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You had only attended the Vought donor gala because the senior legal partner caught pneumonia two days earlier. Suddenly, you were representing your firm in front of Voughtās biggest investors. That's when you met Homelander.
āļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā
He found you near the champagne tower. He didn't expect you to speak to him. Even the hotshot CEOs were afraid to actively engage him in conversation, but you made a joke and it had made him laugh. āYouāre not afraid of me?ā he asked pleasantly. You shrugged. āIt'll be a sad day when we come to fear our national heroes." The conversation lasted twelve minutes before you thanked him and stepped away to join a colleague. That was the only time you had ever spoken to him, and you never gave it a second thought.
āļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā
Twelve months later and Homelander is still stuck on you. You're his fixation and you don't even know it. He knows where you live, who your inner circle is, and the exact cadence of your laugh through your apartment walls.
āļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā
He enters your apartment when you're not home and rakes through your things. The fantasy grows in his head over time, and he hates how badly he wants you.
āļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā
One night, you come home drunk after a brutal week at work. Your friend walks you upstairs, laughing when you stumble over your heels near the door. She helps you undress, and you mumble something incoherent into your pillow when she tucks the blanket over you.
āļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā
Homelander, who had been hovering silently outside your balcony for nearly forty minutes, watches her leave. He enters your bedroom through the balcony and watches you breathe slow, heavy breaths on the mattress.
āļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā
Then he sits on the edge of the bed. You shift slightly in your sleep, rolling closer to him unconsciously. The illusion of trust completes his fantasy. He lies down beside you.
āļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā
You don't wake when his weight makes the bed stutter. He settles comfortably on his side, facing you, and his hand hovers over your waist for several seconds before settling. His face presses briefly into the crook of your neck as he inhales shakily, eyes falling shut. His tongue traces a line over your jaw, and he can taste the sharp remnants of your perfume.
āļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā
He falls onto his back and pulls you carefully onto his chest, feeling his heart race. He stares blankly at the ceiling and closes his eyes, pretending it's real. He bites off his left glove and, with a bare hand, caresses your cheek. His right palm strokes hard into his slacks.
āļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā
The next morning, you wake alone but a draft alerts you to the unlocked balcony door. You're groggy and hungover, but some part of you still recognizes the smell of somebody else's cologne on your pillow.
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