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Week 1, Prompt 2: Hugging
Philza had always allowed his kids to express themselves. The way he figured it, there was no reason to not let them— children, especially as they got into their teenage years, knew who they were, and no amount of forced conformity would change that. He could force them to act like every other teenage boy, but it would only serve to harm them.
Sure, his kids might get teased or weird looks for dressing how they want, but not allowing them to express themselves at all would only harm their mental health more. Besides, it didn’t matter what other kids thought; kids would be kids, and even if someone dressed normally, they still had the possibility of being teased.
If Techo was to be teased for his allegedly monotone voice and laser-focus on seemingly unimportant things, he might as well let the kid dress how he wanted. The boy enjoyed wearing dress pants and collared shirts, for no apparent reason, and Phil let him. Mixed with his long hair, Phil was almost certainly he got teased for it at school, but Techo could handle himself. He’d always been independent and defiant of anyone who tried to come for him, seemingly unaffected by other people’s perceptions of him. If Techno didn’t say anything about it, Phil assumed it didn’t bother him.
If Wilbur wanted to write his songs and lean slightly too heavily into his part in his school’s performance of Heathers , Phil let him. He’d offered therapy, but ultimately let the boy go through whatever he wanted. Sure, maybe he’d look back and be embarrassed by the soft-boy emo aesthetic later, but it’s what he needed. He expressed his emotions, and his face lit up each time Phil asked him about his newest music adventures. The boy was a truly creative soul— regardless of what other kids thought of him, stifling that spirit would be a crime. It was a miracle he’d held onto it through the years of foster care, and Phil certainly wouldn’t be the one to stomp it out of him. Not that he would ever want to in the first place.
If Tommy was to be… himself, there was no stopping him. Truly, even if Phil wanted to make the boy calmer, he didn’t think it possible. The kid was truly a wild child— running around, yelling, laughing, and generally wreaking havoc. He was young, and after finally being in a situation where he was allowed to be himself, Phil couldn’t blame him for being an overactive gremlin. He’d been labeled a problem child in the system for his hyperactivity, and while it wasn’t truly a problem, it certainly wasn’t without warrant. The kid had massive amounts of energy, and liked nothing more than to express himself. Phil found it endearing, even if he had eaten mud on a dare from his brother.
Besides, it wasn’t Phil’s place to police what his children wore or how they carried themselves. A parent’s job was to take care of his kids until they could live on their own, by providing them food and emotional support. No where in the description of a parent was forcing their kids to stick to some arbitrary standard that would never cross the generational divide. Especially in foster care, kids had little sense of individuality, either trying desperately to meet impossible standards or eventually leaning into the label of “problem child.” While he hadn’t fully adopted his children due to the myriad of paperwork associated with it, he wouldn’t be giving them up, and they knew it. They knew they were safe and loved, and that was all Phil cared about. That, and making sure his kids were actual caring people. He’d made sure none of his kids were Tories, but past that he didn’t mind what his kids did.
If Techno wanted to stay in his room, staring at his computer for hours on end, Phil would let him.
If Wilbur wanted to play guitar until early hours in the morning, Phil would let him.
If Tommy wanted to make up various plots and create towers out of rocks in the backyard, Phil would let him.
He made sure the ate, slept, and didn’t freeze, and past that the kids were allowed to do what they wanted.
He liked to think he was a good father, and liked to hope his kids would tell him what they wanted, even if they all went days in end without speaking to him.
That was why, when Techno had nervously asked to dye his long hair pink, Phil had agreed in a heartbeat. Techno rarely asked for anything from Phil— it had taken him months to learn the boy’s favorite foods, and ended up finding it easier to buy the kid shirts for him. He’d tried to take the boy shopping, but he’d been consistently awkward at it, picking out only the least expensive shirt he could find, looking longingly towards a wall of dress shirts. After multiple attempts, Phil had taken pictures of every shirt Techno had spent time staring at, and went to buy them on his own. Knowing Techno would decline a gift on his own, Phil simply placed a stack of white, black, red, and neon pink dress shirts in front of Techno’s door wordlessly. Techno had never said anything, but he’d immediately begun wearing the new shirts. It was all the thanks Phil needed; perhaps other parents would tell him he should berate the poor kid for not saying thank you, but he knew Techno. He knew the boy was awkward and terrible at accepting gifts. The fact that he’d worn the shirts the very next day was his own way of saying thank you. It made Phil smile.
When Techno had come to him, mere minutes before he was about to head to bed, and asked if he could dye his hair pink, Phil had been floored. He’d let the kid do whatever he wanted with his hair, but the fact that he’d asked, that he’d seemed so nervous, shocked Phil. It was a sign of vulnerability that he’d never seen before, an extension of trust. Phil had said yes, asking if it would be okay to take him to a Salon.
Techno had nodded, saying something under his breath that Phil would only hear as a quiet ‘thank you’ before scurrying off to his room.
Still in shock and warmed by the event that had transpired, Phil had stayed awake long after. He felt almost proud of himself— as if he was finally seeing another side of his eldest son that he never knew existed.
—
“Hey Techo, you ready mate?” Phil called, knocking softly on the frame of his son's door.
Techno emerged mere seconds later, wearing a cream dress shirt and black pants that Phil had come to associate as his favorite outfit.
The car ride was silent as usual, Techno fidgeting with a rolled-up piece of paper and Phil let the radio play quietly. He’d learned quickly that Techo didn’t do well around loud noises, and made sure to stay cognizant of the fact.
Phil dropped Techno off at the hair salon, insisting to the woman who would be dying his son's hair that yes, he did approve of the boy dying his entire head of hair pink. He made sure to add that as long as the boy wanted it, the place could do whatever they wanted. It wasn’t his hair— as long as Techno wanted it, he supported it. He took a business card with the place’s phone number, and left, promising to return within thirty minutes of when they called him.
Driving a short distance to the local shops, Phil picked up some extra dress shirts for Techno, getting some golden cuff links on the off chance the boy would like them. While doing laundry, he’d noticed some of the first shirts he’d bought Techno were wearing thin, as the boy wore them daily, refusing to change for his school’s PE class.
Phil smiled slightly at the memory of the first time he’d bought Techno dress shirts. He’d apparently refused to change, and the school had called him. The administration had apparently wanted Phil to tell the kid to change, but he’d refused. They didn't like that much. He refused to force his son to do anything, and if the boy wanted to wear dress pants to play kickball, he wasn’t going to stop him. He did tell Techno to put on athletic shoes since it was a safety hazard, but besides that he’d forced the school to make an exception for his son.
Grabbing another pair of dress pants as Techno’s constantly wore out from him running in the mud, Phil headed to the checkout line.
When the salon called, Phil was scrolling through the web on his phone. He’d finished his errands for the day, and chose to sit in the small parking lot, waiting on the call.
He walked inside as the assistant was taking layers of foil out of his son’s hair, revealing a pastel pink color below.
He smiled. Strangely, the color fit him almost instantly. Looking back, he couldn’t imagine how the brown hair looked normal— the pink was somehow such an extension of Techno, that any other color would look unnatural. His kid had chosen well.
He returned to his phone, waiting for the woman to call his name.
The eyes of the mantis shrimp are mounted on mobile stalks and can move independently of each other. They are thought to have the most complex eyes in the animal kingdom and have the most complex visual system ever discover—
“Phil Watson?”
Phil immediately stood up, shutting off his phone as he turned to look at his son.
Techno’s hair came out a soft, pastel pink. His hair was braided and put over his shoulder, a couple strands of pink framing his face. His hair looked soft and properly groomed, a welcome change from the formerly static, unkempt brown hair.
“It looks great Techno!” He called, walking towards his kid.
Techno immediately embraced him, burying his pink haired head into Phil’s shoulder, arms right around his back.
Phil was taken aback.
The kid had never so much as sat close to him since he’d taken him in. He never allowed Phil to touch him, never sharing a blanket as they watched a movie, making sure to pass dishes at dinner in such a way that their hands never touched.
He’d never expected Techno to hug him— never in a million years would he expect it.
He hugged him back tentatively, not daring to break such a sacred moment. Techno was strong, and nearly as tall as he was. He was somehow good at giving hugs, no matter if he’d never touched anyone in Phil’s memory. It was nice, and it was something Phil had long ago learned not to expect from his eldest.
In that moment, Phil felt like he was on top of the world. PTA parents be damned— he’d made his kid happy, he’d reached a new level of trust. And nothing could make him happier.
“I love it, thank you Dadza,” Techno mumbled into his shirt.
That. That could make him happier.
His son had called him Dad .
He held his son tighter, barely fighting off tears from the experience. It wasn’t easy to make him cry— but his eldest son, breaking down every wall he’d put up over a batch of hair dye, nearly sent him over the edge. Something so simple, so obvious to Phil, had clearly meant so much to his son, and he was just glad to be a part of the journey. More so, Phil was beyond touched at the trust Techno had put into him.
“I love you son,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
Phil was on top of the world.
Techno pulled away eventually, Phil releasing him as he did so.
Feeling as if he was floating, warmth at his son’s love towards him coursing through his body, Phil walked to the counter to pay. Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, he tipped the woman heavily, thanking her profusely. The place recommended a set of hair products for colored hair that he bought without hesitation, and marked a time, a month out to get his son’s hair dyed again.
Thanking the place one last time, he turned to his eldest and began walking back to his car.
His son stayed, walking close to him as the cool, crisp air of the parking hit their faces, the soft breeze softly blowing his son’s pink hair against his face. Phil smiled.