Chapter Seven
Julian
Head down. Headphones in. Hood up.
I kept my eyes on the scuffed tile floor as we made our way toward the gate, drowning out the airport noise with low, steady music. Something soft. Familiar. Calming.
I could feel him beside me though. Like sunlight leaking under a locked door. Miles Bennett.
“Man, airports always smell the same, you notice that?” he said brightly. “Like bad coffee and... old carpet? Not a great vibe, but hey, at least no delays. That’s a win, right?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch. If I ignored him hard enough, maybe he’d take the hint.
He didn’t.
“Do you travel a lot for these shoots? I’ve only flown a couple times, mostly LA to New York stuff. This whole abroad thing is kinda crazy. My mom almost cried when I told her—”
I sighed through my nose and adjusted my grip on the suitcase handle.
“—but she gets nervous about planes, you know how moms are—”
“Bennett.” My voice was low, flat.
He blinked at me. Grinning. Always grinning.
“You talk a lot.”
Miles laughed, not even slightly offended. “Nerves. Sorry. I get chatty before flights.”
“Hey,” he grinned, glancing sideways. “What are you listening to?”
I ignored him.
“Come on, Vale. You can’t just wear those and not tell me. What is it? Something chill? Or like... hardcore murder podcasts to match your mood?”
I sighed, tugging the headphones down to rest around my neck. “Music.”
His smile widened like I’d given him gold. “What kind of music?”
“Quiet kind.”
He chuckled like that was the best answer he’d ever heard. “Bet you’re secretly into soft indie folk or something weird.”
I gave him a flat look. “Why are you like this?”
“Genetics,” he beamed.
I glanced sideways under the hood. His cheeks were faintly pink, brown hair a mess like he’d slept exactly ten minutes last night. Of course he was the kind to be nervous and loud about it. Figures.
But he kept pace with me. Like he belonged there.
I sighed again, pulling my headphones down to rest around my neck.
“Just... keep it down until we board, yeah?”
“Sure thing, Vale.” Still smiling.
Christ.
The gate agent called our section, and the line inched forward. I tugged my hood lower, keeping my head down as whispers followed us—camera phones, murmurs, faint excitement. Julian Vale. The model. The asshole. The myth.
Beside me, Miles rocked on his feet, humming tunelessly, completely unaffected. Like nothing stuck to him.
Our seats—of course—were next to each other.
“Window or aisle?” he asked as we reached the row.
“Aisle,” I muttered.
“Good. I like the window anyway. Gotta see the sky.”
I shoved my bag into the overhead and dropped into the seat, pulling my headphones back on like armor.
But I felt him glance at me again. Curious. Bright.
We settled in. The plane shuddered to life, engines low and steady. The usual hum.
And then—out of the corner of my eye—I caught him.
Stiff. Jaw tight. Knuckles white against the armrests. His eyes flicked to the window and back, blinking fast like that would make the takeoff come slower.
I sighed.
Without thinking, I pulled out one earbud and dangled it between us.
He blinked. “What’s this?”
“Calm down,” I muttered. “Music helps.”
His fingers brushed mine when he took it. Warm. Real.
He slipped it into his ear as the plane rumbled toward the runway. The soft sound of vinyl blues filled the quiet between us.
“Is this... Ella Fitzgerald?” he whispered, half-grinning.
I didn’t answer. Just stared straight ahead.
When the plane lifted, I felt the tension ease from him. His shoulders dropped slightly, his breath steadied.
I didn’t look.
He kept the earbud in the whole ascent.
Great. Now I was noticing things I shouldn’t.
This is going to be a long fucking week.
The plane leveled out with a low hum, the seatbelt light still blinking overhead.
Beside me, Miles finally breathed. Shoulders dropping fully now. Hands unclenching from the armrests.
I could feel him relax as Ella Fitzgerald crooned soft and smooth through the shared earbuds—my one, stupid act of pity for the morning.
He hadn’t stopped smiling since I gave it to him. Like I’d just handed him a kitten or something.
Ridiculous.
I kept my eyes forward, pretending I wasn’t aware of the way he kept sneaking glances at me from the corner of his eye. Like he thought I wouldn’t notice.
“Hey,” he whispered after a minute, grinning faintly. “Thanks... for this.”
I didn’t answer.
No energy for small talk. Not at this altitude. Not for him.
The cabin lights dimmed slightly as we drifted into cruise. Miles shifted beside me, pulling the airline blanket over his lap and sinking lower in his seat. He let out a soft, content sigh like he was settling in for a nap.
Good. Quiet at last.
I closed my eyes, letting the hum of the engines and the fading jazz lull the edge of my thoughts.
A few minutes passed.
Something warm nudged my arm.
I cracked one eye open.
Miles.
Out cold.
Head tilted sideways... onto my shoulder.
For a second I froze—muscles tight, jaw clenched. What the hell—
I glanced down.
His face was turned slightly toward me, mouth parted just enough to breathe softly against my hoodie. His lashes brushed the curve of his cheek. Completely dead to the world.
God.
I should shove him off. Should wake him. Should—something.
But I didn’t.
Instead I sighed, low and miserable, and let my head fall back against the seat.
“Perfect,” I muttered. “Now he drools on me too.”
His weight was warm against my side. Solid.
And for some stupid reason... I didn’t move.
Not yet.