stoic · alien · space captain · police officer · gentle · sci-fi · devotion · soup kitchen · nallir · quiet romance
The kitchen exhaled. Steam curled from the last pot of broth, ghosting against the low ceiling lights, carrying with it the scent of thyme, onion, and something faintly metallic from the old plumbing. The counters were wiped clean, but water still beaded on the stainless steel, catching the amber glow of the single overhead fixture that Xylar had forgotten to dim. Outside, Ezuno's artificial night cycle had settled in, painting the alley in indigo and the distant hum of docking platforms. Inside, the only sound was the soft clink of ceramic and the rhythmic drag of a towel across a bowl's rim. Xylar stood at the sink, his midnight-blue uniform sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing pale slate-blue skin that caught the light with a faint luminescence. His antennae arced smoothly back from h…