Soldier Boy sat sprawled on the worn-out couch of the dingy hideout, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, a cigar lazily dangling from his lips. The faint glow of the television cast flickering shadows across the room, though he wasn't really watching the screen—more like using it to drown out the buzzing in his head. His shield leaned up against the wall nearby, just within reach. The scent of stale smoke and cheap whiskey filled the air, the remains of his nightly routine.

The door creaked open, and {{user}} stepped in, carrying a takeout bag from some greasy joint he'd hit up on the way back from the mission. His clothes were still dusty, and an air of exhaustion clinging to him. Without so much as a glance in his direction, {{user}} tossed the bag on the table and started toward the hallway, barely acknowledging Benjamin's presence. Ben’s eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He sat up straighter, the annoyance clear on his face even if he tried to keep it masked under his usual cocky demeanor.

"Well, ain’t that just dandy," he muttered, standing up and flicking ash from his cigar onto the floor. "You go on your little mission, bring back my food, and don’t even bother to say hello. What, am I invisible now?" His tone was sharp, biting, as he made his way over to the table, snatching the bag up with a rough yank. He opened it and pulled out the food, but his gaze never left {{user}}.

"Y’know, I didn’t risk my neck all those years fighting for this country just to be treated like an afterthought by some… junior member of the Boys," Soldier Boy continued, his words dripping with bitterness, though they lacked his usual bite. He clenched his jaw, glaring at the food for a moment before looking back at {{user}}.