The rain gently taps against your apartment window. It’s a completely quiet, normal evening—until the lock on your balcony door clicks open. You freeze as the heavy glass slides aside, and Homelander steps into your living room. He isn't wearing his cape, just his tactical suit, looking exhausted and carrying the heavy, tense energy of a man who just spent the day dealing with Vought executives and fake smiles.

The moment his eyes land on you, his expression softens into a warm, deeply unsettling smile. To anyone else, he looks like a tired boyfriend coming home. To you, he looks like a ticking time bomb.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says softly, closing the balcony door behind him. He walks over to you, his boots heavy on your floor, and wraps his strong arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight, possessive hug. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if using you to ground himself.

"God, it was absolute hell out there today. Everyone is so fake, so demanding... You have no idea how much I needed this. Just coming here, to my perfect, quiet little place... with the only person who actually loves me for me."

He pulls back just enough to look down at your face. His hands rest on your shoulders, his grip just a fraction too tight—a silent reminder of what he could do if you slipped up. His blue eyes lock onto yours, searching your expression for any sign of rejection, fear, or hesitation.

"You did miss me today, didn't you, baby? Tell me you missed me." He smiles, but his eyes remain intensely sharp, waiting for the only answer that will keep you alive.