Head Down (phanfiction)

7 * Dan Makes Popcorn Exciting

"Hey, would it be okay if I stayed the night?" Dan finally asked.

He'd already (unintentionally) had dinner here and we'd already set ourselves up for at least one more "all or nothing" round of Mario and three movies we 'absolutely had to watch.' Dan's words. I swear.

I told him he could sleepover if (and only if) he went home first to get a sleeping bag and whatever other crap people bring to sleepovers. I didn't want to have to lend him extra clothes, hair brushes, or (god forbid) a toothbrush.

Dan was gone for an hour and forty-three minutes.

Which was pretty strange since it took roughly thirty seconds to walk across the street from my house to his.

"Did Dan leave, honey?" Mum asked

She was finishing washing the dishes from dinner while I was sprawled out on the couch with some mindless reality show flickering on the TV in front of me. She didn't say anything, but I could tell she was irked that I wasn't helping her.

"Yeah... but... um.... Is it okay if he comes back and sleeps over?"

You see, being someone with a very limited supply of friends (aka one) it was very rare for me to have friends spend the night. Except for Hazel -- of course -- who, by now, was comfortable enough with me and my family to barge into our house at one in the morning on a Friday night and crash in our guest bedroom until Wednesday. (True story.)

So, you can clearly see how asking Mum for permission for a "slumber party" had slipped my mind.

But she didn't really seem to mind. Just one of the perks of only having one friend since you were eight, I guess.

She was so excited I had made a friend that she sat me down and interrogated me for what seemed like days.

"No, Mum, we aren't dating."

"No, Mum, he isn't trying to sell me drugs."

"No, Mum, how am I even supposed to know what his CGPA is?!"

The only thing she said about him staying over was expected, "We have rules, though, remember, Phil?"

Ah, yes. The Rules.

A handy little guide to the complicated social life of, me, the homosexual teenager that my parents and I compromised on when I came out. (And still had a bit of hope to expand my friend circle.)

Scenario One: If I was in a relationship or liked another queer guy, I had to tell Mum and they weren't allowed to spend the night because 'Something could happen.'

Scenario Two: If I had a platonic friendship with another queer fellow I was allowed to invite them to sleep over, but we had to sleep in the living room so my parents could come downstairs and check up on us as much as they felt they needed to. 'Just to be sure.'

And, Scenario Three: Straight friends (including Hazel) were allowed to sleep wherever the hell they wanted -- on the couch, in my bed, in the guest bed, on the lawn, on the roof, in the street -- it didn't matter.

"Do you know how he identifies?" Mum asked me.

I didn't, and I told her that. She said we'd have to sleep in the living room. I was fine with that.

But, I didn't tell her about my teensy tiny crush on him. How I thought he was cute, and interesting, and mysterious, and-- Ugh.

If I told her any of that, there was no way she'd let him spend the night.

When Dan finally did come back, it was somewhere around eight o'clock.

He had a small pull-string bag slung across his shoulder (God only knows why it took him nearly two hours to pack if he was only going to bring that tiny thing) and an awkward, forced, smiling pushing his lips upward.