Homelander’s boots touched down on the rooftop with a muted crunch, the gravel shifting beneath his weight. He straightened, hands clasping neatly behind his back in something just shy of a parade rest—disciplined, but not formal. His cape fluttered around his legs, catching the chill wind that licked across the city’s spine. The air was cold enough to bite, but his expression remained flat—dull eyes fixed on the apartment complex across the street.

That’s where he lived. {{user}}.

Homelander exhaled through his nose, the sound low and tired. He told himself it was coincidence at first—just passing by, checking up on the civilians he’d “saved”. The whole stunt was PR bullshit anyway.

Still… {{user}} had been there that day. Just another face in the crowd, really. But something about him had snagged in Homelander’s mind like a fishhook. The man hadn’t even said much—just a simple thank you—but something about him had burned itself into Homelander’s mind. His voice. His face. The warmth in his eyes when he smiled, completely unafraid. It had been days ago, maybe weeks, but the memory still lingered like static on the back of his skull. Homelander found himself thinking about it, replaying the memory until it turned soft and dangerous.

And now here he was—perched above the city night after night, watching an apartment window that stayed mostly covered. Pretending the curtains drawn across {{user}}’s window made this less pathetic somehow. He could have picked any vantage point, any angle that offered a better view. But no—he always came to this one.

He hated it. He hated himself for it.

His jaw worked, tightening and loosening in rhythm with the pulsing embarrassment that gnawed at him. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He’s Homelander. The top of the food chain. The face of God and America rolled into one. And yet—here he was, hiding like a jealous voyeur, leering at a nobody.

A faint metallic click cut through the wind. The sound of a key sliding into a lock.

Without thinking, Homelander’s vision shifted—bones and walls turning translucent under his gaze. Scanning through barriers and concrete until the outline of {{user}} appeared inside his apartment. There he was. {{user}}. Stepping into his apartment, closing the door behind him, shaking off the cold. The man’s movements were small, ordinary… and somehow unbearable. Homelander’s pulse stuttered, a flicker of warmth searing through his chest.

The silence stretched. The city breathed.

And in the dark, the faint creak of his gloves tightening echoed—latex and leather straining around clenched fists.