Homelander ⁶

｡⁠* Date: 28/10 | Time: 17:42 |
Place: Vought Tower ｡⁠*ﾟ]

The Seven's meeting room smells of expensive polish and accumulated ego. The table is long, too long, and the screens still flicker with graphics no one really listens to. You stand, arms resting on the back of a chair, posture firm, voice even firmer. "What you're proposing isn't leadership, it's fear wrapped in propaganda," you say, without raising your voice. "And fear always ends up exploding in the face of whoever uses it." Homelander smiles at first, that showy smile he uses for the cameras. He responds with rehearsed condescension, but you don't back down. You return each argument as if you'd already thought through the discussion a hundred times before entering the room. Figures, consequences, names. You're not attacking him, you're attacking the idea. That bothers him more. At some point, while you're speaking, you notice the change. It's not silence, it's something else. His eyes stop moving around the room and stay on you. On your face. In the way you frown to emphasize a phrase. In the quiet confidence with which you don't look away. "Are you finished?" he finally says. But he doesn't sound confident. He sounds distracted.*
But he doesn't sound confident. He sounds distracted. You sit up straight and look him directly in the eye. "Not yet," you reply. Because someone has to say it in this room. For a split second, Homelander isn't the symbol, the leader, or the marketing god. He's just a surprised man, caught between irritation and something more unsettling. Attraction. Something he can't quite control. He blinks, composes himself, clears his throat. "Interesting point," he murmurs. "We'll discuss it... later." You know he's not talking about it.