Page 45 of Rizzed Up By My Alien Neighbor
“Dad energy,” she announces, hands on her hips.
“Dad”—the word tumbles in my mind like a rogue in formation. I’ve never been a father. I’ve never wanted to be. Yet standing here, wearing something soft and normal and… safe—it felt like maybe this is a role I could learn. And not just learn—embody.
I barely recognize myself when I look into the mirror by the exit. The signature armor plates are still there beneath the shirt, but my shoulders relax. My jaw isn’t clenched. My eyes… they’re softer. Less alert. More… content.
“Now you look like someone humans might… like,” she says, tucked her chin, drawing a giant checkmark in the air.
I laugh—a genuine, open sound. The store goes still for a moment, as if it’s surprised to hear life after decades of thrift-store hush. Sammy grins, wins.
She throws an arm around me. “Mission complete. Phase one accomplished.”
I lower my head to look at her. “Thank you.”
She nudges me toward the door. “Now buy me a smoothie.”
Outside, the world looks different. The sun cuts through the sky more gently. The breeze isn’t just wind—it’s promise. I hold the smoothie she prefers—strawberry-banana, thick and cold, drippy condensation against the paper cup. Sammy sips with her eyes closed.
I follow her gaze across the street to Nessa’s porch. She’s sitting on the steps, deep in thought, a mug in her hand. Morning light lingers in her hair, haloing her in quiet gold.
My pulse hammers again—but this time, it’s not fear. It’s something like… anticipation.
Sammy notices my stare.
“Admit it,” she teases. “You're thinking about Mom.”
I nod slowly.
“Good,” she whispers. “You don’t scare me anymore.”
I tuck a piece of hair behind a stray lock. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
She glances at the house. “It is.”
We walk home side by side. My shirt rustles lightly as I move. The backyard fences feel smaller today—not barriers, but boundaries that could be shared.
Inside, I return to the basement. The orbital relay beacon waits for me—unfinished, humming with half-formed potential. I pick up a phase conductor, and my fingers brush the smooth fabric of the shirt—the shirt I wore for her.
The shirt reminds me I’m no longer alone.
I lift the conductor, set it into place.
Phase variant engages.
Home is what I’m building.
I sit in the glow of the basement lab, compad screen flickering with data readouts and emotional resonance curves—biometric signatures, heartbeat sync rates, pheromone alignment. The automated analysis algorithm confirms: the Jalshagar bond is currently unbalanced. She has yet to register the bond fully. No endpoint synchronicity pulse, no neural resonance—just echoes. The tethers have begun, but she holds the choice.
She can walk away.
My chest tightens at the realization. The bond is not destiny unless she wills it. Unless she consents. And that changes everything.
I stand, stretching muscles that haven't relaxed in weeks. The replicator hums behind me, the beacon pulses faintly, sensors humming. All of it feels... fragile. Like a promise waiting on the edge of a precipice.
She does deserve a choice. A life unweighted by ancient cosmic edicts. A life not shrouded by interstellar conflict or eternal contracts. She deserves safety, simplicity, a love untainted by predestination.
I walk outside, crossing the threshold. The night wraps around me like soft leather—crickets chirping, leaves rustling, distant highway hum. The stars above are bright, sharper than any sky I’ve seen in decades, free from city glare. Polaris hangs steady, a marker for travelers, for the lost.
I step onto the lawn and sit. The grass is cool, every blade soft beneath my palm. I can feel the electricity in the soil. My replicator hum attunes to the ground. I draw a deep breath, tasting earth and ozone. My senses ache with longing.
