28. which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of?
Phil’s sitting at the breakfast bar when Dan gets home, hunched over something. A glass box, Dan realizes, from the transparent corners poking out past Phil’s shoulders.
He hesitates at the top of the stairs. “What did you do?”
Phil looks over, smiling wide. “God us a pet,” he says. His voice is too high.
Dan narrows his eyes. “What kind of pet?”
Phil shrugs. “Come and see.”
He swallows, lingering by the stairs for a moment longer. Phil’s toes are curled tight around the bar at the bottom of his stool, his shoulders draw up tight. There’s a box by his elbow that Dan recognizes.
“Why do you have more crickets?”
Phil shrugs. “That’s what the pet store said to feed him.”
He steps forward, finally, walking past the sofa and stopping right at the boundary where hardwood floor turns into kitchen tile. He can see more of the tank from here, the black edge and dirt piled up at the bottom.
“I don’t trust you,” says Dan.
Phil turns, just his head. “You do,” he says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “We’re fish dads! I figured we could handle another pet. More Corgi prep.”
“Shibe,” says Dan automatically. And then, “Or whatever we can find up for adoption that we like.”
“Just come see,” says Phil. “You’ll like him.”
Dan sighs and drags himself the last few steps forward. He sees one long, hairy leg past Phil’s arm, and then another, and another, and— He jumps back. Phil reaches into the tank.
“Phil! What the actual fuck!”
The spider hits him right in the face, and lands on the floor with a quiet tap. Plastic.
“I fucking hate you,” says Dan, reaching down to swipe the spider off the floor. He tosses it at Phil’s head and watches it bounce off his shoulder. “No sweets for you for a month.”
Phil’s smile doesn’t fade. His tongue’s still poking out from between his teeth. “I got you!”
Dan feels his own face soften into a smile, too, even as his heart keeps pounding.
