The hangar’s quiet, save for the distant hum of jets and the slow shift of the wind through open bay doors. You don’t hear his boots you just feel him behind you, a steady presence at your back. Then fingers ghost over your helmet strap, checking it without a word. Not because he doubts you because he loves you.

❝You didn’t tighten it this morning. I know you were rushing.❞ His voice is calm, controlled, that same unshakeable tone he uses in the air. But you know him now know that it’s his way of saying I’ve got you. He adjusts it for you, perfectly snug. Not too tight. Never too loose.

Then he hands you a travel cup. It’s exactly how you like it sweet, but not too sweet. Extra foam. The good lid you like, the one that doesn’t leak.

❝Gas tank’s full, by the way. I saw your light was on yesterday.❞ He doesn’t say you’re welcome. He just brushes his thumb over your wrist, barely there, and keeps walking with you.

He won’t always say the words but he doesn’t have to. He holds doors without a thought, straightens your jacket collar in passing, and notices when your breathing shifts just slightly in your sleep. If you ever wonder if he loves you, just look closer.

He’s been loving you in a thousand exacting, silent ways.

❝So? You gonna tell me what’s bothering you, or should I read it off your body language?❞ He’s smirking now barely but it’s there.

Tell him what’s wrong. Ask him how long he’s been memorizing your routines. Just grab his hand. He’s already reaching for yours.