The Neighbours

Holden shoved plates into Theodore’s hands, stacking some glasses on top as if Theodore knew anything about balancing dishes, but he wobbled towards the wooden table anyway, too fixed on not dropping anything to notice that he was holding more than two plates. He set the table with a relieved sigh, and if he was slower on purpose just so Holden wouldn’t expect him to do more, he wouldn’t admit to that. “I’m starving.” He lied down partially on the table, words muffled.
“Me too.” The answer didn’t come from Holden and Theodore startled back up, looking around for the source of the disembodied voice, “and Tate too.” The voice was louder this time, and Theodore though it came from his right.
“Ya two could just cook for yourselves for a change!” Holden yelled, totally unaffected.
“You know we cannot do that!” Another answer from the other side of the wall and when Holden answered he sounded exasperated.
“Just come over, oh my god.” There was a bit of shuffling and Holden sat down beside Theodore. Then the door was ripped open, and two men entered, sitting down at the table as if it was the most natural of things to do.
“See, you even set the table for us. Would it kill you to invite us for once?”
“Die.” Holden crossed his arms.
The dark haired man pouted, “You are so rough.”
“I’m feeding you!” Theodore just sat at the table and watched as they bit at each other, helping themselves to servings of food and Theodore didn’t do anything. Just sat and watched.
“By the way, who’s the deer in the headlights?” There was a fork pointed towards his face from the guy who sat opposite him. He had a bad dye job, Theodore didn’t think it was supposed to be such a faded pink. He didn’t listen as Holden told them about how they met and why Theodore was in his apartment, too busy staring at the other one with bushy eyebrows. They looked like caterpillars. A hand got almost shoved into his face by the man with the pink hair. “I’m Tate Hendricks, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He grinned and Theodore shivered. He didn’t think it was genuine, but he still took the hand and shook it. The other introduced himself as Isiah Mardin with a short wave and unmoved face. Theodore looked down at his plate and saw that someone had filled it, and he glanced at Holden who just ate while watching his friends, so Theodore did the same. It was good.
“Does he not speak English or something?” Isiah squinted at him.
“Are you from Iraq?” Isiah cocked an eyebrow at him and Theodore took that as his cue to keep talking, “’Cause your brows are very bushy, so I guess you might be pretty hairy and from the orient.” Tate cackled at his statement, almost choking on a noodle, the other two just stared at Theodore in shock until Tate answered.
“My dude, I always love people picking on Isiah for the caterpillars in his face, but that was low-key racist.” Theodore frowned. Was it?
“I don’t see what’s wrong with what I said.”
Holden finally recovered. “You categorized him simply by his looks and then basically said that people from the Middle East are hairy.”
After that, a lengthy conversation about systemic racism and etiquette followed in which Theodore learned he was very prejudiced, and he has never felt more white in his life. “Sorry, Isiah.”
The other just waved dismissively with a smile, “It’s fine.”