Archive of Our Own ^beta

'I’ve done nothing,' Phil said, already huddling in the corner of the shower like it would shield him. 'Spare me, please.'

Dan was halfway through rinsing the conditioner when someone got cold, and yanked the handheld away from him.

He opened one eye as the bubbles dripped.

‘I will actually roll you out of this house. Turn the overhead back on.’

Phil hosed him down like he was watering the garden, giggling manically and spraying Dan right in the face, who reached out blind, sputtering dramatically and spitting in his direction.

‘Now you’re very warm,’ Phil said innocently.

He heard the deliberate tapping of wet feet in the puddle as Phil tried to broadcast his suffering while he reached over to start fussing with the shower settings again.

The en suite had the better water pressure, and Dan had staked it out first.

Phil had followed not long after, mumbling something about ‘saving time’ like it wasn’t just an excuse to kick him out, or crowd him, depending on the mood.

They hadn’t quite figured out how to get both the overhead and handheld on at the same time yet.

It wasn’t an issue recently, as they rarely left more than a few inches between them when showering together anyway.

They’d gotten home late and started bickering about who got to go first in the fancy bathroom, a debate that apparently ended with both of them in here.

The shower squeaked as the settings were flipped around, and Dan opened his eyes again.

Phil was now sitting at the bottom of the tub, hands cupped around the faucet like a raccoon, splashing water into his face with the bath already plugged.

‘This was supposed to take like, five minutes. Quick shower, then bed.’

‘I’m too cold! You know I can’t do anything when I’m a Frozen Phil.’ He perked up. ‘We should watch–’

‘No. You’ve just turned a quick rinse into a whole production, and we have to get up at, like, nine.'

Phil didn’t respond, already halfway through a mental movie marathon. ‘How about the second one then? Pass me those bath crayons now.’

Dan reached into the plastic curtain pocket and shoved them toward him with a deadpan expression. ‘Why do we have these?’

‘What else am I supposed to do besides sit here and be human soup?’ Phil said, triumphantly taking them like a child being handed their Christmas gifts.

Rubbing his hand over his face, Dan gave up, yanking the towel off the hook and sitting on the edge of the tub with a long-suffering sigh. ‘I’ll humor you. But after that comment, I’m not going to be soup tonight.’

Phil ignored him, clearly smitten to have the whole tub to himself.

‘You look like you’re having fun,’ Dan muttered. ‘What are you going to draw?’

‘So much fun. Wouldn’t you like to know.’

Dan scoffed and leaned back against the counter now, watching Phil scribble something in purple crayon near the edge of the tub.

‘You’re too weird,’ He said, slinging a towel over one shoulder.

‘Jealous you don’t have my creative vision,’ Phil said, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. ‘You’re getting water on the floor.’

‘I’ll use my second towel to clean it up, thanks. Unlike you, Mr. Three Towels for One Body.’

Phil smirked, switching to orange, rolling the purple over the side like it was garbage.

‘Some of us are blessed with sensory nuance, Daniel. You wouldn’t understand. You’re on default settings.’

Dan snorted. ‘You’re on stinky baby spectrum edition.’

‘And I’m perfectly happy there,’ Phil added proudly, then tapped the tile with the crayon. ‘This is you, by the way.’

He leaned over to look.

‘That is a jellyfish that looks like it had a confused child.’

‘Yeah, you’re always confused.’

Dan huffed and stomped over to the towel warmer, because of course they had that now since the utility room was suddenly “too far” for Phil, as if they hadn’t designed the entire house themselves.

'This is the last warm one,’ he warned, yanking it free. 'If you drop it, I’m drying you with a dish rag.'

He snapped it open like he was about to swaddle a particularly difficult toddler.

‘I’m very cold,’ Phil whispered, voice trembling like a Victorian widow.

Dan stared down at him.

‘You have functioning legs. This isn’t Les Misérables. Get up.’

Phil remained motionless, held his arms out like a scarecrow, eyes wide and pitiful.

Nothing.

He twisted the towel under Phil’s arms and over his shoulders, like he was building a human cinnamon roll, muttering under his breath the entire time.

‘There,’ he said bitterly when they were standing face to face. ‘You’re trapped, warm and ridiculous.’

Phil blinked slowly. ‘Thank you. I can no longer move.’

‘Oh my god.’ Dan leaned in and nudged his shoulder. ‘C’mon.’

Nothing.

Dan shoved him gently, guiding him out of the bathroom like a malfunctioning animatronic.

Phil shuffled forward with tiny, reluctant steps.

‘You look like a haunted pastry,’ Dan said.

He managed to get them halfway to the hallway before the towel started to slip, and a noise like a dying modem broke the silence.

‘Stop, stop! Back up, it’s unraveling,’ Phil gasped, grabbing at the fabric like his life depended on it.

Dan threw his hands up, exasperated.

He went to fix the corner again and turned around, returning to grab another towel from the rack, tossing it over Phil’s head like a curtain, only because he had clung to the wall and was choosing to play dead.

‘There. Extra safety. What now?’

Phil stood motionless under the pile, then whispered, ‘Make it a hood.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Dan yanked the fabric over Phil’s head and spinning him forward. ‘There. You’re a pretty wizard. Go. Move.’

They circled back to the bathroom somehow, because of course Phil forgot something.

Not his phone, not his dignity.

He stood in the doorway and pointed solemnly.

‘My ducks.’

Dan stared at him for a full five seconds, then scooped them all up with one hand.

Phil beamed. ‘Make sure you talk to them. They get lonely.’

‘Quinton,’ Dan said flatly, ‘you need therapy.’

He dumped the ducks into the bathroom sink,  turning to find Phil opening a drawer, producing yet another towel.

‘Why?’

‘This one is for drying my hair,’ Phil said, entirely serious

He disappeared down the hall in a flutter of towel layers and damp hair, leaving a trail of wet footprints.

By the time Dan caught up, the bedroom was in shambles.

The carefully made bed, which he had fluffed and smoothed with passive-aggressive precision earlier, now looked like an animal had tunneled through it in search of food.

Phil had wrestled the entire duvet off its moorings and wrapped himself in it, burrowed in the center snug.

His hair was half-dried in the lazy way that made it stick up too silly, and his pajama shirt was buttoned wrong by one.

Dan folded his arms. 

Phil peeked out, face utterly calm. ‘I got chilly.’

‘I was gone for three minutes.’

‘Fix it,’ Phil said sweetly, wiggling into the pile even further. ‘You need to tuck me in, and I can’t find the remote.’