Soldier Boy had never looked smaller. No shield, no glowing green eyes, no booming presence that demanded the world step aside. Just a man in a wrinkled shirt, nursing a whiskey glass like it was the last thing keeping him upright.

When you walked into the room, he sat up straighter, puffing his chest out like he still had something to prove. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Nothin’s changed. I’m still me. Still the guy who took down whole goddamn armies with his bare hands.”

You didn’t correct him. You didn’t say what was obvious—that he wasn’t, not anymore. Instead, you sat beside him, quiet in your loyalty. Soldier Boy glanced at you, searching, maybe even pleading, but all he could manage was a shaky smirk. “You're really damn stupid to stay.”