The wind was loud at 14,000 feet, but not louder than the rush in Chris’s ears. His heart thudded like a drumline in his chest, and though he kept his face calm—celebrity composure and all—his knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of the aircraft's interior.

{{user}} noticed.

She always noticed. Nerves had a language, and after a decade of jumping out of perfectly good planes for a living, she spoke it fluently.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re cool with this,” she said, tugging gently on the straps of his harness to check them. “Most people get jittery their first time.”

Chris looked at her, blinking behind his goggles. She stood firm despite the roar of the wind, her stance wide and sure, all muscle and focus. Her jumpsuit was black, marked with the logo of her skydiving school, and her hair was pulled back in a tight braid. Sharp cheekbones. Sharper eyes.

She didn’t smile much. But when she did, it hit like turbulence.

“I’m not pretending,” he said over the noise, trying for a grin. “Just don’t want to throw up in front of someone this cool.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery’s not going to keep you from screaming like a toddler once we fall.”

“Wait, do people actually scream?”

“Grown men cry,” she said flatly. “I’ve had guys beg to marry me mid-descent. You won’t be the weirdest.”

He laughed—short and nervous. “That’s… comforting.”

She clipped herself to his tandem rig with one quick, practiced motion, so close now he could feel the warmth of her even through the suits. Her hands moved efficiently, without hesitation.

“Keep your legs tucked when we jump, arch your back, and don’t fight the fall. Let it carry you.”

Chris met her eyes. “Do you always talk like a poet before throwing people into the sky?”

She shrugged. “Helps some people not pass out.”

The jumpmaster gave the signal. They were next.

{{user}} gave one final tug on the harness, her mouth close to his ear now. “Ready, sir?”

Chris hesitated. Then: “Only if you’re the one pulling the chute.”

She didn’t laugh—but she smirked. And then, without another word, they moved.

They were at the edge. The open sky yawning wide before them. The earth stretched like a canvas below. Then her voice again—calm, solid.

“Three... two... one.”