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Summary
“You always come to me—or I guess, ask me to come to you… I didn’t know if I was allowed to start things,” Deep looked away from Homelander's questioning gaze and cleared his throat weakly.
“I—I don’t… that’s not…” Homelander drifted off, mind wandering back over the past months he had spent with Deep. Low and behold, Deep was right.
It was always him turning to the weaker man. Never once had Deep initiated any of the time they spent together. It was a chilling realization, to think he—the Homelander—had been seeking out all the affection. Others were supposed to come to him, crawl to him—but somehow the roles were reversed. He always went running to Deep. Homelander wanted to be angry over this epiphany, but strangely he wasn't. It was… oddly comforting to think that he had found something—someone—that he could go to unwaveringly. He had never had that, at least not without it being inspired by fear of death.
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