Wednesday, 20:32,

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*offensive slurs. may be triggering. i do not stand by the use of it.*
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The feeling of fear can sometimes be so bold that you can't even think straight. The sensation filling your lungs with every breath you breathe and every step you step. Remus could feel himself almost vomiting out his heart, but it seemed to be lodged in his throat, restricting him from even exhaling at a normal pace. The world was something he felt he could only fit in at certain times, and as he tugged down on his jumper, he knew now wasn't one of them. He wanted to come out to his dad and it was clear to him that it wouldn't turn out well. It was pride a month back or so, in June, and the image of his father wrinkling up his nose in disgust was still so fresh in his mind, so fresh that he felt tears sting his eyes. His father, the third person who cradled him in their arms after he was born, would hate him in such a hot passion that he wouldn't be welcomed in to his sight ever again.

Chewing on his thumb, Remus sat at his desk, fixated on staring at the wooden grain of his desk, and let the flood of thoughts drown out his sanity. He was leaving for university in two weeks, meaning that it was one of the last times he could have a face to face conversation with his dad. A face to face conversation where he tells his dad everything. Including the fact that he was very gay and had a boyfriend. He could just not tell him and go about his life normally, but how normal can you be when you're homing this massive secret away from one of your last living relatives?

He took one big breath and expected the fear to flow in to his lungs, but instead felt courage, just the tiniest surge, but still courage.

"Dad, can we- can we talk?" Remus stood at the door, eyeing the back of his father's head. He noticed only one empty bottle of beer on the table and mentally thanked Isaac Newton as that meant that there was a chance that his father would not forget everything the second he blacked out in bed.
"Si'down then," his thick London accent mixing with his slightly tipsy voice. His mother had told many times of their wonderful love story of how she was a Welsh girl and he was a Londoner who fell in love under the oak tree. Remus would always stop her from going further because 'Mum, that's icky! I don't want to hear of that!', but now, he wishes he heard her sweet voice just a little longer. He made his way forward and sat next to the coffee table that was in front of his slumped father who was already sipping on his alcohol. Remus felt his fists clench.
"First of all, stop all of this," he huffed and stood up, rushing in to the kitchen to get a bin bag. One in his hand, he started sweeping up the bottles and cans, a surly look on his face.
"What're you talking 'bout?" Lyall looked like a disappointed child when his son snatched the bottle.
"Drinking. It's not helping. Yes, it's making you forget, but are you really forgetting? No, you're not, and honestly, it scares me," Remus' voice suddenly became small, "I'm scared that you'll leave me too."
"Boys don't get scared. Now go away b'fore I hit you." Lyall scoffed and attempted to pick up his bottle before realising that it had been taken.
"Boys do get scared. Boys get so scared to a fucking extent that you can't even imagine. You told me you were scared when Mum was going through chemo, didn't you?" Remus was picking holes in to the bin bag with his thumb, hoping the nervousness would rip away too. It didn't, and as his dad ignored his son's gaze and leaned back to soothe his whirling head, the feeling came back ten times stronger.
"Don' remember,"
"Fine. But back to the reason I came down here. I'm leaving for university in two weeks. Two weeks left before you'll have this entire house to yourself and you'll have to do everything again. Can you just try and stop drinking? Find a substitute or whatever, I don't even care anymore! But please, don't forget Mum, remember her. Remember how she made us all laugh, remember her warm fingertips. I don't think she'd be pleased with the way that your letting yourself forget her."
"You sound like a real fag when you talk like that, y'know?"

That's when Remus broke. That's when he felt a furious fire roar in his chest.
"Has it ever passed you that I might just be a 'fag'?" the tip of Remus' tongue stung as the words fell from his mouth, "A real, hotblooded gay? Because Dad, I'm sorry to tell you, but yes, men are quite my type."
It was out before he could stop it.
"You don't know what you're saying! You have no fucking idea what you're saying!" the grip on Remus' shoulders tightened as he was shook back and forth, glaring his father in the eye.
"I do, Dad. I really do. I'm eighteen and understand everything I'm doing now, and besides, I could be three and know I'm gay."

Lyall let go of Remus and returned back to his seat, swallowing thickly.
"Listen here, boy," Remus nodded, "I'm not sayin' I fully support you, because I'd be ruddy lying, but your my son, and I wouldn't leave ya for anythin'," his father responded with a curt nod, trying to cover up his feelings so that he'd just feel nothing.
He's trying, Remus thought, at least he's trying.
"Thank you. Yeah, thank you. Though if I'm allowed to ask, why? Why if you don't 'fully support' me?"
"Hope would kill me," croaked Lyall, his tone so low that it was nearly uncatchable.
"Pardon?" Remus knew what he heard, but he'd have liked to be a hundred percent certain because there was no way in hell that he would say that.
"Nuthin'. Oh, and Remus, d'ya have you're eye on a certain somebody?"
Remus felt himself tense up.
"...No." he wasn't exactly lying. He already had the person, so technically he was safe.
"Just thought it might've been that leather boy that brought home." Lyall chortled with smile not quite reaching his eyes, and Remus edged quickly towards the door.
"Re-really? F-funny."

--
so yeah. today is armistice day and i've got my poppy ready. i feel like every year, a lot of people who were involved in the great war forget what a crucial moment that was in history and how important it is to stay silent and pray in those two minutes. even if you weren't involved in the ww1, perhaps you could at least spare a thought for the millions of people who gave their lives away for their country. the fallen heroes who risked everything they had for the freedom of what was to come. it's been a hundred years since the war ended look how far we've come. thank you to the resting bodies for your service. lest we forget.
see you next millennium