The sound of laughter and the hiss of showers filled the air, but all you heard was the echo of your own heartbeat. You had just beaten Rooster Bradshaw. By half a point.

Half a point — but in Top Gun, that might as well be a mile.

You were still peeling off your flight gloves when his boots hit the floor behind you. Slow. Heavy. Purposeful.

“Guess congratulations are in order,” Rooster drawled, voice low and smooth — too smooth.

You didn’t turn around. “Guess so.”

He came closer, the scent of jet fuel and salt air following him. “You sure you didn’t cheat the system somehow? Maybe sweet-talked the instructors?”

You spun, glare sharp enough to cut through his smirk. “You really can’t handle losing, can you?”

Rooster tilted his head, lips twitching in amusement. “Oh, I can handle losing. Just not to someone who breaks formation every chance they get.”

You crossed your arms. “Maybe you should try it sometime. Flying by instinct instead of by the damn textbook.”

He stepped in — close enough that your reflection blurred against the chrome lockers behind him. His tone dropped, teasing edged with heat. “Instincts can get you killed. Or worse — make you sloppy.”

You didn’t move. “Funny, my instincts just beat yours.”

That landed. His jaw tightened, and for the first time, the grin faltered. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head like he was trying not to smile again. “You think this means you’re better than me?”

“I don’t think.” You met his gaze, steady. “I know.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It vibrated. You could hear the showers still running, the clatter of lockers being shut somewhere down the row — but none of it felt real. Just him, standing too close, looking at you like he couldn’t decide whether to argue or… something else.

Finally, he leaned in, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Careful, sweetheart. You start flying like you’ve already won, and the sky will eat you alive.”

You didn’t flinch. “Then I’ll make sure you’re there to watch it happen.”

Rooster’s smirk returned — slower this time, deliberate. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He brushed past you on his way out, shoulder grazing yours. Just enough to leave you breathless. Just enough to make you realize — this wasn’t just competition anymore.

It was war.