Everything Nate said was nothing new. He'd either said it before or Beau had told himself those things many times over the years. Instinctively, he took another drink, the bottle half empty; Beau had never been a cheerful drunk.
"They're not..." The words stuck in his throat. He wanted to say that his parents weren't bad people, not really, but since the age of seven he had spent his life surrounded by actors and artists and people who spanned every inch of the rainbow and he had seen how they thought about people who didn't follow the traditional narrative. Swallowing as if he could somehow banish the wetness in his eyes, Beau leaned forward enough to put his drink down next to the bottle of Sober-Up. He swayed a little as he did so, reaching for the hand on his calf and clasping it between his own as if he could capture some of the tender touches to keep for himself.
"The fucking microaggressions," he spat out, lip curling. Beau couldn't look at Nate. He'd heard them all over the years, those tiny little comments that people could get away with in polite company. He doesn't look gay or she'll change her mind when she meets the right man. Beau couldn't even think the word 'lifestyle' without shuddering anymore. Even though he was sure they didn't mean to hurt people, those remarks were like pinpricks on his soul, leeching away the light in him. There was a reason he had asked his mother not to be his manager anymore when he had left Hogwarts.
Elbows on his knees, Beau dropped his head to his hands, still holding Nate's. "They'll hate me." He had convinced himself of that much years ago. "But I love them."