mnemophobia | dh + pl

seventeen

a/n: sorry it's been so long!! I plan to upload more regularly now

dan's pov

It had been several days since I met Phil's mum and an idea hadn't stopped pestering me since:

I should go visit my parents.

It was a stupid idea, and I found myself frequently dismissing it with a shake of my head, but it always came back.

I couldn't go visit them... there was no way. My parents had made it clear that I was not welcome there. Showing up after no contact for years would only make things worse.

But what if it didn't? What if they've changed and didn't want to reach out because they thought I hated them?

I shifted uncomfortably in my bed. The chances of that happening were slim. However, it was true that I was more mature than I used to be. I wasn't the type of person who would let people walk all over me anymore. I could try and talk to my parents, explain who I am and how their disapproval of my sexual orientation was no reason to cut ties with me.

The more I thought about it, the more excited I got. This was my chance at a good relationship with my parents. Of course, there was a chance that things would end badly, and nothing would change, but what did I have to lose? They already, to my knowledge, hated me. I had nothing to lose.

I made up my mind. I would go visit them tomorrow. I'd ask nothing more of them than to let me in and hear me out, then I'd talk. I'd explain everything I felt and how much I missed them and plead for a second chance. Maybe they'd comply, maybe they wouldn't. All that matters is that I'm trying.

...

There was something strange about revisiting my old neighborhood.

It looked the same, there were no new houses or streetlamps or anything of the sort, but it felt foreign. The plants were much bigger than they had been years ago. New, unfamiliar children played in the streets. Cars he had never seen before were parked in driveways. It was not my neighborhood anymore. It was theirs.

The uneasy feeling of not quite fitting in only grew as I hurried down the pavement. My stomach was twisting, and my hands shook with nerves. I should have thought this through more. There were so many ways this could go wrong. I was still hurting from the first time they rejected me, I wasn't sure I could handle it again.

Before I could change my mind, I realized I was standing in front of my family home. I was so close, I had to go through with it now. Taking a few deep breaths, I began heading towards the door.

I had toned down my outfit today. It was still much more colorful than my what my parents would usually approve of—mom jeans, white vans, and a blue shirt—but I hoped it might help my case.

The door was the same dark brown it had always been; however, it looked recently painted. In fact, the whole house seemed to have a fresh coat.

I took a deep breath, then knocked three times.

There was a brief silence followed by footsteps, then the door swung open.

An unfamiliar red-head peeked out, her green eyes wide with surprise. "Hello?"

I furrowed my brow, my mouth opening and closing a few times. "Hi, uh... Is Mrs. Howell here?"

"Mrs. Howell?" She stared at me with confusion, then something seemed to click. "Oh! Um, sorry, no. She moved out half a year ago when I bought the house."

I stared blankly, a low ringing in my ears. "What?"

The woman shifted uncomfortably. "Um, she and her family moved out a while back."

The ringing grew louder and louder until it was all I could hear. They had moved out. My parents had moved, and they didn't tell me. They never wanted to see me again. They hated me.

The woman's lips moved to form soundless words, a look of concern on her face. I thought I might be sick.

I felt myself saying something, my brain on autopilot, then I turned and walked away. I had to get away. My pace got faster and faster until I was sprinting. The houses moved past me in a blur, but the street seemed to get longer and longer. I could feel the children staring at me. Everyone on the street had stopped and was watching as the grown man wearing fucking girl's clothes sprinted away from his home. His old home. It was just a house now. Empty and haunting. A mockery of what used to be his safe place. Each step felt like I was running in place. My calves were burning, but what for? I wasn't moving.

Suddenly I felt my foot hit something hard and I was slammed to the ground. Stars danced in front of my eyes as I pushed myself off the ground with shaky arms. My elbows stung, pinpricks of blood rising to the surface of the scrapes.

"Are you alright?"

I took deep breaths, glancing behind me. A concerned, middle-aged woman stood a few feet in front of me. Her Pomeranian circled her feet excitedly, wrapping its pink leash around her legs.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My throat burned—from running or the cries threatening to break lose, I could not be sure which. Probably both.

I blinked the tears out of my eyes and stood, giving the lady a quivering smile. I tried to say something, but my words got clogged by the lump my throat. I settled for a polite nod as I quickly pushed past her, trying to hide the tears that had begun to stream down my cheeks.

They left.

They actually fucking left.