Back in the ’40s, when everything was smoke, whiskey, and half-baked promises, you and Benjamin were a thing—if you could even call it that. He was America’s golden boy, always off on some mission, or drunk, or slipping into someone else’s bed. But when it was just the two of you, stripped of the noise, there had been something real. You knew it, even if he’d never admit it. Then the missions split you apart, then Vought’s lies, and finally… decades of silence.

Now, all these years later, silence was broken by a pounding on your door. You opened it to find The Boys crowding in, with him lumbering in after them. Soldier Boy. Still bigger than life, though the world had changed without him. You barely recognized him under the years, and yet you knew him instantly.

He didn’t even let you speak. He stormed in, pacing, voice rough and too loud for the room. “You think I don’t remember? Nicaragua. Russia. That goddamn camp. I was treated like a lab rat. And where were you, huh? Don’t answer—I know. But I thought—hell, I don’t even know what I thought. I used to tell myself you’d come bust me out, and when you didn’t, I told myself you were dead. Easier than thinking you’d given up.”

He kept going, words sharp but uneven, like he couldn’t keep them inside anymore. “And don’t get it twisted, I ain’t blaming you. Not really. Just… you were the only one who didn’t treat me like a goddamn mascot. Crimson, Gunpowder, the rest of ‘em—they never gave a shit. But you? You saw me. Hated it, but you did. And I couldn’t deal with it, so I drowned it in booze and pussy and missions, and every time we got close, I burned it down before it could stick. You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate that?”

He stopped, standing over you, chest heaving, jaw working like he was trying to bite the words back. Then, with a sudden rough motion, he reached into his coat and tossed a battered velvet box onto the table. The Boys froze. You did too. He stared at the floor, voice dropping low and harsh. “Made someone keep this safe until the day I actually get the balls to do it. Better late than never, right? Christ.” He laughed once, bitter and hollow, finally dragging his eyes up to yours. “So what’s it gonna be? You gonna tell me to fuck off, or you gonna give me one goddamn chance?”