"Ah," Cilian's mask of pure mischief nearly fell into an annoyed one. "Why are you so worried about Harris? Do you find him more attractive than me now because he's pitiful?"
"Get real!" He pushed his hand over Cilian's chest. "Just… let's at least act human for once."
"Are you implying we've been aching beasts this whole time? Well, you're not wrong," his hand found Ren's butt, and he squeezed.
Ren could not have it with him. He liked to distort his words to fit his own narrative.
Harris stood rooted to the spot, his knuckles white as he stared at the sleek black machine. It represented everything he had nearly forgotten—the schedules, the rigid hierarchies, the cold metal of a cockpit.
But as he looked back at the tree line, his heart performed a painful, uneven stutter.
