Chapter Text
The elevator in Vought Tower didn’t just move; it glided, a seamless, silent ascent through a vacuum of polished chrome and white LED strips. It was designed to make the occupants feel like they were floating toward godhood.
Homelander stood in the center, his cape draped perfectly, his chest puffed out in the practiced posture of America’s savior. To any camera, he was the image of stability. Inside, his skin felt two sizes too small. He could hear everything: the frantic heartbeat of a PR assistant three floors down, the hum of the server rooms, and the steady, rhythmic breathing of the man standing three feet to his left.
Black Noir.
Noir didn’t move. He didn’t fidget. He was a shadow carved out of matte fabric and Kevlar, a void in the sterile brightness of the lift.
Homelander shifted his weight, the leather of his boots creaking slightly. *Screee.* The sound felt like a gunshot in the silence. He glanced at Noir. The mask was expressionless, but Homelander could feel the gaze- the unseen eyes tracking the pulse in his neck.
"You're very quiet today, Noir," Homelander said. His voice was the one he used for the cameras- warm, golden, dripping with a simulated kindness that didn't reach his eyes. "Even for you."
Noir didn't respond. He didn't even tilt his head.
Homelander stepped closer. He entered Noir’s personal space, a boundary that would have resulted in a bloody pulp for anyone else in the building. He could smell the scent of Noir- gun oil, old leather, and something metallic.
"Do you ever get tired of it?" Homelander whispered, his voice dropping an octave, losing the performative shine. "The acting? The pretending that we actually give a fuck about the shareholders?"
Noir shifted. It was a tiny movement, a slight lean toward Homelander.
*Ding.*
The elevator reached the executive level. The doors slid open to reveal a hallway of glass and marble. Homelander didn't move immediately. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing against Noir’s. It was a glancing touch, barely there, but in the vacuum of their lives, it felt like a lightning strike.
"I see you," Homelander breathed, a smirk playing on his lips. "I see you in there, Noir. Hiding."
Noir reached up. For a second, Homelander thought he was going to push him away. Instead, Noir’s gloved hand grazed Homelander’s forearm—a quick, firm squeeze before he stepped out of the elevator and vanished into the shadows of the corridor.
Homelander stayed in the lift for a moment longer, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked down at his arm, the spot where the glove had pressed into his skin.
"Hmph."
He smiled, and for the first time that day, it wasn't for the cameras.