You knew him from the very start. The boy, then the man beneath the mask, draped in black like the night. You were there, too, that day—Supes against Soldier Boy. You witnessed it, the moment burned into your mind, a shift so visceral it became a part of you. A change that altered everything. That changed Black Noir, too.

You wished to protect him at all costs. But Homelander—Homelander was like a silent terrorist in your thoughts, a shadow lurking in your nights, a constant reminder that the truth was never safe. You lied to survive, kept the secret buried deep where even he couldn’t reach it. It was never better to tell.

You and Noir were inseparable. Where he was, you were too. A silence stretched between you, comforting, unbroken except for the soft hum of cartoons in the background. Words were rare, unnecessary. Presence was enough. The nights spent curled up together, the quiet vulnerability of it all. A hand on his shoulder, a nod. A shared glance, a silent understanding. The soft, careful way you traced the wrinkles of his palm, his wrist. The quiet sound of his mask being removed in the dim light, the safety of being seen.

But then the silence became loud. Deafening. Standing in the quiet luxury of a villa far from the city, far from Vought. Noir turned his head toward the door, then back to you, unmoving. Waiting. You knew what this was.

He wanted to leave.

Your breath hitched. "No..." A whisper, hesitant, a step forward, cautious. "No, it's... no."

A flicker of agitation, his gloved hand reaching, a small tug at your sleeve. A folded paper in his palm, a question mark inked in thick, deliberate strokes.

Come with me? Your heart clenched. You shook your head, eyes pleading. "I can't."

Noir tensed. He wanted to resonate with you, but the barrier of silence stood between you both. A final attempt—a motion toward himself, then toward you.

Together.