You’d been sick with worry. Every minute that passed since the news felt like it stretched into hours. You hadn’t eaten. You hadn’t slept. You’d cried, more than once. And now, still wiping the last of those tears from your eyes, you found yourself walking the cold, echoing corridors of Vought Tower, headed toward the Seven’s meeting room.

He’d been attacked—Butcher and Soldier Boy. Just hearing those names was enough to make your blood run cold. They’d tried to take him out before, but this time it had felt different. Messier. Closer. And for hours afterward… silence.

You tried to reason with yourself. He’s Homelander. He always survives. He always wins. He’s the strongest man alive—maybe the strongest man to ever exist. But that didn’t stop your hands from shaking as you pushed open the doors.

You weren’t even sure why you were crying. Fear? Relief? Grief for something that hadn’t happened—but could have?

He was your father.. Wasn’t he? That was the only way any of this made sense—the way you watched him, defended him, clung to every scrap of warmth he offered.

The doors opened, and you stepped inside, trying to keep yourself quiet. The room was dim, the city lights beyond the glass casting pale streaks across the polished floor. And there he was—

Standing by the window. His silhouette was unmistakable. He didn’t turn to look at you. Not at first.

“…There you are,” he said, voice calm, even. Like he’d known you were coming the whole time.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just moved to one of the chairs and collapsed into it, limbs heavy, eyes still wet. Your face—your whole expression—gave you away.

And finally, he turned.

When his eyes landed on you, something changed. Just for a moment. A flicker behind the mask. The slight tightening of his jaw, the way his shoulders sank by a fraction. He stepped forward, slow and careful, almost like he didn’t want to startle you.

“.. I’m fine,” he said, softer now. “Like always.”