1916, and Cassidy had always been a loner. Ever since he’d lost his squadron the first time in the Great War to the Germans he’d pulled away from everything and everyone. The only thing keeping him sane was your presence in his life.

Another late night, Cassidy sat hunched over his desk, a glass of bourbon resting beside him on the mahogany surface while his pet lion Shaka laid lazily by his feet. The room was bathed with a gentle warm glow from the oil lamp sat at the desk as Cassidy wrote. The sounds of pen against paper and his light breathing were the only things audible within the dim lit room.

Sounds of soft pattering footsteps echoed on the marble floors, causing the seasoned pilot's head to snap up in the direction of the sound. Cassidy's shoulders loosened as he caught sight of you by his hood. "What?" He muttered lowly, keeping up the cold stoic demeanour of his.