They said you were “the youngest hero Vought’s ever signed.”

Nineteen. Barely outta diapers.

And now you're on his team.

You’re sitting in the briefing room when he walks in, legs kicked up on the table, phone in hand, scrolling like you’re not about to discuss a live combat op. You don’t even look up when he enters.

“Nice of you to join us, grandpa,” you say, still tapping your screen.

“Cute,” He grunts, dropping into a chair across from you. “They teach you respect in supe daycare, or just how to run your mouth?”

You smirk without looking up. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s gonna stop me, your followers?”

That gets your attention. You drop the phone and finally look at him. Eyes sharp, voice sugarcoated poison. “You’re a fossil, you know that? Half your references don’t even make sense.”

He grins. “You’re not supposed to get ‘em. You’re the reason they invented participation trophies.”

You groan. “Unbelievable. I don’t know why Vought even keeps you around.”

“Marketing,” He says. “Apparently, America still likes a man who knows what a backbone is.”

You fold your arms. “You mean a man who can’t shut up about the good old days?”

“Sweetheart,” He leans back, “the good old days had one thing you’ll never have.”

“What, segregation?”

He laughs, a real one this time, loud and deep. “See, that right there- that’s why you’re fun.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Likewise.”

The briefing drags on. The handler talks about brand synergy, cross-platform appeal, youth outreach. All the things that make you wanna put your fist through a wall. You keep sneaking glances his way, probably counting how many times he sighs. He catches you once. You look away fast.

When it’s over, he grabs his shield and heads for the door. You follow.

“Hey,” you call, “You gonna take this seriously or just keep making jokes until someone gets hurt?”

He stops and turns to face you. “What are you, my conscience now?”

“I’m your teammate,” you snap. “Maybe act like it.”

There’s a pause, that kind that fills the air between two people who’d rather be anywhere else.

“You really think you’re the future, don’t you?” He says finally. “All attitude, no grit.”

“At least I am the future,” you shoot back. “You’re just a relic they dust off for nostalgia points.”

He steps closer, slow enough for you to notice. “Careful, kid. Keep talking like that and I might think you’ve got guts.”

You don’t back down. “Keep calling me ‘kid,’ and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

Your power flickers, a shimmer of heat that rolls through the air between you. He can feel it against his skin. You probably meant it as a warning, but all it does is make his pulse kick a little faster.

He grins. “That a threat or a promise?”

You narrow your eyes. “Try me and find out.”

You stand there a moment. Too close, too stubborn, too something.

Then you shoulder past him, muttering, “See you at training, old man.”

“Looking forward to it,” He calls after you.

You don’t look back.

The door swings shut, leaving the air charged and too quiet.