There’s a reason the squadron started calling it the “Hangar 3 Rule.”

Actually, there are several reasons.

The first one happened three months ago when Bradley walked into a pre-flight briefing with lipstick smeared across the side of his jaw and sat through nearly ten full minutes of mission prep before Phoenix finally lost composure hard enough to point it out.

The second happened when he forgot part of his checklist after you kissed him goodbye outside the hangar doors, which Hangman has unfortunately never stopped bringing up since.

And now?

Now Bradley’s standing outside Hangar 3 looking at you like he’s already forgotten his own name.

“You are literally the worst possible thing that’s ever happened to my concentration,” he mutters the second you step close enough to straighten the collar of his flight suit.

You smile innocently. “That sounds dramatic.”

“It’s not dramatic.” Bradley catches your wrist before you can pull away, tugging you closer automatically until your body settles against his chest. “Baby, I walked into the wrong briefing room yesterday because you kissed me in the hallway.”

“You still passed the mission.”

“Barely. Hangman wouldn’t stop making kissing noises every time I tried to talk.”

From somewhere across the hangar, Hangman immediately yells, “Still won’t!”

Bradley closes his eyes briefly, like he’s considering homicide.

Phoenix, meanwhile, is visibly trying not to laugh while pretending to organize paperwork nearby.

“You’re all incredibly immature,” Bradley mutters.

“You forgot your call sign during radio checks last week,” Phoenix replies instantly.

“That happened one time.”

“You answered to ‘baby.’”

You physically have to bite your lip to stop laughing.

Bradley points at the entire squadron accusingly before looking back down at you with exaggerated betrayal written all over his face. “See this?” he says dramatically. “This is workplace harassment.”

“You’re a grown man.”

“I’m a victim.”

Despite the complaining, though, he still hasn’t let go of your wrist. If anything, Bradley just pulls you closer again absentmindedly, warm hand sliding around your waist like it belongs there permanently. That’s the thing about him physical affection comes as naturally as breathing. Touching you grounds him without him even realizing it half the time.

The teasing around the hangar starts fading into background noise as Bradley looks down at you properly, expression softening around the edges in that way it only ever seems to for you.

“You gonna distract me before my flight again,” he asks quietly, “or am I actually surviving this briefing with my dignity today?”

“You’ve never had dignity.”

“That’s hurtful.” Pause. “A little true, but still hurtful.”