When Tom woke, he wasn't sure if he'd wet himself or if someone had dumped water onto him. He sat up, pushing off sweaty hair from his face. He checked his pulse in his throat, and once he made sure it was there, he checked how fast it was. He threw the covers off himself. After turning the light on, he assessed the bed. He definitely hadn't wet it. He'd just been that sweaty.
His dog was at the corner of the comforter, her little eyes looking up at him with acute annoyance. He'd turned the light on and she'd been disturbed.
"Sorry, Peach. Jesus." He'd named her after a very old video game, made before virtual reality games had flooded the market.
Tom scrubbed his hands over his face. He could feel the oil and sweat pushing back into his pores. Unsatisfied, he shambled over into the bathroom to wash his face. He slapped cold water over his cheeks before cupping his hands to get himself a drink.
He sucked in a deep breath, filling up his lungs until he couldn't take it anymore. He inhaled just a smidge more before he felt his lungs would snap his ribs and let it all out. Opening his eyes, he wiggled his toes on the tile to feel the chill from the ceramic.
"You're fine." He stared at himself, nodding over and over. He longed for sleep, but he pined for security. He was in his own home, and his dog was in his bed. He could turn on the TV if he wanted to and just watch the infomercials. He could read or grab a beer and nothing would hurt him. He was, as he'd said, fine.
But he wasn't. Anxiety was a cruel thing.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen and plopped down at his laptop on the bed. Peach looked up at him with her sleepy, droopy face, a little harrumph from her lips.
Tom scrolled to see if anyone had reported I'na blood as corrosive. He found nothing. Then he went with acidic. Again, nothing. But that was the issue, wasn't it? There was nothing because the government wanted the world to believe there was nothing. For once, the government was doing something good with its secrecy: helping the I'na protect their secret. Or maybe it was selfish. Was it okay if it was both?
He'd been in quarantine. He'd signed a nearly twenty-page non-disclosure contract when he got out of the army. He'd thought it'd been standard. They told him it was standard… He'd known someone who violated her NDA. Last he'd heard, she was homeless and without any veteran's benefits. Everyone in the service knew how much effort it was to keep a security clearence. No accumulating too much debt, no arrests, nothing about the job. The risk was dishonorable discharge, removal of livelihoods—no veteran benefits. It was enough to keep lips tight.
"Oh God." He remembered the stories. He'd known a guy who his commanding officer called derranged and that "something had to be done about him." Tom didn't remember if he ever saw the guy in question again. He'd been raving about the I'na and their magic powers. He'd lost a finger. How could he've been so blind? He'd ducked his head, he'd listened to what his command had to say. He didn't question. But he'd seen it now. The government had been protecting the I'na, and not just casually—intensely. The TSA was probably monitoring the internet for leaked video content or even a whisper of corrosive blood. Tom was probably on one of their watch lists now.
Tom dropped his head back against the headboard. Distantly, he thought about Iilo's cool fingers touching his face. He hadn't thought anything about it in the moment. But now he was replaying it, over and over like rewinding something on the television to figure out what the actors were saying—he was fixated.
Iilo was an I'na. But now he was more than that. An individual. A friend.
Tom touched his rough cheek. Memories played again and again. He closed his eyes, brow stitched into a frown. He let his fingers trace along the curve of his jaw, warm and rough from nights where he clutched his gun too hard.
Iilo's blue face—with that galaxy splayed across it for the universe to see. His cool touch with soft, gentle fingers.
Tom opened his eyes, dropping his hand.
Tom had always erred on the side of caution when it came to affection. He'd been in court over enough divorces that he didn't want to know what it'd be like to experience his own.
His thoughts rushed back to Iilo's fingers. That simple touch.
Tom checked his pulse, closing his eyes as he felt it. It wasn't racing even though he felt his chest tighten. It was there, pushing against his finger. He closed the laptop, pet Peach on her wrinkly head, and laid back against the pillows. Iilo was a friend, maybe. He'd said he'd be Tom's friend.
But then he'd touched Tom, and now everything felt like it was changing.