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“Pretty intolerant of you to be like that, son.” Dan’s dad’s voice is that cloying sort of smug it gets whenever he thinks he’s got someone cornered. “Aren’t you queers supposed to be better than that?”
“Fuck off,” Dan says. He’s seeing red, looking down and vision blurred with nothing but that seething blood-red rage.
“Look, I’m sorry if my apology isn’t good enough—”
“—That’s not a fucking apology,” Dan cuts him off. “That’s not saying you’re sorry. It’s like saying I’m sorry you feel that way or I’m sorry you caught me. You’re not actually sorry! You don’t actually give a shit.”
“Daniel—”
“—It is a problem or isn’t it?”
“I didn’t say it was a problem, I said—”
“—I’m gay. Are you on board or not?”
The line is quiet. Dan can hear his dad’s heavy breaths.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” he says at last.
“I want you to be a decent father for once.”
“That’s rich,” his dad huffs. “Feed and clothe you for eighteen years and suddenly I’m a monster, not jumping for joy at the news my boy is a fag.”
He may go on to say more than that. Dan doesn’t know. He hangs up and throws his phone at the sofa across the room.
-
Phil’s arms are full of groceries, only some of which are the sweets he knows Dan will tease him about mixed in with the things that they actually need to live on, when he opens the door to their flat. He drops the bags in the kitchen and looks around. He knew Dan was going to be calling his father. That’s why Dan sent him out on an errand they’d usually just have delivered. He knew Dan was going to get into the less-than-supportive response to the coming out email.
The rest of the family had been fine. They’d varied from sincere support to greeting card jargon, but it all boiled down to good things. They love Dan. They want Dan to be happy.
Except for his dad. Who had written back asking Is this some joke? It’s not funny, Daniel.
Phil doesn’t see Dan in the little nook where his computer and piano is. He doesn’t find Dan in their bedroom. He doesn’t find him on the balcony.
He’s getting a little worried as he searches room to room. Flashbacks of old behaviours, of bad days where Dan would disappear for hours without his phone on him as the only way he knew how to shut his brain up. It’s been a long time since Dan just disappeared like that. Phil had stopped being afraid of it.
He finds him, oddly enough, in the filming flat. On their old couch with the sofa crease, with the Muse poster above him, his knees bend and tucked close to his chest.
“Hey,” Phil says, sighing out his relief when he sees Dan. Relieved even if Dan’s eyes are clearly red and his cheeks clearly tearstained. Relieved that he’s found him, at least.
Dan raises his head. “Hey,” he says.
Phil sits on the other end of the sofa. He wants Dan to know he’s here, and also to know Dan can have his space if he needs it. “How’d it go?” he asks.
A new round of tears wells up in Dan’s eyes. “How’d you fucking think it went?” Dan chokes out. He throws himself into Phil’s chest and grips tight onto Phil’s jumper. Phil holds him just as tightly. He lets Dan sob and heave heavy breaths and remembers the different times they’ve been in this situation before. For the first time, however, this is something they chose. Dan chose to come out to his family, he chose to cut off anyone who reacted badly. And still, the tears.
Surely it has to feel better than all the different times they’ve clung to each other through choking sobs?
And still, the tears.
Eventually Dan lifts his head. “He’s an ass,” he says.
“What else is new,” Phil tries to joke.
It almost works. The sound Dan makes isn’t entirely committed to either laugh or sob.
“Would you consider this a harrowing experience?” Phil says, pushing Dan’s hair off of his forehead and out of his eyes.
“Big time,” Dan nods.
“Dominos?”
Dan leans forward and kisses him. It’s wet with tears and quick all around, but Phil takes it to mean that Dan thinks he’s doing alright. That Phil can suggest something silly, that won’t actually fix things, but makes right now feel a little better. That the tears are a reaction Dan had to have, and they’ll be done soon.
“You order,” Dan says, standing shakily. There’s still a steady stream of tears, but his voice sounds the slightest bit less strained. They’ll talk about it more, later. Phil will get the details of what actually was said and he’ll be angry on Dan’s behalf while Dan feels sad, and then they’ll switch. And switch again.
For now, this is the comfort Phil can offer. “Yeah,” Phil nods, “Yeah, I’ll order.” It’s an act of love, and also he can do it online.