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The first kid Phil fosters is a sixteen-year-old boy who stays two weeks. The second, a ten-year-old girl who’s there for six. Then another teenage boy who’s in the house for a little less than two days.
He’d been clear about wanting emergency placements only. Yes, Phil loves kids. But he doesn’t particularly want any of his own.
His fourth foster is thirteen-year-old Technoblade.
Phil meets him late in the afternoon on a Wednesday. The first things he notices are the well-worn clothes, the deflated backpack. Next is the dead, empty stare under greasy, raggedly cut brown hair.
Phil’s only thought is that no one has been taking care of this kid, and it’s heartbreaking.
“Hi, mate,” Phil says softly, offering his hand. “My name’s Phil.”
The kid doesn’t look up, and Puffy places her hand gently on his shoulder. “Phil, this is Technoblade,” she says. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”
The kid lets Puffy guide him inside, sitting down on the couch when prompted. Phil’s concerned by the teen’s complete lack of response, and he throws Puffy a look.
She nods towards the kitchen. Phil nods.
“We’ll be right in there, talking,” Puffy says, kneeling in front of Technoblade. “If you need anything, you can come get me, okay?”
He takes a deep breath, huffing out through his nose. Phil and Puffy go into the kitchen.
“Coffee?” he offers.
“Yes, thank you.” Puffy sighs, leaning against the counter. “It’s been one of those days.”
Phil pours her a cup of coffee, passes it across the counter. She hands him the file in return.
He doesn’t look at it, yet. “This is the thinnest file you’ve brought me yet.”
“You’re his first placement.” Puffy takes a sip of her coffee. “He was removed from his parents’ home this morning. Long-term neglect, but no evidence of abuse.”
Phil winces. That explains the teen’s whole look. “Poor kid.”
“I’m gonna take care of getting him in to see a doctor. Dentist too, possibly an optometrist. His medical records are pretty bare-bones, just vaccinations and a broken wrist a few years ago.”
Phil nods along. “Any allergies or preferences I should be aware of?”
“Nothing I know of. I just met him this morning.” Puffy shifts. “I have you down for two months, maximum. If anything changes, let me know and I can try to find him a different place.”
He nods again. “There’s no chance of reunification?”
“Officially, his parents are still under investigation.” Puffy shrugs one shoulder. “Between us, I don’t see it happening, no.”
Puffy leaves after another brief conversation with Technoblade, and then Phil goes and kneels in front of him.
“Hey, mate,” he murmurs. “How are you feeling?”
Technoblade blinks at him. He doesn’t say anything, but he looks a little less distant.
“So, my real name is Philza, but you can call me Phil. Can you tell me what you’d like me to call you?”
His mouth moves, and after a second he speaks. “Techno.”
“Well, Techno, I bet you’ve had a really long day, huh?”
Techno swallows, bobs his head.
“If you’d like to get some rest, I can show you your room. Or fix you a snack, if you’re hungry.” Phil shifts. “Whatever you choose is okay.”
“Um.” Techno hugs his backpack, not quite looking up at Phil. “Shower?”
“Of course.” Phil smiles, even though he’s pretty sure the kid isn’t looking. “C’mon. Bathroom’s this way.”
He hands Techno towels and a washcloth, points out soap and shampoo, and leaves him to it. When Techno emerges, fifteen minutes later, he looks cleaner, at least, but the clothes he’s wearing now are no less shabby. Phil makes a mental note to take him shopping once he’s settled in a little more.
“Feeling better?” Phil asks, keeping his tone light and sympathetic.
Techno flinches slightly. “Yes, thank you,” he says. His voice rasps, and is so quiet that Phil can barely hear.
“Good, that’s good.” Phil smiles, checks his watch. “Are you hungry?”
Techno still doesn’t look at him. He shrugs.
Phil doesn’t really… know how to handle this. He settles on, “How about I fix you a snack, and if you’re not hungry, you don’t have to eat it, okay?”
Another shrug. Phil internally sighs.
This is going to be a long road.
~~~
Over the next couple of weeks, Phil learns things about his newest foster.
Techno’s favorite color is pink, but he likes red, too. He eats everything put in front of him quickly, as though afraid it’ll be taken away. He has a thick Greek mythology book that clearly came from some public library purge. His favorite school subjects are history and English, and he’s good at maths but he doesn’t enjoy it. He gets good grades in everything, actually.
More than anything else, Techno is quiet. Unobtrusive in a way that breaks Phil’s heart. Because he seems scared to take up space or ask for anything he wants. He stays out of Phil’s way, often hiding in his room or moving to a different chair if Phil sits down too close.
Phil tries to find a balance between giving Techno the space he needs to adjust, and giving him the attention he’s been starved of for so long.
And for a while, things go well.
Then the first court date rolls around.
Techno is quieter than usual during the hearing. Silent and still at Puffy’s side, he doesn’t once look across the courtroom at his parents.
Phil does.
They look far too normal to be the parents of the skinny, neglected kid Phil first met a couple of weeks ago.
After, Phil meets Puffy and Techno at the door. The teen is walking just behind her, his expression blank.
Phil exchanges a glance with Puffy and kneels, offering a small smile. “Hey, mate,” he murmurs. “Doing okay?”
Techno blinks at him. Nods, belatedly.
Puffy places a hand, light, on his shoulder. “You did well, Techno.” She meets Phil’s gaze, mouths I’ll be in touch.
He takes his cue and shifts, holding out his hand, palm up. “Ready to get going?” he asks.
Phil doesn’t expect anything to come of the gesture. Techno’s never touched him, and flinches when Phil initiates contact (which he’s learned to do only when necessary). So he’s surprised when Techno stares at his outstretched hand and just- takes it.
Phil forces himself not to react. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “How do you feel about getting a treat, huh? Something to make you feel better.”
Techno blinks at him for a few seconds. “Ice cream?” he says at last, voice just above a whisper.
“Absolutely.” Phil stands, keeping his hold on Techno’s hand loose enough for the teen to pull away if he wants.
Techno doesn’t, even tightening his own grip slightly as he follows Phil to the car.
The silence continues until they’re both sitting in the car, eating soft-serve with plastic spoons. Techno’s gazing out the windshield, expression perfectly neutral.
“…can I ask you something?”
Phil glances sideways at him. “Anything, Techno.”
The teen is quiet for a few more seconds, dipping his head forwards so his hair curtains his face. “What’s gonna happen to me if my parents aren’t allowed to take care of me anymore?”
For some reason, Phil’s first thought is you’ll stay with me. Which is. Something he’ll have to think about later.
“You’d go to a long-term foster home,” he says. He doesn’t mention the possibilities of adoption, because Phil knows enough about the system to know that isn’t the reality for many foster kids.
“Oh.” Techno jabs the ice cream with his spoon. “What if I went back with my parents?”
“Do you want to?” Phil asks, as the ‘safe’ answer to the question. Because from what Puffy’s said, and what Phil has heard, Techno’s parents aren’t really fit to take care of any child.
Techno’s silent for a minute. Phil can’t see his face, still, but he can practically hear the gears clicking in the kid’s head as he thinks. “Puffy said she didn’t think I’d have to.” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Phil pauses to compose his thoughts. “Techno, the way they were treating you wasn’t right. You know that, yeah?”
He stares away, hunching his shoulders. “I know,” he says after a second.
“And Puffy’s priority is to make sure you’re safe and okay. That might well mean not going back to live with your parents.”
Techno exhales heavily through his nose. “I don’t really know… what I want.”
“That’s okay.” Phil clamps down on the urge to reach over and place his hand on Techno’s shoulder. “You have time to figure it out.”
Techno continues eating his ice cream in silence. Phil finishes his own and drives home.
When they get into the house, Techno doesn’t disappear into his room like Phil expects. Instead, he takes a book off the shelf and curls up in the corner of the couch.
Phil just watches him for a minute, trying not to be obvious about it.
Some way, some how, he’s going to make sure Techno’s okay.
That night, Phil figures he’d better work out what exactly that feeling is.
You’ll stay with me. His first thought when Techno asked what would happen to him.
Phil never wanted kids of his own. He’s good with them, he likes taking care of people, he just… never really wanted to have any children.
But the thing he’s realizing is, he wants Techno.
He’s smart, and though often quiet, has a snarky side that Phil loves to see. He’s enthusiastic about the things he loves, even if he still seems scared to be too loud.
Phil doesn’t know a tenth of what the kid experienced in his parents’ home. What he does know is that Techno wasn’t wanted. Wasn’t loved.
Phil knows, a little bit, how that feels. Sure, his parents always loved him; but he didn’t have any friends until he hit college. So he can take that unwanted, left-out feeling and magnify it and imagine it applying to his whole life, and he aches for Techno having to feel that.
Phil has so much to give, and Techno deserves all of it.
Even after mulling over the whole situation, Phil can’t put the feeling into words. All he knows is that Techno fits here. With him.
And, well.
Maybe there’s something Phil can do about that. Maybe there isn’t. He’ll have to wait for now and see what happens.
~~~
Phil’s at work when his personal phone starts ringing. He answers immediately- no one calls him at work unless it’s important.
“Am I speaking to-” Papers rustle. “Philza Craft?”
“Yes.” Phil straightens. “Who am I speaking to?”
“I’m Alissa, the receptionist at Manberg Middle School. I’m calling about Technoblade?”
Phil is on his feet in a second, pulling his things together. “Is he okay?”
“He was involved in a fight at school today.”
He blinks. What?
“His social worker has already been informed and is on her way. We would like you to be present during the meeting as well.”
“Of- of course.” Phil tucks his phone into the crook of his shoulder, shrugs his coat on. “I’ll be there in-” He checks his watch. “About fifteen minutes.”
Puffy’s car is already parked outside when Phil gets to the school, after getting stuck in traffic. He hurries inside, following the receptionist’s directions to the principal’s office.
Techno’s sitting hunched over himself in a chair, a scowl on his face and blood dried under his nose. Puffy’s standing behind him, one hand on his shoulder and so much disappointment in her expression that Phil almost quavers, despite it not being directed at him.
The other kid looks worse, and his mother turns a scathing glare on Phil as he steps to Puffy’s side.
“Mr. Craft?” The principal rises, offering his hand.
Phil shakes his hand. “That’s me. Sorry to make you wait.”
The man sits down again. “Well, Mr. Craft, as I was just explaining, since this is a first offense, Technoblade will be receiving three days’ in-school suspension.”
Phil’s confused, given he hasn’t actually heard any of the story, but he nods along. “I see.”
“Now,” the principal continues, directing his gaze to Techno, “I hope you understand that this kind of behavior is completely unacceptable.”
Techno doesn’t answer.
Outside, Techno goes straight across to Phil’s car and gets in, dropping his backpack on the floor and folding his arms over his chest again. Phil lingers in the parking lot to speak to Puffy.
“All he would say is that he started the fight,” she says, when Phil asks what happened. Puffy shrugs, sighing. “It’ll have to go into his file. Seems a shame, I never took him for a violent kid.”
Phil glances over his shoulder at the sullen teen in the car. “I don’t think he is.”
Puffy gives a noncommittal hum. “I’ll see you Friday for court.”
Phil watches her get in her car and drive away. Then, and only then, he goes back across and gets into his own car.
Techno already has his seatbelt on, and he turns half away when Phil sits down. He doesn’t say anything.
Phil bites his lip, trying to figure out what to say. How to handle this.
“Are you hurt?” he asks at last, keeping his tone neutral.
Techno shakes his head. Phil clasps his hands, resting them on the steering wheel, gazing out the windshield.
“Want to tell me what happened?”
“Why does it matter?” Techno glares at him. “I threw the first punch, I’m in trouble for it, so what?”
Phil exhales slowly. “I’m not angry with you, mate. I just want to know what happened, okay?”
Techno works his jaw. “Marty,” he says at last, staring, stone-faced, out the windshield. “He’s in my class, he was held back a year. He’s autistic. Connor called him retarded, and I told him to take it back, and he wouldn’t, so I hit him.”
Oh.
Phil reaches over, touching Techno’s shoulder lightly. “I don’t condone violence, but I’m proud of you for standing up for your friend.”
“Friend.” Techno snorts. “Right.”
Phil raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Marty hates me.” His voice sounds scratchy, and he kicks his backpack. “Everybody does.”
“So why-”
“Because nobody should call anybody that.” Techno jerks away from his hand. “I don’t wanna talk about it any more.”
Phil sighs. “Okay. Just… no more fighting in school, okay, mate? We can talk about other ways to stand up for people later.”
~~~
Termination of parental rights happens four days before the two months are up.
Back at Phil’s, Techno beelines to the couch and sits down, wrapping himself in the weighted blanket Phil had the foresight to leave there this morning before they left. He grabs his book and headphones off the side table.
Satisfied that he’ll be okay while they talk, Phil ushers Puffy out to the porch, closing the front door behind him.
“What happens now?” Phil asks, ignoring the twist in his heart that says it’s all about to come to an end.
“His grandparents have offered to step up and take custody. For now, that.”
Phil ignores the ache in his heart at the thought of letting Techno go. “Okay. Can I… will I be allowed to stay in contact with him?”
“If Techno wants, yes.”
Phil wants to ask what if something goes wrong but he doesn’t. He wants to hope it goes well, for Techno’s sake.
Puffy takes Techno away that afternoon, and Phil tries to pretend his heart isn’t breaking.
He has to keep pretending throughout the next week. As he cleans and vacuums the guest bedroom (Techno’s room), as he consistently forgets to make smaller servings at meals, as his fingers itch to pick up his phone and call his kid. (not his. Techno isn’t his kid, no matter how much Phil wishes he was.)
Puffy calls him on the afternoon of the sixth day.
“You have a room?” she asks without preamble.
Last minute placements aren’t unusual. Phil ignores the ache at the thought of another kid in his house, a kid that isn’t Techno. “Yeah.”
“Thank god. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Who-”
She’s already hung up.
Well, it doesn’t really matter, Phil supposes. By her tone and manner, it’s a kid desperately in need of help.
Phil’s waiting outside when Puffy’s car pulls into his driveway. When she gets out of the car, expression tense and strained; when Techno slips out of the passenger seat.
His heart plummets at the sight of the teen, face bruised and eyes red-rimmed as though he’s been crying. Techno’s holding a black trash bag, but when he looks up and sees Phil he drops it, sprints across the yard with a loud sob.
Phil catches Techno as the kid throws himself at him. Techno sobs again, pressing his face into Phil’s shoulder, clinging to him like Phil is his only safe place.
“It’s okay,” Phil says, heart in his throat. “Shh, I’ve got you, you’re okay.”
Puffy pauses to pick up the trash bag, stands waiting by the steps. Phil just holds Techno, rubbing his kid’s back, heart breaking as the teen cries into his shoulder.
“Come on,” Phil says at last, when Techno’s stopped shaking in his arms. “Let’s go inside, kiddo.”
He sits Techno down on the couch, kneels in front of him. “Where’s your weighted blanket, mate?” Phil asks softly.
Techno shakes his head, hiking his shoulders up to his ears. Phil has another in his room, and he goes and gets it and settles it over him.
“I’m gonna talk to Puffy in the office,” Phil says, when she gestures him in that direction. “Is there anything you need before I go?”
Techno shakes his head, grabbing and squeezing Phil’s hand briefly. Then he tangles both hands in the blanket, starts rocking back and forth.
In the office, Puffy sinks down opposite him, expression pinched. Phil clasps his hands together to keep them from shaking.
“What happened?” he asks, completely unable to keep his voice steady.
“Techno’s father.” Puffy’s lips press together even more firmly. “The grandparents paid his bail and are letting him live there.”
Phil’s mouth is dry. “He hit Techno.”
“He did.” Puffy grimaces. “I took him to urgent care to get checked out, physically he’s fine besides some bruises.”
He swallows, throat aching. “What happens now, in terms of- of his living situation?” Phil gets out.
“I find him a long-term foster home.”
There’s something almost challenging in Puffy’s gaze when she says it. Phil meets that challenge with determination, steady resolve.
Because Phil knows that it’s harder to find placements for older kids, and Techno’s turning fourteen in a month. He knows that most likely, he’ll end up in a group home.
Phil also knows Technoblade.
He knows that the kid likes onions on his roast beef sandwiches, and mixes grape and cranberry juice to drink with breakfast. Knows that Techno enjoys working in the yard and wants to grow his own potatoes someday. Knows that he is smarter than anyone gives him credit for, that he blushes under praise but collects every golden sticker, every bright red ‘A’ and keeps them.
Phil knows that Techno has days when everything gets to be overwhelming, and knows that the best way to make him feel better is give him his noise canceling headphones and weighted blanket and let him work himself out in peace. Knows that sometimes he can’t handle physical contact and sometimes he soaks it in like it’s the air he breathes.
“Could he stay here?” Phil asks, and this time his voice doesn’t shake at all.
Puffy pauses, giving him a look. “I thought you were only interested in temporary placements.”
He’s my kid, Phil thinks. “He’s grown on me,” is what he says.
Puffy nods, gazing contemplatively at the desk. “Yes,” she says at last. “We could make it long-term. If that’s something Techno is comfortable with.”
Phil nods, heart leaping. “I’ll talk to him,” he says. “Later, when he’s feeling better.”
Puffy’s expression is relieved. “You’re good with him.”
“He’s a great kid. He deserves- so much more than I can give him.”
Later, Phil’s making dinner when Techno comes in, weighted blanket still around his shoulders. He shuffles over to sit down, folding his arms on the kitchen table and resting his chin on his fist.
“Hey, mate.” Phil glances at him, keeps his tone quiet. “Feeling okay?”
Techno digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “No,” he says quietly, voice shaky.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Techno doesn’t answer. Phil doesn’t push.
Minutes pass, silence filled by the quiet clinking of dishes as Phil drains pasta and finishes throwing together homemade mac’n’cheese, sets the table.
Techno doesn’t say anything, just eats his first and second helpings like he’s starving. Phil wants to tell him to slow down, but he can’t find it in himself to say. Not when there’s that worry in his chest, that maybe Techno hasn’t had enough to eat since he left Phil’s house.
“My dad broke my headphones,” Techno says as Phil’s clearing the table. He sounds exhausted, his voice gravelly. “And he cut up my weighted blanket, and smashed my phone, and hit me. He… he never hit me before.”
Phil abandons the dishes in the sink and sits back down, an exhale aching in his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “You didn’t deserve that, Techno.”
Techno scrubs his arm over his eyes. When he speaks again, it’s very quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“What- no, mate, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“But you bought me that stuff, and now it’s broken.” Techno hunches his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” Phil says, because how could it not be? “They’re just things, I can replace them.”
He looks up suddenly, breath catching. “But I’m not- I’m, I’m not staying. Right? Puffy said, she said long-term placement-”
“That can be here.” Phil leans forward, placing his hands in Techno’s view, palms up. Hands open, ready to hold his kid’s broken pieces if Techno will let him. “If you want to stay, you can. I already talked to Puffy about it.”
Techno stares at the table. “…are you sure you want me?”
Phil’s heart cracks. “Yes,” he says, and quickly softens his tone. “God, yes. I want you to stay, if that’s what you want.”
After a second Techno looks up, meeting his gaze. Just stares for a minute, like he’s searching for something.
“I want,” he says at last, the flat affect falling from his expression and his voice. He looks so much younger, small and vulnerable sitting there, all his emotions on clear display. “Please,” he whispers, practically begs.
Phil carefully takes Techno’s hands in his own, rubbing gentle circles over fragile, bruised skin. Techno lets out a shuddering exhale, eyes closing and head dropping forward to rest on his outstretched arms.
“This will be your home as long as you want it to be,” Phil murmurs. “As long as you want me to be.”
~~~
Phil takes him to the zoo for his fourteenth birthday.
Techno tries not to show how excited he is about it. He’s never gotten to do anything for his birthday before, he never really knew or cared when his birthday was.
And here’s Phil, bundling him into two coats and a hat and a scarf and crocheted mittens so he doesn’t get cold because it’s late November and freezing. Techno gripes the whole time, but secretly he soaks up the attention.
His parents wouldn’t be like this. They never cared to check if Techno was warm enough, if his boots and coat fit right.
It’s weird, letting himself want it. Letting himself enjoy the warm feeling inside him when Phil fusses over him.
Techno has that feeling now, following Phil through the gate into the zoo. He stares at the big map, wondering how long it’ll take them to get all the way through.
“What would you like to see first?” Phil asks, nudging his shoulder lightly.
Techno takes a deep breath, glancing up at his foster dad. “Everything.”
Phil chuckles. “Okay. Left or right?”
Techno tilts his head, considering the map. “Left,” he says at last. “Monkeys.”
“Perfect.”
The zoo is fun, but a little overwhelming. Luckily Phil doesn’t seem to mind when Techno’s hand slips into his. Techno doesn’t care if it seems childish; he doesn’t want to lose Phil in the crowds, he argues. He took the mittens off because they were itchy, and his fingers are cold and Phil’s palm is so warm.
“What was your favorite?” Phil asks as they walk back towards the exit.
Techno hums, holding Phil’s hand tighter as a group of rowdy older kids passes. “Polar bears.”
“Excellent.” Phil glances at him, beaming. “How would you feel about some hot cocoa?”
He points out a cart on the other side of the little plaza, and Techno shrugs. “Sure.”
Phil buys him hot cocoa in a paper cup, and Techno sits on a bench outside the gift shop to drink it while Phil steps inside. He doesn’t say what for, so Techno assumes he just needs the bathroom.
He doesn’t know what to feel when Phil comes back out with a big polar bear plush tucked under his arm.
Techno can feel his face getting red. “Phiiiil…”
His foster dad drops the plush in his lap, bends down to kiss the top of Techno’s head. “Happy birthday.”
“I don’t need this,” Techno says flatly, even as his heart leaps with joy and- and love.
“I know you don’t.” Phil sits beside him. The bench is so small they’re pressed together, and Techno usually doesn’t like being touched but it’s Phil. “I just thought you might like it, is all.”
Techno’s arms curl around the toy, and he presses his face into the soft fur. Shoots a death glare at Phil, who’s got this big stupid grin on his face.
“This means nothing, Phil. Absolutely nothing.” He tries not to smile at the happiness warming his insides. “I just don’t wanna drop it.”
“Of course,” Phil murmurs. He rests one arm along the back of the bench. Not quite touching, but enough there that Techno can feel Phil’s arm behind his shoulders.
Techno exhales slowly, leaning into Phil’s side. He can have this. He can, just for today, he can let Phil hold him.
“This means nothing,” he says, even as he’s letting his whole bodyweight rest against Phil’s side, dropping his head on the man’s shoulder. That warm goopy feeling filling him right up.
Phil, the bastard, wraps his arm around Techno’s shoulders with a soft hum. “Naturally.”
~~~
It becomes a habit for them to spend evenings at the kitchen table, Techno doing his homework while Phil pores over whatever he had to bring home from work. It’s easy and quiet, and Phil’s right there to lend a hand if Techno needs help with an assignment. And Techno’s learning that he can ask for help, and he’ll get it every time without fail.
“Phil,” Techno says, one night while they’re doing this, “I want to dye my hair.”
And, okay, sue him, but Phil has a really hard time saying no whenever Techno says the words “I want”. He’s just lucky Techno is too good of a kid to use it against him.
“Yeah?” Phil glances up from his paperwork. “Any reason why?”
Techno shrugs, fiddling with his pen. “I just want to try it, that’s all. Figure out- me.”
He delivers the finishing blow so casually, and yeah, Phil’s done. He could never say no to anything like that.
“Want me to make an appointment at a salon, or would you rather we do it at home?”
Techno looks up from his homework, meeting Phil’s gaze for a second. Phil watches him work through whatever he’s feeling, expression twisting.
“Home,” he says after a minute, slowly, as if he’s tasting the word for the first time.
Phil nods, smiling. “We can pick up what we need when we go shopping tomorrow, yeah?”
Techno shrugs. “Sure.”
It’s not till much later that Phil realizes it’s the first time Techno has called this house home.
Techno picks a nice shade of pink, and Phil consults a hairdresser friend. That evening they sit down in the bathroom, and Phil follows the texted instructions to bleach and dye Techno’s hair.
The teen is quiet, scrolling on his phone throughout the process. Phil matches his mood, only speaking to murmur instructions or tell Techno what he’s going to do.
He finishes by rinsing out the excess dye, toweling Techno’s hair lightly to take it from dripping to damp.
“Done?” Techno asks, speaking for the first time in what feels like hours.
“Just about.” Phil squeezes his shoulder lightly. “I’m gonna give your hair a quick trim, okay?”
Techno tenses. Phil pauses before picking up the scissors.
“Is that okay, Techno?”
He doesn’t answer. Phil moves around in front of him, squatting to be at the teen’s eye level.
“You can tell me if it’s not,” Phil says, trying to meet his gaze.
Techno takes a deep breath. “No, it’s just- you can do it, it’s fine.”
“I’m not going to if you’re not comfortable with it, mate.”
Techno rocks forward slightly, wrapping his arms around his stomach. His gaze flicks up to find Phil’s for a second. “You’re not gonna hurt me.”
Techno’s tone lilts up just slightly at the end, barely enough to be a question. Phil rests his hands on his own knees, palms open.
“Never.”
His kid’s gaze finds his again, and Techno lets out a breath. “Okay.” He nods. “Just- get it done.”
Phil is gentle and quick, combing Techno’s hair out to lie flat and trimming it so it falls in an even line. The teen is still, breathing shallow and quick.
“All done,” Phil says at last, unclipping the cape and pulling it off. He casts a critical eye over his work- it’s not a color he, personally, would’ve picked, but the color is even and Techno’s hair is finally trimmed neatly.
Techno exhales, shoulders slumping. Phil rubs his shoulder.
“You good?”
“Yeah.” Techno fidgets with his phone case. “How’s it look?”
Phil turns him towards the mirror. Techno just stares for a minute, tilting his head. Finally his face splits in a huge grin.
“Yeah,” he says.
Phil smiles back. “Yeah?”
“I like it.” Techno runs his fingers through his hair, nods. “I like it a lot.”
“Good.” Phil squeezes his shoulder. “I’m glad.”
~~~
It happens so naturally and quietly that Phil doesn’t really register it happening at all.
He just wakes up one morning and thinks I want to adopt my son and that’s all there is to it. For him at least.
Because foster care is temporary. They can say the placement is permanent, but there’s always the chance that something could change. Techno could be taken away from him. And adoption would set things in stone.
Phil of a year ago would be laughing at him right now.
Phil of today just really wants his kid to be safe in every way he can. Wants to give him the security of knowing that he’s wanted and loved.
Maybe, selfishly, he wants to keep that rare smile and that fierce love and this wonderful kid as his.
They’re sitting on the couch that night, watching Avatar. Techno’s leaning against Phil’s side, making occasional snarky comments. Phil is too busy watching his kid to pay attention to the movie.
“Tech,” he says during a lull in the action.
“Mm?” Techno barely shifts.
Phil steels himself, trying to ignore how his heart pounds in his throat. “How would you feel about being adopted?”
The teen’s gaze flicks up to him, and for a second Phil thinks he’s going to say no. And he’s prepared for that, he is, because he loves Techno so much it hurts. He loves him enough that if Techno asks him to let him go, Phil will do it, no matter how much it kills him.
Then his kid smiles and curls up against his side, lays his head on Phil’s chest.
“Sounds pretty pog, Dadza.”
Phil blinks. “Is- is that a yes?”
“Yep.”
Phil wraps his other arm around Techno, too, holding him as close as he can. The fourteen-year-old doesn’t protest. Doesn’t try to pull away.
After a while, Techno shifts, tipping his head back. “Phil?”
Phil meets his gaze, brings one hand up to brush a loose strand of hair off Techno’s face. “Yeah?”
Techno smiles, twisting to hug him. “I like being your son.”
God, this kid. Phil smiles back, not even bothering to hide his tears. “I like being your dad.”