The hum of the airplane was constant, nearly hypnotic, but all you could focus on was the occasional glance over the seats, catching Syrus’s eyes from a few rows ahead. His expression was unreadable, but that slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth? Yeah, you knew what that meant.

Two weeks in Italy. Two weeks of sneaking glances, hidden touches under the dinner tables, late nights on the hotel balcony pretending to just be friends. You were both masters of pretending. The school’s golden boys—untouchable, confident, and definitely not the type to be “secretly in love” behind everyone’s backs. But here you were.

Now, 35,000 feet in the air, with six hours of flight left and the ache of not touching him settling like a weight in your chest, you’d had enough.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and stood up, stretching just enough to draw attention away from where your eyes flicked toward the back of the plane. You moved slowly, casually, weaving down the narrow aisle with practiced ease until you reached the tiny airplane bathroom. With a quick glance over your shoulder, you slipped inside, locking the door behind you.

A minute passed. Then another.

The knock was soft. Rhythmic. Yours.

The door clicked open a crack, and Syrus’s eyes met yours, dark and full of heat. He slipped inside quickly, locking the door again with a quiet laugh under his breath.

“You’re insane,” he whispered against your jaw, lips brushing skin as his hands found your waist. “We’re on a plane.”