It’s official

The clinking of silverware against porcelain was a nervous soundtrack to Zoid’s rising unease. Luke’s parents’ house was impeccably neat, almost sterile, a stark contrast to the comfortable chaos Zoid usually inhabited. Luke, bless his oblivious heart, was beaming, recounting a story about his childhood that involved a scraped knee and a stern lecture from his father. Mr. Henderson, a man with a jawline as sharp as his tailored suit, offered a tight smile. Mrs. Henderson, a serene blonde with eyes that mirrored Luke’s, nodded along, her gaze occasionally flickering to Zoid.

Zoid adjusted the collar of their oversized tee, the familiar comfort feeling strangely out of place. They’d chosen their most muted outfit, hoping to blend in, to somehow signal their harmlessness. But the polite smiles felt like thinly veiled assessments, each glance a silent question Zoid wasn’t sure they wanted to answer. Luke had been so excited about this dinner, so eager for his parents to meet the person who made him happier than they’d ever seen him. He’d glossed over the details, the “slight differences” he’d assured Zoid would be easily overcome.

“So, Zoid,” Mr. Henderson began, his tone affable but with an underlying steel, “Luke tells us you’re quite the… artist?”