My parents think I'm staying after school for a robotics meeting. I'm at a coffee shop where hopefully no one who knows my family will see me. It's everything you want in a non-creepy meetup location: well-lit, lots of people, more than one exit.

Someone at a corner table smiles like he's been expecting me. He has.

I don't really know how one greets a near-stranger in a coffee shop. I also tend to forget I'm not supposed to offer my left hand to shake. But he doesn't seem to notice.

Maybe he thought *I* already noticed that his right arm was fake. I didn't, but now I'm staring.

"What happened to your arm?"

Suddenly he looks uncomfortable. Fuck me, I shouldn't have asked.

"Supernatural accident, of sorts," he says after the slightest pause. I would later learn it was his greatest personal failure. He's quick to change the subject. "Would you like anything?"

I wouldn't. I'm sure we'll have enough time before they kick us out. And if I change my mind, I've got my trusty plastic spoon somewhere in my backpack.

"So, where's the Bible?" I try to joke, sitting opposite him. I think he thought that was funny.

"Back with all the OTHER excuses I take around. Unless you want to hear a verse?" he winks.

That's a joke too, right? I can answer that sarcastically?

"Yeah, no. I'm an atheist."

He nods.

"I know."

"How? You seem to know a LOT of things…"

Now he laughs a bit. Good-naturedly.

"Well, I'm not sure an atheist would believe me."

"Well I'M not sure I believe… most of this." I glance around the room. "Should we really be talking about this here?"

"I've spent a lot of time watching humans. They're not gonna believe a word we say unless they see it."

Yeah, I know THAT feeling.

"So, we're here to talk about something you think will help me?" I'm kind of wishing I'd ordered a coffee now. I could use something to keep my hands on.

"And why you feel so different from everyone."

"Because I'm autistic as fuck?"

"Well, that's not uncommon among the fair folk."

"Sorry, the what?"

I heard him just fine. He knows that.

"What do you have in that pocket?" He indicates one of the outer zippers on my backpack.

I don't really like people probing into my stuff. But it seems like he's asking for a reason. I unzip the pocket and take out my plastic spoon.

"Why do you bring around a plastic spoon?"

There are several reasons I carry around a plastic spoon, and only a few of them are socially acceptable.

"Because you never know when you're going to need your own spoon," I say evasively.

He's still looking at me. I think he want me to say a bit more.

"I have a sensitivity to certain metals," I shrug. Hope we can drop this here before he learns the spoon's name is Harold.

"Which ones?"

Man he's a nosy fucker.

"Well steel is the most unavoidable, but anything with iron, really."

"It burns, doesn't it?"

I'm looking down now.

"Don't remind me."

But I'm reminded.

I'm reminded of being declared "more anemic than any living person should be" and put on an iron supplement. An iron supplement that lands me in the hospital, nearing all kinds of organ failure. It's the scariest thing that's ever happened to me.

"You doing okay, Pidge?"

"Hmm? Yeah."

I hadn't told him that was my nickname.

"I know it's a lot to take in. But you know why I'm asking, right?"

About the iron. And the fair folk. Yeah, I know. But I'm not feeling super okay about this conversation. I think he can tell because he starts talking about birds.

"Do you see that?" he nods out the window. "There's a sparrow flying off with a whole piece of bread."
I really don't care, but I appreciate the change of subject. I suppose it'd be polite to look at this bird he's talking about, but I'm too busy worrying Harold between my fingers.

"Apparently I used to be really into birds, but I'm over that phase now."

"Want to tell me about that?"

"I mean, there's not much to say. I don't actually remember it." It kind of sucks to be the resident smart kid and still not remember that kind of thing.

"What ARE your earliest memories?" Shiro asks.

My earliest memories are kind of vague, a lot of confusion, a lot of frustration. I usually enjoy not thinking about them.

"Dylan," I finally come out with. "Some kid from school. He gets all up in my space and he's super touchy-feely and finally I snap at him and someone says 'I thought you two were best friends.' Except I don't even KNOW this kid, he was NEVER my friend."

"No," Shiro agrees. "He was Matt's."

My breath catches. I don't like hearing that name.

"You're gonna have to explain that a bit," I glare. The second this guy calls me Matt, I'm leaving.

And then he says something I've never heard before, even though I've known it in the back of my head all my life.

"You and Matt were never the same person."

My fingers start to coil around my backpack strap.

"Go on..."

"Do you know what happens when the fair folk take a liking to a human child?"

I think I'm starting to see where this is headed. But I want to hear the whole thing.

"Tell me."

"They take it. But they don't just TAKE it, they leave one of their own behind."

Changelings.

I must look a fright, because suddenly Shiro's setting a cup of tea in front of me. I didn't even see him get up.

"I love my parents," I finally say. The tea's starting to look blurry.

"I know you do."

"And they love me too."

"Very much so."

This isn't really how I was hoping this coffee house meeting would go. Shiro hands me a napkin. People are probably staring, but fuck it, let them. I've been stared at for every reason in the book.

One of their own.

There's a whole fuckton of questions fighting their way out my mouth, to the point where I'm choking on ALL of them. But the hardiest one survives and breaks through.

"So, who IS my family?"

Shiro gives me a sort of half-smile. I would prefer both halves.

"That's for you to decide. But if you're looking for options, I know a few people who would love to meet you."