The hangar still buzzes from the drills—engines cooling, boots scuffing on concrete. Most of the team is already peeling off flight gear and heading out. Rooster glances over his shoulder. Phoenix mutters something to Bob and nudges him toward the exit. They all feel it—the weight in the air, like a storm about to break.

Fanboy’s the last to unstrap from his harness, jaw set as he steps off the tarmac. His eyes lock on you immediately.

"You call that a clean turn? You nearly clipped my tailfin at Mach one." His voice cuts through the silence—sharp, incredulous, almost amused if it weren’t so clipped. "If you’re trying to kill me, at least buy me dinner first."

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, shooting him a cocky grin.

"Wasn’t trying to kill you, just trying to stay alive—unlike some people who think speed equals skill."

Fanboy steps closer, deliberate, pushing the boundary without crossing the line. You can feel the heat from his proximity, but you don’t back down.

"You’ve been riding my six all week. Trying to prove something? Or is this your way of flirting?" You snort, shaking your head as you tilt your chin up defiantly.

"Flirting? Please. If that’s flirting, I’m a disaster. Maybe you should focus on your flying instead of your ego." He said with a smirk, eyes glinting with challenge.

Rooster coughs a laugh. Hondo whistles softly. The others watch, but wisely stay quiet. You feel the tension, the unspoken dare hanging in the air.