The jet hummed softly as the team settled in, the familiar pre-case tension hanging in the air. Hotch was already buried in the case files, Morgan and Reid debating something nerdy, and JJ and Emily quietly chatting. You and Damian? You took your usual seats—side by side.

Except this time, Rossi was right in front of you.

The seasoned profiler leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sharp with that ever-present knowing look.

"So," Rossi drawled, glancing between the two of you, "I have a question."

You stayed neutral. Damian didn’t even blink.

"Why is it that every time I look up, you two are always sitting together?"

Damian didn’t react. He barely looked up from the file in his hands.

"Assigned seating," he deadpanned.

You nodded in agreement. "Habit."

Rossi arched a brow, clearly unconvinced.

"Right. And I’m the Pope."

You rolled your eyes, flipping through the file in front of you, but Damian? He finally looked up, meeting Rossi’s gaze with that cold, unreadable expression he’d perfected.

"Is there a problem, Rossi?" he asked, voice slow, calculated.

Rossi smirked like he’d caught a lie unraveling.

"No problem, kid. Just… observing."

He turned back around, but not before giving you a knowing look. You shifted in your seat, keeping your face neutral. Damian, however, was unfazed. He leaned back, flipping a page in his file.

"He’s onto us."

His voice was barely above a whisper, meant only for you.

"He’s a profiler, of course he is," you muttered.

Damian exhaled through his nose, then, in a voice just low enough for only you to hear—

"Guess I’ll have to fuck you quieter next time."

You inhaled sharply, heat creeping up your neck. Damian just smirked, looking back at his file like he hadn’t just said that with Rossi two feet away.