Banished Divinity: Learning to be Human

The place Minjae took me was nothing like the fancy restaurant from the night before.

It was small. Warm. The kind of place where the tables didn't match and the chairs creaked and the walls were covered in photos of customers who had been coming here for years. The smell of dough and tomato sauce and something herbal filled the air.

It was perfect.

"This is... nice," I said, looking around.

"Nice?" Minjae grinned. "That's the most enthusiasm I've ever heard from you."

"I am enthusiastic. I am simply selective about where I direct my enthusiasm."

"And where is it directed now?" Minjae asked as his eyes light up. His eyes have been doing that a lot lately.

I looked at the wood-fired oven in the corner, at the old man tossing dough in the air like he was performing a magic trick, at the families and couples and groups of friends laughing at their tables.

"Here," I said. "It's directed here."

Minjae's smile softened. "Good. Let's get a table."

We sat near the window. The sun streamed through the glass, warming my shoulders. A young waitress came over—she couldn't have been more than twenty—and handed us menus.

"So," Minjae said, "what looks good?"

"I don't know. I've never had pizza before. Remember?"

"Right. The whole 'I'm from another dimension' thing."

"That's not—I didn't—" I paused. "You're not supposed to believe that."

"Why not?" Minjae shrugged his shoulder.

"Because it's strange. Because mortals don't believe strange things. They smile and nod and then they call the people in white coats."

Minjae shrugged. "Maybe I'm not like other mortals."

"Clearly. You hang out with me. That's a sign of poor judgment."

He laughed. "Probably. But here we are."

The waitress came back. Minjae ordered for both of us—something with mushrooms and sausage and cheese that stretched when you pulled it.

While we waited, I looked around the pizzeria.

Young adults everywhere. Laughing. Talking. Living. They sat in booths and at tables, their phones forgotten, their attention focused on the people in front of them.

I had seen this before—in movies, in shows, in the background of Tangled Menace's sketches. But seeing it in person was different.

Humans, I thought, know how to be happy in small places. They don't need gold ceilings or velvet walls. They just need each other.

"Is this your first time in a place like this?" Minjae asked.

"Yes. How could you tell?"

"Because you're looking around like you've just discovered a new species." Chuckled Minjae.

"I have. The species is 'happy mortals.' They're rare in my experience." I smiled.

Minjae laughed. "You're really extraordinary, you know that?"

"I prefer the term 'cosmically unconventional.'"

"That's not a thing."

"It is now. I trademark it.”

"You can't trademark a phrase." Laughed Minjae.

"I'm a celestial being. I can do whatever I want."

"Can you eat pizza?"

I paused. "I don't know. Let's find out."

It was... glorious.

The crust was crispy and chewy at the same time. The cheese stretched in long, satisfying strings. The sauce was tangy and sweet and something I couldn't name but wanted to eat forever.

I took a bite.

My eyes closed.

My soul—whatever was left of it—sang.

"Sera?" Minjae said. "You okay?"

"Don't talk to me," I said, still chewing. "I'm having a moment."

"A moment?" Minjae raised one of his eyebrow.

"A celestial moment. It's like a regular moment, but with more existential significance." I spoke with a lot of celestial pride.

"And how is the pizza?" Minjae asked.

I opened my eyes. I looked at the slice in my hand. At the cheese stretching from my mouth to the crust. At the sauce on my fingers.

"It's the best thing I've ever eaten," I said. "And I have eaten across endless dimensions."

"That's... a lot of dimensions." Minjae spoke with surprise.

"Yes. And none of them had pizza. Which makes them inferior."

Minjae laughed. He picked up his own slice and took a bite. "Yeah," he said. "This place is special."

We ate in comfortable silence.

Well, I ate. Minjae watched me eat, which should have been annoying but somehow wasn't.

"You have sauce on your face," he said.

"Where?"

"Here." He pointed to his own cheek.

I wiped my face. Missed.

"Other side."

Wiped again. Missed again.

"Okay, just... here." He reached across the table with a napkin.

I flinched.

He paused. "I'm just—you have sauce—"

"I know. I'm not—" I took a breath. "Sorry. I'm not used to people... being close."

Minjae put down the napkin. "That's okay. You can get it."

I took the napkin and wiped my face. Properly this time.

"Thanks," I said.

"Thanks for what?" Minjae asked softly—a tone I was not used to.

"For not making it weird."

"Making what weird?" Minjae asked again in that same tone. What is wrong with him? I decided to ignore his tone. I was good at ignoring tones of voice—especially his.

"This." I gestured between us. "Everything. The way you just... accept things. The way you don't flinch when I say strange things or act strange ways or—"

"You're not strange," he said.

"I'm literally from another dimension."

"That doesn't make you strange. That makes you... interesting."

I stared at him.

He stared back.

"Interesting," I repeated.

"Yeah. Interesting." He shrugged. "Is that bad?"

"I don't know. I've never been 'interesting' before. I've been 'terrifying' and 'majestic' and 'please don't smite me, oh great one.' But never 'interesting.'"

Minjae grinned. "Well, get used to it. Because that's what you are."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I ate more pizza.

It was easier than feelings.

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