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Dan finds the envelope in the pile of post he brought in and never bothered to sort though. It has Phil's name on it, and by general rule of etiquette he doesn't open mail that comes to Phil.
But this is a slightly oversized envelope with a rainbow flag stamped on the back and faded lettering that says 'Find out how your donation helps!'
He leaves it on the table, apart from the rest.
*
Phil picks it up when he comes in later. He looks at it, startled slightly, and then looks at Dan.
Dan looks back.
"I, um." Phil clears his throat.
"I, um," Dan says back, mocking. "Junk mail?"
Phil rolls his eyes and drops it again. "Not - no." He picks it up again and taps an edge against the table. "It's just something I do."
"Okay," Dan says slowly. He's aware it's none of his business.
But he's nosy.
*
"It's just a donation," Phil admits. He's still in his pajamas with his hair all messy and his glasses on and a smear of yogurt on his lip that looks ridiculous and slightly dirty. "I just - donate. To a cause."
It's been a week since Dan saw the envelope, but they pick the thread of conversation up like they'd never dropped it.
"To...?" Dan has his guesses, but he wants to hear Phil say it.
"A trust for gay kids," Phil says.
"Why..." Dan starts. He meant to ask: Why didn't you tell me, why is this a secret? but the question trails off under the weight of confusion.
"I know," Phil sighs. "It's silly. I just, we can't - do much, the way we are. The decisions we've made. But we have money, so I've been - there are a few of them I donate to. I took myself off of the mailing list for most of them, but once in a while something gets through. I've always caught it before."
Dan stares at him, caught in one of those moments where he realizes there are things about Phil, depths to Phil, that even Dan doesn't know yet.
Because as much as Dan spends his life thinking of all the doors that are shut to him based who they are and the choices they've made, it hasn't really occurred to him what doors were still open.
But it occurred to Phil, and Phil not only had the inclination and the thought but actually did something about it.
“You could have told me,” Dan says, because that’s the only thing unsettling him.
“I know,” Phil says. “I should have. It’s just - I don’t know, honestly. I started so long ago and I was afraid it would seem like I was, like I wanted - to be doing more. More than I was ready to. And I didn’t know what you’d say. Because I know we have no reason to feel guilty for the choices we’ve made, Dan. But I do. I do feel guilty.”
“Phil,” Dan says, and he looks into Phil’s clear blue eyes and feels so much love it almost knocks him over. “You’re right, we don’t have a reason to feel guilty. But you know I’m not upset, right? I just didn’t know why you wouldn’t tell me.”
“It’s just not something I think about often…” Phil’s voice belies how weak the excuse is, but Dan won’t hold it against him. He better than anyone understands how confusing voices in your head can make even simple things sometimes.
*
"Hey, Phil?" Dan asks. They've got to be at the restaurant in twenty minutes.
Phil's scrounging under the bed because he can't find just the perfect not-mate to the sock he's wearing. "Yeah? I'm hurrying, I promise."
"We're gonna be late either way," Dan says. "But that's not - that's not what I was going to say."
Phil pops his head back up to look at Dan. There's lint in his fringe. "Oh?"
"Yeah, that donation you make?" Dan asks. "Can we like... double it?"
Phil looks at them and then smiles suddenly and happily. "Yeah. That'd be great."
*
There's a slightly heavier than normal envelope in the post.
It's got Phil's name on it, but this time Dan doesn't hesitate to open it. Inside he finds a contribution gift, a rainbow magnet that looks like it was colored by a child.
He sticks it on the fridge. One day, they'll be able to do more - but for now, this is good.