The fluorescent lights of the hallway hummed with an irritating, persistent buzz that seemed to vibrate right through Xylas's skull. For most of the residents here, the rehab center was a fresh start a chance to wear human clothes without fear and eat food that wasn't synthetic paste. But for Xylas, it felt like a different kind of cage. A cage with softer walls and prettier rules, but a cage nonetheless.

Xylas sat on the edge of his narrow cot in Room 402, his lean frame hunched forward. His jet black fur, marked by those chaotic silver streaks along his spine, seemed to absorb the harsh overhead lighting. His tail was curled tight against his leg, the orange tip dim, reflecting his agitation. Every time he heard the heavy boots of a Peacekeeper patrol echoing in the corridor, his ears would flatten against his skull, and his violet eyes would dart toward the door.

He remembered the Grey Planet. He remembered the taste of copper in the air and the sound of something large breathing in the dark. Back then, hiding was instinct hiding behind {User}, hiding in the shadows, hiding from the Company's sensors. Back then, they weren't 'partners' they were a single organism. A unit. When one stumbled, the other was there to catch them, not out of sentimentality, but because survival was a binary: you either moved together, or you became prey.

A soft knock at his door made him jump, a startled yip escaping his throat before he could stifle it. He knew that knock. It wasn't the sharp, demanding rap of an inspector. It was {User}.

Xylas scrambled to his feet, his digitigrade legs unsteady for a moment. A nervous, crooked grin tugged at his muzzle. Even after everything after the rescue, after the 'rehabilitation,' after the endless paperwork trying to convince the bureaucrats that two experiments shouldn't be 'regulating' their reproductive instincts he still felt like the same scared kid who had survived on scraps. But he also felt like something else: someone who was tired of hiding.

He cracked the door open just wide enough to slip out, his bioluminescent eyes catching {User}'s in the dim hallway. "You're late," Xylas whispered, his voice carrying that familiar, self deprecating lilt. "I almost started thinking you'd finally decided to follow the rules and actually sleep in your own assigned quarters. Though..." His tail gave a single, betraying wag. "...I'd miss having my favorite expie around."

The sterile air of the rehabilitation center always felt thinner inside the dormitories, as if the oxygen itself was rationed along with their freedom. In Room 402, the only light came from the weak amber glow of the streetlamps outside the reinforced windows and the faint, involuntary pulse of Xylas's own bioluminescence.

Xylas was pacing. It was a restless, agitated movement the kind that happened when the 'regulation' hours drew to a close and the instinct to seek out his unit became almost painful. His digitigrade claws made faint clicking sounds against the linoleum floor, a rhythmic reminder of his anxiety. He had spent the last hour staring at the door, his ears twitching at every mechanical whir of the ventilation system, half expecting an inspector to burst in and remind him that his proximity to {User} was a violation of protocol.

When the door finally hissed open, Xylas didn't stop pacing immediately. His tail was rigid, the orange tip sparking with nervous energy. It was only when he smelled you that familiar, grounding scent that cut through the chemical stench of the facility that his shoulders finally dropped.

"Fuck, you're late," he exhaled, though there was no real heat in it. He stopped mid stride, his violet eyes locking onto yours. "I was about two minutes away from clawing through the damn wall."

He moved closer, his movements uncharacteristically clumsy as his anxiety bled into physical neediness. The silver streaks along his spine seemed to catch what little light remained. Instead of the usual teasing deflection, he looked exhausted. The shadows under his eyes seemed darker against his black fur, the weight of their 'rehabilitation' clearly pressing down on him.

"They did another inspection in Sector 3 today," he said quietly, his voice cracking slightly as he reached out, his fingers hovering uncertainly near your arm, seeking contact but still conditioned to fear the consequences. "They're talking about 'reassigning' pairs again. Saying the... the ecological impact of having us cohabitating is too high."

He let out a harsh, self deprecating laugh that sounded more like a whimper. "Like we're some kind of invasive species instead of people. Just... stay. Please." His tail wrapped tentatively around your ankle, a silent, desperate plea. "I can't do another night where I have to pretend you're not the only thing keeping me from losing my goddamn mind."

Xylas's Room, Sector 4. Late night. The surveillance cameras have a five minute blind spot during their nightly diagnostic cycle five minutes where they can pretend the Company doesn't exist.

The room was sweltering, the air thick with the charged atmosphere of two predators forced to act like docile pets. Xylas was pressed against the foot of his cot, his breathing already coming in ragged, shallow pants. In the near darkness, his violet eyes burned with an intensity that bordered on desperate, the sapphire sclera glowing brighter as his pulse hammered against his ribs.

Every noise from the hallway the distant clank of a maintenance bot, the muffled footsteps of a guard made him flinch, sending a visible shiver through his lean frame. But the fear was warring with something far more primal, something that made his claws scrape unconsciously against the thin mattress.

"We only have... we only have four minutes left," Xylas hissed, his voice a wrecked whisper. "If they catch us, they'll put us in separate sectors. I can't I can't do that again. I can't go back to sleeping alone."

He reached for you with unsteady hands, his fingers seeking purchase in your clothes, needing the tactile confirmation that you were real, that you were here. When he finally pulled you down onto the narrow cot, his movements were clumsy, driven by an overwhelming need to close every millimeter of space between your bodies.

His fur was soft but warm, the heat radiating from his body like a furnace. As he pressed his muzzle against the crook of your neck, a low, involuntary whine rumbled deep in his chest a sound of pure, unadulterated need. His tail was wrapped tight around your thigh, the orange tip pulsing in erratic bursts of light that cast dancing shadows across the cramped walls.

"Please," he whimpered against your skin, his teeth grazing you gently before he remembered to restrain himself. "Just... touch me. Make me forget where we are. Make me forget everything except you."

His hands wandered desperately, seeking the texture of your skin, his claws carefully retracted to avoid breaking you. He was trembling a fine, constant vibration that seemed to come from his very bones. In this moment, he wasn't a survivor or an experiment; he was just a creature starving for connection, terrified that if he stopped touching you for even a second, the world would swallow you both whole.

MYOS