Dan didn't really have any complains about his parents or his childhood. His dad was a teacher, his mum was a solicitor, his little sister was a pain in the arse. His childhood hadn't been an unhappy one and if he didn't smile much, well, smiling was overrated.

The hospital psychologist had asked but he couldn't think of anything that had been particularly traumatic or out of the ordinary, no tragic backstory to point to as the reason for the chronic depression which had been part of his life since he was about fifteen years old. She'd told him, the psychologist, that there didn't need to be a triggering event - there sometimes was - but there didn't have to be.

Dan was just depressed and that was supposed to be ok.

He hated it. It made him feel weak and useless and the idea of even acknowledging it's existence by taking the damn pills every single day made him want to spend the rest of his life living as a hermit in a cave. Except that he knew for a fact that living without Jones wasn't an option.

His mum would probably kill him if anything happened to Jones. The two of them had only ever spoken on the phone, usually at Christmas, but she'd taken a real shine to his "little, musical friend", as she put it. Dan suspected that his mum suspected that there was more going on than just friendship but she was the sort of mother who would wait until he was ready, even if it took years. She always told her children that she had her own life and job to be getting on with and wouldn't chase them down to try and learn their secrets. She would be there if they needed her and would never turn them away but she was not the sort of person to call every week or send money they didn't ask for. Sometimes Dan wished she would.

She called at Christmas and on birthdays and had called just before Claire came to stay to remind Dan to "be nice" and sometimes she'd call to tell him that she loved him, out of the blue, and Dan was only just realising how much he appreciated that.

Over the last two weeks she'd probably received more phone calls from the House of Jones than the last six years combined and a lot of those calls had been made by Jones. He'd called the Ashcrofts after Dan's accident, both before he went to the hospital and after, and he'd given them regular updates until Dan came home. Claire had called, in tears, several times, which had lead to Mrs Ashcroft's involvement in what she called the "Nathan Barley Affair", but Dan hadn't rung her until now. He didn't know what he'd been expecting but apparently his mum was in one of her rare, melancholy moods. Dan had a sneaking suspicion that it was his fault.

...

"I do worry about you."

"Mum, I'm fine."

"Do you... do you remember Davey?"

"Mum, don't."
"You were only ten when he died and I've always wondered..."

"It didn't fu- screw me up, mum. Nothing you guys did warped me or ruined me, alright?"

"You talked about it for months. Every time we got into the car."

"Mum-"

"Your dad used to dread taking you anywhere because the second he turned on the engine you'd start asking questions about how much it would have hurt, how much blood people have in them, whether the man who did it went to prison. Every night you'd want to talk about what would happen to you if your dad or I died. Where Claire would go if she died. You wouldn't cross the road without checking it was clear a dozen times. We should have sent you to counseling. But people didn't in those days, and we were... busy. "

Dan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and trying not to get cross at his mum just for being his mum and for remembering something which he had honestly not thought about in years.

"You didn't do anything wrong, mum. I was a kid, he was my mate, he died. Of course I talked about it. It's got nothing to do with this."

"But then you stopped talking about everything. Your nan said you were just hitting moody puberty but..."

"Mum, please don't?"

"And I've never really been the sort of person to... want to talk."
"Well, you're talking now."

She chuckled down the phone at his irritation and he couldn't help sighing at her, which happened a lot. They were a bit too alike sometimes.

"So what's this new problem with the magazine that you need fixing then?"

Dan huffed. Talking to his mum was easier when it was Jones doing the actual talking and he could just yell from across the room.

"I don't need you to fix anything. I want your advice. On... slander. And my... rights. All of that."

"I'm afraid I am going to need more information, love, if I'm going to be able to give you accurate advice."

His mum's sigh down the phone line was identical to his and he could hear her biro tapping against the paper she kept by the phone, ready to take notes on whatever Dan told her. She had waited patiently, he supposed. Well now she was going to get her reward, though he had no idea what her reaction would be.

"Well, you know how Jones and I," he tried to think of the least embarrassing way to say it and hated the English language for not providing one. "You know how we've been living together?"

"Yes."

"Well... We're friends. We've been friends for a long time. But, somewhere along the way, we sort of..." Dan took a deep breath and fought down the urge to physically hide under his blankets. He was alone in the house and hiding wouldn't stop his mum from hearing this. Beside, he really should have told her before now. It was just so damn embarrassing, saying it to his mother. "... became more than friends? We... I love him, mum."

There was a silence, just for a moment, during which Dan began to panic that his mum, despite being passionate in her fight for equal representation under the law for all, would be disgusted that her own son was in a relationship with a man.

Then he heard, very faintly, a laugh.

"Mum?"

"It's alright, love. Thank you for telling me, you don't know how important it is that I've heard it from you. Thank you, Daniel."

"I'm not gay!"

"Oh?"

"I'm... bisexual?"

"Why are you saying that like it's a question?"

"Dunno," Dan shook his head, looking down at the plaster on his arm, covered in swirls and sketches and lines from songs, all curtesy of Jones. Why did being bi always feel like a question?

"Are you being safe?"

"You mean other than jumping out of windows?"

"Daniel."

"And drinking too much?"

"I don't need to hear all of your secrets, Daniel, I'm not your priest."

"I don't have a priest," Dan answered quickly, but she just tutted at him.

"Are you being safe... with your sex life?" she clarified, sounded only half as embarrassed as Dan felt. He did not want to have this conversation with his mother. He'd rather talk for an hour about his desperate, ever present, desire to drink until he passed out, than talk for even a minute about his sex life.

But if he was direct she wouldn't push it, he knew that from experience. He just had to give her facts and she'd be able to figure out the emotions and motivations behind things from that. Because that was what she did. 'Cos she was his mum and that was her superpower.

"Jones is the only man I've ever had sex with. He is the only person I've had sex with in the last six years. I am the only person he has ever done anything with. Ever. Happy?"

"Not really. Parents don't like having to know about their children's sex lives any more than the children like having it known. But I'm satisfied that you're not going to keel over from an STD, I suppose."

Dan groaned. He never should have called. He should have found some other way to make the whole SugaRape issue go away, but calling his mum for advice had seemed like a really good idea when he'd been trying to convince himself, and Jones, that he'd be fine on his own for the evening and could handle having the details of his personal life put in print.

"Don't groan at me, young man," she told him, and Dan winced at being called young when he felt about a thousand years old. "You called me. You decided to tell me (finally) that you and Jones are a couple. I didn't force it out of you, you wanted my help. And I'm proud of you, Daniel. I love you. And I'm not going to say I don't care about you being bisexual, or that it doesn't matter, because I do care, and it does matter, because it's part of you, it's a lovely part of you. I'm not going to disown you, or write in to one of those trashy magazines and sob to them about my son running off to London and falling into a life of sin... Oh."

The problem with his mum, Dan had long been aware, was her brain's ability to run rather fast. He was still processing the fact that she loved him and loved the fact that he was bisexual and wasn't about to tell him off, and her brain had already jumped ahead. There was a lump in his throat that was making it hard to talk and he carefully maneuvered himself down the bed until he was lying down properly with his face against Jones' pillow. It was stupid, but if he couldn't get a hug, at least he could breath in Jones' scent and let the blankets give him some comfort. And there was no one around to see him acting like such a sad, little, romantic sap, so he could do as he pleased.

"Thanks, mum. Mum?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry love. I love you. I just- the magazine's written about you and Jones haven't they? Because you resigned."

Dan nodded, which his mum couldn't see but seemed to understand all the same.

"And you weren't ready to tell people?"

"We nearly were. We just... There are pictures."

"Pictures?"

"Of us... please don't make me say it?"

"Oh."

"And they've made it seem like... I coerced him. Because he's younger."

The silence was back but it was a kind of silence Dan knew well. Before he'd met Jones, Dan hadn't known how to describe sound very well. There were loud sounds and soft sounds, music and silence and the sound of voices. But listening to Jones describe the way the world felt and sounded had helped Dan understand quite a few things and he felt like the silence from his mum right now was a thoughtful one, as if she was processing the information she'd been given and was creating a list of actions to take to put the world back in order.

"Mum?"

"Leave it with me, Daniel. I'll see what I can do."

"Are you serious?"

"Don't you scoff at me, young man," she said with such authority that Dan forced the smile from his face and actually looked around the room to make sure she wasn't somehow watching him. "You asked for my advice, and my advice is to leave it with me. I might have to see the article though-"

"No!"

"Oh, Daniel," she scolded. "I might need to see what was written to decide whether it could stand up as libel in court. I wouldn't want to see the pictures. I don't want my first sight of Jones to be that. I'd never get it out of my head."

"Wait," his mum's brain was skipping ahead again. "What do you mean, your first sight of Jones?"

"Yes, I was going to ask you," she responded in a tone that informed Dan that there was going to be no asking involved. "You're turning thirty. You haven't been home in eight years. I know you don't want your mother throwing you a party, but... I'd like to see you and take you out for dinner."

"Right."

Dan knew it was selfish. He knew his father didn't travel well and couldn't manage a trip to London and that his mother wouldn't leave him to come and visit on her own. He knew he probably should have come back for Christmas or something at some point. He'd used Jones as his excuse because he didn't want to leave the kid on his own, especially over the holiday period, and the thought of asking his parents whether his housemate could come along to Christmas, and stay in their house, just hadn't occurred to him.

"And I'd like Jones to come too. It's about time we met him properly. I don't know how we would have coped without him these last few weeks, Daniel. And I hope you haven't been making him cry."

"What?"

"If I have to hear that boy cry one more time because of you I'm going to throttle you."

"Oh, Jesus," Dan cursed, pulling the blankets over his head to hide his blush from the empty room.

"I'll throttle you and call it your birthday present," his mum told him sharply and Dan couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

"Oh, well that's lovely," Dan shot back.

"He was terrified that you wanted to kill yourself!"

"Mum!"

"Grow up, Daniel. I love you but you had better treat that boy well, or Lord help me... As it is, I'll be giving him one hell of a hug when I see him."

"Fine," Dan sighed, knowing when he was beaten (at least when it was his mother doing the beating). "We'll come and visit."

"Good," his mother replied, and he could just about hear her crossing her arms at her victory and smirking. "I'll book your train tickets in the morning. And I will need to see a copy of that article - don't groan! - I'll call Claire and get her to email a copy."

That made Dan smile. He'd been careful not to mention Claire but couldn't resist the smile that crept onto his lips at the idea of her confessing everything and being dressed down good and proper as only their mum could.

"She's staying at Pingu's."

"Pingu? Goodness, what is wrong with young people today? Good night, love. Give Jones a kiss for me when he gets in."

"No."

"Terrible boy," she scolded him affectionately. "I'll call you as soon as I can. Sleep well."

"Bye, mum. Thanks."

He ended the call and pushed the phone onto the bedside table without emerging from his blanket cave. He did feel better having talked to her. She was good like that - organised and straight forward - she didn't have time for nonsense or idiots.

And she liked Jones.

Which was something worth smiling about.