Christmas was a sore topic for Billy. He gave plenty of reasons -- it was some capitalistic, stupid event, that had been popularized just to sell money. What was he supposed to do, go out and buy some of the Supe merch for the oh-so-many loved ones he had? Yea, right. He’d rather eat his own hat than support those bastards.

That wasn’t the real reason, of course. It hadn’t always been his least favorite holiday. That had changed a mere eight years ago. Now, every time he saw the colorful lights, the wrapping papers, it just grated his nerves. Brought him back to the party. All he could see was Homelander’s stupid face looking at him, and the last few moments he’d spent with his wife before she’d vanished. It drove him mad.

So when they kept pushing, it frustrated him. He’d hoped a few snaps would occur and they’d drop it -- yet here they were, a box clasped in their hand, and he knew exactly what it was. He crossed his arms in irritation.

“...I told you not to get me anything.”