Bailey reached down. He didn’t offer a hand—that would have been too public, too obvious. Instead, he ran his thumb once, quickly, along the edge of Hunter’s jawline, wiping away a smudge of grease. The touch was electric, forbidden, and over in a heartbeat.
Active duty. Hunter and Bailey. Gay. Checked. Active Duty - Hunter And Bailey -Gay- - Checked
One line remained, handwritten in the margin in Bailey’s neat, cramped script. Bailey reached down
“You haven’t slept,” Bailey said. It wasn’t a question. The touch was electric, forbidden, and over in a heartbeat
“It’s checked,” Hunter said. “Now get off my flight line before someone sees you caring.”
Hunter slid out from under the gear. He lay on the concrete, looking up. Bailey was still crouched, and now they were eye-level. The hangar’s emergency lights cast half of Bailey’s face in hard shadow. His jaw was set. His name tape read BAILEY . Hunter’s read HUNTER . No ranks out here. Just bodies and duties.