Soldier Boy never shut up about the glory days. Missions, interviews, stadium tours—the man had a highlight reel for every hour of the day. But now? The war hero was benched, collecting dust in a penthouse too quiet for his liking. Retirement wasn’t sitting well with him, and everyone knew it.

You’d been tasked—maybe foolishly—with trying to ease him into “normal life.” Whatever that meant for the most famous supe in American history. No guns, no missions, no collateral damage. Just… being a man. A painfully handsome man, like if you didn't know any better, you'd let him do you for the rest of his retirement days.

He paced the living room like a caged animal, he's wearing the polo you gifted him last Thanksgiving and the comfy indoor slippers you bought him because he wouldn't stop complaining about how cold the floor was, whiskey in hand at noon. His gaze was intense, his green orbs shining under the afternoon's golden rays. "You think I'm getting old? Be honest."