You stare at the man across from you. He is small, can't be much more than five feet. Unassuming hair, unassuming clothes. Not what you'd expect someone to wear on a first date.

But you know, from your online exchange, that this unassuming figure hides words that are both simple and profound. Their words are the reason you agreed to meet here, in a coffee shop just a few miles away from his house. Because you know that he's more than what he seems to be on the outside. And you're wondering what he looks like once you peel away the layers of clothing and flesh and take a look at the brain that sits rather uncomfortably on his spine.

He shifts awkwardly in his seat. The silence is becoming uncomfortable. You need to say something. Anything.

"So... what do you like to write?"

You can see him visibly relax.

He shrugs.

"I dunno. Urban fantasy... I also like to dabble in psychological horror."

You lean forward.

"Ooh, psychological horror... have to admit, I'm not sure I've read much of that."

He laughs.

"To be honest, me neither. I just like to write about the descent into madness, you know, people slowly losing their grip on reality, or being told by everyone around them that they're crazy when they're actually not..."

"So you write books about gaslighting?"

He laughs again.

"Sure. That's one way to put it."

"So, what're you working on right now?"

A conflicting burst of emotions plays across his face for just a moment, both excitement and fear at war until they fade back into a comfortable mask.

"Well..." he says. "It's a book that I've been working on in some capacity ever since I was a kid. It's been through a lot of rewrites and drafts at this point, and I'm trying to get it published."

"So? What's it about?"

"I mean, the plot is... a lot. It's a little hard to explain. But, um, basically what I'm trying to do is to create a statement on identity, relationships, and the myriad responses to trauma."

"Sounds good, but you gotta give me something more than that to work with."

He shrugs. He's beginning to look mildly uncomfortable.

"The main character is basically a version of me. It's bad, I know. But they've really become a symbol of who I used to be, rather than who I am now. It's made me realize that maybe I'm growing a little more than I thought I was."

"Does this character have a name?"

"Well, they have several. They're trans, and at the beginning of the book they're only just starting to realize that. Their deadname is Clementine, but their name is Cainen. Their names actually end up being pretty important symbols of his identity and the people around him. Oh, and also he's got an immortal parasite named Wright living in his head, so I guess that's a third name."

You can tell that he's starting to get excited, and you find yourself getting excited alongside him. His enthusiasm is infectious.

"An immortal parasite?"

"Oh, come on, I'm not gonna spoil the entire book for you. You'll have to read it when it's done."

"Alright, fine," you say, rolling your eyes. "Be that way."

A man comes over and asks if you want to order anything. You were so involved in the conversation that you forgot where you were.

Your tablemate apologizes profusely. You get the feeling he's used to apologizing far too often.

He orders a chai latte. You get something with a name that you realize, after saying it aloud, you can't pronounce. He laughs at you, but not maliciously, and launches into a story about how until the age of eight he pronounced "sneakers" as "snake-ers."

"We should have ordered when we came in," he says, interrupting his own story. "I'm sorry. I got so involved in talking that I forgot what we were doing. It's a nasty habit of mine."

You wave your hand.

"Don't worry about it." You don't say that you felt the same. For some reason, that makes you feel vulnerable. But you appreciate his vulnerability just the same. "So... if you can't tell me about your book, tell me about your writing."

He laughs, nervously.

"Well, I guess you could say I write about madness. But I also write as representation for the queer community. As a kid, I always wished I could find more queer characters outside of romance novels, because I never really liked them. And now, I get to create my own stories, rather than relying on someone else to write the characters that I want. So I just make human characters, characters with flaws, characters that fuck up. When it comes to my writing, my goal is generally to create as much emotional turmoil as possible. All of my favorite books have made me cry, you know? It means that my characters are... real, in a way. They live, and they die, and we cheer at their successes and cry at their losses. I stick these characters in fantasy worlds, but they could just as easily be your neighbor, or your brother, or your best friend's kid. It's like psychopaths: they could be anyone. Anywhere. And you get to watch as they go insane and then pull themselves back up again— or not. I want to make people question the world around them, because that's the only way we can make progress. When you read about a dystopian world and draw parallels to our modern society, that's when I've done my job. To me, that's what urban fantasy is about. Painting the horrors of the world in a fictional way so that it's easier to address, easier to manage."

Your coffee has grown cold.

For a moment you sit, stunned, mesmerized by the frantic movement of his hands and entranced by the frantic pace of his words.

"I got too excited again, didn't I?" he asks, hanging his head.

There is a long silence before you smile.

"No," you say. "No, not too excited at all."