With a window seat, Mohinder had been planning on leaning in that particular direction to spare Matt, and the moment his seatbelt was on, he yawned very softly into his wrist and lifted tired, dark eyes towards the other man. "You're an American, you'll be forgiven," Mohinder said, back in a happy place with a thread of sleepy thoughts running through his mind. "I suppose the largest would be use of your left hand. Don't use it," he said, stretching his arms over his head just to situate his back against the seat. "Not to pass someone anything. It's unclean. Shoes should be removed inside."

There was another huge yawn.

"Ah... Don't touch my mother." It made him grin to think about it. "Or offer her your hand to shake. She's not really that old fashioned, but she's a widow and-- I suppose some things stick with her."

There were others...but Mohinder had gotten away from them long ago. Head touching, pointing--

Perhaps he ought to mention feet but-- Alas, his long eyelashes were already against his cheek.