"Sweetheart, how could I forget?"
Soldier Boy looked at the expectant woman before him and smiled helplessly.
A month ago, Private Angel had damaged even her life energy to save Black Noir. She could barely walk steadily, and her face had been paler than a corpse in a morgue.
Any normal person who earned such a huge favor from him would have saved it for something that mattered.
They might have asked Soldier Boy to deal with an enemy or handle some troublesome business, making the most of it for their own benefit.
But this woman was different.
She lusted after handsome men.
Back when the First Generation Team was founded, Private Angel had already been utterly captivated by his national-treasure face.
But at the time, his head had been full of war, and with Stormfront watching him, he had had no time for her.
Hearing his answer, Private Angel leaned into his arms and hummed twice in satisfaction.
"Ben, I'm a little hungry. Get me something to eat first," she said softly.
"No problem." Soldier Boy smiled and used his phone to order the staff at the Vought Restaurant to prepare some food.
"Ben, I'm so thirsty." Private Angel blinked.
Soldier Boy stood up. "Wait here. That kid Homelander brought me a jar of good liquor a few days ago. Let's try it."
He strode over to the liquor cabinet and took a coarse earthenware jar from a hidden compartment.
Frenchie's stealing had left him a little paranoid, so he had ordered a hidden compartment built into the liquor cabinet. He kept all his particularly rare liquor there.
"This stuff is older than both of us put together. Supposedly, it was brewed in the 1610s." Soldier Boy set the earthenware jar on the table.
Private Angel's eyes lit up,