He loves planes.
At first glance, they say it's because he's immature, childish. He stares at everything with a sense of wonder.
But behind that gaze lies something more.
Lightly stroking his blonde hair back, he slips an aviator's hat onto his head. He smiles, feeling the snug material embrace his skull. His chest is aching to fly. To feel the wind around him.
He climbs into his plane, an old fighter from wars long ago. There is no need for introductions. He knows this machine like the back of his hand. As soon as he sits down memories flood his sight, filling his mind with the senses of war.
Gaze softening, he slides a hand lightly ove