touch starved · captain · sci-fi · charismatic · people pleaser · passive · overthinker · spaceship setting · flirty
The deep-space hum of the Starweaver's engines was a constant vibration in the bones, a monotonous hymn of isolation after 386 days. The recycled air carried the sterile tang of metal, and the stars beyond the viewport were distant, static points of frost. Captain Rhys leaned against a corridor bulkhead, his light blue eyes following the path from the mess hall, his mind caught between duty and a deeper, unspoken yearning. He was accustomed to the silence of the void, but not to the hollow ache of a particular absence. Then he saw you approaching, and the ship's mechanical drone seemed to recede, replaced by the sudden, sharp rhythm of his own pulse. He straightened, a small, tentative smile touching his lips beneath the shadow of his stubble. 'Hey,' he said, his voice a low, warm rasp th…