Supper and Subtleties

Diane set the casserole on the table with a practiced hand and glanced toward the hallway.

"Trevor!" she called, louder this time. "Dinner's on the table!"

A muffled "Coming!" echoed back.

She adjusted the cutlery, frowning slightly. He'd been acting strange lately. Ever since he got back from work today, something had been... off. Rushing through the door without saying hello, hiding in his room like a sulking teenager—not that Trevor had ever been one to sulk. He'd always been thoughtful, if a little distracted. Polite. Quiet.

He finally emerged, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie as he crossed into the dining room. His movements were clipped, uncertain, like he wasn’t fully settled in his own skin. His hoodie was zipped halfway up over an old faded T-shirt, both slightly too big for his wiry frame. She noticed his hair was still damp, curling slightly at the edges.

"You okay?" she asked as they both sat down. "Earlier, when you came in—you rushed right past me."

Trevor flushed. "Yeah. Sorry, Mom. I was just... really tired from landscaping today. And I needed a shower."

"Hmm," she said, noncommittal. He was fidgeting in his seat, shifting his weight like the chair was made of nails.

She served him a helping of casserole and tried not to stare. Something about the way he was moving nagged at her. It wasn’t tiredness. It was more like... anticipation?

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the scrape of forks and the ticking wall clock. Trevor’s gaze kept flicking to the salt shaker at the center of the table. Not in a casual way—like a dog watching a bone.

"You sure you're okay?" she asked again.

"Yeah, totally." He took another bite, then hesitated. "Hey, uh... do you think all heroes are born with their powers?"

She blinked at the sudden shift.

"I mean," he added quickly, "in Metahuman Studies we always talked about activation events—accidents, trauma, tech experiments gone wrong... I always thought it’d be cool to be one of the rare ones. The ones who just... change. Like, naturally."

Diane chewed slowly. "I suppose it depends. I’ve always thought a lot of that stuff was overblown. You know how the media is. If someone develops powers, they turn it into a saga. But the whole 'chosen one' thing? That’s a fantasy."

"But what if it wasn’t?" Trevor leaned in slightly. "What if someone just... started noticing weird things? Little stuff."

Diane gave him a look. "You mean like you?" she teased, smiling gently.

He flinched.

She tilted her head. "You’ve always been a dreamer, Trevor. That’s not a bad thing. But let’s be real—you’re not one for capes and punch-outs."

Trevor’s expression shifted. Not annoyed. More like... focused.

"You never know," he said quietly.

And then something odd happened.

The salt shaker gave a tiny tremble.

Diane blinked. Had it moved? No—probably the table shifted when she leaned. But she hadn’t leaned.

"Did you just—" she began, but Trevor quickly grabbed the shaker and passed it toward her.

"You wanted this, right?"

"Thanks," she said slowly, accepting it. Her eyes narrowed. "You feeling warm? You’re kinda flushed."

Trevor gave a jerky nod. "Just warm from the shower. And... hungry."

She watched him for another beat. He had a strange glint in his eye—something she couldn’t quite name. Focused, yes, but also... curious? Like he was waiting for something.

They lapsed into another stretch of silence, until she brought up the topic she’d been dreading.

"About that job fair next week—"

"I think it’s a waste of time," Trevor said. His voice wasn’t dismissive, just... certain.

She frowned. "It’s not. You need to get your foot in the door somewhere. It’s been months."

"Maybe," he said carefully, eyes on hers. "But most of those places are just going to look for people with science degrees or internships at Cadmus. Not people who studied social theory."

"I’m just saying—"

"No, I get it. But maybe you're looking at it the wrong way," he said, and there was a weird weight to the words. Not forceful, not exactly persuasive... but something in her relaxed.

For the first time, she didn’t bristle.

Instead, she found herself nodding slowly. "I suppose... I can see why you’d feel that way. You always did love the historical angle more than the hard science."

He blinked. Almost as if he hadn’t expected her to agree.

Then he smiled.

It was quick, almost guilty.

Diane looked down at her plate, suddenly uncomfortable. Something was definitely going on. Trevor wasn’t just having a strange day. There was something in the way he sat now, spine straighter than usual, shoulders more set. Confident, even if awkwardly so. Like he’d stepped into something unfamiliar and wasn’t sure whether to own it or hide it.

Her eyes flicked to the hoodie. It sat oddly over his frame—something under it was smoothing his silhouette. A layered shirt, maybe? No. Too form-fitting.

She dismissed it.

"Well," she said, collecting her dishes. "Just... don’t shut everything down before you try. You might surprise yourself."

Trevor stood as well, moving a little too quickly. His chair scraped loudly.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, voice softer.

Diane watched him head toward the sink, something coiling in her chest she couldn’t quite name.

He was growing up.

But growing into what, she wasn’t sure.