(Requests are closed :[) MCYT Agere One-Shots!~

Baby's Day Out (Little!Wilbur, CG!Phil)

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!warning for refusing to regress and feelin sick n faint n stuff!

Setting: IRL
Summary: Wilbur and Phil make plans to meet up, but when Wilbur is acting odd, Phil's dad's senses go off.

expect a LOT of Dadza, it's kinda my obsession rn

also it makes my lonely regressed brain go brrr so
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Wilbur stirred lightly, a bit of tired fuzziness poking at his brain. When he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, however, the warm and slight dizzy feeling stayed, causing Wilbur to groan slightly. He'd regressed the night before, and clearly it hadn't gone away like he thought it would.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Wilbur stood, but quickly stumbled and grabbed the wall for support. The dizziness became overwhelming and no longer as pleasant as before. His stomach gurgled and clenched, almost as if someone had an iron grip around it. Wilbur whined at the pain, and when he opened the curtains, he gasped at how the light burned his eyes.

A buzzing then came from his phone, so Wilbur picked it up - wincing again at the light from the screen - and groaned when he read the caller ID.

Dadza, it read.

"Hey, Wil!" Phil greeted him cheerfully, his loud voice ringing in Wilbur's ears. "We still on for noon today, yeah?"

"Uh- y-yeah, we are," Wilbur muttered, digging through his closet half-heartedly and resisting the urge to just put on his penguin onesie and lay in bed all day. "[Insert name] café, right?"

"Yeah..." Phil responded hesitantly, choosing his words carefully. "Are you okay, mate?"

"Oh-! Yeah, I- I'm fine," Wilbur stammered out, rapidly pushing his words out now. "I-I have to go now, bye Phil!"

"Wait-"

Hanging up and tossing his phone on the bed, Wilbur leaned back against the wall with clothes bundled against his chest and letting his eyelids slide shut. A harsh pounding behind his eyes almost made him cry and wish for nothing more than to just slip again and go back to sleep. Instead, Wilbur pushed the comforting haziness of his smallspace down and clumsily pulling clothes off and on. After almost a half-an-hour of almost crying from the combined pain in his stomach and head, Wilbur finally managed to change into a large yellow sweater, white socks, and black skinny jeans - the bottoms of which were rather uncomfortable, he thought subconsciously.

Left with about thirty more minutes before he had to leave, Wilbur stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed a banana. He only managed about half of it before he felt as though he'd throw up, so Wilbur tossed the rest out and just sat on the couch with the lights off, his head tilted back and tired eyes shut.

The drive to the coffee shop was short, but in that amount of time, the sharp pains had only increased, now accompanied by a sheet of cold sweat slicking his skin. Wiping his forehead with one of his sweater paws, Wilbur groaned slightly when his car jolted to a stop. By time he finally forced himself from the seat and onto his feet, his knees shook, his fingers trembled, and a cottony feeling formed in his brain.

And at this point? Wilbur just wanted to go home.

Instead, he pushed himself to go into the coffee shop and sit face-down at a table, weakly waving off a waitress who tried to talk to him. When who he thought was the waitress approached again, he groaned and rubbed his eyes; "Miss, I told you I don't want anything-"

"Good thing I'm not a waitress, then," Phil responded, laughing when Wilbur's head shot up from his hands. A small crease did form between his eyebrows when the brunet winced at the sudden movement, clutching his head in his hands again.