who? (Trans Wilbur)

ten | secret sasquatch

warnings: arguing, sickness/vomit

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"I have reason to think you've been doing shit I didn't know about since you left," Phil started.

"Care for specifics?" Wilbur replied.

Phil sighed. "Got a mouth on you. I mean the voice drop, the hair everywhere. You got hormones, didn't you?"

"Yeah?" Wilbur's voice lowered in volume. "I-is that bad?"

"I'm just worried that you'll regret it," Phil muttered. "I just want you to be happy, but I want you to be sure this will make you happy."

"I've been sure for years!" Wilbur rubbed his face. "Genuinely! I know you don't get it, I know you never will. That's fine, but please trust me when I say that I want this!"

"I would've thought you would wait until you were twenty-five. You actually told me you would," Phil hissed. "Just to be sure."

"You don't know how it feels to wake up and immediately find a way to hate yourself!" Wilbur snapped. "You don't feel like you should just dissolve whenever you see yourself! You don't feel like an impostor among your colleagues, feel like you have to hide everything! You're not worried that you'll be hate-crimed and ridiculed for existing!"

"I know I won't!" Phil shouted back. "But you don't know how it feels to lose your only daughter! You don't know how it feels to be shut out! You don't know how it feels to suddenly learn that your kid has been making life-changing choices without your knowledge!"

"Oh, you're sad that you lost your fucking daughter?" Wilbur snarled. "I'm sad that I had to move out to transition, because I was worried that my dad would be disappointed and make weird comments if I stayed! I'm sad that I'm afraid to tell you about my problems, because you wouldn't get it! I'm sad that I've been called slurs just for wanting to be comfortable!"

"I'm your fucking father! You're meant to tell me these things!" Phil argued.

"Yeah? And get the same old 'are you sure' every single time? Because I am fucking sure, but you never believe me!" Wilbur balled his hands into fists.

"You make it really fucking hard to believe you!" Phil yelled. "Can you imagine having to change every way you refer to someone? That's what you're doing to me!"

Wilbur's head hurt with the loud noise. He stomach whirled, and he knew it was the feeling of oncoming vomit. He had the sensation memorized. He pushed through it to snap back. "Can you imagine being afraid to tell your own fucking dad about your shit because he'll think you're lying? That you're just fake, all of the hurting, everything is a lie? That I'm just-"

Wilbur was cut off by being forced to turn away. He forcefully puked up his dinner. It was too much for the stomach that hadn't been fed very much since he'd moved out, and the boiling rage he felt wasn't helping matters much. Phil pulled him away and into the bathroom, helping him to lean over the toilet as he hurled twice more.

"Are you sick?" Phil asked softly, rubbing his son's back.

"Not any more than usual," Wilbur sneered.

"Well, will you be alright?" Phil tried.

i sure hope not.

Wilbur shrugged. He pressed his forehead against the toilet seat, knowing that it might be fucking disgusting, but he couldn't be pressed to give two shits.

"I'm gonna go," he said quietly. "Thanks for dinner and everything."

"Yeah, yeah," Phil replied, voice tapering off. "Need a ride, or..?"