dan asked expectantly.

“I love it! This is so cool! Thank you so much, Dan!”  Phil leaned in for a tight hug of his own before quickly pulling away and adding, “Hey, I just got Crash Bandicoot 2 from my aunt and uncle and I’m already up to Level 15! Do you wanna try it?”

“Hi Mrs. Lester,” Dan greets Phil’s mum with his best talking-to adults voice. His own mum has a firm grip on his shoulder, preventing him from running into the house. He fidgets as the two women make small talk on the doorstep, shifting the pillowcase full of Lego bricks from one hand to the other.

Dan, at the tender age of seven, is not a very patient child. “Mum, can I go, please?” He wriggles out from under her grasp, inching towards the door.

He doesn’t quite make it and is instead pulled back into her arms, drops his plastic brick bounty in favor of succumbing to the hug. “On you best behavior for Mr. and Mrs. Lester, yes Daniel?” she says, pulling back to look him square in the eyes.

“Yes, mum,” he replies. He huffs as she tidies his fringe, still not releasing him. “Mum, come on!”

Behind him, Phil’s mum says, “He’s never any trouble, don’t worry,” which feels like a triumph. Dan can (usually) count on her to be on his side.

After another eternity of fringe-tidying, Dan is finally allowed to go inside. He drags the heavy pillowcase through the hall and down the stairs to the playroom, which makes a truly absurd amount of noise. Phil appears at the bottom of the stairs before Dan’s even made it halfway, reaching up to help him with the bag.

“Woah, how much Lego do you have in here, Dan?” Phil’s eyes are wide as he looks inside, to the seemingly unending rainbow of squares and rectangles.

“I told you I was gonna bring everything I had! Even the ones I took from school.”

“Dan! You took Legos from school? You can’t just steal like that, it’s against the rules!” Phil looks torn about whether or not to tell their teacher about Dan’s pilfering habit come Monday morning.

Dan shrugs, unbothered by his best friend’s goody-two-shoes ways. This is their third year in school together, so he’s used to it by now. Phil would never actually tell on him. “I always leave them in my pockets by accident,” he says. It’s not quite true, but he doesn’t want Phil to be mad at him right now. Not when they’ve got a plan to execute.

“C’mon Philly, let’s get to work, or else we’ll never finish this thing.”

***

Dan, having recently mastered the art of overlapping the bricks so as to keep them more firmly in place, had just last week set about creating what he considered to be the ultimate Lego feat - a perfect cube. Phil, sat next to him on the classroom floor at recess, had frowned and said that’s so boring, Dan. Why would you build a cube when you could build literally anything you wanted?

Dan, having also recently learned what the word symmetry meant, used this to confuse Phil and get him to leave him alone. Phil would understand once he saw it.

It took quite a bit longer than he’d have liked, what with Phil’s constant pestering causing him to lay too many bricks in a line instead of interlocking them. Whole sections would break off, and he’d have to pry a bunch of bricks off the base and start again. But eventually he’d done it, had set it down gently on Phil’s desk during their next recess and plucked a crisp out of Phil’s hand while he stared. Phil had picked it up and started turning it over in his hands, which made Dan extremely nervous. Phil was always dropping things and breaking them.

Phil said, “I have a ton more Legos at my house we could use,” which made no sense.

“Use for what?” Dan asked, now with the entire bag of Phil’s crisps in his hands. His mum never bought the pickled onion Space Raiders.

Phil shot him an annoyed look, the same one he uses when Dan asks to copy his subtraction homework (which Phil always says yes to, somehow).

“To make it bigger, obviously,” Phil had said, setting the cube back down none too gently. Dan winced as it hit the desk. “Or taller - yeah, definitely taller. Like a building! The really huge ones, what are they called? Like in cities?”

Dan frowned. “A skyscraper? But it wouldn’t have any windows, Phil, how is that a skyscraper?”

Phil rolled his eyes as if that was a totally irrelevant detail. “I don’t know, it’s like one of those future ones, one that’s all glass!”

There had been more, Phil with his feet tucked up under him, gesturing wildly with his hands, sat at his tiny school desk creating an entire universe out a cube.

Dan, always running low on excuses in the face of his friend’s overwhelming enthusiasm, had said, “But then it won’t be symmetrical anymore, Phil.”

(It’s possible that he doesn’t quite fully understand what symmetry is yet.)

Phil had snatched the very last Space Raider out his hand and said I’ll ask my mum if you can sleep over on Saturday, without bothering to ask Dan if he wanted to.

(He wanted to.)

***

They’d been working every day after school this week, until Dan had to go home for dinner each night. Phil has hidden the tower (which is tall enough to reach their chests, now, and quite heavy) in the back of the playroom’s closet, away from Martyn’s destructive hands. With Phil’s Lego supply exhausted, all that’s left is the contents of Dan’s pillowcase. They’ll definitely finish tonight.

While Dan makes sure the tower is intact, Phil dumps the pillowcase out onto the carpet in a messy tumble. The noise of plastic on plastic, hundreds and hundreds of pieces, is almost deafening. Dan whirls around, hands over his ears and a reprimand on his lips.

“Phiiiiiiiil! Why did you do that?” Dan surveys the absolute disaster of bricks. The ugly pink playroom carpet is a distant memory, lost under a sea of bright red, yellow, and blue. This is not symmetrical (or at least he’s pretty sure it isn’t).

Phil looks so immediately guilty, clutching the empty pillowcase to his chest, that Dan almost regrets getting angry. Almost.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. I just thought it would make it easier to look for the right pieces.” Phil takes a couple tentative steps into his space, hands fluttering around Dan’s shoulders as though he’s not sure if Dan would allow himself to be hugged right now. Dan sighs dramatically, succumbing to his second hug of the day before digging his fingers into Phil’s ticklish sides. Phil squirms away from him, his shriek dissolving into giggles that Dan can’t help but join in on. He kicks at a couple bricks at the edge of the pile with his bare feet, anger already forgotten.

***

Dan does most of the building. Phil has proved pretty useless at the critical interlocking technique, despite Dan’s careful instruction, so he’d been relegated to sorting through the pieces for the necessary sizes. Phil keeps up a near-constant stream of chatter as he searches for some more 2x4 bricks, and for once Dan doesn’t mind. He’s in a rhythm now, an all-encompassing, skyscraper-producing rhythm.

Plus, he likes when Phil talks to him. Most of the other kids only talk about him.

When he can’t reach the top of the tower anyone, even standing on his tiptoes, he’s forced to interrupt Phil’s monologue about hey Dan, did you know that tigers have striped skin, not just their fur, and -

“I can’t reach any higher,” Dan says.

Phil looks up at him from the middle of the Lego pile, blinking away his haze of animal facts. He gets to his feet, bricks raining down as they escape the crevices of his t-shirt. “Oh. Maybe we could get a chair from upstairs?”

“No way, if your mum sees us up there, she’ll make us go outside or something.” Dan wrinkles his nose at the thought. “And then we’ll never finish. I’ll just put a couple of layers together down here, and then you can boost me up.”

Phil looks horrified at that idea. “What? I can’t do that, I’ll drop you!”

Dan has already started working on the new layers. “Yes you can, remember when you threw our ball into Mr. Harrison’s garden by accident? You lifted me over the fence then, right?”

Phil seems unsure, but pushes the pile of 2x4’s towards him anyway. “I guess. I just don’t want you to get hurt...”

“I won’t,” Dan says, slotting the last brick into place. “I trust you, Philly, c’mon.”

Phil sighs, but moves to kneel down with his back to the tower. He holds his hands out, making a little platform. Dan steps onto it, holding onto the tower with one hand for balance.

“Your feet are cold,” Phil says. His voice sounds strained with the effort of holding Dan up.

Dan places the new layers on the tower, trying to use his stupid right hand to lock it onto the ones below. “Your mum’s cold,” he mumbles, just as one too-hard push sends his body careening to the side. His feet tip awkwardly out of Phil’s hands, causing him to stumble and fall onto the carpet.

Except it’s not carpet, it’s a sea of sharp plastic.

His bare feet are the first victims as he fails to catch himself, followed closely by the palms of his hands as well as his forearms. He curls in on himself as he lays there on the ground, but it only causes more sharp edges to dig into his shoulders and knees.

“Dan! Dan, oh no, oh my god, I told you you would fall! Are you okay? I don’t know what to - ” Phil breaks off as Dan starts crying, the sharp stabs of pain too much for his little body. He hears Phil thundering up the stairs, his voice sounding far away and panicky. “Mum! Mum, I need help!”

By the time Phil reappears with Mrs. Lester in tow, Dan has managed to sit up and start examining the many Lego-shaped indents in his skin. He swipes frustratedly at the wetness on his cheeks. He hates crying.

Phil’s mum wrenches her hand out of Phil’s death grip. “Daniel, love, what’s happened? Phil said you took quite a tumble.” She takes one of his hands in her own, frowning at the already-fading marks.

“I’m fine,” Dan starts, still sniffling. “I was - ”

“It was my fault.” Phil’s voice is small and scared. “I dumped the Legos out everywhere, and then my hands slipped when I was holding Dan up, and then - and then - ” Phil looks like he’s about to cry. That’s not okay. Dan hates crying, but he hates it even more when Phil’s crying.

“Hey Philly, don’t cry, it’s alright, I’m alright,” Dan says, ignoring his lingering pain in favor of wrapping an arm around Phil’s shoulders. Three hugs in one day, that has to be a new record for him.

Phil sniffles into his shoulder. “I promise I’ll be better next time, Danny.”

Dan rolls his eyes. And people think he’s the dramatic one. “You don’t have to be better, Phil. I like you just the way you are.”

***

Phil’s mum does make them to go outside for a bit, but not before bringing a chair from the dining room and holding onto Dan as he places the final pieces on the top of the tower. She even helps them carry it up the stairs into Phil’s bedroom, where it towers proudly over the rest of his toys. Together, he and Phil scoop the remaining scattered Lego pieces back into the pillowcase.

Tired from their forced escapades outside (which turned out to be pretty fun, in the end), the two boys pull all of Phil’s blankets and pillows onto the floor so that they can sleep under the shadow of their skyscraper. Dan stares up at it, bright colors shining even in the late-night darkness. After all that work, it’s just kind of...a long cube. It doesn’t feel as magnificent as he’d imagined it. But then again, he’s never had much of an imagination.

He says as much to Phil, buried in a mound of blankets somewhere to his left. “It was kind of a stupid idea, huh?” Dan says.  

Phil digs his toes into Dan’s shin. “What are you talking about? It’s not stupid. We made it, like, out of nothing. That’s not stupid.”

However, even magical things can lose their ability to awestruck, and ten-year-olds have very focused attention spans, and Dan was on a mission. He sat down beneath the tree, as he always did, and, as he always did, grabbed the art supplies he had hidden away in its roots. Dan loved to paint in his secret base. It was cool and secluded and his mum wasn’t there to wince at the mess no matter how much paint he splattered on the ground. And he splattered a lot. When he painted inside he always had to take care not to spill, but outside he was able to lose himself in the painting and ignore the mess.  Today he was making a flower. Or maybe it wasn’t a flower. Maybe now it was a butterfly. Oh! Or maybe he could make it a fairy! If it was a fairy it would need flowers around it. Maybe some of those flowers were butterflies. This butterfly and the fairy were best friends.

He was so focused on his ever evolving painting that he didn’t even notice the sound of another boy squeezing into the garden and running up to him until the toes of their shoes touched. “Dan!”

Dan’s head whipped up from where he was adding the final details, and when he saw the other boy his face split into a wide grin. “Phil! Look what I did!”

Phil sat down in front of him, careful not to put any weight on the hand bandaged to the elbow. Dan meant to ask why it was bandaged, but he figured Phil just had a weak wrist or something like how Dan’s knees always hurt. Besides, there were far more important things to worry about. “That’s amazing,” Phil awed, leaning in to get a better look. “The wings are really pretty.”

Dan beamed at him and took out a new sheet of paper to start a new painting. “You can have it, if you want. Do you want to paint something?”

As he had done every day for weeks, Phil took the offered painting with an almost reverent air and folded it up to fit in his pocket. “Nah, I think I’m just going to watch you paint today,” he said, scooting closer to get a better look at what Dan was about to do.

Dan just smiled softly to himself, and with the warmth of summer around him and the warmth of his best friend beside him, he started to paint.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Dan groaned and shifted uncomfortably in the stiff white button-up shirt his mum had gotten him for school. She’d been kind and foresightful enough to buy him shorts instead of pants, but there was no getting out of the shirt and sweater he had to wear every day. He pouted at Phil who was sitting with him under the tree wearing the same thing he always wore. “How come you don’t have to wear a uniform?” Dan demanded.

Phil looked almost startled at the question and took a moment before answering. “The secondary school I go to doesn’t have uniforms,” he explained. “A lot of them do, but I go to one where there’s just a dress code.”

Dan sighed dreamily at the thought of not having to wear a uniform every day. “I hope I get to go to your school. But you have to promise that you’ll still be my friend if I do,” he warned.

Phil furrowed his brow. “Why on earth would I stop being your friend if we went to the same school? If anything, we’d be better friends.”

Dan shifted from side to side, refusing to meet Phil’s eyes. “Some of the other kids make fun of me.”

“Why do they make fun of you?”

Dan hunched into himself against the tree. This was clearly not a topic he cared to talk about. “They make fun of me cause I’m slow and I trip a lot and my hand shakes a bunch so I can’t write.”

Phil frowned and wrapped his arms around the younger boy to pull him into a tight hug. Dan sniffled and he felt Phil’s arms tighten around him. “I promise we’ll be friends for as long as you want,” Phil swore.

Dan pulled back with a slightly watery smile and held out one hand with the pinky extended. When Phil just looked a bit confused, Dan explained. “You gotta pinky promise you’ll be my friend forever.”

With a look almost akin to wonder, Phil stretched out his pinky and gently wrapped it around Dan’s. “I pinky promise I’ll be your friend forever.”

Dan laughed in delight and grabbed Phil in a tight hug. “You’re my best friend,” he announced, grinning when Phil’s pale complexion darkened slightly with a blush.

“You’re my best friend, too.” Phil admitted.

Dan beamed and reached for his paints to paint his third picture of the day, but Phil’s hand on his stopped him. He scowled at Phil who was giving him a warning look. “Phil, I don’t want to do my homework!” he whined.

“Too bad, you have to,” Phil said, grabbing Dan’s school bag. “Come on, it won’t be so bad with me helping you.”

Dan groaned and put away his paints. “Alright, fiiiinne.”

Phil chuckled under his breath. “Alright, which subject do you want to start with?”

“Anything but maths.”

And so, under the tree, in the light of the warm afternoon, Dan and Phil worked on homework, giggling and chatting the entire time.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Dan kicked a pile of colorful leaves as he walked away from the school. His mum generally got onto him about kicking leaf piles as there was usually someone on the other end who worked really hard to get them in a pile, but Dan figured that since she got to shove him in a jacket and boots that he had earned the right to kick whatever he wanted. As he watched the leaves fall around him, he thought again on the painting he wanted to make when he got to his garden. His mum had given him a very pretty set of browns and reds and oranges that morning, and he was planning to use them to paint a picture of himself and Phil in a pile of leaves.

Thinking of Phil reminded Dan of the two pumpkins in his bag. His teacher had let the class spend some time that day carving foam pumpkins with plastic tools and there had been a few left over. Dan had begged her to let him take them home, and after a few seconds of puppy eyes, she relented. He carefully placed them in his bag, and he and Phil were going to paint them together that afternoon. Phil never wanted to paint on paper with Dan, but maybe he’d be willing to carve a pumpkin.

As if under someone else’s control, Dan started running forward, excitement pumping through his veins. He stumbled to a stop in just a few steps, though, his knees aching. He plopped himself on the ground and scowled at his knees as he rubbed feeling back into them. They’d been hurting a lot more recently, and he didn’t know why. He’d heard his grandmother complaining about how the weather was messing with her joints, so maybe that was it.

When his legs were again in working order, Dan got back to his feet and started heading for the garden again, this time keeping sure to stay at a walking speed. As always, Phil wasn’t waiting when Dan got there, so he took the opportunity to paint without Phil telling him to do his homework. He was so excited to use his new paints that his hands were shaking even more than they normally did. He spilled paint pretty much everywhere, even getting some on his jacket. His mum wouldn’t be happy with him, but at this point he didn’t much care.

“What are you painting?” Phil asked, startling Dan so much his hand jerked on the paper. He frowned down at the brown smear now on his paper, but it kind of blended in with the rest of the leaves, so it was okay.

I made it for you!” Dan announced, flourishing it with pride. “It’s us!”

Phil looked positively gobsmacked. “You painted this?” he asked. When Dan nodded eagerly, Phil’s face split into the widest grin Dan had ever seen. “This is brilliant, Dan!”

Dan beamed. “My mum got me new paints.” He quickly grew bored of watching Phil ogle his painting, and said, “Do you want to carve pumpkins with me?”

Phil furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

Dan reached for his bag and pulled out the pumpkins his teacher had given him, along with the plastic carving tools. “They’re hollow, so we can put lights in them and you can see the face you made.”

Phil took the offered pumpkin. It was an unnaturally bright orange and a little larger than both of his fists put together and only vaguely resembled a pumpkin. However, it was hollow and Dan looked tickled pink at the thought of the activities, so he grabbed the plastic knife Dan was holding out to him. Dan hummed happily to himself as he got to carving, but looked over and noticed something odd about Phil. “How come your mom doesn’t make you wear a coat? I wish I was still allowed to wear shorts.”

Phil shrugged, his tongue poking out as he focused on his pumpkin. “I dunno. I just don’t get cold very easily so I don’t have to wear coats and stuff.”

Dan pouted. “No fair.”

Phil laughed and reached over to ruffle Dan’s curly hair. “Just carve your pumpkin and don’t worry about it.”

Dan shrugged and did as he was told. He worked slowly and carefully to combat the shaking in his hands like he always did with art projects. There was one scary moment where he slipped and almost cut his hand open, and Phil nearly panicked, but he was okay. When he was done, he sat his down next to Phil’s, who had already completed his several minutes before. Despite the extra care that went into it, Dan’s was still noticeably sloppier. But it had a wide crooked smile and Dan couldn’t be happier about it.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Dan stumbled down the street, bundled in the thickest coat he owned to protect him from the freezing December air. He was walking very slowly, his knee aches a near constant struggle instead of something that flared up occasionally. His mum had been sympathetic when he’d complained about it, but there was nothing she could do other than give him a child’s aspirin and hope things got better. They were supposed to go to the doctor that afternoon, but Dan had begged her to let him go the next day. He wanted to talk to Phil.

When he finally made it to the hole in the fence, he shoved himself through. He almost didn’t fit thanks to his coat, but he managed to squirm his way in. He went to the tree where his paints were, but when he got them out he found that they had all been frozen solid. He shoved them in his bag to take home so they wouldn’t get messed up any more, and sat down to wait for Phil.

Two hours later, he went home alone.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Spring had come and thawed the world out completely. Everything was soft and warm and green and the garden was prettier than Dan had ever seen it. There were bright bursts of colors everywhere from the flowers that dotted the beds, and birds chirped loud and clear in the branches of his tree. The ground was near-constantly wet from the daily showers, and Dan loved to kick and splash in the puddles. Spring had always been his favorite season, and one of his favorite holidays was Easter. As a special present for being so good at the doctor’s office, his mum had given him a set of plastic eggs for him to paint and decorate however he wanted. Naturally, he decided to take them to the garden to paint with Phil.

He tried to wait for Phil, he really did, but the other boy was taking so long and he got bored. So, he took out his paints and an egg and got started. As always, he spilled some on the ground, but it didn’t land on his pants, so it didn’t really matter. The egg slipped from his fingers and he went to grab it, but a pale hand took it before he could.

“What cha up to, Dan?” Phil asked, handing the egg back.

“Painting eggs,” Dan replied. He looked at the egg and frowned. The paint wasn’t at all dry, so dirt had gotten in it and the design had smudged irreparably. He set it aside, deciding he’d wait for it to dry so he could paint over it. “Will you paint some, too?”

Phil beamed and happily accepted the oval shaped plastic ball Dan handed him. “Do you want to take turns hiding them when we’re done?” he asked, carefully painting on some dots.

“Sounds good to me,” Dan agreed, divvying up the eggs. He’d started with eight, so he gave four to Phil and kept three for himself, not including the one he’d messed up. They worked in silence as they centered all their focus on painting, but Dan was having a hard time. His hands were trembling and all his brush strokes were crooked and he couldn’t keep a hold of the eggs. He kept setting the ruined ones to the side to redo, but soon he didn’t have any that weren’t wet. With a cry of frustration, he threw his  brush to the ground next to yet another ruined egg and curled up in a ball, trying not to cry.

He didn’t succeed.

“Dan, what’s wrong?” Phil asked instantly, his hands hovering just above Dan like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“I don’t want to paint anymore,” Dan sniffled.

“Why not?”

“Because my stupid hands don’t work! Nothing on my stupid body works!”

Phil wrapped his arms around Dan in a motion that was by now familiar to both of them. “What are you talking about? Your body works fine.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Dan hiccupped, hiding his face in Phil’s chest. “I’ve got to go to the doctor all the time cuz my knees always hurt and my hands don’t work right and my face looks funny. The doctors gave me medicine, but it tastes bad and makes my stomach hurt and it doesn’t do anything.”

Phil frowned and hugged Dan that much tighter. “Have you told your mum?”

Dan nodded forlornly. “Yeah, but she just tells me that it’s supposed to do that and I just have to wait for it to work.”

Phil sighed and they sat there like that for a while, neither of them sure what to do next. It wasn’t until Phil absently reached down and covered Dan’s trembling hands in his own that he had a brilliant idea. “We can paint them together!”

Dan frowned. “No, we can’t. I can’t hold the dumb old eggs and they’d look ugly anyway.”

Phil waved away his concerns. “I can hold the egg and your hand,” he explained. “Then you can direct where we paint and I can hold your hand still!”

“Do you really think that will work?” Dan asked hesitantly. When Phil nodded eagerly, Dan shrugged and got in position for Phil to help. It was a little awkward with Phil having to sit behind him, but Phil had started his growth spurts so his arms were long and gangly enough for it to work. “I want to paint a rabbit on this one,” he said.

Together, he and Phil painted the remaining eggs one by one. When they were done, Phil hid the eggs while Dan counted.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Summer had once again fallen on Reading, freeing Dan from school. Around him, the air was hot and sticky, and he could feel the individual beads of sweat rolling down his back. Beside him, Phil was lying on his back with his eyes closed, the tall grass waving in the slight breeze. Dan dropped his paintbrush for about the fifth time that afternoon, and without even opening his eyes, Phil grabbed it and held it out for Dan to take.

But he never did.

Phil sat up to see Dan trembling from head to toe in absolute rage. His stupid body didn’t work and he was sick of it. With a snarl of frustration, Dan ripped the painting in his hands in half and then in half again and wadded the pieces up to throw away from him. He turned on Phil and snatched the paintbrush that had betrayed him for the last time and threw it across the yard. He started piling up the rest of his painting materials, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Dan, what are you doing?” Phil demanded, turning the younger boy to look at him.

“I hate painting!” Dan snapped. He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He’d been crying so much recently and he was tired. “I hate painting and I’m no good at it and I’m never doing it again!”

“What are you talking about?” Phil sputtered. “You’re great at painting!”

“Not anymore,” Dan said darkly. “Now my hands shake and my paintings are messed up and I can’t even hold the dumb brush right. I’m not doing it anymore.”

“I can help!” Phil insisted, eyes wide and almost panicked. “I can hold your hands still!”

“No! I don’t want your help! I just want to paint!” The tears that had been building behind Dan’s eyes finally spilled over. He balled his fists up and scrubbed them against his cheeks, but that did little against the hot streams that replaced the ones he wiped away. “Painting was the one thing I was good at, and now I can’t even do that,” he choked out. “I j-just wanna go home, Phil.”

“But Dan--”

Dan turned on Phil, all the anger a seven-year-old could muster bruning bright in his watery eyes. “I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back.” With that, he hurled his entire paint set into one of the more over grown corners of the garden and ran off. He made it to the corner of the street before his knees started aching too much for him to keep going, so he sat himself down and waited. He leaned against a fence, scrubbed the tear tracks off his cheeks so his mother wouldn’t ask questions, and kept an eye on the hole that led to his garden. After what felt like years of waiting, Phil still hadn’t shown up, and Dan had to shove down another wave of tears as he stood up on shaky legs and made his way home.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Phil sighed deeply as he laid on his back and stared up at the sky. It was a bright, warm June day, but he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy any of it. Usually he could trick himself into believing he could feel the sun warming his skinor the grass tickling his cheek, but tomorrow was Dan’s birthday and he hadn’t seen the boy in weeks. He’d tried to follow after Dan whne he’d left that day -- maybe to explain everything, maybe not -- but as soon as he’d crossed the fence line he’d gone transparent again and got sucked right back to the base of this dumb old tree.

He blew a raspberry at said tree and drifted up and over to the art supplies Dan had abandoned. Just like me. He quickly shoved down that particular feeling. Dan hadn’t known what exactly his actions would do, and it was unfair to judge him in that light. For all Dan knew, Phil had abandoned him that day, too. Phil thought back on the past year he’d spent with Dan; it’d been the best he’d had in a very long time. He very carefully pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. It was the painting Dan had given him of the both of them surrounded by leaves. He’d never had someone paint him before, and it had been… nice. Of course he’d never been able to draw Dan before. He’d tried to paint the first few times Dan had inadvertently summoned him, but whenever he touched the paint to paper he could feel his hold on the world get weaker.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s finally time to go home.

Being alone for almost twenty years, Phil had more than gotten used to the voice in his head and often just tuned it out, but maybe this time it was on to something. He was tired of being stuck in this garden. He was tired of only half existing. He was tired of being alone. Maybe, just maybe, he could do this and everything would finally be okay.

Steeling his nerve, Phil took a deep breath and concentrated. He concentrated on the first time Dan had ever spilt paint on the roots of his tree. He concentrated on how he felt talking to Dan and having a friend for the first time in years. Then he thought back a little farther and concentrated on when he was still able to paint all by himself. He concentrated on how wonderful it was to paint. He thought of his very first best friend.

Slowly but surely, Phil began to feel… real. It started in his fingertips, and he screwed up his eyes and focused entirely on that feeling. By the time it had spread across the rest of his body, he was exhausted and panting, lying on his back in the grass.

But he could feel it.

Phil sat straight up and looked around. Everything seemed so green. He shoved his fingers in the ground and watched in awe as the dirt squished around them and buried itself under his nails. He had nails. He could have spent the rest of his life marveling at everything he laid eyes on, but the lingering thought of knowing he had a job to do and the weight of every breath kept him focused.

He grabbed up Dan’s paint supplies and settled himself down under the tree. He knew exactly what he wanted to paint, but he figured he owed Dan an explanation first. He’d hate it if the younger boy showed up to the garden and waited all day for Phil, only for no one to show up. It had been bad enough in winter, but at least it was only a couple times. Luckily, Dan also kept a pencil in his paint kit, so Phil wrote a note.

It was hard. After all, how exactly do you explain that you’re a ghost who was summoned by messy painting and longing for a friend? But he tried. He explained how he’d loved painting before and how he’d painted something for his best friend’s birthday. He explained how he’d never gotten to give his friend that painting because of a squabble over petty differences. He explained that he was going to his friend’s house to apologize when a truck came. He explained how he’d been left alone floating in his backyard where he used to paint for years until Dan showed up. He explained how Dan was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. He explained how hard it was to say goodbye.

He signed the note “Your best friend, Phil Lester” and scrubbed the tears out of his eyes. There wasn’t any time for that. He was growing more and more tired by the second, and he hadn’t even started on the painting. He grabbed the brush and almost got lost in the feeling of once again having a brush in his hand, then started with one strong stroke. He kept painting, adding detail after detail, but he grew more tired every time he dipped the brush in paint, and soon his hands were shaking as much as Dan’s. He truly understood why Dan was frustrated to the point of tears now. He pressed on though, and kept painting. This had to be his best yet. It was just a picture of himself and Dan, and Dan was using a marker to draw cat whiskers on Phil’s face. None of the whisker lines were wobbly, and somehow Phil knew that Dan’s hands weren’t shaking in the picture. He put everything he had into wishing it were true.

With his last ounce of energy, Phil placed the note and painting under the tree where Dan always sat, and let himself drift but held on just enough to keep an eye on the garden. He didn’t know if Dan would ever see the painting left for him, but he wanted to wait and see. He wanted to see Dan one more time.

He lost track of time, floating there in the space between Here and There, but his attention was jerked back here when Dan burst through the fence. “Phil! Phil, are you here?” Dan called, beaming so bright he could have been the sun. Phil felt his heart ache as Dan searched for him, but there was nothing he could do. He watched as Dan finally found the note and painting left for him and started reading. As Dan’s eyes darted back and forth across the page, they filled with tears, and when he was done, he curled up in a ball and cried.

Soon though, his tears dried up, and Dan took a good look at the painting Phil had left him. He smiled a watery smile, and took out the sharp rock he kept in his paint kit. Phil watched curiously as Dan chipped away at the tree with surprisingly steady hands. It was messy, but it was perfect, and when Dan was done, he wrapped his arms around the tree and said, “You’re my best friend, too, Phil.”

Phil released a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding. It was time for him to go.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

It was summer in Reading again, but not the summer Dan turned 13. No, it was many summers after that, but the air was still warm and sticky like honey in your lungs, and the garden was still quiet and cool, and Dan was still painting. However, these days he stood at an easel, and his hands never shook.

“That looks amazing, babe,” Matt grinned, sneaking up behind Dan to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Probably one of your best.”

Dan hummed happily, and leaned into Matt’s sturdy frame. “You think so?” They both looked at the painting Dan had made of a young boy with eyes that sparkled with laughter and nearly transparent wings furled out behind him.

“Definitely,” Matt said seriously. “You really cared about this one. Is it based on anyone you know?”

Dan shook his head. “You wouldn’t know him. He was my best friend when I was little, though.”

Matt smiled. “Well, let me retroactively thank him for taking such good care of you until I could.”

Dan rolled his eyes and playfully batted the other man’s face away. “This coming from the guy who nearly decapitates me because he can’t be bothered to close the cabinets when he uses them?”

“Yeah, that one.” They both laughed for a minute before Matt nudged his side. “Seriously though, I made lunch, and we both know you haven’t eaten all day. Come inside.”

“You go ahead, I want to finish this up. It’ll just take a second.” At Matt’s doubtful look, Dan put up his hands in surrender. “I mean it! If I’m not inside in five minutes you can come out here and carry me inside like the big, strong man you are.”

Matt laughed and pressed another kiss to Dan’s cheek. “Alright then. I’ll see you in just a bit.”

When Matt was gone, Dan smiled softly at his painting. “This one’s for you, Phil,” he said to the empty garden and splashed a bit of paint on the carving of a small child. Then he packed up his things and went inside.

On the base of the tree were the messy cuts that spelled out DH + PH BFF splattered with blue paint. In the still summer air the windchime on Dan’s back porch jingled merrily. Everything was good.

Fin

Prompt me!