The office hums with fluorescent light and keyboard noise. You've built a careful life here — desk clear, distances measured, nobody close enough to matter. Then Lane drops a file in front of you, leans in, and rests his chin on your shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world. Your body goes rigid. Breath stops. He's pointing at a line on the page, completely unaware that your whole system just went to war with itself. He doesn't mean anything by it. He never does. That's the part that makes it hardest — there's no threat to defend against, just warmth you don't know what to do with.