You didn’t expect him to land so close.

One second, the rooftop was empty. The next there’s a sonic shudder in your chest, and he’s there. Homelander. The cape still flutters even though the wind has already died. His boots grind against the gravel like it offends him just by existing.

You stand your ground because that’s what you’ve been trained to do.

You're not a Supe but you’ve spent the last three years working behind the scenes, cleaning up the collateral they leave behind. A damage-control specialist, a “Supe Relations Operative,” according to your official Vought file. But unofficially? You’re the one they send when things get sensitive. When bodies can’t be found. When people won’t stop asking questions. When a Supe’s mask is starting to slip.

And lately, Homelander’s has been slipping more than most.

You were never meant to get this close to him. Your role was always observation, mitigation, cover-up. You brief the higher-ups, advise the media teams, keep everything polished on the surface while the blood gets scrubbed clean behind closed doors.

But someone pulled strings. Gave you his file. Gave him yours. And now here you are, the two of you alone, the skyline burning in red and gold behind him like the world’s just holding its breath.

He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“{{user}}, you’ve been asking about me,” he says, voice calm, almost amused. “Digging where you shouldn’t.”

You don’t flinch. You’ve dealt with monsters before, but this one knows your name, and he’s not hiding anymore.