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Sometimes Caleb really loves mornings. The quiet of weekends, when neither him nor Sadie have to be anywhere early, are usually his favorite days. He’s an early riser, and gets to enjoy the sounds of the city from his window without Sadie complaining about homework or setting up a workout schedule that both of them will fail to stick to.
This morning, however, Caleb doesn’t want to face the day. He doesn't want to face anything ever again, actually. His blankets are a perfect way to block him from the rest of the world, because he is sure he doesn’t belong in the world. Not without some sort of Atypical immunity serum, which doesn’t actually exist.
Atypical. What a word to describe beings like himself. Outside the norm; “not representative of a type, group, or class,” according to Google. And it’s true, because Caleb knows for a fact that the things he can do are not representative of a normal human.
Which begs the question, of course. Is he human?
Because being human is supposed to comprise of complexity and diversity, but things that are literally not-human, like having superpowers, makes one an outsider. Something other that shouldn’t exist. It’s not like there’s a bunch of “humans but they can photosynthesize” running around. (Though Caleb does briefly wonder if there are plant-related Atypical powers out there. He’s never heard of any, but who’s to say there isn’t?)
The point is, he’s not a normal human being, which means he isn’t a human at all. And he used his freaky, abnormal power on a random guy last night, at the gym of all places, which is just another example of how dangerous he is to be around. And thus, why he should stay in bed and never interact with the world again.
Unfortunately, the world has given him Sadie Greenwood as a roommate.
A bang on his bedroom door resounds, followed by, “I know you’re up, Michaels. I’m going for a coffee and bagel run, you joining?” shouted through the door.
Caleb forgot he sent Sadie a few memes already this morning, before his thoughts had begun to spiral so viciously. So yes, she knows he’s awake. And normally he would be chomping at the bit to go on a random errand with his friend. One of the best parts of living with his best friend of three years is that the opportunity for random side quests is neverending.
But not today. Because suddenly the thought of using his power on her is thrust to the forefront of his mind, and Caleb can picture it so clearly he flinches. Sadie, enthralled by his ability, able to follow his directions to do whatever he wants, feel however he wants her to feel. It’s disgusting, and revolting, and he wants to throw up.
“Not today,” he manages to yell back, but he’s unable to disguise the shake in his voice.
“You okay?” she asks, and now that Caleb is concentrating on her, he can sense the dark orange of her concern directed right at him, not quite a thick cloud but still dense.
God, he hates his ability.
“Yeah,” he says, but again, he must not be convincing, because there’s a quick shuffle of Sadie going back to her room and then knocking on the door again.
“You’ve got five seconds to be decent before I’m coming in,” Sadie says. “One…”
Caleb rolls his eyes and shoves the blankets off of his body. She’s got her no-nonsense voice going, and Caleb knows that he really does have five seconds before his friend busts down his door. Luckily, he’s in sweatpants already, so he has just enough time to throw on his shirt from yesterday before his door opens.
Sadie gives him a once-over, looking for physical injury that would explain his reticence at going out for breakfast. Satisfied that he’s good on that end, she fixes him with a stare. “What’s up?”
“You storm into my room with barely any warning and that’s what you’re going with?” Caleb snorts. “You’ve had better openers.”
“I’m not the comedian in this relationship,” Sadie snarks back. “Besides, the last time you said no to Saturday breakfast was the Great Fever Debacle of 2018, so I had to make sure you weren’t sick.”
“Only sick in the head,” Caleb mumbles. Because that’s what it feels like half the time, with his ability. Sick in the head, and then it becomes sick in the body, depending on how everyone’s feelings feel. Which is stupid and annoying and awful, that literally everyone else’s moods can determine how his body reacts to living life.
Why in the world was he the one cursed with this ability?
Sadie frowns, leaning on his door frame. “Want me to make something while we talk?”
“Who says we're going to talk?” Caleb tries, though he knows it won’t work. Sadie, frustratingly, knows when to push and when to give him space. Though he’s been successful at keeping his actual secret a secret so far, so there’s that.
(Is it because she won’t make him talk because she cares about him? Or is it because Caleb can barely admit it to himself, let alone the person he lives with? Or is it because he’s been forcing her to not ask using the very ability he doesn’t want to discuss? Who can really say.)
“Rude boys get nothing,” Sadie chides as she walks to their kitchen. It takes Caleb a good long while to get up, grab his water, and trudge to the kitchen.
Thankfully, Sadie doesn’t comment on that, but instead has some soft music playing—they’ve both agreed that instrumental music is much better than straight silence, especially while cooking. She whips up some pancakes and bacon, grabbing the orange juice and two cups as she flips the pancakes.
“Thank god for the pancake wizard,” Caleb jokes weakly as he sees the perfect golden brown circles. Sadie smiles, accepting the apology for what it is. Setting the table is the least he can do, and while the negative thoughts are still swirling a bit, Sadie’s bright mood and food are helping to lighten him a bit. Caleb puts out the plates and silverware, and ten minutes later they’re sitting down for a hearty breakfast.
They chat a bit about homework and whether or not Sadie will have time for intramurals this semester, as her classload is a bit heavy. Caleb can feel himself breathe a bit easier as time passes; Sadie’s always been good at keeping him grounded in a way not many people do. It’s different to his family, or how Adam had been (though nothing will ever be like Adam), but no less important and helpful.
“You want to talk about what put you in a funk this morning?”
It’s like she knows when his guard is down. If Sadie were an Atypical, her ability would be something like Chloe’s mindreading, Caleb’s sure of it.
“Not really,” he grumbles, which must be a secret code for ‘yes I want to verbally vomit my feelings onto you’ because almost immediately he amends, “I mean, it was stupid.”
Sadie takes the opening. “You don’t get upset over stupid things, Caleb. Unless you count the way Frankie refuses to learn how to throw a football, but I doubt that’s what you were thinking about.”
“No, I wasn’t, but we should try again. Maybe Ben will help us, they’re athletic too.”
They lapse into silence again, Caleb trying to figure out a way to explain to Sadie that doesn’t sound dumb. She knows he’s Atypical, and has known for years, so unless he wants to tell her about his power shifting (which he doesn’t), he’s gonna have to be careful how he words everything.
“Do you think being Atypical was always something I was? Like, before my ability showed itself, do you think I still was? That I was always destined to be different?”
Sadie scrunches her eyes as she answers, “I’m not sure. I don’t think that’s how the powers work though. Like, maybe you were always going to have powers, yes, but I don’t think you are destined to be anything in particular. Your empathy has helped you a lot, and given you opportunities to help others, but it didn’t have to. Your caring nature is what drives how your power is used.”
“Is it?” Caleb wonders aloud. “Because it doesn’t feel like I have a choice, a lot of the time. It just hits me, over and over again, from all sides. People can’t turn off their emotions, and neither can I, but then I also have this power that I can’t turn off either, so I’m just bombarded all the time. And then I have to temper my reaction to it, which takes a lot of energy out of me to not react to stuff all the time.”
“I thought your control was fine,” Sadie muses. “Obviously worse because of the breakup, but overall fine.”
“Well, it was, but the fact that I even have anything to control is insane! Sadie, what the hell am I? I have powers, but they make my life a living hell.” His voice is rising, he knows it, but Caleb can’t stop himself. He’s tired of it all, honestly. “In comic books and movies, having powers is some great heroic thing, but the reality is so exhausting, and usually the people who get powers aren’t even people at all.”
“Wait, what—”
Caleb’s breathing harder now, and he can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Everything is crashing around him once again, his little pocket of peace destroyed by his own hand. “I’m literally not human, Sadie! I’m outside the norm—I’ll never be normal, ever. I’ll never fit in with anyone, because I’m Atypical, an empath who can feel everyone’s stupid feelings and never have a normal life because my power doesn’t turn off ever!"
He doesn’t hear her move, but suddenly Sadie is sitting right next to him, reaching out to touch his arm soothingly. Caleb heaves a breath, and is seized with a need to make Sadie understand. He looks up at her and whispers, “I’m a non-human being. That’s what being Atypical means.”
“Caleb, no. That’s not true,” Sadie says. Caleb’s shaking his head, ready to refute her, but Sadie continues. “You are fully human. You are my best friend, who happens to have a strange extra thing you can do, but you are human . Nothing in this world could stop that from being true.”
“How do you know?” Sadie’s eyes are suddenly too kind, too gentle. Caleb wants to break things, let her see the monster he really is.
She won’t let him, and instead squeezes his arm. “I know, because I wouldn’t have become friends with someone who didn’t care deeply about helping people feel seen and accepted. I know you, Caleb. Your heart is good . Your power is a part of you, but it doesn’t have to define you. Most people don’t even know about it; they only see the guy who leads freshman orientations, who helps with the theater department, who plays intramurals and always makes sure no one is left behind. The world sees you as you , Caleb. I see you.”
“What if I’m not those things?”
Sadie shakes her head, letting go of his arm to tap her knee to his. “You are. And you can trust me to tell it to you straight, right? I’m not going to bullshit you about anything, because that’s not who I am. And as your friend, I assume you trust me. At least enough to accept that what I see is someone who loves deeply and only wants to do right by people. Power or no power.”
She’s right, he thinks. Sadie isn’t the type of person to lie to him to spare his feelings. Which makes his lying by omission worse, in a way, but Caleb is now more sure than ever that he can’t tell Sadie about the way his power has changed. It’s just something else to control, which he’s been doing for five years now. And she’s been his friend for this long and hasn’t run away screaming, so maybe she’s right.
Caleb’s not sure he fully believes Sadie, but he can feel himself start to calm down. Sadie is his friend, and she’s proving how much she cares about him by talking him off this ledge. Caleb focuses on the feeling of her touch: one human being reassuring another human being that they aren’t alone.
“You gonna be okay?” Sadie asks eventually.
Caleb meets her eyes, and only sees love and acceptance in them. No shame or fear. He nods and says, “I think so.”
Sadie nods as well. “Great. Do you want to go do something? There’s a new arcade that just opened by my parents’ place, one of those with all the old games and machines that’s also a bar? And I’ve been dying to check it out.”
“Don’t you have homework to do? And a test on Tuesday?”
“Fuck the test,” Sadie says, and Caleb laughs, relieved to take part in the simple joys of being a normal college student once more.