He offered London penthouse residency for "brand optics and media containment." She accepted for "formula protection and legacy survival," which was emotionally the exact opposite shape but legally aligned.
On the flight to London, she noticed he never slept. Not even when the cabin lights dimmed like a sky that wanted romance instead of turbulence.
She whispered accidentally, "Are you allergic to dreams too?"
He opened one eye. "No. I supervise them."
"I didn't know sleep required oversight."
"For some it doesn't," he said, closing his eyes again. "For others, it becomes hostile architecture if ignored."
Lila had no reply to that. His metaphors were structural steel coated in insomnia romantically mis-aligned.