You're crazy.

That thought pounds in your chest like a fist against a locked door as you stand in the hallway of the dormitory wing of Xavier’s School, breath shallow, heart thundering so loud you’re sure someone could hear it through the walls. Curfew passed hours ago, silence blankets the hall like a heavy quilt, broken only by the the building’s night security systems and the winter wind whispering against the old glass windows.

Your fingers hover just above the metal handle of Sam’s door.

You swallow hard. You’re shaking. With excitement. With fear. With the impossible, overwhelming knowledge that two months ago, this would have been harmless; you and Sam have been inseparable since the day you arrived at the school. He was that warm, lanky Kentucky boy with awkward smiles and kind eyes who carried everyone’s bags on move-in day. He gave you his jacket the night you cried on the roof. He laughed with his whole body, shoulder and ribs shaking like he didn’t know how to do anything halfway.

He used to be just your best friend.

Now, when his hand touches yours, the air burns.

You tap the door twice, barely a sound. The signal. Your signal.

Instantly, the door cracks open, light pooling onto your feet. Sam’s face appears in the thin space: eyes framed by messy blond hair, warm, tired, hopeful. He looks at you like he always does now, like he’s trying not to smile too big and failing instantly.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice that soft Southern drawl that goes straight through your ribs. “You snuck past Logan again?”

“As always,” you breathe with a smile. “Maybe he’s losing his edge.”

Sam bites back a laugh and tugs your wrist gently, pulling you into his room and shutting the door with decisive quiet.

His room smells like soap and engine grease, everything familiar and grounding. On his desk lies his flight goggles, next to a dog-eared physics textbook and a half-finished mug of cocoa.

You lean your back against the door and exhale shakily. Sam steps closer, his hand brushing yours, fingers lacing automatically, so natural you think your hearts were made with the same blueprint.

“I missed you today,” he whispers, forehead lowering to yours. “Mission debrief felt twice as long with you sittin’ across the table pretending we ain’t…” His voice trails off, catching on a nervous laugh.

“…whatever this is,” you echo, breath ghosting his lips.

You close the distance first, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the heat through his T-shirt, the tremble of anticipation. His lips meet yours softly at first, then deeper, as though kissing is the only thing keeping either of you from flying apart.

You don’t hear the footsteps in the hall until they’re dangerously close.

Sam freezes. You freeze. He pulls away just enough to breathe, eyes wide.

“…that’s Scott,” he mouths silently, panic sparking.

Your heart nearly explodes. You scramble, he grabs your hand, guiding you quickly toward his closet, the two of you stifling laughter and terror as you wedge yourselves inside between uniforms and a spared jet-fuel-stained jacket. Darkness presses in. You feel Sam shaking, silent laughter held tight in his ribs as Scott’s voice echoes from behind the door.

“Sam? You awake? The team briefing’s moved to eight-thirty. Don’t be late.”

A long pause. Sam’s hand squeezes yours.

Then footsteps retreat down the hall.

You both exhale at once, collapsing against each other in breathless relief. His forehead rests against your shoulder and you feel his smile through the fabric of your shirt.