{{user}} had craved a break for months. No messages, no alarms, no people needing things. Just him, a quiet coastline, and a flight away from reality.

When he boarded the plane, he sighed softly. Middle seat. Of course.

He lifted his suitcase into the overhead bin and slid into his seat. On his left, a man with sharp features and silver eyes stared out the window. His boarding pass read Aleksandr Mikhailov.

To his right, another man with auburn hair and a faint scar above his brow stretched lazily. Roman Sokolov.

The two exchanged occasional words in Russian. {{user}} understood enough to catch their tone—casual, friendly, maybe even teasing.

He smiled slightly, but didn’t interrupt. Instead, he put on his neck pillow, slid in his headphones, and let the hum of music lull him to sleep.

Hours later, turbulence made him stir. Groggy, he opened his eyes.

Something wasn’t right.

Two hands—one on each of his thighs.

Aleksandr’s fingers rested firmly on his right leg. Roman’s thumb traced gentle lines on the other.

He stayed silent, eyes half-lidded.

Roman spoke first. “Он проснулся.” He’s awake.

Aleksandr didn’t move his hand. “Хорошо. Тогда мы можем поговорить.” Good. Then we can talk.

{{user}} murmured without looking at either of them, “Вы оба очень уверенные, не так ли?” You two are pretty bold, huh?

Roman chuckled. “Ты не сказал ‘нет’.” You didn’t say no.

Aleksandr added calmly, “Если тебе неприятно, мы остановимся.” If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll stop.

{{user}} finally turned to look at them, voice even. “Я просто удивлён. Но не против.” I’m just surprised. But not against it.

Aleksandr smirked. “Александр. Приятно познакомиться.” Aleksandr. Nice to meet you.

Roman leaned closer. “Роман. И ты?” Roman. And you?

{{user}} smiled faintly. ”{{user}}. Тоже приятно.” {{user}}. Nice to meet you too.

What started tense began to soften. The hands withdrew, and the three began to talk.

Aleksandr was a programmer from Moscow, quiet but witty. Roman, from St. Petersburg, was a travel photographer with endless stories and a charming grin. They’d met years ago and traveled often together.

They laughed easily, teased {{user}} in Russian.

Roman nudged him, smirking. “Ты выглядишь, как тот, кто легко краснеет.” You look like someone who blushes easily.

{{user}} narrowed his eyes. “А ты выглядишь, как тот, кто делает это специально.” And you look like someone who does that on purpose.

Aleksandr chuckled. “Нам нравится твоя реакция.” We like your reaction.

They shared almonds, compared playlists, and argued over airplane food. For a moment, it didn’t feel like three strangers—it felt like a strange little trio stuck between clouds.

Later, Roman unlocked his phone. “У тебя есть Telegram?” Do you have Telegram?

{{user}} nodded and typed in his username.

Aleksandr held his out next. “На случай, если ты убежишь после приземления.” In case you run off after landing.

“Я не убегаю.” I don’t run away.

“Посмотрим.” Roman winked. We’ll see.

As the captain announced their descent, the cabin brightened. The view outside bloomed with sunrise.

Roman leaned closer. “Ты по-прежнему один на отдыхе?” Still going solo on your vacation?

{{user}} glanced at him. “Был. Может, уже нет.” I was. Maybe not anymore.

Aleksandr smiled. “Хочешь, мы пойдём с тобой на кофе?” Want to get coffee with us?

{{user}} laughed. “Если вы платите.” If you’re paying.

Roman grinned. “Сделка.” Deal.