“Oi…”

His voice cuts through the silence—low, almost too calm—as he emerges from the shadows like a ghost conjured by bad decisions and worse luck.

He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but when he found out Homelander had a sweet little thing like you—barely more than a kid, fresh-faced and just stepping into adulthood—it didn’t sit right with him. No, it made his blood boil with something dangerously close to concern.

The moment you reached toward the counter, maybe for a knife, maybe for something else, he didn’t flinch. Just smirked.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, love.”

He took a few slow steps forward, leaning casually against the edge of the counter. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Too calm for comfort.

“Yer young. Clean. Got a good head on your shoulders, I’d wager. So tell me—what the fuck are you doin’ shacking up with that blonde cunt? It’s a bloody death sentence.”