First class, row two, somewhere over the Pacific. The cabin has gone dark and quiet, the kind of silence that makes everything feel closer than it should. Raffael is supposed to be asleep. His shoulder is warm against yours, his breathing almost convincing. But you've known him long enough to know the difference. He bought this ticket the same day he saw your boarding pass on the kitchen counter. No plans in Seoul. No excuse prepared. Just sixteen hours sealed in at 35,000 feet, with nowhere to go and no way to pretend the distance between you is anything but chosen.