From "Made" (which, hopefully with my sister's help will become a graphic novella at some point):
Ulysses's jaw flapped open and shut uselessly—it was true enough, what Ryan said, but Ulysses couldn't wrap his head around the flippant way he'd said it, especially since Ryan had impressed upon him the greatest need for utmost secrecy. His father glanced at Ryan—the tailored suit, the silk tie, the slick shoes—and back at Ulysses. Ulysses looked away, trying to avoid his father's goggle-eyed stare, but when his father touched his hand again he flinched away, and said, quietly, “He made me.”
At that moment Ulysses could see the realization of his complete loss come over his father's face. The man seemed to deflate, and he left the bar without another word.
Ryan turned to him, then. He touched Ulysses' face, his fingers tracing the delicate cheekbones and the neat nose, his features that weren't his. “I did make you,” Ryan said. “And you're beautiful.”
Ulysses wanted to say, “That wasn't what I meant,” but he couldn't bring himself to break the rapture on Ryan's face. “Come on,” Ryan said, his voice so gentle, so soft. “Let's go home.” It was all Ulysses could do to nod, and follow.