Chapter Text
The wind whistles in his ears as he soars over Hong Kong, or wherever the fuck this is in China. He’s pretty sure it’s China, at least. He hasn’t been keeping track, really. Just doing loops around the globe. The skyscrapers down there — specks, really — look hypermodern, and faintly down below, he can hear Mandarin. Maybe it isn’t Mandarin. Cantonese. Something. He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.
He’s just trying to get the memory of Starlight’s lips on his out of his mind. It’s stupid. It shouldn’t be affecting him this much. Who is she, anyway?
That little voice in the back of his head whispers, Everything. Because you’re losing your grip.
Homelander grits his teeth. He is, isn’t he? How did this get so out of control? This was just supposed to level the playing field, to secure his image, to tie them together so that she couldn’t blow up his career without ruining her own as well. Friends close, enemies closer. And now—
She doesn’t even want you, tiger. She can’t. You heard her say it. She thinks you’re a monster.
Well, he thinks back, the context in that moment was pretty important.
Was it?
“Yes,” he whispers aloud. “No. Yes.”
His imaginary friend frowns in his mind's eye, flying beside him, now. Overactive imagination, that’s what Vougelbam called it. Maladaptive daydreaming.
Are you sure about that, buddy? he says. She’s practically sworn an oath to kill you.
“No, she wasn’t trying to kill me. That was a misunderstanding.”
You believe that? Really? Come on. You’re smarter than that.
Homelander clenches his teeth together. The city disappears from view. The sun is sinking below the horizon line, a blistering coral color through the smog.
“Look,” he says. “I know it was just adrenaline, okay? I know she got carried away because-because I was being indulgent. And I—“
So you agree that you’re losing control.
Homelander doesn’t respond. He flies faster as if he can out pace the voice in his head.
You’re making another person the center of your universe again. You promised you’d never let that happen. But here you are. Begging for scraps. Hoping she’ll let you back in her bed like a dog wrapped around a post. It’s pathetic.
His eyes sting. A lump forms in his throat. Holding her felt like trying to keep sand from slipping between his fingers. But God, soaking up the warmth of her body beside his—
If you were a real man, you would’ve taken what’s yours. Fucked her until she saw things the right way. Instead, you just laid there like a pussy—
“Stop,” he snaps. “Shut the fuck up.”
She should be eating out of your hand, not the other way around. You’re The Homelander. She should be—
“I said, stop.” He halts mid-air, hovering over the endless dark ocean. His fists clench, but his lips tremble. “I didn’t fuck her because I don’t want to. It's that simple.”
Liar.
If only he could hide his feelings from himself.
“Fine,” he says, looking away at nothing in particular. “Yeah. Obviously, I want to. But I know better than that. I have self control. And—“ His voice catches in his throat. Embarrassing. “I’m not an idiot. She only wants me sometimes. And we're not compatible." He swallows. "She's-she's weak." The strangled gurgle Deep's gills made comes back to him, the surge of pride so strong, he felt giddy all evening. Until. "It’s not happening."
She’s afraid.
His jaw spasms. Madelyn’s face flashes through his head. “Yes.”
Of how much she wants you.
His heart jumps in his chest. A pitiful, painful spasm of hope. “Wh—“ Homelander scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus. No.”
Yes. That’s why she keeps running.
He remembers how Starlight trembled against him, her small frame buzzing like a live wire. It made the spit in his mouth feel electrified, and made his teeth buzz. And God, when she slipped her hand down—
“No,” he says firmly. “See, this-this is the kind of bad advice that gets me in trouble. You're really giving me mixed messages, pal.” Of course, he's aware his own contradictory feelings are what's making his subconscious's advice so scattered. He swore to himself that he'd never let himself fall for anyone again, that he'd emotionally castrate himself, that he'd tear out the sniveling, needy part of himself like a bad tooth. And yet.
His double frowns in his mind’s eye. Well, sport. You know what they say. If you love something, let it go. If it doesn’t come back, it wasn’t meant to be.
There’s an unmistakable mocking lilt to the words, but they strike something in him like a physical blow to the chest. He couldn't handle her not coming back. Better to not risk it to begin with, right?
Homelander rolls his eyes, trying to seem unfazed. His cape snaps in the breeze behind him. A long moment later, he says, “It’ll make things too complicated. We’re too busy. There’s bigger fish. We need to focus on catching this guy.”
For her approval.
“For my career,” he hisses. God, if only he could throttle his own imagination. He feels a strange, rare stab of guilt for the thought. This stupid disembodied voice — it’s the only friend he's ever had. The only one who’s always been there for him, no matter what. Homelander blows out a breath. “I know you’re just looking out for me. This isn’t like Madelyn or Stormfront. We’re just— We’re friends. Okay?”