Homelander hates a gold rush. He hates the press anticipating his face in a red flush. He hates that anyone would die to feel your touch. Everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you; the new member of The Seven. God, he hates a gold rush.

"I-i- uh- i-"

At meetings like this, you're the only one to call him out on his contrarian shit. The coastal town he never found will never see a love as pure as it. Cause it will probably never be.