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People have told Phil that his perfectly feathered hair must be magic. He smiles a little uncomfortably when they do, and they assume he just isn’t all that used to accepting compliments. The reality is that he’s uncomfortable when anyone gets a little too close to the truth.
Because it is magic that has his hair looking like Rod Stewart’s. It’s also magic that makes the cakes he sells out of his little shop the sweetest in town, of course without being too sweet. And it’s magic that keeps the shop the perfect temperature to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee, no matter what the weather outside is. But Phil’s not about to reveal that secret. They may not burn witches in 1976 anymore, and he may not even think of himself as a witch if he had to put a name to his ability to do a little household magic, but he’d rather not risk it.
He’s a man with two great secrets and he’s never told anyone both of them before. He’s never wanted to, never felt like he could, until Dan.
His family knows about his magic. And old boyfriends knew that he’s gay. Dan guessed one and has no idea about the other, and Phil thinks he someday very soon he’ll let Dan know him more than anyone else ever has— he thinks it’ll be scary, but that it will also feel right and good and like the biggest relief he’s ever known.
*
Dan stumbled into his life and his shop at the same time. It was a blustery day outside, but in the shop it was comfortable, cozy, just as Phil intended. He had Don McLean playing on the record player and a batch of spice drop cookies about ready to come out of the oven. Dan shook the cold out of his limbs and took off his coat; he exhaled and looked like he belonged there.
At least, that’s how Phil remembers it.
He also remembers the hem of Dan’s bell bottoms being soaked from the rain and thinking this guy should stick around until it dries.
“Hey,” Dan says, approaching the counter.
“Hey yourself,” Phil says with a wide smile. He’s trying not to be obvious about looking him up and down. Maybe he didn’t try hard enough, because Dan is soon blushing. He looks at the typed-up menu that Phil has by the counter and Phil takes that moment to admire his curly head; he got that perfect hair without magic, huh? Phil’s rather impressed.
“Any recommendations?” He asks after a while.
“How sweet do you like your sweets?” Phil asks.
Dan cracks a crooked smile. “Not too sweet.”
Phil points to a table by the window. “Have a seat, I know just the thing.”
Dan sits. He taps his foot to the music. He looks out the window to the stormy day he’d just escaped.
Phil brings over a cappuccino and a carrot cake muffin. He sits in the chair opposite Dan and they start chatting. They never really stop.
*
It was dangerous for Dan and Phil to reveal their inclinations to one another. There’s always some danger when you have to reveal a socially reviled part of yourself, unsure if the other person reciprocates, unsure if the other person will understand, unsure if your life is about to be put in danger. But they both felt the same, and they both were the same, and they’ve been seeing each other for a handful of months before Phil gets nervous that he can’t keep hiding his magic from Dan.
He worries that keeping the secret is worse than what the actual secret is.
But Dan is so damn logical, so damn scientific. Phil worries he won’t believe him, more so than he worries that Dan will hate him. Which, somehow, is a relief compared to the previous reveal.
Phil decides to tell him one quiet night as he’s closing up the shop and Dan sits on the counter waiting for him to be free. He decides to tell him in the most nonchalant way he can manage, even if his hands shake as he does.
“Danny,” he starts. “What would you say if I told you I could do a little magic?”
Dan laughs at the hypothetical. “I’d ask why you haven’t turned all this lead I’ve been hoarding into gold already.”
Phil tries again, encouraged by Dan’s response. “What would you say if I told you I can’t do that kind of magic, but I can do things like…” he focuses on the record player which had already been turned off, and it starts playing again, “that?”
Dan stares. He looks like he isn’t sure how much of this is a joke or a prank. “What do you want me to say?” he asks.
That stumps Phil. “I’ve never gotten this far before,” he shrugs.
Dan laughs. He looks like the gears in his brain are turning. Then he sighs. “Well, tell me more, I guess.”
Phil does. He tells Dan everything— when he first learned these little helpful magic tricks, when he first learned not to tell folks about them, why he’s never tried to do anything bigger or more dangerous. Dan listens, and nods, and doesn’t seem fully on board until Phil gives him a few more demonstrations, but the listening is what Phil appreciates most. The not running away. The hearing him out.
It’s a level of empathy about his two great secrets that he isn’t sure Dan could display if he didn’t share one of them with Phil. And he’s deeply appreciative of it.
Nothing really has changed, he thinks as he locks the door and turns out the lights and he and Dan walk down the street not daring to hold hands. Because Dan understood him already even if he didn’t know everything before, but now Phil doesn’t have to hide from someone. One person, in this great wide world. And that means more than he can say. It feels wonderful. Feels magical.