“Um,” Michael says. “Oh.” It’s an awkward feeling, to have someone realize what he is and then continue to be in that person’s presence. That hasn’t happened in a long time. “I haven’t. I mean I’ve met some, but we’re not friends or anything. Not that I’m friends with any regular humans either.”
He only goes to District X for his contact lenses. Sometimes he thinks he should try to fit in there more, but he feels just as strange there as he does everywhere else. There’s a rift between Michael and the rest of the world that no one’s eager to cross. To have this stranger willing to remain at a table with him after being told they’re free to leave is novel, even if they are familiar with mutants.