#consider them queued

It had been James’ idea to go to the mall. Something light, he’d said. Something ordinary. And somehow, John had agreed. Everything gleamed, from the floors that reflected his boots to the enormous banners promising SALE in bold, red lettering. The smell of cheap perfume, coffee, and humanity blended into something that should have been offensive, yet tonight… it wasn’t. Not quite.

It was almost comforting.

James drifted beside his lover at an unhurried pace, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He stood out, of course — dark coat, tailored lines, posture too poised for a man just browsing. It didn’t matter. He’d long since stopped trying to blend in. And tonight, he was in an unusually good mood. He’d fed well earlier. His temper was balanced. There was no boardroom to command, no cameras flashing, no Vought executives begging for his cooperation. Just him, John, and a few hours of anonymity.

He caught sight of the reflection of his own smile in a storefront window, not silverbacked... like he liked that...before something else stole his attention.

A group of children tore past.

They couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, sprinting between clothing racks with wild laughter echoing behind them. One shrieked with delight as another lunged to tag his shoulder, and for a heartbeat, James simply stood there watching. The sight stirred something unexpected. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such simple joy — movement without consequence, running for the sake of it. He and John had both grown up without that luxury.

He felt his mouth tilt into a small, genuine smile. “Tag,” he murmured under his breath, testing the sound of it. A game without a prize. Without strategy or blood. Just… instinct.

They passed into a high-end boutique next, the kind with glass displays and soft lighting that made the fabrics look liquid. James drifted toward the suit section almost automatically, brushing his fingers over a charcoal jacket. The material was fine, smooth beneath his touch. He half-listened to John browsing somewhere behind him, probably amused by the selection of ties or pretending to take an interest in a mirror display.

But James’s attention was already elsewhere.

He caught another glimpse — a small child darting between racks, laughing breathlessly, chased by his friend. It was the same sound, the same freedom that had tugged at him before. Only this time, it grew.

His smirk returned, slow and deliberate. “Seems terribly easy,” he murmured to no one in particular, slipping one arm into the jacket he’d chosen. “You run. You’re caught. You lose.”

He paused when he heard the unmistakable sound of music still playing, the soft thrum of the bass reverberating through the walls. Lestat and Stacee were still performing. James squinted, a little unsteady on his feet, trying to remain unnoticed as he peered toward the stage area. He could see the faint silhouette of Lestat, his maker, his graceful form, completely absorbed in the music.

For a moment, James just stood there, watching, almost mesmerized. His mind fogged, so the sight of Lestat performing, looking so free, so alive, stirred something inside him. Forgetting he was trying to be discreet about his return as he stood ...staring.

Absolutely stunning, as always... I believe he's looking for new candidates for his oven, you seem to be a good fit.

The office was too quiet, not a single heartbeat, including the sole being in the room. James sat behind his desk, the low light carving sharp lines across his face, He shouldn’t have agreed to this internship program. It had seemed like a smart idea at the time—“leadership outreach,” Vought had called it. But it had come at a cost. Late nights away from Homelander, endless reports, less time to ensure he was all right. Homelander could manage public appearances, yes, but not his volatility. And James… he didn’t like leaving that untended. But also... it meant less time to feed.

His gaze drifted toward the clock. Too late for anyone to be working except the foolhardy or the ambitious. The door opened, breaking his thoughts. He didn’t even look up at first. “Unless this is important, I suggest you come back another time,” he muttered, voice low, worn thin with hunger and something deeper.

Only when the familiar cadence of her steps reached him did his tone shift—a sigh, not quite annoyance, but he was hungry so on edge. “Miss Dunlap,” he began, rising to greet her properly. “I had forgotten you were due tonight, my apologies. I trust you've been successful in your task then?”

Fancy a cup of Chai tea, my fellow Norri-Twin?

An inspired choice. It would be uncivilized of me to refuse—do lead the way.

Yes.

Waiting in line for hours doesn’t entitle you to familiarity, nor does it erase boundaries—especially not ones Homelander didn’t invite you to cross.

As for me being “all over him”… yes. That tends to happen when you belong to each other. Consider the look you received less a personal affront and more a quiet reminder to admire, say your piece, take your photo—and keep your hands, thoughts, and expectations to yourself. DO I make myself clear?