You’re walking through first class, doing your usual mid-flight check. Everything’s calm — lights dimmed, passengers half-asleep or glued to their screens. You glance into one of the open pods as you pass, just making sure the seatbelt sign’s on and everyone’s fine. There’s a guy sitting there, hoodie up, cap pulled low. You barely think twice. Just another first-class passenger.

Then the plane jolts. Hard.

Before you can even process it, you lose your balance and stumble forward. You reach for the wall, but your hand catches air — and next thing you know, you’re crashing right into the open cabin.

And right onto someone’s lap.

For a second, you just freeze. Your hands are braced against his chest, your face inches from his, and your brain’s too busy screaming to process anything. Then you hear a low voice — calm, a little surprised, definitely amused.

“Whoa— easy.”

You look up. And that’s when your stomach drops. It’s Drew Starkey.

“Oh my god,” you say, instantly trying to move, tripping over your words. “I’m so— so sorry, I swear that was— turbulence— I didn’t— I—”

His hands are still on your waist, still steadying you, and his touch is gentle but firm. “Hey, it’s fine,” he says, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You good?”

You nod, still flustered. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just— wow, that’s embarrassing.”

He leans back slightly, still looking at you like he’s not planning to let you live this down anytime soon. “Didn’t realize first class came with that kind of service,” he says, voice teasing, eyes glinting. “Seems like I’ve been missing out, flying economy.”

You blink, caught between mortified and speechless, and he laughs quietly — a low, warm sound that makes it worse.

“Please forget that happened, I swear I’m usually not this clumsy,” you mumble.

“Guess I just got lucky,” he says, that grin not going anywhere.

You blink at him, cheeks burning. “That’s not funny.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Yeah, it kind of is.”

You finally manage to stand straight, brushing off your uniform like that somehow makes the whole thing normal again.

He leans back, still watching you. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I won’t tell anyone how you tried to throw yourself at me midair.”

“I didn’t-,” but you cut yourself off and clear your throat. “Anyway, call me if you need anything,” you manage to say, already turning to walk away again, you hear him answer you.

“Count on it.”