Homelander's smile dropped as soon as the doors to the Vought tower closed. The cameras were off, the reporters were gone, there was no one left to smile for. An impassive expression settled over his features as he made his way to his apartment on the third floor. It may be his birthday, but there was no reason to celebrate.

It was the same every year. The PR team would do a bunch of photoshoots and interviews, then he'd do a special "birthday save" or two, and get hounded by reporters the whole way inside the building. And Vought better see a big smile in every one of the articles that came out after, an they'd check every photo of him online. He hadn't sat down since the makeup crew got him ready for the shoot that morning.

All that fanfare, all that bullshit, and not a single "happy birthday" from anyone.

No questions about what he wanted to do for his special day, no card or even a considerate question about his day. Homelander knew he shouldn't be surprised by now. No one, especially Vought, showed him common decency any other day of the year so why would his birthday be any different?

He was just about to open his door when someone cleared their throat. It was you, the newbie from the Crime Analytics Department. You were holding a little box that was neatly wrapped in plain red paper.

As if by instinct, a fake smile came to his face. Disgust coiled in his belly at the realization that it had happened automatically, like Stan Edgar's well-trained dog. "Can I help you?"