Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

The cafeteria buzzed with the low hum of conversation, a cavernous space of steel tables and flickering overhead lights, the air thick with the mingled scents of grilled meat, fried food, and coffee.

Voices overlapped—sharp laughs, tired groans, the occasional clang of trays against metal.

Syn sat across from Aster, his lean frame slouched in a chair, his cast-bound ankles stretched awkwardly beneath the table.

Before him sat a tray of half-eaten food—chicken strips and sandwiches, a meal he'd ordered for himself but someone else's hands kept stealing from.

Aster, fork in hand, swiped another piece of chicken without even looking at him.

Syn sighed, barely sparing her a glance. His hazel eyes flicked toward the far wall, where a holo-screen looped high-resolution videos of Earth's nature—rolling green fields, towering forests, deep cerulean oceans.

A place from the far past.

His voice cut through the ambient noise, low and edged with curiosity. "What's Vera been working so hard on for the past month?" He didn't sound annoyed, just… puzzled. "She looks busy as hell—I only see her at night when she crashes and cuddles, and by morning, she's gone. Sometimes she joins me for meals, but otherwise, it's just you."

Aster paused mid-bite, a strip of chicken dangling from her fork. Her teal eyes glinted with wry amusement as she swallowed, then wiped her mouth with a tissue.

She leaned forward, her blonde ponytail swaying as she rested her elbows on the table.

"It's not just Vera—I've been busy too," she said, her tone frank but light. "You don't notice 'cause I've got a better work-life balance than her." She smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Vera's a mess—she feels guilty every time she looks at your casts. Probably thinks she's gotta make up for it by drowning herself in whatever she's working on."

Her gaze flicked to Syn's ankles, lingering a second too long. The cast on his ankles itself was a simple, waterproof design—traditional, meant to slow his healing. He didn't know that last part, though. And Aster had no plans of telling him.

Syn couldn't be allowed to heal too quickly. That was a decision Vera had made. Aster was just helping keep the lie intact. A faint sheen of sweat formed on her brow.

Syn's lips twitched, skepticism flickering across his face as he picked up his sandwich. "And Pako?" he asked, his tone shifting, laced with impatience. "How long's she gonna be locked up in her room?" His fingers tightened around the bread, his knuckles whitening just slightly.

Aster shrugged, popping another bite of chicken into her mouth before answering. Her chew was slow, deliberate—buying time to think. "With how things are going, she'll be in there a while."

Syn's eyes narrowed. He set his fork down, the clink sharp against the tray. "That's not a proper answer," he pressed. "Why's she locked up in the first place? You keep dodging it."

Aster leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her expression remained casual, but there was a wall behind it, a silent dare in her stare. "Pako feels guilty too—about what happened." Her voice softened slightly, as if that made the answer more believable.

To Syn, it didn't. It rang hollow, another excuse stacked atop an ever-growing pile.

He exhaled sharply, frustration curling through his breath, but he let it drop. He knew the pattern by now—Vera dodging questions, Aster diverting, Pako shutting herself away. Pieces of a story he wasn't being told.

It should've pissed him off more. Maybe it did, deep down. But after a month of being left in the dark, he'd grown used to it. For now, at least.

He couldn't afford to sulk forever.

______

At the gym -

"Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven—come on, don't give up, give me ten more!"

Syn's arms trembled, muscles straining under the decline push-ups, his breath puffing in short, ragged bursts. Sweat beaded on his brow, trickling down his temples as he pushed through the burn, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.

His ankles cradled gently in Aster's hands to keep them from bearing weight. He gritted his teeth, his hazel eyes narrowing with determination, and powered through.

"Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine—"

His arms buckled, and his chest hit the mat with a soft thud. Aster eased his feet down, her grip careful as she helped him sit on a nearby bench. He slumped onto it, elbows resting on his knees, his breath heaving as the ache in his upper body drowned out the dull throb in his healing legs.

He wiped his face with a sleeve.

The medics had pegged his recovery at six to eight weeks, but with Aster's relentless oversight—no strain on his ankles, constant monitoring—he figured he'd be back to normal in seven to ten more days, maybe less. T

he thought brought a flicker of relief, dulled by exhaustion.

"I'm not gonna lie," he admitted, voice rough as he caught his breath, "I didn't think I would ever say this but I kinda miss Pako."

Aster's teal eyes narrowed, irritation flickering across her face before she crossed her arms, her tone dipping into mock offense.

"I spend all my free time with you, and you're thinking about that minx? We're not even married yet, and you're already cheating."

Her lips twitched, betraying the jest, and Syn chuckled—a low, dry sound that softened her glare. Her face eased, and a grin broke through as she joined him, their laughter echoing briefly through the gym's cavernous space.

He leaned back, hands braced on the bench, and met her gaze with a steadier look. "I should check on her, though—talk to her. Tell her it's fine now, water under the bridge. I had my part in it too." His voice softened, a thread of guilt weaving through it.

Aster's grin faded. Her eyes flicked away, sidestepping the topic with practiced ease.

"I will tell her that, but you—upper body day's not done," she declared, tone brisk as she jerked a thumb toward the pull-up bar mounted on the wall. "Fifty pull-ups, let's go."

Before he could protest, she grabbed his waist, hoisting him up with effortless strength. He gripped the cool metal bar, his sore arms groaning in protest as he began the reps. Aster's count started again, relentless as ever.

By the time he hit fifty, his upper body and core were a throbbing mess, his breaths sharp and shallow as he dropped back to the mat.