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The cabin lights are a dim, artificial twilight. It is a calculated gloom that feels increasingly stifling. The silk of the sleep mask is a dry, annoying weight against Adrian’s forehead. He shifts the noise-canceling headphones, trying to find a seal that actually works, but the technology is useless against the vibration of the engines. It is a low-frequency thrum pulsing through the floorboards and settling into his bones like a fever.
He is a cocoon of linen and excessive legroom, but the stillness is a thin veil over the memory currently breaking through his defenses.
It isn't the fear of the mugging that sticks. Instead, it is the sharp, metallic tang in the back of his throat and the way the humid Rio air seemed to crystallize when the men stepped out of the shadows. Adrian watches, frozen in his mind’s eye, as the soft-spoken man he’d just had dinner with simply changes. Danny’s eyes went flat. His posture settled into something terrifyingly efficient. The scrape of a shoe on pavement sounds different when it is followed by that kind of lethal precision. It was the first time Adrian saw what Danny is actually capable of, and the sight left him breathless—a jagged mixture of shock and a dark, unexpected heat that hasn’t cooled in the months since.
A shadow detaches itself from the galley curtain. The flight attendant leans in, her voice raspy from the dry air, a faint smudge of copper lipstick on one of her front teeth.
"Would you like some fresh tea, Mr. Niven? Another chamomile to help you rest?"
Adrian slides the headphones down around his neck. He looks at the cold residue in his glass. "Please," he murmurs.
As the flight attendant retreats with his old glass, Adrian’s gaze drifts to the leather kit tucked into the side pocket of his carry-on. He knows exactly what’s in there. He could end this vigil in ten minutes. A Xanax would kill the sharp, metallic phantom of that Rio adrenaline; an Ambien would simply turn out the lights and fast-forward the next four hours. He even has a tin of gummies: the heavy, sedative kind that feel like being wrapped in thick wool.
He plays the options over in his mind, but his hand stays clamped to the armrest. If he takes the Ambien, he’ll arrive at Galeão with a brain made of wet cardboard and might not even remember it. If he takes the Xanax, the electric edge of anticipation humming in his blood will be muffled, reduced to a dull, manageable thrum.
He can't afford to be manageable. Not with Daniel. Danny notices every missed beat and every slowed reaction. Adrian refuses to meet the one man who sees through his performances in a chemical haze. He’d rather suffer the jet lag than show up late to his own senses.
He pulls the sleep mask back down, plunging the cabin into artificial darkness. The phantom dip in the mattress returns. He feels the weight of Danny sitting on the edge of the bed in that hotel room after the walk back. They eventually shared the space because the energy between them was too magnetic to leave in separate rooms, though there was no sex. There was only the terrifyingly intimate awareness of Danny’s breathing and the memory of those steady, lethal hands resting just inches away in the dark. The longing is what stands out in his mind.
The steam from the fresh tea curls into the dim light. Adrian thanks the attendant with a nod while the heat of the glass seeps into his palm. It smells nothing like the deep, rich coffee Danny sent up to the room that first morning, a thoughtful addition to his somewhat terse note about having to leave early for work. It signaled the start of that week wandering Santa Teresa, where Adrian followed him through the city like a man who had finally found something worth watching.
He rolls onto his side, dragging the blanket higher and settling the headphones back over his ears. Sleep is a lost cause, a casualty of a memory stickier than the recycled cabin air. He pictures Danny in that room right now, pacing with that restless, kinetic energy, checking the time and pretending he isn't waiting to see if Adrian is still under his spell.
A quiet, huffed laugh escapes him. Daniel worries far too much about that. Adrian has never pretended for a moment he's not smitten and that's the truth of it. He leans his head back and closes his eyes. Behind the silk mask, the balcony door in Rio slides open, and Daniel turns at the sound.
Adrian pushes the mask up once more and checks his watch. Still hours to go.
@Danny Hernández ⋆☕︎ ˖