When you have children, you hear from time to time about parents that have stumbled into awkward situations because they didn't knock on the door before entering. Philip had never put much thought into it, not because he didn't care for Mike's privacy, but because it didn't cross his mind that his son could have something to hide.
So when he casually walks into the bedroom full of space-themed memorabilia, he freezes in his tracks at the sight of a girl just standing in the center of it, her back to him. He recognizes her on sight, with her black hair tied into ridiculously long pigtails, the little planet models bobbing and weaving around her head, and the frilly skirt that Martha often complained was too short to be fighting the monsters that had started showing up half a year ago.
That's the goddamn magical girl Celestina standing in his son's bedroom.
And then, before he can even think to ask what the hell she's doing in his house, there's light. Not like the bulb flickering on, but rather the heroine's whole body is suddenly covered in multicolored lights that flash like a very pastel rave, sparkles and all. He actually has to shield his eyes from how bright it is.
He only drops his hand when the lightshow stops, and there's still spots in his vision from staring at it directly in the first place.
"Dad?!" a voice screeches. A familiar voice. Philip's head snaps in attention, blinking quickly as he recognizes his son standing right where Celestina had been. "What are you doing in my room?!"
Now, Philip has always prided himself in being chill. The cool dad, some might say. He is just a normal guy, coasting by in his suburban home, taking care of his wife and son.
He's impressed with himself regardless when he doesn't shout in shock, processing. The naive part of him wants to believe that this is just a coincindence. That Celestina just so happened to be standing right where his son was standing now, some sort of teleportation magic, hell does he know what the magical girls can do. Another foolish part tries to tell himself that he hallucinated the whole thing! Why would a heroine be in his house anyways, right?! That's insane!
"D... dad?" Mike asks hesitantly across the room, his voice shaking like he's afraid. "I— It's not what it looks like."
Right. Said every teenager ever. Okay, no problem. Philip is cool. So so fucking cool with this. Because the only other explanation, the distressingly insane explanation, is that his son, the baby boy he'd held in his arms and took to the planetarium just this past weekend, the young man with a perfect school record who's grades had taken a mysterious dip this semester, was one of the magical girls saving the city this whole time.
"You're grounded," are the immediate words that slip from his mouth, more reflexive than a result of his very careful reasonable processing. Mike's face falls.
Shoot, he hadn't meant to say that. But how does one go about learning that your son is the person that's been flying around beating up those terrifying monsters right under your nose?
"I mean..." Philip takes a deep, stabilizing breath, letting it wash over his frazzled mind. "No. Not grounded. Not yet. Maybe. Mike, son, please tell me you're not magical girl Celestina."
"... I'm not magical girl Celestina."
To his credit, Mike tries very hard to lie to his face, but god, his son is a terrible liar. It's a wonder he's gone this long without this secret coming to light. Philip takes another breath so he doesn't burst into hysterical laughter.
"Okay. Okay..." Philip starts, looking at the ceiling for answers. The old glow-in-the-dark stars stare right back at him. He nods to himself. "Look, Mike... Celestina? Your mother and I love you so much no matter what you choose to be, man or woman—"
"Dad, I'm not— I'm not trans," Mike interrupts his very heartfelt monologue. Philip nods.
"Yes, of course. But if you were—"
"— There would be nothing wrong with that," Philip concludes. As he said, his son is an awful liar.
Mike groans, pressing his hands to his eyes. He stomps to him, pulling him the rest of the way into the room and closing the door forcefully. He almost grumbles at his son not to slam the door, but he figures they're both a bit high on adrenaline right now to care.
"Fine. Dad, I'm not trans. I'm a magical girl."
Philip, in all his wisdom, decides that his son — daughter? This is difficult...— must be in denial. Fine, no need to keep pushing. He'll tell him when he's ready. "I noticed. Your mother will want to have some words with you about your choice of dress."
Mike winces. "... Can we... not tell mom?" he asks hopefully.
Philip measures the pros and cons of not telling his wife. On one hand, he loves her very much, and he reckons she ought to know... plus, she'd definitely put him in the dog house if she found out he knew and didn't tell her, but on the other hand, Mike looks so damn scared still. He's heard it's not right to 'out' kids without their consent. Does that apply when your son-maybe-daughter is a magical girl?
So, Philip makes a choice. He sighs. "Alright. I won't tell her yet. But only if you tell me everything."
"Everything, Mike. And no more sneaking out. You will text me whenever you go out to do your" —he gestures at his son with a hand wave— "thing."
Mike grumbles, but he looks relieved that he isn't in trouble. That's because Philip is being merciful. Now, when Martha figures it out, that'll be another story. "Okay..."
"Now." Philip sits on the edge of the bed, the NASA comforter dipping under his weight. He pats the spot beside him. "How does one become a magical girl?"
His son smiles. Oh well, at least he'll have that memory when his wife inevitably finds out and kicks him to the couch.