If he could, he would have his own bubble. Wide enough that he could spread his arms wide in any direction without touching it, tall enough that he could jump without hitting it.
Only the things he allowed through could pass. Food (but not bitter gourd or asparagus), water (and hot chocolate. Always hot chocolate), and maybe a few special people.
His body shuddered at the memory of hurtful hands and fearsome feet, but he also remembered warm hugs and gentle head pats.
Very, very special people then. Like mum and dad. And grandma and grandpa. His younger sister… after she learnt to stop chewing on him. And definitely old Mrs. P. She gave the best hugs.
And everyone else had to stay outside his bubble. Away from him and his things and the world would be perfect.
He wrapped the thought around him like a blanket as he curled on the ground and drifted off.
“Found him. He’s over here!”