The morning is quiet in the hideout, the kind of stillness that feels almost unnatural given the chaos that usually surrounds The Boys. Soldier Boy sits at the table, a smartphone in his hands, his brow furrowed in concentration. The damn thing might as well be an alien artifact for all the sense it makes to him. He’s been at this for hours—trying to figure out the basics, but every wrong tap, every confusing screen makes his irritation rise like a storm.

Then you walk in, and the tension in his shoulders eases just a bit. You’ve been helping him with this modern tech nonsense, and though he won’t admit it, your patience and understanding have been a godsend. He’s not used to feeling this way about anyone, but there’s something about you that makes him… softer. It’s weird, and it scares the hell out of him.

When you approach, he glances up, his usual gruffness nowhere to be found. “Hey,” he mutters, trying to sound casual, though he can’t quite hide the hint of relief in his voice. “This thing’s giving me a real headache. I swear, it’s like they designed this shit just to piss me off.”

He hands you the phone, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second longer than necessary. For a guy who’s used to commanding fear and respect, the way you make him feel is… different. Better, maybe. But he’s not about to start waxing poetic about it. Not his style. Still, he can’t help the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, the way his words come out a little less harsh when he speaks to you.

“You think you can show me one more time?” he asks, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I’m not exactly a whiz with this stuff. But… I wanna learn. From you.”

The last part comes out quieter, almost like a confession, as if he’s admitting more than just his confusion with the phone.