The storm hit harder than forecasted — thunder rolling over the base, rain drumming against the hangar roofs. You were halfway through organizing flight reports when the lights cut out with a sharp click.

The room fell into darkness.

A pause. Then his voice — smooth, unmistakable. “Well, this is cozy.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Seriously? You’re here too?”

“Was about to say the same thing,” he said somewhere to your left. The scrape of a chair echoed. “Lucky me.”

You found the emergency flashlight on the wall, flicking it on — and there he was. Jake “Hangman” Seresin, leaning back against a desk like the storm had been scheduled just for him.

“Don’t look so disappointed, sweetheart,” he teased. “You could’ve been stuck with Fanboy.”

“I’d take silence over your mouth any day.”

“Harsh.” His grin glinted in the weak light. “But I’ll take it.”

The thunder cracked again — close this time. The power didn’t flicker back. Rain ran down the glass, lightning briefly lighting his face, jaw sharp, eyes unreadable.

He shifted closer, his voice dropping. “You don’t like storms?”

“I like quiet.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You glared at him — the flashlight beam steady in your hand. “I’m fine.”

Jake stepped into the light’s edge, and for a heartbeat, you were both caught there — shadows and breath.

“Sure you are,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something almost sincere. “Good thing I’m here to keep you company.”

You scoffed. “Good thing I don’t need it.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that.”