“That’s my seat.”
You turn your head towards the voice, a set of dark brown eyes squinting at you.
You give the voice a slow, from-head-to-toe once-over. Dark curls, full lips, trained body. Once you reach the floor, your eyes trail back up. Boots, slacks, uniform top, strong jaw, stubble, silk-like softness, and...
...a cocky smile when the person behind the voice realizes you’re checking him out. Cocky, with deep creases. Deeper in the left cheek than the right.
Your line of sight falls to the insignia on his top and you give him a smile of your own. “That so? Maybe next time be punctual, Cadet.”
He scoffs, crossing his arms at the chest, clinging on to a data-pad in one hand. “I was punctual. You were early. Cadet.” He counters; the last word drawn out like he needs to make you aware that you, too, are a student.
You shrug and don’t budge. In fact, you cross your own arms and slouch into the back of the chair he proclaimed is his seat; feet set with a wider gap as you make yourself like farium. “Not my problem.”
“Everyone, take your seats, please.” The instructor’s voice pulls both your attention to the front of the lecture hall. “Dameron, that means you, too!”
You chuckle when you see the voice -now known to you as Cadet Dameron- turn red at the ears.
“Fine.” He hisses as he manipulates himself into a chair a row up behind you. “Just so you know... tomorrow, I’ll be here early, too. Then it’s on.” He whispers towards you and you chuckle.
“We’ll see, Cadet. We’ll see.”
“Dameron! Stop interrupting my class. In fact, since you seem rather chatty, why don’t you get your ass down here and explain on this board what happens when you go into a 180 before you optimize intake pressure recovery.” The instructor holds a stern expression.
“Thanks a lot.” The young cadet grumbles through gritting teeth and you shrug.
To your surprise, Cadet Dameron explains the repercussions of failing to optimize with ease. He even adds a few other scenarios. A bit of a showoff move, but you actually don’t mind.
This one is smart, you think to yourself as you continue to listen to different scenarios and solutions; noting the wide smile on his face whenever the instructor nods in agreement. A wide and rather dashing smile.
Smart and handsome, you think to yourself; and looking around, it seems, so does the rest of the class, with how they’re fixated on his every word.
“... so, to spiral around the vertical you have to yaw, then stall...”
Your ears perk up. “Sorry but that’s wrong. You gotta yaw and stall simultaneously to send the craft into a vertical spiral.” You shoot out.
All eyes are on you but in that moment only his matter to you. There’s a fraction of //how kriffing dare you interrupt me// on his face before he composes himself to a tall stance. Tall with squared shoulders and arms, yet again, crossed at the chest. “That’s what I said.” His left brow pulls down.
“No, you didn’t. You said yaw, then stall.”
“I’m very sure I said...”
“Cadet [Y/L/N] is right.” The instructor intervenes.
A cough from someone else in the room and Cadet Dameron clenches his jaw staring at you. Second time you’ve gotten to him in less than thirty minutes. But then his posture changes. “Alright. You have to yaw and stall simultaneously. In order to do that you first...” He continues with a self-assured smirk. No more mistakes after that, and he knows.
You know he knows because, on his way back to his chair, he winks at you. And you? You chuckle, again, lightly shaking your head.
Smart and handsome AND cocky.
“Still going to get my seat back.” He whispers when the instructor’s back is turned to you, and you hum a //we’ll see// in response.