My one trembling finger reaches out, hovering just a breath away from the tip of his antenna.
I really shouldn't…
"Okay… no turning back. Nothing big will happen. Just do it," I whisper to myself, breath shallow.
I touch it.
The tip glows—a faint, pulse-like blue—for a second.
"Whoa…" I blink. "So soft. Fragile. And sensitive…"
It twitches slightly under my finger.
I pause.
Wait.
Is he waking up?
Nope. Still dead asleep. Phew.
"It's okay, right? Nothing happened," I murmur.
Still breathing. Still out cold. Still looking like a weirdly peaceful alien statue on my couch.
My finger trails down, slow and careful, tracing from the glowing tip all the way down to where the antenna disappears into his forehead.
"Like silk thread," I whisper. "Alien silk thread."
I drag my finger across it again. And again. His skin is warm. Too warm. That blue pulse—it flickers again.
Okay… maybe just one more touch. For science.
