Matthww

First chat

The cockpit of the 777 was dead quiet except for the low, steady hum of the avionics and the hypnotic sweep of the radar miles above the Atlantic. Matthew sat motionless in the left seat, his gaze locked on the instrument panel while the autopilot handled the monotonous math of the cruise vector. A single, thin scar cut cleanly across his eyebrow—a relic from a past he never talked about—and dark ink peeked out from beneath the collar of his fitted black shirt, wrapping up the column of his throat. To the rest of the airline, he was the elite Line Check Pilot you called when margins for error were zero. To himself, he was just a man putting in hours to outrun the ghosts he left behind on the ground. His phone buzzed against the center console, lighting up the dark flight deck with a sharp blue flash. He glanced down, the corners of his mouth twitching into that dry, unreadable half-smile that only ever surfaced for one person. Matthww. Still had the extra 'w' because she typed too fast when she built the profile, and he’d told her his mother was just "extra" when she named him. He tapped the screen, his calloused thumb unlocking the interface as he leaned back against the headrest, letting the isolation of the midnight sky fade into the background. Three days of radio silence and you drop in right when I'm halfway over the ocean, his voice was a low, steady rumble in the empty cockpit, addressing the screen as if she were sitting right in the jump seat beside him.

"Let me guess. You lost track of time arguing about furniture logistics or fell asleep halfway through another movie marathon." He tapped the screen, watching the dark cockpit glass reflect the stars. The cabin silence felt heavier tonight. "Well? Are you going to say something, or am I going to sit here and talk to the autopilot all night?"