Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

Outside Mia's door, the corridor buzzed with a restless energy as Aster and Pako pressed their ears against the cold metal, their breaths fogging in the dim light.

Vera lingered behind them, her arms crossed tightly, her fingers fidgeting against her sleeves as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, her purple hair swaying with each anxious twitch.

"I hear her squeaking," Aster said, her voice a sharp whisper, her ear flattening harder against the panel as she strained to catch the faintest sound.

"Are you sure?" Vera asked, her tone edged with doubt as she stepped closer, her fidgeting hands betraying the calm she tried to project. Her eyes darted to the door, narrowing as if she could pierce it with sheer will.

"I hear it too," Pako chimed in, her voice a gleeful echo as she pressed her cheek tighter, her short black bob brushing the metal. "Definitely squeaking."

Vera reached out, her hand tugging at Pako's shoulder to pull her away, but Pako held firm, her smaller frame unyielding against Vera's grasp. "Lemme hear," Vera insisted, frustration creeping into her voice as she jostled for position.

Aster relented, stepping back with a huff, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as she let Vera take her place. Vera's ear met the door, her breath held as she listened intently, her brow creasing with concentration.

"But I've never heard her squeak like that," Aster mused, folding her arms as she stood behind, her voice dropping into a puzzled murmur. "Is she even the same Mia?"

"That's her voice," Vera confirmed, pulling back slightly, her tone firm despite the faint tremor of confusion threading through it. "But why's she squeaking?"

"No clue," Pako said, tilting her head as she leaned in again, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "You ever hear her make a sound like that?"

"Never," Vera replied, her voice tightening as she shook her head, her gaze flicking to the door. "That emotionless little bitch—she barely says more than she has to. Something happened to her."

"Shh—I can't hear," Pako snapped, waving a hand to hush them as she pressed closer, her ear flush against the metal. "I think Mia's saying something now."

Inside, the room was a cocoon of silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken years. Syn sat beside Mia on her narrow bed, their lowered heads casting faint shadows on the bare walls, the blush on his cheeks a soft echo of the crimson staining hers.

Her white hair draped over her face, a veil hiding the storm of nerves beneath, while his hands rested limp in his lap, fingers twitching as he wrestled with the chaos of his feelings—anger, guilt, and a rekindled flicker of that old, buried crush.

"It's okay—you don't have to be sorry," Mia said, her tone calming as her stuttering eased, a fragile steadiness settling over her. "It's… it's just funny and sad, you know? That you didn't even know my name." A small chuckle slipped from her delicate lips, a sound so faint it barely stirred the quiet, yet it carried a bittersweet edge that pierced him.

Syn opened his mouth to apologize again, the reflex rising, but he caught himself, a faint chuckle escaping instead—a mirror to hers, awkward and raw. Silence followed, wrapping them in its heavy embrace, until he tried again, his voice gentler now. "So… how have you been?"

"Happy," Mia replied, a small smile tugging at her lips as she lifted her gaze just enough to meet his, her blush softening into something warmer.

"Watching you—it makes me happy. I don't know why. Just knowing you're out there, safe… it's this strange comfort." Her words hung there, simple yet heavy, a confession that trembled with an innocence he couldn't refute.

"But…" Syn started, his voice faltering as the urge to call it wrong surged up—her stalking, her theft of his life—but her wide, pleading eyes stopped him cold, those puppy-like depths glinting with a quiet desperation. "Can I keep watching you?" she asked, her voice a whisper, her fists clenching as she raised her hands slightly, a hesitant cheer in the gesture.

He froze, her gaze pinning him, and the refusal he'd meant to voice dissolved under its weight. "Yeah," he said, nodding faintly, his blush deepening as he gave in, unable to shatter her fragile joy. Mia's face lit up, her fists tightening in a small, triumphant lift, her smile blooming like a rare flower breaking through stone.

Syn understood—she'd keep stalking him even if he denied permission, a shadow he couldn't shake. He stood, offering a quiet "See you," his voice a murmur as he turned to the door, stepping out into the corridor where Aster, Pako, and Vera loitered, their casual stances a flimsy mask for the eavesdropping he knew they'd indulged in.

They straightened as he emerged, Pako twirling her hair, Aster kicking at the floor, Vera folding her arms—all feigning innocence with practiced ease.

He met their eyes, then walked past without a word, his boots echoing in the noisy corridor, the ship alive with celebration—shouts and laughter ringing out as pirates toasted the return of their freed comrades.

The trio trailed him, their steps a silent shadow as he led them to a corner table in the bustling mess hall, a massive pitcher of beer already waiting, its amber surface glinting under the harsh lights.

Syn sank into a chair, grabbing a glass and pouring with a reckless tilt, the froth spilling over as he drank deep, one after another, drowning the tangle of his thoughts in the bitter flood. The three girls sat around him, their eyes fixed on his relentless gulping, their own glasses untouched.

"So—what happened?" Vera finally asked, her voice cutting through the din, her head tilting as she leaned forward, her purple hair spilling over her shoulder.

Syn paused, the glass halfway to his lips, then slammed it down with a sharp clink, the table shuddering under the force.

"What's wrong with her?" he shot back, his voice rising, confusion and frustration boiling over as he glared at Vera. "What did you do to her?" The question burst out, loud and raw, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables.

The trio exchanged looks, a silent ripple of surprise passing between them. "We haven't done anything to her," Aster said, her tone firm as she leaned back, her blonde hair catching the light, her arms crossing defiantly.

Vera cocked her head, her smirk fading into a quieter intensity. "She came to us first," she said, her voice softening as she leaned closer, her elbows braced on the table. "After you disappeared—months later—she showed up with your pictures as proof." Her words were a careful thread, woven with a calm that belied the storm in Syn's eyes.

"We didn't even know who she was," Pako added, pouring herself a beer as she spoke, the liquid sloshing into her glass. "She just popped up, said she was your stalker—had been for ages."

"I nearly beat her senseless," Aster chimed in, a dark grin tugging at her lips as if it were a fond memory, her hand curling around her own glass. "Hated her guts from the start. What do you even see in her—that mousey face?" She took a swig, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and disdain as she refilled Syn's glass, the beer foaming over the rim.

Syn's glare sharpened, a flare of protectiveness sparking despite the sting of Mia's betrayal. Her stalking didn't erase the pull she'd always had on him—those quiet glances, that unspoken charm still lingered, intact beneath his anger.

"Then we teamed up," Vera continued, her voice steady as she watched him, her fingers tracing the edge of the pitcher. "Found the right moment to grab you. We had the same goals—love you, hate the Kingdom. She fit right in."

Syn listened, his head drooping as the beer's haze crept in, dulling the edges of his thoughts, though her words still pierced through—clear, cutting. "She's Aster's sister," Pako said, laughing as she leaned back, the sound sharp against the room's din. "But way cuter—no wonder Aster can't stand her."

"Half," Aster corrected, her voice a low growl as she pointed a finger, her glass clinking against the table. "Half-sister."

Syn's vision blurred, the noise of the celebration—a roar of cheers, clinking glasses—fading into a distant hum as the alcohol took hold. His head sagged, the weight of it all—Mia's confession, the girls' scheme—pressing down until it was too much.

With a sudden lurch, his forehead dropped, crashing onto the table with a heavy thud, the glass tipping as he slumped, intoxicated and lost.