Eleven: Parental Problems 

“Philo? You awake?”  

Philo sits up in an unfamiliar bed, opening his eyes sleepily. He blinks a few times until his blurry vision clears up, and he realizes where he is. That’s right, he stayed the night in Rocket’s room. In his bed, and they drank all night. He snaps his head to the side, letting out a relieved sigh when he sees Rocket’s set up.  

He had thrown a blanket and a pillow on the floor and slept there. Not in bed with him. Thankfully he wasn’t that stupid, not even when he was drunk. 

Putting a hand to his forehead, he lets out a wince.  

“Got a headache?” Rocket asks, letting out a long yawn. “Me, too.”  

“Yeah, it's killer.” Philo throws the blanket off himself and throws his arms over his head, allowing himself a thorough stretch. He reaches for his phone, grimacing when he sees the abundance of texts from Sara.  

Sara (7:22am): 

I’m sorry, Philo. 

You can come back. I won’t do that again. I promise. 

I didn’t mean for it to happen. 

Sara (8:45am): 

Can you at least answer me? Where did you even go? 

Things don’t have to be like this.  

Please. 

I’m sorry.  

I love you. 

Sara (9:12am): 

Did you tell Ian to go back home?  

Please answer me. 

We can fix this. 

Snapping his phone shut, he sets it on the end table. Rocket is giving him a sympathetic look from the floor, eyes wide and curious. 

“Everything alright?”  

Philo fidgets with his fingers, twists the rings on them, pulling them off and putting them back on again, and glances out the window. It was late in the morning now, as the sun was perched high in the sky, shining bright and hot down onto Nerora.  

“I know you want the truth from me, but to be honest, I don’t know where to start.” Rocket’s eyebrows raise with gentle intention.  

Rocket slowly makes his way to the edge of the bed and takes a seat. Philo watches him with observant eyes, and Rocket messes anxiously with the end of the comforter. It calmed Philo down knowing that Rocket was nervous for this conversation too, maybe even more than he was.  

“It’s okay.” Rocket mumbles. “We don’t have to talk about it right now. Or ever.”  

Philo lets his head fall into his palms, and he wishes in the moment he could light a cigarette and smoke away all his feelings so he wouldn’t have to feel them anymore. 

“I’m going to run to the kitchen real quick.” Rocket says patting Philo’s knee a few times. Philo looks up, eyes widening. 

“Why?”  

“For our headaches. We have some painkiller in the medicine cabinet.” Rocket smiles. “Also, the tequila bottle is still on my desk. Need to bring that back down before I forget.”  

He scoops up the tequila bottle, heading for the door. Philo watches him intently, and a spark of pure, sudden bravery fills him. His chest feels lighter than it ever had before, and he wanted to seize the moment while he still could. Rocket has his hand on the doorknob when he says it, no, blurts it out loud.  

“Sara’s not my girlfriend.” Rocket’s hand freezes, and he turns to Philo, head falling to the side in that charming, inquisitive way he does.  

Rocket doesn’t say anything, just looks Philo up and down with a concerned glint in his eyes. So, Philo keeps talking while the bravery still lived within him.  

“She never was. It was just a lie I made up on the spot because...” Philo pauses, embarrassed now. The bravery had run out, and now all he felt was the shame. The shame that came with the truth of his life. 

“Hey, whatever it is, it’s okay.” Rocket stays where he is at the door, but he has turned his body completely to Philo.  

“You’re going to think I’m... disgusting.” Philo spits out. 

“I won’t think of you any differently. I promise, okay?” Philo looks up, sees the dilation of Rocket’s pupils, and he believes him then. He can see the sincerity, shallow and atop the rippling waves of the ocean of his feelings. As clear as a night in Nerora, all the stars so easy on display, so readable. 

“Okay.” Philo lets out a deep breath. “I lied because I met her in a club. She works there as a dancer.”  

Philo looks up for Rocket’s negative reaction, but he has none. So, he keeps going.  

“At the time, I didn’t have a place to stay. Eero had let me stay at his for a while, but I was overstaying my welcome. Sara let me spend the night with her at her apartment, and I ended up staying a lot longer than I planned to.” He lets it all out in one breath, feeling overwhelmed even though he hadn’t even mentioned the hard part. He wasn’t sure he could do it, not yet.  

Philo adds on hastily, sheepishly, “I’m sorry that I lied about Sara being my girlfriend.” 

Rocket shakes his hand in the air.  

“Do you want one or two headache pills?”  

Philo looks at him eyes wide, bewildered. How had he moved on so quickly? Was it not that big of a deal to him? Philo had lied to his face, and he was still hiding a lot of things from him, but he didn’t seem to care. Putting an absent-minded hand to his chest, he felt that feeling of warmth, of nervousness. It reminded him of how he felt for Rocket in college. Sometimes, just his youthful laugh alone would send butterflies up his spine. That feeling was slowly coming back, and Philo had no idea what to do with it.  

“Two. Definitely.”  

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

Philo had completely forgotten one of the most important aspects of spending the night at Rocket’s house: his parents.  

Rocket had told him to “come on down” because breakfast was ready, but Philo wasn’t ready. He ran a hand through his hair shakily and followed Rocket down the steps. He had the tequila bottle in his hand, swinging it around with a wide, bright smile on his face. Philo thought he looked like such a dork.  

“Rocky, are you bringing him down now?” A feminine voice calls from the kitchen, and Rocket calls back to her.  

“Yes ma’am!”  

Rocket’s mother looks just like him, only she is much shorter. She’s sat at the kitchen table, a colorful beanie stretched over her shaved head, and light freckles dotted her cheeks. She has those same, gentle brown eyes as Rocket, and she beams bright when Philo steps into the kitchen.  

“You must be Philo. It’s so nice to meet you.” She says, and Philo gives her a polite nod in return.  

A tall man with a familiar spiky head of hair, brown in color, comes rushing from the kitchen side door, letting it slam behind him. He glances at Philo and stops in his tracks.  

“Philo!” He says arms wide out in front of him, open for a hug. Philo glances to Rocket, who’s got his jaw dropped open in shock.  

“Don’t scare him, James.” Rocket’s mom scolds from the table, and his dad drops his arms.  

“Oh, you’re right, Helena. Sorry, Philo. It just feels like we know you, as much as Rocky talks about you!” Philo pointedly looks over to Rocket once his dad is done talking, shooting him with a teasing glance. Rocket looks like he wants to die. 

“What does he say about me?” Philo tempts them, but Rocket is already shoving him towards the door.  

“We have to go! Bye mom, bye dad! Be back later!”  

“Oh okay, bye dear! Don’t forget, your sister is coming over later. You need to be back soon, okay?” His mom shouts as Rocket opens the door and pushes Philo out of it.  

“Son, you haven’t had your breakfast yet!” His dad adds later, but Rocket has slammed the door already.  

The two men walk in silence out to the garage, and Rocket walks right up to the Cadillac driver’s seat. He opens it and throws himself in it, and Philo can tell by the faint redness on his cheekbones that he wasn’t expecting his parents to act so... parental.  

Philo gets into the passenger’s seat and just smirks at Rocket over the console. Apparently, he’s smirking for a little too long, because it gets Rocket to his limit. 

“Would you stop it?” Rocket snaps playfully.  

“I can’t help it. They’re so funny.” Philo tells him. “And you’re being funny.”  

“I’m being funny?” Rocket scoffs, starting the car.  

“You are.”  

Rocket pulls the car out of the driveway. The ride is still silent, the air heavy and dragging. At least until Philo adds another snarky comment.  

“You talk about me a lot?”  

Rocket’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, and Philo watches as the blood leaves his fingers, turning them white.  

“I don’t know why they said that.”  

“It’s okay. I think it’s sweet.” Philo sets his hand on Rocket’s shoulder, who shoots him an uncertain glance. His hardened face softens once he sees that Philo didn’t really care all that much about his ridiculous parents. He adds a little later, a little quieter. “By the way, where are we going?”  

Rocket laughs indignantly.  

“I have no clue.”