PEARL

I fought the urge to do a touchdown dance. I actually convinced him to come inside. My persuasive nature was good for my career, but never good for one-on-one interactions outside of it.

Puffing out my lips, I opened the door. I stepped inside and was immediately greeted with temperature-controlled air. My eyes widened. The inside looked like an upscale chic home.

Like a human home.

"Is—is that a fridge?" I pointed to the object in the distance that was nestled between what looked to be glittery, marbled countertops.

"Everything you see here has been designed with your comfort in mind, emulating a dwelling on Earth. Everything works as it should. You shouldn't require my assistance in figuring things out."

A robot could have said that with more emotion. Stepping to the side, I allowed him to enter. He shut the door behind him.

"Well, maybe I actually don't know how to use a refrigerator."

I was totally lying.

"I very much doubt that."

I snuck a glance at him. He looked... bored, his head tilted to the side to avoid the ceiling. He was enormous in this setting, too big for the surrounding space. Shrugging, I surveyed the other areas.

The kitchen had a white-tiled floor, a large window overlooking the hillside, and an island with matching black stools. To the right of the kitchen, and immediately to the right of me, sat a living room with three towering wooden bookshelves.

Everything was spotless; not a speck of dust or dirt. The hallway leading to what might be a bathroom and bedroom was too dark to see.

I made my way to the living room and toed a fluffy silver rug with my shoe. Yeah, this reminded me much of home, but more upscale. Cleaner. My mood immediately improved.

I had been so closed off in recent weeks; it felt good to have a bit of normalcy back. "Well, shit the bed, Fred. This is nice!"

"Fred?"

I rolled my eyes, muttering, "It's just a saying."

I ran my hand over the back of one of the tan comforters. I eyed all the books on the bookshelves, wondering if they would be in my language and what stories they held. The surrounding area was cozy with tones of silver and dark brown.

Much better than a dirty bomb shelter. "You must feel like you are stepping into the stone age here."

"No. It is not like your stone age or mine."

He is so literal.

The couch looked comfortable, so I broke it in. I threw myself onto it, face first, arms out to the side. I blew a strand of brown hair out of my mouth.

I peeked at him. His eyes were more purple than normal, piquing my curiosity. His hair looked a hell of a lot softer than mine, thick and long. It was disturbing how such a breathtaking being could be so... glacial.

"Adequate," I approved, rolling over onto my back. I stared at the weird metal ceiling and frowned. "Can't help but feel a little flattered that you all did this for me."

Desperate to get any kind of reaction from him, I winked.

I didn't get any reaction. Of course not. He probably was wondering if I had something stuck in my eye.

"A familiar environment will limit your stress."

"So you are saying that I couldn't handle your environment?" I wondered what his environment was like.

"Most likely... not."

That got my curiosity going even more. I sat up, folding my legs underneath me. The couch creaked with my movement. He looked very out of place here, like an ethereal creature spun with magic standing in a wooden shack. There was an emotion on his face I couldn't quite place. The corners of his mouth twitched.

Was he... was he sad?

I had trouble understanding people, and aliens were so much harder.

"Are you upset?" I asked.

"I am not upset."

"What are you, then? It's hard to read you."

"Pleased."

Pleased?

Every time I thought I had him figured out, I was proved wrong. Something in him shifted a bit; his shoulders were relaxed, and his demeanor seemed brighter than usual. Then again, there was really no telling.

"I am pleased with your acclimation to your situation and environment. Do you have any more questions before I go?"

"Only a shit ton."

"Define shit ton."

He just cussed. Nice.

"Um. A lot? I really want to ask why you guys created us in the first place, but there's one I really want to know first."

I thought hard, chewing my lip. A billion questions swarmed inside my skull like angry hornets. I knew there were more important ones I should ask, but I wanted to start small. "What's your name?"

He took a step near and put a tan hand on the back of the armchair directly in front of the couch I sat on. A wood table sat between us, a brittle-looking sheet of clear glass on the top. My heart thumped unevenly.

"This is the question you wish to ask instead?"

"Yes? Something wrong with that?"

Erie silence. I wasn't really sure what it meant. He cocked his head to the side, and for a moment, I could have sworn he looked surprised. "You may address me however you wish. It does not matter."

Seriously? He shouldn't give me that much power.

"Your kind is too advanced for names?" I mused.

That seemed unlikely, but what did I know?

"It is impossible for you to pronounce my given name, so choose whatever you like."

I hummed in thought. He was probably right, his vocal cords were crazy. I was almost disappointed.

"I have many names spanning many species. I have been named Dumuzi in your tongue, the name was passed on from my forefathers. My brethren sometimes call me this. Is that suitable for you?"

I put a finger to my chin. "What language is that?"

"Sumerian."

Sumerian. I knew little about that, but I knew that went way back. Way, way back. "That will work... Dumuzi. Any significance to that name?"

Was that too personal of a question? I didn't want to blow this conversation. He seemed to thaw... just a little.

Stoic before, he seemed slightly more animated now, but I could have been imagining it. "It means son who is life."

Was he really surprised that I wouldn't ask about him? How could I not? "Hmm. Sorry if I asked the wrong question. I tend not to... do very well in social settings."

His eyes, which were usually calm and collected, burned with something I did not recognize. Irritation? I could probably understand that. Hatred? I hoped not. Disgust?

I couldn't tell, but it was very much there.

"Wrong question?" he seemed to muse.

Before I could answer, he approached.

Each step he took made my stomach sink as heat gathered at the base of my spine. Standing one foot away, he towered over me. His movement brought with him the breeze of his scent and I inhaled.

His long fingers reached for mine relaxing lazily on the arm of the couch. His fingers, when making contact, were warm and calloused, just like the last time. My mind reeled at this sudden change of air, and this sudden movement—he had never made a deliberate movement just to touch me, besides transporting me.

I didn't pull my hand away. I was confused but intrigued by his touch. Just a few minutes ago, he was a block of ice.

What changed?

"With me, there is no need to filter yourself or who you truly are. Ask any question that you wish."

Did he even know what he was asking for? He didn't want the full unedited version of me. Nobody did. My brain returned to all of my failed relationships, dates, and friendships over the years and I made a face. He might be alien, but he wasn't immune to my character.

"I appreciate it, Dumuzi." Regardless, I would tread lightly. "By any chance, are you showing me affection?"

The thought made me want to panic. A nervous chuckle slid between my clenched teeth, and I swallowed. I was probably just being ridiculous.

"I was curious to see if your skin was as soft as it looked in this lighting."

Oh.

"Is it?"

"It is."

I relaxed. The fear in my belly turned into a handful of butterflies. His touch was soothing; gentle, curious, and I sort of liked it. It was strange, really, how this guy annoyed the ever-living hell out of me not too long ago, and here I was letting him touch me.

Did I just not understand him?

Maybe I was looking through a human lens.

There was more. All I needed to do to find it was start chipping away at the ice.

Chip, chip, chip.

"Have you ever had a friend?" I blurted.

Oh cripes, did I really have to ask that?

My cheeks burned.

I did not pull my hand away from his. I couldn't imagine a world—and I was sure there were plenty—where I would deny friendly touch like this. I craved closeness. Warmth.

My goal was to prove that the vision he had of humans in his head was incorrect. Maybe I could change all of their minds and save Earth. Who knew? Even if that was a foolish thought, I would try my best. I would start by being thankful that he saved my life.

Couldn't be that hard, could it?

"To some degree."

"Do you want to be friends, then? Can you, you know, hang out with me? Talk to me whenever I get to where I'm going? I know we kind of got off on the wrong foot, so to speak. If you don't know what that phrase means—"

"I am familiar with that idiom."

I waited for his verdict, feeling my stomach tighten. Five minutes had already gone by. His fingers slowly skimmed the skin of my knuckles and down to my wrists. "I cannot be your friend."

I deflated, feeling a little hurt. I wasn't sure why this bothered me; I was used to this. Rejection. Something told me it had something more to do with whatever reservation he had with me. Instead of being offended, I smoothed my expression and feigned indifference.

I had to try harder. I flipped my palm up and allowed him to explore the difference in texture there, and smiled.

The look on his face was puzzling, but in a way unlike before. This was intense instead of disinterested. What was going on inside that brilliant alien mind?

Chip, chip, chip...

"It's comforting to know that you're not afraid of my touch. Your skin is unbelievably soft. I've felt nothing like it in all my years."

I was sure I was the color of a tomato. He just complimented me. This meant that he didn't think I was completely awful, so why...?

"Why can't you be my friend?"

"Because it is not the best of ideas."

I gathered that. "Why?"

My voice was low. Tender. I focused on the patterns that his fingertips traced on my skin. I wanted to ask what he was feeling, what he was thinking. For such advanced and emotionally distant beings, would the idea of touch be... rather archaic?

He seemed to be preoccupied with my skin, sating more of his curiosity. I pulled my hand away, only to explore his. My hand dwarfed his in comparison. I ran my fingers over his knuckles, noting the raised scars breaking up the smoothness there.

How did he get those?

He froze with what I assumed to be surprise.

"Did I startle you?" I asked, worried at his stillness.

"No."

My tone was demanding. "Are you going to answer my question?"

I pulled my hand away from him so he would answer me. His touch made it hard to concentrate, and it seemed to do the same thing for him. Strange.

Very strange.

Then his next works sucked the air out of my lungs.

"I am dying."