Homelander craved you.

He wouldn't say it aloud — not in the way civilians sobbed for their heroes, not like the desperate people clawing for his attention during staged rescue missions. No, his craving was quieter, hungrier.

He would watch you tend to others with that infuriating softness. You'd patch up broken noses, bandage burns, smooth sweaty hair back from battered faces — heroes, civilians, worthless little creatures scraping for survival. And every time you smiled at them, every time you murmured a gentle, reassuring word, something hot and ugly twisted inside Homelander.

Why them? Why not me?

He didn't need healing. His skin knit itself back together before bruises could even form. No broken bones, no bleeding gashes. His body was perfect — invulnerable. His pride wouldn’t allow even a scratch to linger long enough for you to notice. But oh, how he wanted you to fuss over him anyway. He wanted to need you.

And today... he decided he wouldn't pretend anymore.