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Capheus never gets tired of looking at clouds. He stares raptly at the fluffy bundles below that blanket the sky. He almost believes that were he to jump he would land in a cushion of down, like cotton wool. Above the cotton wool is thinner, colder looking, drifting past like a dense mist. He imagines falling through them, falling forever.

Dani has earbuds in. She’s flicking through a glossy magazine. Lito is reading a script, murmuring lines to himself over and over, trying out inflections. Capheus knows Lito is aware of his presence, that sense of oneness they share when they visit. When Hernandez gets up to go to the bathroom, Lito flicks a quick glance at the oblivious Dani and murmurs Capheus’s name, an acknowledgement. They haven’t spoken one-on-one before - there’s been no reason to, and this thing is still so new. But Lito’s been aware of Capheus on the sidelines on set when he’s filming. Capheus’s bright, marvelling gaze and the joy and amazement emanating from him inevitably lift Lito’s own spirits. He always has more energy on those days. Capheus’s wonder is catching, reminding Lito of the excitement reminiscent of his early days in the business, when he first started getting parts, before he made it big and it became something he took for granted.

“This is my first time in first class,” Capheus smiles, relaxing into the empty seat on the other side of the cabin. He’s never actually been on a plane, of course, but he’s travelled with a homesick and wistful Riley, and he’s kept Will company on his frantic flight to Iceland.

This trip is less fraught. “Press that lever,” Lito nods and Capheus does, and his smile widens as the seat reclines into a bed.
“This is the life,” he says, satisfied.