Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction and I am making no profit, monetary or otherwise, through the writing of this.
A/N: Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry assignment number 2, Travel and Tourism: Tourism within the UK, Task 4, "Write about someone coming out to their parents"
Warning: allusions to actions that border on abuse, but no actual abuse is contained within the story
The Polkiss family prided themselves on being an ordinary, normal family. They were the salt of the earth and there was little that could shake their faith in the orderliness of the world that they lived in. There was a place for everything, and a time for everything.
As such, it was with much trepidation that their son, Piers, approached his parents with some news that he knew would shake up their perfectly ordered lives. It was the exact opposite of normal. If anything, it was the very epitome of deviance from the norm.
Hands shaking, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip, Piers stood before his parents in the sanctity of their living room. The grandfather clock that had been passed down for three generations struck the hour at five o'clock and his father, as he always did, checked his watch and adjusted it to match the time on the clock. Piers doubted that it was off, but knew that his father was a creature of habit, as was his mother, whose gaze wandered toward the kitchen.
He had to make this quick, after all, he'd called them together to make this announcement. Except, when he opened his mouth to tell them, nothing came out. He closed his mouth, wet his lips, and then opened it again only for words to fail him a second time.
His father's eyes were on him. The look wasn't hard or judgemental, just bored, waiting for Piers to get to the point, to explain why he'd asked them to gather in the family room. His mother's face was anxious. It was clear that she wanted to indulge her son in his request, but was torn between paying her son due attention and making sure that the potatoes didn't boil over.
"What is it, son?" his father asked, and struck by a nameless fear, Piers simply turned from the expectant faces of his parents and ran out the front door. He didn't stop running until his lungs burned and his legs felt like rubber.
He flopped down on the ground, not even fully aware of where he was until he was able to get his breathing under control. When he finally regained his wits, he pushed himself up on his elbows and took a look around. He closed his eyes and sank back down on the grass of Malcolm's front yard.
"Figures I'd wind up here," he muttered to himself as he sat up. "I can't do anything right," he lamented.
"A penny for your thoughts," Malcolm said, startling Piers from his self-recrimination.
He hadn't even heard Malcolm walk up to him, but moved over when the other boy flopped down on the grass beside him. He took the cigarette that Malcolm offered him without a word, letting the smoke gather in his lungs and calm him before passing it back to the other boy. When Malcolm wrapped an arm around him, Piers leaned against him, taking comfort in Malcolm's warmth, in the calm way that the other boy breathed as he finished smoking his cigarette, stubbing it out on the lawn.
"Your parents don't mind that?" Piers asked, shuddering at the tongue-lashing that he'd get if his parents ever discovered that he smoked, let alone the 'talking to' his father would give him if he dared to snub said cigarette out on the perfectly manicured lawn.
"Naw," Malcolm said, shrugging. "They don't care so long as I don't smoke inside. Say it's my lungs that I'm ruinin' and all that."
Piers snorted and shook his head, pushed at Malcolm to give himself some room to breathe. To think. If he had parents that were as accepting and as out of the ordinary as Malcolm's were, it would be easier for him to tell his parents the truth about why setting him up with the Callows' daughter, Felicity, had been a bad idea. He'd be able to explain to them why she'd laughed at them, why, when they suggested that he ask a girl to the school dance, he'd objected, said that dances weren't his thing. He didn't have Malcolm's parents, though. He had parents who had a nice, orderly lawn with gnomes positioned at just the right spots to capture the sun's light just so. Parents who would faint at the mere thought that their son wasn't everything they thought he was.
Malcolm pulled him even closer, fitting their mouths together perfectly. The world melted away around them as Piers fell into the kiss, desperate to draw strength from the boy that he loved, hoping that it would give him the courage that he needed to face his parents with the truth of what, of who, he was. That maybe they'd accept him, even though he would no longer fit into the place of their perfect son who'd one day bring home a lovely daughter-in-law and give them grandchildren.
"I tried to tell them," Piers said once they'd kissed their fill. Malcolm's grip on him was tight and he rested his head on the other boy's chest as they lay back to look at the stars.
"About us?" Malcolm asked, fingers stopping their tracing of Piers' cheek for a moment before resuming their journey along Piers' jawline.
Piers nodded, swallowed past the dryness in his throat. "I couldn't. I'm such a coward."
Malcolm stilled and shifted until they were face to face. "You're not a coward," he said, gripping Piers' chin tightly and pressing a kiss to Piers' lips.
"You're strong and brave," Malcolm said, eyes piercing into Piers' in a way that made Piers' heart race. "And I love you."
Piers drew in a sharp breath and returned Malcolm's kiss with a fervor. No one had ever said those words to him before, other than his parents, and they'd stopped saying them some time ago. "I love you, too," he said between pauses for breath.
Malcolm's smile at his declaration of love gave Piers a shot of the bravery that he'd lamented lacking. With Malcolm's love, he felt like maybe he could conquer the world. Or maybe just come out to his parents, whatever the outcome.
"Come with me?" Piers asked, searching Malcolm's face for rejection, heart skipping a beat when he saw nothing but love there.
Nodding, Malcolm stood and pulled Piers to his feet. Taking Piers' hand in his, he started walking in the direction of Pier's home. "I'll be with you every step of the way," he promised.
Hand-in-hand, they walked the path to Piers' house, and though Piers' stomach was churning with fear over what would happen next, he felt bolstered by the warmth of Malcolm's hand clasping his own, the confident stride of Malcolm's footsteps. He only faltered when they reached the front porch. Malcolm squeezed his hand and offered him a smile, and together they walked up the steps and into the house.
His parents were sitting, once more in the family room. His mother knitting, his father smoking his pipe. They both looked up when Piers, accompanied by Malcolm, entered the room.
His father inclined his head in acknowledgement of the pair, his mother laid her knitting needles upon her lap and gave them her full attention, a slight frown upon her face as her gaze darted to and from the grandfather's clock, marking the time. No doubt he'd get a sound reprimand for missing supper once Malcolm left. That, however, was the least of his worries.
"You've missed supper," his father said.
"Sorry," Piers said, the hand that Malcolm wasn't holding shook.
"Whatever is the matter, son?" his mother asked, half rising from her rocking chair, only to sit back down when Piers' father gestured for her to do so. "You flew out of here as though you'd seen a ghost, and after giving us quite a shock by indicating that you had something important to say to us."
"I'm sorry, mum," Piers said, looking down at the floor and gaining courage when Malcolm squeezed his hand.
"I hope that you're not expecting your supper now, and for me to feed your friend," his mother said.
"No'm," Piers said, eyes locking on the hand that Malcolm held, their fingers twined together. "I'm not expecting supper." He'd learned long ago that if he missed a meal, he would go to bed hungry. He had snacks stashed up in his room.
"Then out with it," his mother said, patience evaporating. "Whatever it is, tell us."
It was then that Piers heard the worry in his mother's voice and he chanced looking up at her. Her lips were pinched together in a thin line, and her brows were furrowed. She was every bit as anxious about this as Piers was and that, more than anything else, bolstered his confidence and helped give voice to the words that he'd been afraid to say for years now.
"Mum, Dad," Piers said, voice shaking, "I'm gay."
He felt faint and relieved all at once. The only thing keeping him grounded was the feel of Malcolm's hand within his. If it wasn't for Malcolm standing by his side, he felt sure that he'd have fainted or fallen straight through the earth.
"I'm gay," he repeated, feeling a kind of freedom that he'd never felt before.
His father'd put his pipe down and was staring at him, lips turned downward at the edges. His mother, knitting pooled in her lap looked relieved, which did not fit in with Piers' anticipated reactions at all.
He'd expected fainting and shouting, general bedlam to follow the confession that he'd spent years working up to. Instead, he got silence, and then his mother moved, her knitting dropping to the floor as she walked up to him. He couldn't help it, when she lifted her hands, he flinched, and the look that flitted across her face made him want to cry because in that moment she looked as though she'd been slapped.
"I'm -"
Piers' apology was silenced by his mother's embrace. She didn't just hug him, though, she drew Malcolm into the hug as well, holding both of them and kissing each of their cheeks.
"I love you," she whispered into Piers' ear. "Don't you ever scare me like that again." She pinched Piers' arm in a way she often did when she was vexed with him.
It was as though nothing had happened, as though Piers hadn't bared his soul to his ordinary, salt of the earth parents, as though he hadn't admitted an earth-shattering truth to them at all. He wondered if this was all a dream, but the firm grip of Malcolm's hand told him that it wasn't.
His father's, "Well, if that's all, son, I'd like to watch the telly now," and clearing of the throat sealed the deal.
He'd told his parents that he was gay, and while holding his boyfriend's hand, and he hadn't been banished from the house. There'd been no protests, no shouting. There'd been...nothing, other than the easing of tension that had fallen over the household when Piers had first mentioned that he'd had something to tell his parents.
"I do hope you'll be able to join us for supper on Sunday," Piers' mother said to Malcolm as she took up her knitting once again. "I presume that you two are together?"
"Yes, ma'am," Malcolm said, suddenly shyer than Piers had ever seen him. He was even blushing.
Piers decided that it was a rather fetching look, and unmindful of where he was, maybe pushing the envelope a little bit (if he was being perfectly honest with himself) he kissed the other boy, in front of his parents, and when there was no sound, other than the clacking of his mother's knitting needles and the hum of the television, Piers dragged Malcolm out of the living room and up to his room.
"Mind that you keep your bedroom door open," his father's voice followed them up the stairs before he turned the volume of the television up.
Giggling, Piers and Malcolm flopped down on his bed, leaving the door open as his father had bid him, and simply held onto each other.
"Thank you," Piers said.
"Don't mention it," Malcolm said. "'Sides, I haven't told my parents yet."
"I'll be there with you if you want me to be," Piers said.
"That'd be nice." Malcolm sighed and rested his forehead against Piers'. "Think they'll be half as decent about it as your parents were?"
"I'll be here if they aren't," Piers promised.