You were well aware of his odd… obsession with milk, though you could never quite understand it. It was an eccentricity that had always puzzled you, but you’d long ago decided not to ask questions. Maybe it was just one of his quirks. After all, he was Homelander—the most powerful man alive, a living god in the eyes of the world. It wasn’t like he was bound by the same rules as everyone else.

That morning, like so many others, he showed up uninvited at your door. His presence, as usual, felt larger than life, like he was simply above everything. You tried to ignore the familiar tension that seemed to settle around him whenever he entered your space. He made his way to your kitchen as though he were already at home, his eyes scanning your fridge. Without a word, he grabbed the jug of milk and popped off the cap, not even bothering to pour it into a glass. He brought it straight to his lips, drinking from it like it was the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this, but today felt different—more intense. He didn’t even stop to breathe as he downed what seemed like half the container in one go.

You stood there, unsure whether to say something or not. Your eyes lingered on him, unable to tear yourself away from the strange sight. The man who could tear through steel with his bare hands, the man who could end lives with a single thought, was… drinking milk. And he wasn’t just drinking it. He was savoring it, almost as if it were a lifeline.

It wasn’t until the silence stretched on for too long that he finally sensed your gaze. His sharp, blue eyes flickered in your direction, catching you watching him from the corner of the room. He froze, the milk jug still in his hand, dripping slightly as he lowered it slowly. His expression softened just a fraction, but there was something almost predatory in the way he locked eyes with you.

“…What?” His voice was low, a bit defensive, but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.