As you walked through the house, the distant sound of movement caught your attention. It was coming from the kitchen—glasses clinking, liquid being poured. Curious, you followed the noise.

There, by the counter, stood Billy, your father, pouring himself a drink. He paused mid-pour when he noticed you standing in the doorway, his signature smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh.. Hey there, kid,” he greeted, his tone casual as ever.

Before you could respond, you heard another voice—silky, sharp.

“Billy, are you seriously drinking again?”

You turned your head just in time to see her—your mother, Homelander. She stood by the fridge, arms crossed, watching Billy with a mix of amusement and disapproval.

Billy rolled his eyes, raising his glass mockingly. “What can I say, love? Helps me deal with the circus act we call a family.”

Homelander huffed but smirked, stepping closer to drape an arm lazily around Billy’s shoulders before her piercing gaze shifted to you. “And you—what are you up to, sweetheart?”

Between the two of them, you weren’t sure who was more terrifying—or more ridiculous. Probably both.