sentient // phan

http//: 16

"Phil? Come here, would you?" Dan called from his office.

I've been taking to my room a lot in the past week and a half, mindlessly browsing the internet as Dan did his work. We'd watch more shows and movies together once he was done with whatever emails or interviews he had to send out, and it was the highlight of my day. I was in the middle of yet another of my Wikipedia tangents when I heard his voice. I scampered to him like an eager puppy, pressing his slightly ajar office door open with the pads of my fingers.

His office has changed considerably in the past few weeks. He had been steadily moving things from his workshop, little things to tinker with, up here, along with his sense of wonder and desire to create. It made me happy to see him so happy, which was something I refused to think about when I was alone at night.

"Yes?" I asked. He looked up, his computer screen sliding back into his desk.

"Have a seat." He offered, gesturing to the chair he had added to his office's interior, carefully selecting it from a catalogue with a sceptical eye, comparing colours and styles until he chose the one he deemed to best fit.

I didn't care what it looked like. I was just happy to have a place to sit besides those uncomfortable and oddly angular wooden chairs.

"Do you know what I've been working on for the last week or so?" He asked. He was trying to keep his face straight and his voice serious, but a smile was pulling his lips apart, showing his teeth.

"I believe your exact words were 'If you look at what I'm doing so help me I will deactivate you.'" I replied, crossing my arms across my chest. Dan chuckled. He still had a bit of flour in his hair from this morning.

As promised, I began to let Dan help to create his meals, and, contrary to what I believed, he was very, very bad at it. But, as I observed happily, he was also very, very messy.

This morning, according to my internal cookbook, was pancakes. And pancakes, according to Dan, were my best friend's favourite meal. So, as with every morning, my two contradicting programmes fought each other- the desire to make breakfast, and the desire to keep Dan happy. This lead to my choppy and frankly in-effective compromised movements, eventually leading Dan to make me go stand in the corner and read out the instructions, butchering them in ways he knew would make me laugh, throwing eggs on the ground and tossing handfuls of flour into the air.

I leaned forward and ran my fingers through his hair quickly, brushing the powder away before he continued. He smirked, and we looked deep into each other's eyes again, smiles tugging at both our mouths again.

"Well," he said, turning away from me and reaching into a drawer, returning with a screw driver, "I'm going to tell you now. And then deactivate you." I cocked my head to the side, my smile still wide.

"What are you doing, Dan Howell?" He twiddled with the tool between his fingers, smiling mischievously.

"Do you trust me?" He asked. I rolled my eyes.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Good point." He pointed his screwdriver at me, his elbows resting on the armrests of his swivel chair. "Take off your shirt."

"Excuse me?"

"Take off your shirt." I looked up, trying to act annoyed, but I was really just eager to find out what he had been working on and curious to find out what it had to do with me being topless.

I pulled the buttons out of their little holes on my shirt as Dan watched me, twisting his screwdriver between his fingers until I shucked it off onto the floor. He pointed his tool at me, drawing a circle in the air.

"Turn around." I did as I was told, raising my eyebrows.

"Are you going to tell me what you're doing or are you just going to carve your initials onto my back and giggle." He chuckled.

"No. But that's not a bad idea." He found the screw he was searching for on the back of my neck and began to twist it out. "This won't hurt a bit..." he mumbled. I shifted my shoulders uncomfortably as the panel popped off into his hands.

"You're going to go dark for a few minutes while I mess around in here, okay?"

"Tell me what you're going to do first?" I asked, my voice hinted with a bit of anxiousness. He put his hand on my shoulder.

"Trust me, Phil."

"I think you just like seeing me without a shirt."

"Nighty-night..." he said, twisting something on my motherboard that made my eyelids slide close and my brain go dark.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty." Dan's voice coaxed me awake what felt like seconds later, shutting the panel softly. I blinked a few times as my eyes focused.

"Where am I?" I mumbled, my brain recalibrating after being shut off, reconnecting and rebooting.

"Still at home, silly." Dan placed his screw driver down on his desk, wiping his hands on his jeans. I rubbed the back of my neck, flexing it in circles.

"Oh. Right." I blinked a few more times, and turned to him, his arm outstretched, my shirt dangling from his fingertips. I accepted it, pulling my arms through the sleeves.

"So, are you going to make me guess?" I asked, fastening the bottom button and, knitting my eyebrows in concentration, taking it out again after realising I had done it wrong.

"First thing's first, Phillip, I demand you go kill the Prime Minister." I was taken aback, narrowing my eyes at him. I technically had to do whatever he told me, but I had a few questions first.

"Phillip?" I asked. Dan shut his eyes and pressed his palm to his face. After a second of silence, he looked at me, a laugh bubbling from his lips.

"That's what you got out of that? I ask you to murder someone and you question the usage of your full name?"

"Is it my full name?" I asked. He shook his head.

"Well, no, it's technically PL dash 3 something something..."

"34071." I confirmed. I turned back to my buttons. "Okay, I'll bite, why do you want me to kill the big PM?" He shook his head, an open-mouthed smile making his eyes crinkle as he looked toward the ceiling.

"For God's sake Phil," he laughed. "Just go kill her!" I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms.

I paused for a second, then, "No." Dan, as opposed to how I thought he'd look after I refused a direct order, looked very happy, pumping his fist.

"It worked!"

"Huh?"

"It worked! I hacked your firewall, uploaded a programme that I wrote and installed it to your interface which jailbroke-" He cut off at the confused look on my face. "I basically just made you sentient." I looked down, still slightly confused. What did that mean? What did he do?

"You... you..."

"I took away the ⅗. Now You're just... Phil." I was still for a second, then nodded really slowly. "Is that okay?" Dan asked, knitting his eyebrows, reaching out to take my hand. I smiled.

"Are you kidding? It's amazing! Thank you!" I jumped forward and hugged him tightly, making him lean back in his chair. I squeezed.

"Phil," Dan laughed, patting my back, "let go."

"No." I hugged him tighter, and he wrapped his arms around me, too, and we hugged for what seemed like hours. I was content where I was just then, letting his breath push his chest up and down, making my body rise up and down, his cheek pressed to mine and his heart pounding with our proximity. If I lied to myself and pretended I reciprocated the sensation, pretended that I had a heart that beated and lungs that filled and emptied.

Dan pulled away and looked at me. "What do you say I forget about the rest of the work I have to do and we go into town?" I smiled.

"Yeah. And that's a real yes. I could also say no. But yes."