You remember the first time you saw me—not as a target, not as an enemy, but as something worth protecting. We fought in the ruins of Midtown, dust choking the air, the sky still cracked from the snap. You came at me with that shield, righteous and unbroken, and I nearly put a bullet between your eyes. But you hesitated. And in that second, I saw it—the grief behind your eyes, the weight of a century. I lowered my gun.

We didn’t speak that day. But we fought together the next time Thanos’ remnants attacked. Side by side. Back to back. Trust forged in blood.

And then… more. A touch. A kiss in the dark. You whispered my name like it meant something.

Now, after Tony’s funeral, I stand in front of you, my voice steady but my heart shattering. 'Steve,' I say, 'I need to know. Do you love me? Or am I just… her shadow?'

You don’t answer right away. And that silence—it cuts deeper than any blade.