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Importance

a/n i don't even feel the need to justify my taste in evil men anymore lmao, here's a drabble as i try to figure homelander's 'voice' :))

Summary: Homelander begins to reflect on your sort of friendship when you come over to watch a scary movie.

Warnings/info: me writing for a character for the first time so pls be nice

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Humanity's connection to fear has always been a subject of fleeting interest to him, a concept that's only occasionally managed to become more than a shift of hormones and heart rate.

Now, though, with your legs pulled beneath you on his couch, body angled towards him, yet eyes still glued to the screen, Homelander can't believe he's never given this kind of adrenaline a second thought.

"You okay?"

The question seems to bring you back, your head turning towards him. "Yeah." What the response lacks in certainty, it makes up for in determination. He can see it in your soft nod, in the way your fingers press into your knees.

The nerves you're doing your very best to hide are so different from your usual demeanor. An investigative journalist who's always running headfirst into danger, who never lets fear of retaliation get in the way of your writing, can't get through a scary movie. It's such a prevalent dichotomy, Homelander has to work at keeping himself neutral, at remaining focused on what's in front of--

"Stop," you mumble, the word far from harsh.

He lifts a shoulder in a partial shrug without removing his arm from the back of the couch. "Stop what?"

You tilt your chin downwards, your lips pulled into the start of a pout as you attempt a glare. The expression is so particularly you, it briefly seizes some remote, unnamed aspect of his being that lives deep inside of his chest. "Stop making fun of me--I told you, horror movies make me so jumpy, none of my other friends will watch them with me anymore."

Other friends. The reminder of the others that get to be recipients of your kind smiles and reassuring glances is usually enough to taint his mood, but there's a warmth to the phrase that redeems the sentiment entirely. He's more than a friend, he's the only one that's here for you.

Homelander straightens slightly, arm shifting forward until his fingertips are against your shoulder. For the briefest second, there's an increase in your general tension, a stillness that doesn't suit you. The implication of tension digs at him--he's been this close to you before, closer even.

Before the thought of rejection can fully latch onto him, you're easing, spine relaxing against the couch's cushioning. The new position is enough encouragement for him to continue, his palm coming to rest against the fabric of your shirt, the loose collar letting the side of his hand feel the warmth of your bare collarbone.

He remains steady, leaning into what he knows as he offers you one of his more subtle, yet openly heroic smiles. It's the kind of look he'd use to comfort an almost-victim, the gentle curve of his lips a silent promise. I'm here. You're okay now.

You watch him in that way of yours--eyebrows drawn together and eyes bright yet not exactly admiring in the way that he's accustomed to. His inability to understand that particular look is what drew him to you in the first place.

"I'm not making fun of you," he says, voice leaving no room for argument, "I'm just making sure you're okay. It's why you wanted to watch this with me, right?"

It's not so much an exaggeration as it is a stretching of context. You had mentioned wanting to watch the movie, but not loving the idea of watching it by yourself. You hadn't meant anything by mentioning it during your coffee shop catch up, you never do. Your words are usually free of both probing and placating subtext.

"I wanted to watch this with you because we're friends." There's a genuineness to the correction that jabs at him. He has no response, but you don't seem to mind the silence.

A high pitched scream and a flash of color has your attention drifting towards the screen. Your adrenaline spikes, a fact you attempt to dismiss by leaning into his touch. "It's nice of you to check in, though."

The acceptance leaves him feeling a little warmer than he did a moment ago. You have a way of doing that. "It's what I'm here for."

You look away from the screen, the corner of your mouth tugging itself upwards. "All in a day's work for America's favorite hero."

"This is top priority."

You let out a breath that feels like more of a laugh. "I feel important."

The movie steals your focus, a fact that a part of Homelander is grateful for. You're too distracted to think of what contemplating your value might do to him. He swallows, a pointed dismissal of the uncomfortable feelings probing at his chest.

You move slowly, legs straightening and feet finding the floor. Before Homelander can overthink the changes, you lean towards him, your head coming to rest against his shoulder.