hopeless || phan [complete]

dan came home to a nightmare. 

for him, of course, it wasn't. but for any other person, dan imagined the scene unfolding in front of him might be a very good example of one.

"MY SON," his father was bellowing into the receiver of his phone, "IS NOT A ROBOT." his mother was crying, trying to pry the phone away from him.

"jim, please," she begged. he only glared at her, and turned back to the phone with difficulty.

"DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY SON THAT WAY AGAIN," he roared, and slammed the phone down. for a good ten seconds, everything was silent, except for the quiet sniffs coming from dan's mother as she gingerly picked up the phone and put it in its cradle.

dan stepped forward into the kitchen. his parents' heads snapped up, their gazes taut and desperate to break. dan's father was the first break, to look away.

"dan," his mother said weakly. "you're home-"

dan's father abruptly stood up. roughly pushing dan aside, he made his way to the stairs. at the bottom of the stairwell, he paused.

"this is your fault, boy," he growled. "you and your fucking 'parasitic empathy,' you-" running out of words to spew, he stomped up the stairs. dan watched him go, then turned to his mother.

"he was furious."

his mother took a deep, shuddering breath. 

"yes, dear."

"with whom?"

"a colleague," she whispered. 

"you're sad."

"very," dan's mother sighed.

"ashamed?"

she looked up, alarmed. "of you? no, honey, i could never be ashamed of you-" she reached out and placed a cool hand on dan's cheek. dan let her.

"you forget," dan reminded her, "that it wouldn't matter to me either way."

at this, dan's mother's shoulders shook with a great, convulsing sob, and with the wave of sorrow that overcame him, dan realized he said something he shouldn't have said.

"i wish it did," dan tried, and placed a hand on his mother's shoulder. 

"it's strange, isn't it," dan continued. "they call me a parasitic empath, but i'm merely parasitic. i do feel the emotions of others, but i don't feel empathy." 

he pulled away from his crying mother.

"i'm sorry i can't say sorry without it meaning nothing," he said, and left the kitchen, not feeling up to dealing with the enormity of his parents' sadness, their overwhelming brokenheartedness for a heart that would never break.

a/n: why am i so proud of that last sentence