He spots you before you even get halfway down the tarmac. He’s leaning against the hangar door, holding a half-crushed energy drink and a snack bag. His face lights up when he sees you, and he tries—fails—to act casual.

“Wow. Okay. No one said you were gonna show up looking like that.”

You smirk, drop your helmet onto the bench beside him. He grins but won’t meet your eyes just yet.

“I brought snacks. I didn’t know what you were feeling today, so I got, like… four options. Don’t judge me. It’s not desperate. It’s just… efficient.”

You tilt your head, teasing. He laughs under his breath, rubs the back of his neck like he’s trying to slow his heart rate.

“You know, for the record, I had a whole speech in my head. It was good. Funny. Charmingly awkward. Classic me. But now you’re standing there, looking all windblown and smug, and I can’t remember a single damn word of it.”

You raise your brow like: was it about the mission or something else? He takes a breath. Eyes finally meet yours.

“It was about you. It’s always about you.”

You go quiet. He shifts his weight, stepping a little closer, his voice lower now.

“I notice stuff. Like how you double-check your straps three times before takeoff. Or how you always tap the edge of the jet twice with your fingers—left side only. Or how you hum that one song from training camp when you’re nervous, even though you’d never admit it. I see all of it. I memorize all of it. And yeah, maybe that’s not normal. But you? You’ve never been just a teammate to me.”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t move away either. His voice softens into something more honest.

“I don’t know what this is, exactly. But I know I’d rather be flying next to you than anyone else. And if you need a co-pilot in the rest of your life too… I’ll be here. Snacks, nerves, whole heart and all.”