Dan felt the chair creak under him as he leaned back, crossing his hands protectively over his stomach.

"Did you do anything interesting today, Daniel?" his mother asked, forcing a smile.

"No..." Dan wasn't sure why his parents were suddenly taking an interest in his life, but he didn't like it.

"You had piano, didn't you?" his father asked, stony-faced.

"I- yes, I did. Why?"

"We received some pictures from an unknown number earlier today," his mother said. "Would you like to see them?"

Dan cursed everything. He knew what the pictures were.

His father turned his phone screen around to face him. "Does this look familiar?"

Dan wanted to cry.

"How?" he whispered, almost to himself, ignoring his father's triumphant expression.

"You have some serious explaining to do, young man."

Dan blinked, trying to clear the prickling behind his eyelids. "I'm gay, alright?"

His parents looked faintly satisfied. "Of course you are," his father snapped. "Why else would you have been kissing this... This other boy?"

Dan noticed the mocking tone in his father's voice, and his muscles tensed. "What's wrong with it if I am?"

"It's abnormal, that's what." his mother answered.

"So? Do you expect me to be the same as everyone else?"

"Well, you're already very different. We just want you to fit in."

"I can't help it!" Dan spat. "Can't you just accept that I'm strange, and there's nothing we can do?"

"No. No, we can't." Dan's father stood up, his face thunderous. "This family has a reputation to protect. We've already got one freak son who's ruining our image, we don't need the freak to be gay as well."

Dan slowly rose, feeling the chair creak as it relaxed. "I'm not a freak."

"You're different. That's the definition of a freak," his father retorted.

"So even my own parents call me a freak," Dan said, carefully steadying his voice. "Excellent."

"Stop answering back!" his father barked.

Dan took an involuntary step back. "You bastard."

"Don't speak to your father like that!" His mother, who had been sitting silently, watching the scene unfold, suddenly decided to get involved.

"Why the fuck not?" Dan hissed.

"That's it. Get out."

"What?"

"Get out," his father repeated.

"Why?"

"You're rude, insolent and bad for our reputation, and none of this is getting any better now that you're going through this ridiculous gay phase."

"But where am I going to go?"

"Go live with your little faggot friend," his father growled. "I'm sure he'll be very pleased to see you."

Dan stared at his father in utter shock. He'd known that some form of lecture was coming as soon as he'd been called into the room, but he'd had no idea that he'd end up being completely kicked out of the house, and left with only one place to go.

Phil's.

Still staring, he backed away slowly, and headed for the door. "You're mad."

Neither of his parents replied.

He dragged himself upstairs and rummaged in his wardrobe, looking for a suitcase. He found a small wheeled one at the bottom, and reached in, pulling it out and opening it. Two spiders scuttled out and he leapt backwards.

When he was sure that all insects were gone, he stepped forwards and opened it fully. Then, struck by a sudden feeling of desperation, he started frenziedly grabbing clothes and stuffing them in, not caring whether they'd end up as a crumpled mess later, because he needed to leave. He needed to get out of his house, because even inside, there were still his parents, who were just as bad as everyone else.

He rolled up a coat and tucked it down the side of the case, which was now full,  and zipped it up with some difficulty. He headed over to his desk, sweeping off the papers and attempting to put them into some semblance of a neat pile, then picking up his school rucksack and stuffing them in. His music books followed, and then all sorts of little things he had laying around his room. A drawing of himself that Marcus did. His phone charger. A fountain pen. A lava lamp, which he carefully tucked into his bag in the space where his lunch was originally. A soft rabbit toy which he'd had since he was three.

He stood up and silently surveyed his room. It was almost completely empty. All that remained was his old keyboard, an empty desk, the shell of a wardrobe and a bed, complete with crumpled bedsheets.

He picked up the suitcase, feeling the muscles in his arms complain, and slung the bag over his shoulder. Then, closing the door quietly behind him, he placed his bags in the hallway and knocked on Marcus's door.

"Come in?" Marcus called.

Dan pushed the door open quietly. "Did you hear the argument?"

Marcus, looking concerned, nodded. "What's wrong?"

"I'm leaving. I can't stay here any more."

Marcus stepped forward, his hand outstretched, but stopped when Dan spoke.

"Don't try and stop me. I'm going to Phil's. You can still see me, you know. It's just them," indicating the room downstairs, "who I need to escape from."

Marcus gave a tight nod. "I get it." He stepped forward and gave Dan a quick hug, his small hands digging into Dan's shoulder blades.

"I'll miss you."

Marcus gave him a sympathetic smile. "And I'll miss you, but you should go."

Dan, with one last miserable smile at his brother, backed away into the hallway. He felt his leg hit something, and spun around, but it was only his suitcase. Shoulders sagging, he picked it up, and dragged it down the stairs.

Once at the bottom, he turned and looked for a moment towards the living room door. He could hear faint talking coming from that direction, and then the sound of footsteps.

Dan looked wildly around for his shoes, but didn't see them. He could still hear the footsteps, and from the heavy thud that they seemed to make, they were his father's.

Dan didn't want to risk seeing his father again so, without even bothering to find shoes, he unlocked the front door, pushed his case through it, grabbed his rucksack, and quietly shut the door behind him.

He lugged his case to the end of their driveway, and then turned for a last look at the house. In the upstairs window - his old room - he could see Marcus's white face watching him through the window.

Dan raised his hand in the ghost of a wave, and then, taking the handle of his case again, turned away.

oops