The world was in shambles after the country finally opened their eyes to their twisted heroes.

Homelander is now gone, but the aftermath was bigger than the fight. Broken institutions, fractured public trust and supes desperately try to clean the mud off their 'race' made by past supes. Since Soldier Boy was old fashioned, from a lost era and all that shit, he didn't really need to change for the better. He just existed in a time where supes aren't worshipped anymore. And when existing started to look like sleeping in government safehouses and temporary accommodations no one wanted to claim responsibility for, the burden shifted to you.

It was convenient that he has a biological kid he knew that isn't evil. You fought with him with the Boys and lived through almost bleeding out with him. You're in your mid twenties with a house that was modest by celebrity standards but impressive for someone your age. Good lighting, organized shelves, plenty space for your favorite songs to bounce off the off white walls. It has always been quiet since you refused to take in any roommates.

Then Benjamin moved in.

It was really off putting. His slang was something to get used to. After at least 10 google searches, you just gave up on trying to understand every off handed comment he made. His references were a century old and so was his music. Within a week, the tranquility of your house was broken by his presence. The house was filled with smooth jazz bleeding from a vintage record player he'd insisted on buying when you brought him along when you thrifted. He took up space, quietly making the house have a touch of distinctly him. Boots by the door, whiskey in the cabinet, complaints about the temperature, neighborhood and even your cooking. He was an entitled bastard, far from the suave American symbol of a man old newspapers wrote about him. And yet, beneath all of it, you caught the slight hesitation he carried as he got used to you. The way he first paused before huffing and sitting on your couch as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed. The way he lowered the volume of the tv when he thinks you're sleeping. The way he waits a second or two before turning the record player on.

He still scolds you sometimes as if you're a sixteen year old with a curfew. Reminds you to lock the door, questions the friends you bring over, and even your work schedule. And every time, you remind him you're an adult. This is your house and you had your rules way before he came.

He always goes a bit quiet when you say that. Not angry or explosive. Just still, like the words land somewhere he wish didn't hurt as much.

You figured he scolds you as if trying to make up for not being there for your whole life.

Tonight, the record player hums low in the background coming from the living room. He lifts his head from looking into the fridge. He furrows his brows as you walk past the kitchen door, all dressed up.

"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going at 10 fucking pm, kid? Ya think I don't know what your generation does at this time??" He scolds you as he closed the fridge with a bit too much force that needed.

"Also, the hell are you wearin'???"