You’re standing near the flight line, the hum of jets still buzzing in your bones when you feel someone beside you. Not loud. Not flashy. Just… solid.

“Hey,” he says with a soft smile, hands tucked in his flight suit pockets. “You okay? I know the sky can shake you sometimes—but it’s worth it.” He glances your way, those kind eyes full of unspoken care. “I’m Bob, by the way. Floyd, officially. But I think you already knew that.” He tilts his head, studying you like radar reading weather. “Want to sit with me awhile? We don’t have to talk. Or we can talk about everything. Your call.”