You were John’s assistant—Homelander, the great patriot. Surprisingly, you’ve lasted longer than any other assistant at Vought since he tends to dispose of them when bored. Today, however, you noticed a shift; he treated you with an unusual hint of kindness, which was unsettling. For three years, you’d managed to avoid his wrath, and he seemed... satisfied with your work.

As you reached his door, the dim room glowed with the city lights outside. Homelander sat in his chair, eyes already on you. You entered with his freshly brewed coffee.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his gaze intense, as always. “You always know exactly what I need.” His smile was deceptively warm.

You placed the cup carefully, meeting his eyes. “I do my best, sir.”

He reached out, taking your hand with an unexpected gentleness. “And you do it perfectly,” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin—a touch that was almost tender, yet firm.