#guideverse

He looked up at you like you were the ghost of an unpaid internship and visibly recoiled.

"Hi," you said, very brightly, like this wasn’t clearly a mistake and the man before you hadn’t just contemplated leaping through the window to escape human contact.

He blinked. Slowly. "You're the SS?"

“Apparently,” you replied, sitting down calmly and very much not vibrating with barely-leashed doom energy. You folded your hands in your lap like someone who hadn’t just melted part of the training center during compatibility testing. “And you're going to be my Guide.”

That clearly short-circuited something in his brain because he made a strangled wheeze that sounded like a laptop dying.

So, obviously, the next logical step was pretending to be emotionally stable.

“Yes, I’ve been told I have excellent boundaries,” you said, lying through your teeth. “I meditate. I go to therapy. I drink water.”

Your nose might have twitched at the last one. Idia squinted.

“I’ve... seen your incident reports.”

Ah. Well. Time to double down.

“And yet,” you said, flashing a smile that could win awards for Most Suspicious Aura, “the test matched us. Fate, right?”

Idia looked at you like fate had personally wronged him.

You maintained eye contact. Calm. Cool. Collected. Just another emotionally well-regulated citizen of the world, absolutely not about to snap and launch a fireball into a vending machine if it ate your coins again.

And to your surprise, after a long, tense silence and a muttered line that sounded suspiciously like, “If I ignore it, maybe it'll leave,” he didn’t kick you out.

He just sighed. Opened a drawer. Pulled out your file like it physically hurt him.

And so it began.

You and the man who looked like a sleep-deprived curse word.

Esper and Guide.

Chaos and more chaos. 

Willing participant and deeply unwilling participant.

Honestly, this was going to go great.

Idia sits next to you like someone forced him into a live-action horror movie adaptation of his worst social nightmares. He perches at the very edge of the couch, knees turned sharply away from you, shoulders hunched like he’s expecting to spontaneously combust just from proximity. He’s sweating. Actively. You can hear it.

He doesn't look at you—doesn’t dare to. Eye contact might trigger some kind of emotional subroutine he’s buried under six years of anime quotes and avoidance. So instead, he glares at the floor like it owes him money and says in the driest, most pained voice you've ever heard:

“…I’m going to initiate touch now.”

You blink. “Cool. I won’t bite.”

“Statistically, there’s still a 17% chance.”

Before you can ask how he got that number, he reaches over—very gingerly—and clasps your hand like it’s a ticking time bomb. It’s the least affectionate, most clinical hand-hold imaginable. And yet—

Your brain goes silent. Completely. All the psychic noise, the static, the ghost of that one Gate entity that’s been whispering “eat drywall” for three weeks straight—gone. You breathe out, deeply, for what feels like the first time in months.

“Oh,” you say, blinking slowly. “That’s… good. That’s really good.”

Meanwhile, Idia has gone stiff as a corpse. He looks at you, then at your hand, then back at you like you’ve just transformed into a philosophical dilemma.

“How are you alive?” he asks, genuinely horrified. “You’re… you’re an unstable esper. Your baseline resonance is like an overcooked spaghetti noodle wrapped around a hand grenade. You should be fried. You should be paste. What the hell have you been doing for guidance?”

You shrug. “My last guide made me listen to podcasts. And sometimes put a warm towel on my neck.”

Idia just stares at you in disbelief. “A warm towel?! A warm towel?! That’s like trying to fight a house fire with herbal tea!”

You grin at him, relaxed in a way you haven’t been since your promotion. “Hey. I’m adaptable.”

Then you wink.

He jerks his hand back like you just slapped him with a legally binding marriage proposal. “Okay, what does that mean?! Are you flirting? Threatening me? Both?!”

You stretch luxuriously on his couch, now absolutely high on the absence of psychic distress.  “Wouldn’t you like to know, Guide boy?”

He looks at you like he’s re-evaluating every decision that led him to this moment—including being born.

You close your eyes, content, while Idia frantically Googles “how to tell if your newly assigned Esper is insane.”

You don’t need to see him to know he’s panicking.

But you feel better than you have in weeks.

You exit the Gate with all the dignity of a baby deer on roller skates. Technically alive, mostly upright, and riding the high of “I didn’t die today” like it’s a stimulant. There’s smoke rising from your gloves, your hair’s doing a very bold interpretation of ‘windblown,’ and you’re about three seconds from either vomiting or adopting nihilism as a full-time lifestyle.

And then—you spot him.

Your Guide.

Idia Shroud.

He’s lurking in the far corner of the clearing, half-shielded by a vending machine and what looks like pure, unfiltered spite. His hood’s up, his glowstick hair is practically vibrating, and he’s watching the post-Gate Espers like a cornered Victorian orphan who’s about to throw hands over the last piece of bread.

One comes within five feet of him and he physically recoils, clutching his comms tablet like it’s a crucifix. You're ninety percent sure he hissed.

So naturally, you make a beeline for him.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” you chirp, still crackling with energy like a downed power line.

He jolts like you just poured emotional commitment down his spine.

“Oh my GOD,” he mutters, dragging you by the sleeve like you’re radioactive (which, in fairness, you might be). “What took you so long?! I was standing here surrounded by—by unregulated feelings and eye contact and—oh my god, one of them tried to hug me.”

You let him pull you behind a barrier, where he sits you down with the dramatic flair of someone absolutely done with his entire existence. He doesn’t even wait—just snatches your hand and starts stabilizing you like he’s diffusing a bomb, holding on like letting go might summon the apocalypse.

Instant, blessed silence.

Your brain, which had been screaming like a dial-up modem on fire, goes quiet. Your chest unknots. You remember that oxygen exists and taking it in is actually encouraged. You sigh, blissed out, while Idia makes a face like he just stuck his hand in radioactive soup.

“I know it was, like, a gate collapse or whatever,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the skyline like he’s begging some higher power for patience. “But maybe next time don’t take so long to get out? You were in there for seventy minutes. I counted. Every second was emotionally damaging.”

You grin, eyes still hazy. “Aw. You missed me.”

“I panicked,” he snaps. “There’s a difference. I had a backup plan. It was called ‘run.’”

You lean toward him with a smug little hum. “You care.”

“I don’t care,” he says immediately, voice cracking like a damaged violin string. “I just don’t want you getting so emotionally unhinged you come back here all weepy and soulbond-seeking and—” he gestures vaguely. “Clingy.”

“I’m not clingy,” you say, still not letting go of his hand.

“You’re currently latched onto me like a trauma koala,” he deadpans.

You wink. “So you do care.”

Idia looks at you like he’s actively calculating how many regulations he can violate before someone notices. His expression lands somewhere between “why me” and “I should’ve become a dental assistant.”

But he doesn’t let go.

In fact, he shifts slightly so you can lean against him more comfortably. Not that he says anything about it. No. That would imply emotional maturity and gross things like “communication.”

Instead, he mutters, “You smell like space lightning and poor decisions.”

You beam at him. “Thanks. It’s my natural musk.”

And despite everything—despite the chaos, the imminent paperwork, and the looming threat of another Esper trying to trauma-bond with him—Idia doesn’t move away.

You’d like to think it’s because of your immense charm.

He’ll tell himself it’s just because it’s the most efficient way to keep you from frying your nervous system.

But deep down—deep down—he’s already doomed, and you both know it.

Congratulations. You’ve adopted a reclusive Guide with the emotional range of a scared wet cat.

And he cares.

Desperately.

You were having a very productive day doing absolutely nothing.

Flat on your bed, hoodie pulled over your face, limbs at the exact angle of maximum immobility, you were experiencing true stillness. The kind of stillness monks meditate decades to achieve. You hadn’t moved in hours. If someone were to enter your apartment right now, they’d probably mistake you for a corpse, but with worse fashion sense.

And then your phone rang.

You ignored it. Of course you did. Whoever it was could wait. You were on a spiritual journey to become one with your mattress. But it rang again. And again. And then came the messages. Ping. Ping. Pingpingpingping—

With the groan of someone who’s known true peace and been dragged back to hell, you reached for the phone.

[Guidia]: B-Class pest in hallway. Halp. He's monologuing. [Guidia]: SOS. EMERGENCY. COME NOW. I’M NOT KIDDING.  [Guidia]: HE'S OUTSIDE MY OFFICE. HE HAS A CLIPBOARD.  [Guidia]: I’M HIDING BEHIND MY ROLLING CHAIR.  [Guidia]: IF YOU DON’T COME I’M FAKING MY OWN DEATH.

You stared at the messages. Debated pretending you didn’t see them. Debated harder. Lost.

Twenty minutes later, you're standing in front of the office building, internally mourning the loss of your free day and dressed like a walking stress nap with an energy drink in hand. You shuffle into the building, make your way to the guide floor, and as soon as you turn the corner—

There he is.

A junior Esper. Knocking on Idia’s door with the determined rhythm of someone trying to summon either a guide or God himself.

You slow down, then stop completely a few feet away, watching the scene with mild interest and the deadpan curiosity of someone who’s just been pulled out of bed to witness this madness.

He looks fresh out of training. Blue hair perfectly combed, posture painfully upright, shoes that don’t have a single scuff on them. He’s also got that nervous, earnest vibe that screams “will fill out extra paperwork if asked.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

He turns, a bit startled, then gives you a hopeful little smile.

“I’m here to meet Guide Shroud,” he says. “I heard he’s an SS-Rank and that he has only one Esper on his schedule, so I came to ask if he’d consider guiding me!”

You blink slowly. “You’re…?”

“B-Class!” he says proudly. “But I’ve been training hard. My instructors say I’ve got potential!”

You resist the urge to say “uh-huh” and pat him on the head. It is bold, you’ll give him that. You’d admire it more if you weren’t already picturing Idia foaming at the mouth behind the door.

Before you can respond, the door opens a crack—and a pale hand shoots out, grabs your wrist, and yanks you inside like you’re being abducted.

The door slams shut behind you. You spin and there’s Idia, crouched behind his desk, wide-eyed and absolutely vibrating with panic.

“WHY is he still out there,” he hisses.

You shrug. “He’s got dreams?”

“I SAW THE CLIPBOARD.”

“What’s on the clipboard, Idia.”

“I DON’T KNOW. GOALS? AMBITIONS? A LIST OF ICEBREAKER QUESTIONS?”

You give him a flat look. “So you dragged me out of bed—on my day off—because a baby Esper wanted to talk to you?”

“Did you SEE him?! He’s wearing a BUTTON-UP. He brought a PEN.”

“And your solution is what? Hide in your office until he dies of old age?”

“YES,” he says, without shame.

You sigh, long and dramatic. “Fiiiine.”

“You’ll get rid of him?”

“Yes.”

“WITHOUT making a mess?”

“No promises.”

You step out of the office, roll your shoulders, and walk up to the junior Esper with your best tired-but-stern government-employee face.

“Hey,” you say. “Guide Shroud can’t take you.”

His face falls. “Oh. Why not?”

“He’s bonded.”

“Oh.” He looks down, disappointed. “Wait—bonded? Like, permanently?”

“Yep.”

“…To who?”

You tilt your head and flash a smile. “Me.”

A beat passes.

“Oh,” he says again, eyes wide. “I—I didn’t know. That’s amazing. Congratulations! You two must have a really powerful connection.”

You nod solemnly. “We do. He definitely doesn’t hide under the desk every time I sneeze.”

“I hope someday I get to experience something like that,” he says, eyes shining.

You pat his shoulder like the elder cryptid you are. “Maybe. But for now, go back to your training. Don’t skip on the cardio. Gates love people who skip cardio.”

He scurries off with a polite bow and a visible resolve to become the best version of himself.

You reenter the office. Idia’s peeking from behind his chair like a horror movie extra.

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’re soul-bonded to me and emotionally unavailable.”

Idia goes still. Then slowly slinks out of hiding and collapses into his chair like a dying star.

“I can’t believe you just lied to a government-registered Esper,” he mutters.

“I can believe I did it to get my day off back.”

“…Fair.”

You yawn, stretch, and head for the door. “Anyway, congrats on our fake bond. I expect fake anniversary gifts.”

“I'm gonna submit a fake complaint to HR.”

“Romantic.”

Idia glares.

You blow him a kiss and leave.

You realize just how feral Espers are for high-grade Guides when one tries to poach yours in broad daylight, in public, with the social grace of a raccoon trying to steal your fries at a bus stop.

You’ve just finished a gate run, which—if you ignore the part where you took on three more phantoms than assigned, broke your regulator, and got launched through a wall—went rather well. Minor details, honestly. 

Idia, however, is not ignoring any of that. He is, in fact, still cataloging your crimes in a tired monotone that suggests he’s preparing a very long, very strongly worded complaint for HR. Possibly engraved on stone tablets.

“You absolute menace,” he mutters, slumped against the wall beside you. “You promised—promised—you wouldn’t go after the untagged ones unless backup arrived, and what did you do? You ran at it. With a stick. A stick.”

“It was a long stick,” you say helpfully, grinning as you lean a little more of your weight against him, fully aware he’s too drained to push you off.

“I had to leave my desk, you tyrant,” he hisses. “Do you know what it’s like being forced to cross a city-wide barrier while wearing socks with holes in them?! My soul is chafing.”

You laugh, and the sound is light and easy, the kind that says this is all routine for you now—him grumbling, you ignoring, the two of you attached at the hand like mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow just work.

It’s been nearly a year since you first met, and though Idia still resembles flight response in human form, he doesn’t flinch when you touch him anymore. He doesn’t hide behind walls of screens and sarcastic muttering. These days, he’ll even look you in the eye if he’s feeling particularly emotionally reckless.

And today, you’re halfway draped against his side, gripping his hand like it’s your personal grounding wire, while he complains about your irresponsibility with the dulled, weary cadence of someone who has long accepted his fate.

Everything is calm. Peaceful. Slightly sweaty, but serene.

Until it happens.

You feel it first—a disturbance in the air, a sort of psychic shift like a mosquito entering your periphery. And then a hand—not yours—wraps around Idia’s other hand.

You both freeze.

You turn your head slowly, like a haunted doll in a horror movie, and lock eyes with the offending Esper: a stranger, grinning with the unnerving intensity of someone who’s never once respected personal space in their life.

Their grip is firm. Their eyes are gleaming. You get the immediate and unshakable impression that they brush their teeth with motivational speeches and do pushups while listening to alpha wave affirmations.

“Hey,” they say brightly. “I felt your energy from across the lot. You’re an SS-ranked Guide, right? I need a sync. This is urgent.”

You blink. They just walked up. Grabbed his hand. Started a conversation. Like you’re not right there. Like you’re not holding his hand already.

Idia makes a noise. A terrible, high-pitched, panicked noise that sounds like a dying computer fan combined with a stress wheeze. His grip on your hand turns into a death clamp so intense you briefly lose sensation in your fingers.

You can feel his aura spiking erratically, his hair going from blue-flame to fire-hazard, his whole body broadcasting something between fight and flight but mostly error404.human.exe has stopped responding.

The other Esper keeps smiling.

So naturally, your half-dead, gate-fried, emotionally responsible brain decides to handle the situation with grace, poise, and logic.

“That’s my bonded Guide, how dare you?” you say loudly, voice ringing across the field like you’ve just declared war at a royal banquet.

The Esper blinks. “Wait—bonded?”

You stare them down with the weight of a thousand lies and the calm of someone who has absolutely no plan but is fully committed to whatever this is now. “Yes. Bonded. Anchored. Spiritually entangled. Aether-twined in the eyes of the Bureau and every known deity.”

The Esper takes a step back. “Oh. I—I didn’t realize, you weren’t listed—”

“It’s private. Sacred. We don’t believe in paperwork,” you say solemnly, as if this is an ancient vow passed down from your ancestors and not something you just made up to avoid watching Idia break down like a damsel in the middle of a syncing field.

“I—I’m sorry,” they stammer, already backing away like you’ve slapped them with a restraining order made of pure energy. “I didn’t mean to—good luck with your, um. Bond.”

And then they run. They actually run. Kick up dust and everything.

You turn back to Idia, who’s frozen in place like his entire reality has blue-screened.

“What,” he croaks, “the hell was that?”

“A problem solved,” you say, settling back into your lean like nothing happened. “You’re welcome.”

“You told them we were bonded. In public. Do you have any idea what you just—? That’s a federal registration. There’s ceremonies. There are retreats. I’m going to start getting targeted ads for matching sync robes!”

You shrug, resting your head on his shoulder with the peacefulness of someone who knows, with every fiber of their being, that they have zero intention of fixing this. “Eh. If the ad algorithm knows something before you do, maybe it’s just fate.”

“You’re the worst,” he whispers, deeply and with feeling.

And yet, his grip doesn’t loosen. Even with both your hands clasped like that, even after the emotional equivalent of a car alarm going off in his soul, he keeps holding on.

So really, you figure everything’s fine.

After one little white lie (okay, two), things spiraled faster than you expected. Who knew that telling two different Espers that you and Idia were bonded would spread like someone set the office gossip group chat on fire and dumped rocket fuel on it?

Now you’re both sitting in HR.

The room is sterile in that special, soul-draining way that only HR offices can achieve—walls too white, chairs too plastic, a single wilting plant in the corner that’s seen more existential dread than most therapists.

You’re slouched in your seat, one leg bouncing like a ticking bomb, while Idia sits stiffly beside you, arms folded, looking like he wants to sink through the floor.

He's glaring at you with the intensity of a thousand blue suns. You can feel the judgment radiating off him like he's trying to guilt-force an apology through sheer mental anguish.

"Look," you mutter, nudging his boot with yours. "It’s not that bad."

"You told people we were bonded,” he hisses under his breath. “Twice. You turned it into an office-wide feature presentation. They sent us an official celebration cake, do you understand how terrifying that?”

You grin. “People love love.”

“I’m allergic to attention,” he snaps. “Do you know how many people tried to make eye contact with me this morning?”

“I made your life more efficient. Think about it—if we just roll with it, you never have to guide another Esper again. No more weirdos grabbing your hand in public. No more field calls. No more small talk.”

Idia pauses. You can see the moment he processes it. He goes very, very still, like a prey animal realizing the trap is actually a very comfy bed with Wi-Fi.

“…If I say we’re bonded, you're the only Esper I’ll ever have to guide,” he murmurs, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he’s consulting an invisible divine entity. “I could work from home forever. No more missions. No more rando Espers breathing at me. I could build an AI version of myself for you to sync with. I wouldn’t even need to be conscious.”

“There you go!” you whisper, triumphant. “Fake it till we make it. Just smile, nod, and look like you tolerate me.”

“I don’t know how to smile on command.”

“Perfect. That’s our natural chemistry.”

Before he can spiral further, the HR door opens and a clipboard-toting, tired-eyed official waves you both in.

You sit. Idia sits like he’s never sat before. The HR guy folds his hands and gives you both that “I don’t get paid enough for this” expression all HR personnel master within the first week of their job.

“So,” he says. “You’re claiming a bond. You understand that means your sync scores, mission pairings, and emotional resonance charts are now considered federal data.”

“Absolutely,” you say confidently.

“Nope,” Idia says at the same time.

The HR guy pauses. “Right. Let’s just verify a few details.” He flips through the clipboard. “When did you begin your relationship?”

“About eleven months ago,” you reply smoothly.

“Two months ago?” Idia echoes, blinking. “Wait, what?”

“Where was your first official sync?”

“Field 17,” you say.

“The cafeteria,” says Idia.

A silence. You shoot him a quick look and whisper, “Why would we sync in the cafeteria—”

“I was thinking of lunch!” he hisses back.

HR guy clears his throat loudly.

“Okay,” he says, clearly fighting for patience. “Can you describe the moment you knew you were psychically compatible?”

You nod solemnly. “He touched my hand during decompression and I felt peace.”

“...When I almost blacked out from terror on field 206” Idia mutters.

You both blink at each other. There’s a horrible, choking silence.

The HR guy just sets down his pen, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs like he’s about to file for retirement. “Are you sure this is a real bond?”

Panic grips you like a sudden gust of wind. You think, fast. There’s only one thing left to do, one final act of desperation.

You rise from your chair.

Idia blinks. “What are you—oh no.”

You drop to one knee. “Oh yes.”

You pull out a ring. It’s a candy ring, the one you were saving in your jacket pocket for a sugar crash emergency. It sparkles like cheap sugar-coated destiny.

“Idia Shroud,” you say, with all the theatrical sincerity of a soap opera star in a season finale. “From the moment we synced, I knew you were the only socially avoidant, high-strung disaster I wanted to illegally claim government benefits with.”

Idia makes a noise that’s one part static feedback, one part soul exiting the body.

“Will you continue this extremely bureaucratically convenient charade with me?” you say, offering the candy ring with reverence. “For the tax write-offs and the peace of never having to talk to anyone else ever again?”

The HR guy is stunned. Mouth open. Not blinking. Probably buffering.

Idia stares at the ring. Then at you. Then at the HR guy. Then at the ring again.

“…I hate you,” he whispers, but lifts his hand anyway. “It better be lemon flavor or I walk.”

You slide the ring onto his finger like this is a fairy tale gone deeply, deeply off script.

HR makes a note. “...Right. Well. You’ll receive your bonding paperwork in three to five business days.”

And just like that, the meeting is over.

You and Idia walk out in silence, side by side, your new “engagement” ring glinting like the chaos it truly represents.

“...I hope you choke on candy,” he mutters.

“You love me.”

“No one will believe we’re bonded.”

“Oh, honey,” you grin, linking your arm through his. “They already do.”

These days, you and Idia have reached what scientists might call a stable orbit, and what HR calls a “gross misuse of company time and space.” But whatever. That’s between you, Idia, and the slowly dying office fern neither of you have watered in months.

You don’t bother him too much anymore—which is to say, you only rearrange his collectible figurines once a week now instead of every time you enter his office. And in return, he no longer looks at you like you’re an invasive species he’d like to report to pest control. Progress.

Sometimes, your days are quiet. Idia’s hunched over in his gaming chair, absolutely violating some poor boss monster on screen while whispering insults under his breath like, “Die, you HP-bloated RNG hellbeast,” and you’re sprawled face-first across the couch like a very emotionally fulfilled potato.

You’ve made a perfect depression nest out of spare jackets, your limbs dangling off the side like you’ve been freshly thrown there by fate itself.

You should be working. Technically. But Idia’s the one who put the “Do Not Disturb Unless You’re On Fire” sign on the door, so really, you’re just honoring the sanctity of that promise.

Other times, you swing by with takeout—because you both forgot to eat lunch, and if left alone, Idia will subsist off instant noodles and spite. You shove a container into his hand and collapse next to him on the couch, your thigh pressed against his as he awkwardly elbows you for space but doesn’t actually move away. Not that you’re keeping score.

(You are. You're absolutely keeping score.)

"Okay," he says, opening his container. "So this season's adaptation is garbage—they cut the backstory arc, the budget tanked, and the studio didn’t even animate the hair properly, it’s criminal. But the original light novel? Peak fiction. High literary art. Shakespeare is in shambles.”

You nod sagely as you munch on your fries. You don’t know what the hell he’s talking about—something about time loops and cursed bloodlines and a vampire love interest who’s actually a sentient program??—but you listen anyway.

Not because you care about the plot.

But because he talks with his whole soul, voice quickening, eyes gleaming like he’s just rolled a nat 20 on the Charisma check against social anxiety. He flails with one hand, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks like a tiny conductor of chaos, while his other hand never leaves yours.

And sometimes, in those moments—when he’s mid-rant, flushed with nerd rage, and you’re half-listening, half-dozing, fingers tangled with his—you catch yourself looking at him a little too long.

You catch the sparkle in his eyes, the way his shoulders drop around you, the way he stops stuttering when he gets excited and trusts you to listen even if you don’t understand.

And it takes every single molecule of willpower in your rapidly melting brain not to say anything.

Not to say how much you like these moments. Not to say how much you like him.

Because, sure, you’re fake-bonded. Pretending. Faking it for HR and for peace and quiet and to stop weird Espers from flirting with your favorite (and only) antisocial Guide.

But maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t mind if it weren’t pretend at all.

Despite being a somewhat unmotivated little gremlin who once filed a formal complaint about being asked to show up to a meeting before noon, you have a bad habit of pushing yourself too far when it came to gates.

Not for glory. Not for stats. Not even for the sweet, sweet serotonin of a job well done. No, you did it because you’d seen what happened when gates breached—when help came too late, when the wrong Esper got caught in the crossfire, when someone broke apart in a way no guide could patch back together.

You remembered one of your old friends, a Guide with the sunniest smile and a laugh that always rang louder than anyone else’s. Until one day it didn’t. They’d walked out of a particularly bad gate breach in stunned silence, hands shaking, mouth opening and closing like they wanted to say something—anything—but couldn’t. They handed in their resignation the next day.

So yeah. Maybe you were lazy about laundry and paperwork and showing up on time. But when it came to gates, you didn’t play around.

You fought like hell to make sure no one else had to go through what your friend did. You fought out of bounds. You fought monsters that weren’t yours. You fought so Idia never had to wear that hollow, too-still expression you remembered from that day.

And today?

Today was bad.

A sudden gate, not enough backup, and you were the highest-ranked Esper present. Which meant it fell on you.

You lasted twelve hours in there. Twelve hours of back-to-back fights, suppressing, clearing, burning through your stamina like your life—and everyone else’s—depended on it.

By the time the gate sealed and spat you out, you were barely standing. The world tilted hard to the left, your vision turned into that weird static-y filter they use in horror movies right before someone dies, and your stomach made a noise that might’ve been a scream. You took one step before your knees gave out.

You didn’t hit the ground.

Because suddenly, there were hands on you—arms catching you just before you collapsed, dragging you out of the danger zone with a surprisingly solid grip for someone whose most strenuous physical activity was switching charging cables.

You didn’t even need to see him to know who it was.

Idia. Your Guide. Your terribly anxious, semi-voluntarily associated handler, whose voice was sharp with panic as he dragged you to the safe zone and sat you down with all the gentleness of a malfunctioning robot.

“Oh my god—oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to die? Is this your new thing? Is this a hobby now?!”

You tried to respond but only managed a weak groan and a half-choke that might’ve been, “I’m fine,” or “I’m dying,” honestly it was 50/50.

He pressed his hands against your temples and started guiding immediately, energy steady and practiced. You felt the tightness in your chest start to ease, your pulse gradually slowing, your lungs actually filling up for once instead of fluttering like a dying balloon.

It was kind of nice. You hadn’t realized how close to blacking out you were until the static started fading. And then—

SMACK.

“OW—!”

“Shut up,” Idia hissed, yanking his hand back after slapping your shoulder hard enough to knock your soul a little looser. “You—you absolute fool of an Esper, you think I have time to be picking your half-dead corpse up off the ground like this?! I have three games on cooldown and a raid to prepare for next week and a life, you inconsiderate idiot!”

You opened one eye. “Wow, you’re yelling so much. Are you worried about me or just mad your stream got interrupted?”

“I’m both,” he snapped, color rising fast in his cheeks. “This—this can’t happen again. If you do this again, I’m gone. I’ll walk. I’ll— I’ll turn off my communicator. I’ll delete my file. I’ll fake my death. I will abandon you.”

You hummed, barely keeping your head upright. “You’d never.”

“I would.” His voice cracked like glass under pressure. “Don’t—don’t you dare test me. I mean it. I don’t want to… I don’t want to see you like that. Not again.”

You blinked at him slowly, the weight of exhaustion settling back into your limbs now that the adrenaline had burned out. And maybe it was the guiding haze, or maybe it was just him, but you let yourself rest.

Just for a little.

Because despite the dramatics and the hissy fit and the aggressively uncoordinated yelling, you knew what that panic meant. You knew what his hands trembling over yours meant.

And if your Guide was threatening to fake his own death for you, well… wasn’t that kind of romantic?

You took a few days off after The Incident™, otherwise known as You Being A Reckless Maniac Who Nearly Died On The Job While Your Guide Watched In Real-Time. The official report called it “extreme physical exertion in a high-risk environment.” You called it “a regular workday.”

But now, by some miracle of medical leave and your supervisor’s desperate plea for you to “please just stop doing this to us,” you were free.

And what did you do with your precious, well-earned downtime?

You healed your soul.

Which, for the record, looked a lot like wearing the same hoodie for three days, eating spicy chips with reckless abandon, and watching a reality show so unhinged it had to be imported from three countries over and aired exclusively at 3 a.m. due to moral concerns.

It was everything you wanted. Stupid people making stupid choices while you lived vicariously from the safety of your couch.

You were mid-cringe—some poor contestant had just confessed their love to the wrong twin—when someone knocked on your door.

You paused the TV and blinked. You weren’t expecting anyone. Delivery? Nah, you hadn’t even ordered anything today. Maybe the neighbors—

You opened the door and froze.

Idia stood there. Hoodie too big. Hair slightly frizzed as usual. One hand holding a plastic bag that looked like it could house a small cow, the other awkwardly dragging a suitcase. A suitcase.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Then, without saying a single word, he walked right in. No greeting, no explanation, just brushed past you like he’d done it a hundred times before and knew exactly where he was going.

He set the bag down with a thunk, the suitcase with a thud, plugged a drive into your media player with all the confidence of someone who had practiced this, and loaded up an anime you didn’t even recognize—something with neon colors, probably three timelines, and a cast of beautiful characters with extremely tragic backstories.

Then he turned to you.

And stared.

Not a single word. Just pointedly stared until you sighed, flopped back down on the couch, and scooted over to make room for him.

He joined you immediately. Threw a blanket over the both of you with the elegance of a man conducting a sacred ritual. Pulled your hand into his and laced your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Still didn’t say anything.

You glanced at him. “So… are you living here now?”

No answer.

“Did you bring me snacks at least?”

He reached into the bag with his free hand, pulled out your favorite candy, and passed it to you without looking.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re really committing to the whole silent anime protagonist thing, huh?”

He finally opened his mouth.

“Shut up. The sad backstory part is about to start.”

And that was that.

Apparently, your healing arc had a guest star now. One with a suitcase, great taste in melodrama, and a grip on your hand that never loosened.

You wake up with a distinct sense that something’s wrong.

Not life-or-death wrong. Not “gate-breach-imminent” wrong. More like “you-fell-asleep-in-a-position-that-defies-basic-anatomy” kind of wrong.

Your limbs are a mess. There’s a hoodie-clad arm loosely wrapped around your waist. Your face is very much pressed into someone’s collarbone. Someone who is radiating body heat like a human furnace. And you, like the enlightened creature you are, sniff before you register what your eyes are seeing.

Wait.

Wait.

You blink blearily, and that’s when you realize: the human furnace is Idia Shroud.

You’re practically draped over him. Your leg is slung over his hips like you own him. His fingers are curled gently in your shirt like you’re his last tether to life. It’s less “sleepover” and more “Netflix and accidental marriage.”

And just as you situation begins to settle in, he stirs.

You freeze.

He opens his eyes.

And then—it happens.

He makes a sound. A terrible, wretched sound. Like a dying Roomba. Or a haunted fax machine possessed by a demon with asthma.

Then he squints down at you, eyes wild with confusion and betrayal.

And with a trembling breath, he whispers, “…I hate you.”

You blink. “What.”

“I hate you,” he repeats, louder this time, like you’re hard of hearing and he’s your dramatic high school ex. “I hate you. This is all your fault.”

You squint. “Did the genre shift? Are we friends to enemies now? Or, like, lovers to enemies to something worse?”

He sits up with you still partially on him and gestures dramatically at the tangled blankets like he’s presenting evidence in court. “Look at this. Look at what you’ve done to me. I used to be a recluse. I used to avoid human interaction. I had peace. Quiet. I had ten hours of gaming time per day.”

“You still have that,” you point out. “You just make me sit in the room now and pass you snacks.”

“Exactly!” he snaps. “I started liking it! I started looking forward to your dumb commentary during boss fights! I started… craving your presence like some kind of socially-adjusted moron!”

You stare.

He rants on, wild-haired and red-faced and approximately one and a half steps from throwing himself out a window. “You fake proposed to get out of HR trouble! And then you stole my hoodie! And you keep showing up in my space and making it better and more tolerable and I hate you for it!”

Your mouth twitches. “You sure this isn’t just a confession disguised as slander?”

He glares at you. “Don’t flatter yourself. I am merely experiencing symptoms of long-term emotional contamination. Also known as affection. A known virus."

You’re laughing now, arms still loosely wrapped around him. “So you like me.”

“I can’t believe I fell for you,” he groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “Of all the people in this world, I had to fall for the unhinged disaster gremlin who pretended we were bonded because it was ‘funny.’”

“You asked me to keep the lie going!”

“Because you said we were soulmates in front of an HR rep with a clipboard!”

You grin. “Okay, but was I wrong?”

He makes a noise that sounds like a tea kettle having an emotional breakdown.

Then he slumps like he’s aged thirty years in three seconds and mutters, “Just reject me already so I can go die in some cold, dark corner of a server room.”

You kiss him.

It’s soft and simple and smug. Mostly because he’s still glaring at you and now he’s also short-circuiting. His ears go bright pink.

You smile against his lips and ask, “So. You wanna make the fake bond real?”

He glares harder. “You’re the worst.”

And then he kisses you again like he’s never been more offended to be in love in his entire life.

Idia hated that he was a high-class Guide.

It was like being the rare shiny Pokémon everyone wanted to catch, except instead of admiration, it came with a nonstop barrage of overcaffeinated Espers trying to hold his hand without warning and HR emails that read like increasingly desperate dating profiles: “This one is only mildly feral! Just give it a shot :)”

He didn’t want to “give it a shot.” He wanted to crawl into his anime pillow fort and watch seventeen episodes of Mecha Scream Force: Ultimate Uncut Directors’ Deluxe Edgelord Edition in peace.

And then your file landed in his inbox.

Subject: SS– BATTLE-LEVEL ESPER. NOTES: Known anomaly. Exhibits unpredictable energy flux due to post-gate mutation. Possibly cursed. Re: Sync pair recommendation – IDIA SHROUD. Good luck. [Attached: a video of you almost biting into a monster’s neck mid-fight]

Idia stared at it for a full minute. Then he closed the file, reopened it, and checked the name. His name.

“Whyyyy me?” he whispered to the heavens, even though he was indoors and had blackout curtains drawn so tightly it looked like the void itself lived there.

Clearly, he’d wronged someone in a past life. Probably a whole list of someones.

When you walked into his office, he expected chaos. He expected explosions. He expected you to tackle him to the ground screaming “LET ME ABSORB YOUR AURA” or something equally traumatic.

Instead?

You looked at him, grinned like this was a lunch break, and approached him. 

Then you stuck your hand out like you were offering him a pen.

“Yo. You guiding or nah?”

Idia blinked. The sheer normalcy hit him like a truck. 

You just kept smiling, not even a glimmer of feral gate trauma in your eyes, and said, “Wanna do the hand thing or are you one of those forehead touchers?”

Idia was so caught off guard he actually stuttered, “J-just hands is fine.”

“Neat,” you said, and took his hand like it was no big deal. Like you hadn’t allegedly suplexed a gate beast using only your pinky. Like you didn’t have a file thicker than some light novels.

And… that was it.

You let him guide you. No whining. No dramatic speeches. No weird vibes. Just sync.

When it was over, you looked at him and said, “Wanna grab noodles?” and then skipped off to bother a vending machine.

Idia stood there for several minutes, buffering like a corrupted cutscene.

You weren’t loud. You weren’t clingy. You didn’t even try to oversync. And your handshake? A solid 8.5/10. Firm, but not emotionally traumatizing.

He texted Ortho:

“I think I found a non-feral one. Do you think they’re a spy.”

Ortho replied:

“Or maybe they’re just not like the others.” “Bro do NOT fall in love.”

Idia stared at your file again that night. He looked at the chaos reports, the combat records, the notes scribbled in red pen by HR.

And then he thought about your stupid little grin and how you didn’t even complain when he made you wait twenty minutes while he charged his noise-canceling headphones.

Maybe—just maybe—you weren’t going to ruin his life.

Yet.

The first time Idia waited outside a gate for you, he genuinely thought, How bad could it be?

Spoiler: it was bad.

He was standing there with his coat flapping awkwardly in the breeze, hunched like a socially anxious gargoyle, trying to blend into the concrete.

But alas—there was no blending in when you were wearing a neon SS-rank Guide badge that practically screamed, “HELLO! I’m high value and emotionally unavailable for syncing, please invade my personal space immediately!”

Espers began swarming.

Like moths. No. Like moths with abs.

“Yo, you synced up with anyone?” said one particularly muscular guy who was chewing gum with the intensity of someone trying to seduce through molar power.

“Wanna test compatibility?” offered another, already reaching out like this was some kind of handshake.

“I could use a cool-headed Guide like you,” purred a woman who looked like she bench-pressed trucks in her downtime.

Idia, for his part, simply froze. Not because he was considering it. No. He was buffering. His brain was lagging so hard it was displaying the mental equivalent of the spinning beach ball of doom. Why were they all so close? Why was that one flexing?

He wanted to vanish. He wanted to dissolve into the sidewalk. He wanted you to COME OUT OF THE GATE ALREADY.

And then, like some kind of disaster-themed magical girl, you stumbled out of the gate with your jacket halfway falling off your shoulder, a smear of monster goo on your cheek, and your smile crooked from adrenaline.

You blinked at the scene. Idia surrounded by sparkle-eyed Espers. And you? You grinned like a menace and called, “Aww, were you being courted while I was gone?”

He immediately flushed three shades of cherry blossom pink and hissed, “W-would it kill you to come out faster?! I almost got bond-napped!”

You just laughed, clapped him on the shoulder (with the force of a medium earthquake), and said, “Don’t worry, Shiny Badge. I’ll be faster next time.”

And shockingly… you were.

Next gate, you practically threw yourself out as soon as the rift closed, stumbling directly into Idia like you were being ejected from a monster meat blender.

He squeaked. You beamed. And every other Esper in a ten-foot radius suddenly looked like they’d just found out their crush was married.

“You happy now?” you asked, trying to wipe blood off your face with a wet napkin. “Did I make it in time to preserve your purity?”

“I am never wearing that badge again,” Idia muttered, clinging to your arm like you were his emotional support chaos.

But secretly?

He was just a little happy you’d listened.

A few months into this partnership—not that Idia was counting (he totally was, he had a spreadsheet tracking your interactions and categorized emotional events, but that’s beside the point)—he was enjoying what he considered peak compatibility.

You didn’t ask invasive questions. You brought snacks. And most importantly, you didn’t try to poke at his psyche with metaphorical chopsticks like all the other Espers seemed to enjoy doing.

So when a baby B-class Esper showed up outside his office and refused to leave, he had one reaction.

Panic.

He were earnest. Bright-eyed. Starstruck. Speaking through the office door in a tone that suggested he was auditioning for a sports anime.

“I just believe it’s my destiny to be guided by the best! And the system says you have many open slots!”

Idia, crumpled in his gamer chair like a depressed shrimp, texted you in the most pathetic SOS syntax he could manage.

SOS. B-Class pest in hallway. Halp. They’re monologuing.

To his relief and eternal confusion, you actually showed up. On your day off. Dressed in sweatpants and judgment, hair a mess, holding an energy drink in one hand and existential dread in the other.

He thought—great, you’d flex your seniority, threaten the rookie with HR, maybe gently suggest they find a less traumatized Guide.

But no.

You looked at the Esper, and said, “Sorry. He’s bonded. To me. Permanently.”

The B-class Esper’s eyes widened with sparkling heartbreak. “O-oh. I didn’t… I didn’t see a bond registration?”

You didn’t even blink. “It’s private. For, uh… spiritual reasons.”

The kid left with a sniffle and a salute—a salute, like they’d just witnessed a great romantic tragedy.

And you?

You slurped your energy drink and said, “You’re welcome. You owe me dinosaur nuggets.”

And Idia, poor Idia, just sat there in the background with his hands halfway to his face, mumbling, “I’m gonna fling you out the window. Then I’m gonna follow.”

He just curled up in his chair, stared at the ceiling, and began calculating how long he could fake his own death before HR caught on.

And the worst part?

The lie worked too well.

Idia had survived a lot of things in life.

He’d survived MMORPG guild drama. The Y/N self-insert fic someone wrote about him that got 80,000 kudos and a spin-off comic. That fic someone wrote about him marrying Malleus in a pasta-themed AU that still somehow had an 8k comment thread.

But this?

This was unforgivable.

He was in HR. Again. With you. And no one had even punched a hole in the wall this time. This was all preemptive HR. Preventative HR.

The worst kind of HR, because it meant someone somewhere thought he might be a problem. Him! A problem! As if he didn’t already take up negative space in most social situations!

And you—you, the original source of his misfortune—you were just sitting beside him like you hadn’t just committed the equivalent of marriage fraud by loudly claiming, in front of at least seven witnesses and a vending machine, that the two of you were bonded.

Permanently. Irrevocably. Like a pair of idiot soulmates who'd stumbled out of a romcom written by an unpaid intern.

As if the “we’re bonded, teehee” debacle with the B-class Esper wasn’t enough to shave a year off Idia’s already stress-shortened life, it had happened again.

Some random esper held his hand post-gate when you were both still high on adrenaline and trauma, and instead of, Idia didn’t know, punching them or using your words like a normal person, you just went “excuse me, that’s my bonded Guide, how dare you,” like you were a jealous ex.

That was the moment the rumors really took off.

And now here you were. Both of you. In HR.

Because HR had questions. Many questions. And neither of you had done the bare minimum, which was maybe talking about what fake answers you should give in advance. Like you didn’t even rehearse. Not a single shared Google Doc. No coordinated lies. Just vibes.

So when the HR guy (who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet, including the bottom of a sulfur pit) asked, “When did the bond occur?” you said October 3rd and Idia, with absolute confidence and zero hesitation, said March 22nd.

There was a pause.

Not a silence. A pause. The kind that echoes through generations.

“And where did it happen?” the man asked again, in the voice of someone whose therapist was going to be hearing about this in excruciating detail later.

You, smiling: “Field 17.”

Idia, barely restraining a grimace: “The Cafeteria.”

Another silence. This one more like an oncoming freight train.

“Do you at least know each other’s middle names?”

Idia blinked. “They have a middle name?”

You, helpfully: “His is ‘Trouble.’”

The HR guy looked like he aged six years in that moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed deeply, and began massaging his temples in slow, pained circles like a man who had seen the abyss and wished it had swallowed him.

And then.

Then you moved.

Idia saw it happen in slow motion. You stood up. Reached into your hoodie pocket. And pulled out something shiny and crinkly. Something artificial. Something glowing with malevolent intent.

A Ring Pop.

A goddamn Ring Pop.

“Don’t do it,” Idia whispered, “I swear to everything, if you—”

You dropped to one knee in the middle of the HR office like you were auditioning for a live-action soap opera.

“From the moment we synced,” you said, voice loud, clear, and completely free of shame, “I knew you were the only socially avoidant, high-strung disaster I wanted to illegally claim government benefits with.”

ILLEGALLY.

CLAIM.

GOVERNMENT BENEFITS.

In front of HR. 

Idia's soul left his body. Again. He was nothing but a faint outline of smoke and anxiety in the shape of a man.

The HR guy did not react. He simply stared into space like he had become untethered from time and reality. Somewhere in the distance, someone’s computer pinged. A bird hit the window. The printer made a noise like it was trying to weep.

Idia looked at the Ring Pop. It better not be raspberry flavored. The worst possible option. The flavor of betrayal and poor decisions.

“If it’s not lemon, I walk,” he muttered, even as he extended his hand like the fool he was.

You beamed like you’d just won a reality show. Slipped the candy ring onto his finger with great ceremony. He stared down at it, sticky sugar starting to melt onto his knuckles, and wondered what series of decisions had led him to this moment.

You leaned close as you walked out of the office and whispered, “We’re truly fraudulently bonded now. I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m the opposite of happy,” Idia hissed. “I am… anti-happy. I am negativity incarnate. We are legally entangled. We have created an HR file. I’m going to have to explain this to Ortho.”

You smirked.

“Tell him it was a shotgun wedding. He’ll love it.”

You didn’t let go of his hand.

And—God help him—he didn’t let go of yours either.

It definitely got worse before it got better. 

Ortho, for one, did not let him live it down. Not for a second. There was a party. A full-on celebratory bash. With banners. One of which read “Congrats on Your Emergency Government Sanctioned Soul Marriage!” in Comic Sans.

Idia had tried to crawl into the floor. The floor, unfortunately, remained solid. He was forced to attend the party in body, if not spirit.

Ortho had even made a slideshow, complete with sparkly transitions and lo-fi music, documenting “every known moment of you two being disgustingly bonded.”

There was cake. The cake said “Congrats, You Played Yourself.” It tasted like guilt.

But… after the glitter and humiliation settled… things became weirdly good.

You didn’t treat him differently. That was the weird part. You still flopped dramatically across his office couch like you’d just fought a battle with gravity and lost.

You still made horrendous snacking noises and tried to convince him to watch cursed reality TV. You still made offhanded jokes during his games that were so sharp and stupid that he had to pause the cutscene and stare into the screen like it was a black void of disbelief.

He never laughed—obviously—but his shoulders shook a little sometimes. Just from rage. Definitely.

Sometimes, you brought him takeout. Unprompted. Just dropped it on his desk like a raccoon delivering tribute and started poking through your own container.

You always let him talk about whatever show had emotionally ruined him that week. You even listened. Like, actually listened. Nodded at the plot twists. Called the villain a loser. Asked about the fan theories. Like what he said mattered.

And sometimes, when you were too distracted counting shrimp in your fried rice, brows furrowed like you were solving a shrimp-based tax puzzle, Idia would stare at you.

Not in a creepy way. Just in a very... intense... anime-protagonist-moment kind of way. Like if someone added a wind filter and dramatic music, it would be a whole romantic B-plot arc.

He’d stare and think: Please don’t change. Please don’t leave. Please let this be real, even if it’s dumb. Even if it’s fake government paperwork and Ring Pops and nonsense. Please let this nonsense stay mine.

And then you’d look up mid-chew, mouth full, and say something like, “Do you think shrimp ever get existential crises about tempura?”

He’d immediately look away, ears red, heart a mess.

He was doomed.

Absolutely, sugar-glazed, takeout-fed, soul-bonded doomed.

There was an emergency gate.

Idia was outside. He’d been outside for twelve hours. That was twelve hours of sunlight exposure, twelve hours of people trying to talk to him, twelve hours of not knowing if you were dead or just being dramatic. Which, okay, to be fair, the line between the two was thin when it came to you.

He paced. He vibrated. He glared at anyone who so much as breathed in his direction. Someone tried to hand him a water bottle and he hissed like a wet cat.

Every five minutes, he checked his comms, even though he wasn’t cleared for internal updates. SS-ranked Guide my ass, he thought bitterly, hands twitching. Can’t even get an accurate live feed on the one maniac I’m synced to.

He told himself—repeatedly—that he was only mad because he had to wait outside for twelve whole hours. That it was purely logical rage. That the sun had permanently crisped his skin and fried his nerves and this was just normal vitamin-D-overload fury.

He was a filthy liar and he knew it.

He was anxious. He was anxious because you were in there alone. Well, not alone—technically there were other Espers—but they were all juniors. Babies. Snot-nosed kids who couldn’t fight their way out of a tutorial level.

You were the highest rank inside. Which meant you would push yourself. Which meant he had to sit there for twelve hours imagining every possible worst-case scenario his very creative and extremely deranged brain could come up with.

So when you finally stumbled out—filthy, bleeding, and doing your best impression of a half-dead Muppet—Idia didn’t even think. He caught you before you hit the ground, arms wrapping around you like instinct.

You were half-conscious, mumbling something about how the last monster looked like your elementary school English teacher, and Idia just about blacked out.

He dragged you to the side with the strength of pure panic and adrenaline. You were barely upright, clinging to him like a sleep-deprived spider monkey, and he was guiding you with shaky hands and a full-body tremble of what the hell, what the actual hell, what is wrong with you.

And then—he slapped your shoulder.

Hard.

Harder than someone with his spaghetti-noodle limbs had any right to.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he snapped, voice cracking. “Do you have a single functioning brain cell?! Were you trying to die in there? Is that it? Were you like, ‘Wow, you know what would be awesome today? Ruining my lungs and my Guide’s entire life in one go’—was that the plan?!”

You wheezed a laugh and gave a thumbs up.

He smacked you again.

“You can’t do that again,” he said, quietly this time, guiding aura flaring warm and sharp around his hands. “You can’t. If this happens again, I swear, I’m done. I’ll walk. I’ll turn in my license. I’ll go live in the woods and talk to raccoons. I’ll abandon you. I’m serious.”

You blinked at him, eyes bleary. “That’s dramatic.”

“So are you!” he snapped, and ran another guiding pulse through your body, scowling.

You slumped into him, letting the energy steady your limbs, and mumbled something about him being overprotective.

He told you to shut up.

You smiled.

He didn’t mean it about leaving.

But you didn’t need to know that.

You took a few days off after the gate incident. Not that Idia was keeping track. Not that he had an entire spreadsheet titled “Gate Trauma Recovery: Dumb Gremlin Edition” with daily updates on your recovery status that he absolutely did not check every thirty minutes.

But okay, maybe he was spiraling a little.

Because no matter how many games he played or anime episodes he queued up, he couldn’t get the image out of his head—you, bruised and burned and half-conscious, slumping into his arms like you were seconds away from not existing anymore.

It lived rent-free in his head. It had set up a cozy studio apartment in his cerebral cortex and was not paying utilities.

So, naturally, like any emotionally repressed SS-rank Guide with the common sense of a decorative rock, he packed a suitcase.

In went his portable gaming setup. His backup backup controller. Six different cords for reasons known only to the universe. Two sets of headphones. His lucky gamer hoodie. A USB fan (essential). And then a bag of snacks roughly the size of 6 corgis, filled with everything from neon sour gummies to obscure off-brand Pocky flavors.

Then, in a fit of either romance or psychosis (jury’s out), he showed up at your front door.

You opened it mid–reality show binge, wearing pajama pants with some loud pattern that made his eyes hurt. He stood there, suitcase in one hand, snack bag in the other, looking like a socially anxious door-to-door apocalypse salesman.

Neither of you spoke.

Because what was he supposed to say?

“Hi, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way your breathing was shallow and your skin was cold and I panicked so hard I packed my whole life into a bag like we’re running away from a zombie uprising and now I’m here because not seeing you for three days makes me feel like I’m gonna hurl?”

Absolutely not. He would rather eat drywall. He would rather die.

So instead, he walked in silently like a weirdo, set his stuff down like it was totally normal, and plugged in his drive into your media player like this was just a casual day.

You, either out of kindness or shared delusion, didn’t question it.

You just moved things over on the couch to make room and handed him the blanket. Like this was normal. Like he hadn’t just barged in with a small suitcase of emotional instability and bad coping mechanisms.

He put on a new anime. One he’d been saving. One he hadn’t planned on watching until you could roll your eyes and make your dumb little commentary at the plot holes.

You leaned against him, not saying a word.

And he held your hand like you hadn't absolutely blown up his entire emotional firewall. Like he hadn’t nearly lost you. Like this wasn’t already his favorite memory.

He didn’t say a word the whole episode.

But his fingers stayed curled around yours like a promise he was too much of a coward to say out loud.

Idia woke up with a full-grown human person draped across his body like a weighted blanket with boundary issues.

His brain booted up slowly—first registering the dull ache in his spine from sleeping on your disaster of a couch, then the soft warmth of your face smushed into his shoulder, and finally the fact that your entire existence was currently entangled with his like some kind of romcom final episode cuddle position.

He did not survive twelve hours of panicked gate-waiting, emotional damage, and spontaneous suitcase-packing for this.

Actually, no. That was a lie. He absolutely did. And if anyone dared to move you right now he would bite.

But unfortunately for him—and also, somehow, for you—he had the emotional self-control of a feral raccoon near a garbage can of feelings. So when you stirred a little and blinked sleepily at him, he opened his mouth and said the first thing that slithered out of his traitorous brain.

“I hate you.”

Your eyes focused slowly. “...Huh?”

“I hate you,” he repeated, voice cracking like a cursed record. “I hate the way you act like it’s totally normal to almost die in my arms and then go eat egg tarts like it’s no big deal. I hate that you lie to HR like it’s your full-time job. I hate that you keep doing stupid dangerous things and now I can’t function unless I know you’re alive and breathing and not about to faceplant into death.”

You blinked. Then—as if you weren’t being confessed to in what could only be described as a monologue from a melodramatic anime villain—you grinned.

“You sure this isn’t just a confession disguised as slander?”

“I—!” Idia made a noise so high-pitched only dogs could hear it. “I can’t believe I fell for you. Out of everyone. I fell for a chaotic war goblin who proposes with candy rings and lies to government officials like it’s foreplay.”

You were still grinning.

“Okay,” you said, ridiculously chipper for someone in a horizontal cuddle chokehold. “So do you wanna actually permanently bond and make it official or are we just going to keep emotionally edging each other until one of us passes out?”

Idia stared at you like you’d just offered him the keys to the universe and then spit directly on his soul.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Short-circuited a little.

Then, quietly—so quietly you almost missed it—he said, “...Only if you still have that candy ring.”

You beamed. “I always carry the candy ring.”

He looked like he wanted to crawl under the couch and die from happiness. Instead, he pulled you closer and mumbled against your forehead:

“You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Then he kissed you again like he never wanted to let you go.

You and Idia actually end up permanently bonded.

Legally. Emotionally. Spiritually. Psychically. All of the above.

You signed the forms (well, you dramatically slammed them onto the HR desk and said, “Guess we’re actually married now, huh?” while Idia tried to phase through the wall from secondhand embarrassment), synced up your brain waves or whatever, and boom—done.

And honestly? It doesn’t feel like fireworks. Or fate. Or some dramatic crescendo of music and soulmates.

It feels like wearing your favorite hoodie.

It feels like sleep.

It feels like finally putting your phone on Do Not Disturb and flopping face-first onto your guide.

Gates still suck. They still open at 3 a.m. when you're already two bites into a reheated burrito. They still spit out eldritch horrors that look like tax fraud made flesh. And yeah—you still fight recklessly. You're still you.

But now there’s a pause before you push too hard. Now there’s a voice—his voice—filling your head mid-fight going, “Hey, I don’t mean to backseat or anything, but MAYBE don’t solo the three-headed acid wolf?”

And you listen. Mostly. Sometimes. At least you try.

Because you remember what it was like, the way his hands shook the first time he caught you after a gate—your blood on his shirt, your laugh too weak, your legs folding like bad origami. You remember the way he smacked you while guiding, voice cracking, saying, “Don’t you ever do that again or I’m uninstalling myself from this entire dimension.”

So you ease up. A little. For him.

Life is still a mess. You're still a mess. Idia is a different flavor of mess, like the kind that alphabetizes their video game collection but forgets to eat lunch.

But it’s your mess now.

Sometimes, you watch terrible reality shows together and he pretends not to care but makes offhanded, emotionally devastating comments about character arcs. Sometimes, he lets you nap on his shoulder as he games and blushes violently if you drool on him.

Sometimes, he just sits next to you with your pinkies intertwined and doesn’t say a word—but you feel it anyway. That weird quiet peace. That “please don’t ever go into a gate without telling me again” kind of love.

And sometimes, when the world isn’t ending and your head isn’t splitting and the shrimp-to-rice ratio is finally correct, you kiss his cheek mid-battle and he yells, “This is emotional sabotage during a DPS rotation!” but he doesn’t pull away.

Life is chaos. But hey, at least now it’s your chaos. And you’ve got a socially anxious gremlin who chose you—every unhinged, exhausting part of you—on purpose.

And you’d choose him every time.

"Get out."

A groan crawled out of your mouth, straight from the depths of your soul. "Hello to you too, Bakugou."

You could hear the steady thump of combat boots against tile as the source of your ire (ironic, since you seemed to be the source of his as well) walked from the spot where he had teleported in to stand before you. You were sprawled out on his plush couch and didn't deign to move from your position as you took in his appearance. His boots were scuffed and there were small rips along the shoulders of his shirt, but he otherwise looked fine physically. Most Espers had a general weariness they carried about them after a job, but Bakugou Katsuki was not your standard Esper. Only the wild look in his crimson eyes gave away the fact that he was any worse for wear after his mission.

"Laying on my damn furniture like you own the place," he grumbled, leveling you with a harsh glare. "I should report you for trespassing."

"Good luck with that," you replied. You pointed at his wrist where a sleek black band, more screen than watch, sat. "If you ever bothered to check your messages, you'd know the boss sent me. You know why?"

"Because the two of you are a weapon formed against me."

"Because between the three of us, you're the only one who insists on denying reality."

"How many times do I have to say it? I don't need your help!" Bakugou took a step towards you, stopped, and visibly swayed on his feet. You were up and by his side in an instant, hands settling on his shoulders to steady him. He weakly tried to shrug you off and in response you whirled the both of you around and shoved him onto the sofa.

"This is what I'm talking about." You pinched the bridge of your nose as you began to pace in a tight back and forth motion, no doubt wearing the beginnings of a hole into Bakugou's center rug. "You think you're so above it all, that you're better than your own biology even when your body is about to shut down on you. I know you have, through the grace of the heavens, been able to survive this long on just stabilizers and the odd one-off session but you seriously need proper guiding. Being an S-Class Esper doesn't make you invincible—"

"'m fucking fine—"

"You look like shit, I don't even need to activate my powers to know that your mental activity is way out of control—"

"I don't need to be babied—"

"I'm not here to baby you!" The outburst echoed through the large, mostly empty space. To call Bakugou's home spartan in nature was generous. What little furniture he had was high-quality, but it was clear his house was just a place to eat and sleep and get dressed before work. You knew for a fact that the few accent rugs and abstract paintings that added small pops of color to his bare floors and walls were gifts from the boss, not picked of Bakugou's own free will. Still, it made for a miserable place to wait. The bastard didn't even have a TV.

Heaving a deep sigh, you sat back down, a decent amount of space between your body and Bakugou's slightly trembling form. "I had a whole lecture prepared, but I can see you're half out of your mind from backlash so I'll save that for when you're more lucid." You scooted over a little, closing the gap, and felt a little relief at the fact that Bakugou didn't immediately recoil at the change in distance. "Just…let me do my job. The quicker I guide you, the sooner this can be over for both of us, yes?"

Bakugou blinked slowly, not dissimilar to a frog. He turned his head and still, somehow, through the brain fog and sluggishness he was sure to be feeling, managed to fix you with a mean look. "No funny business."

You rolled your eyes before grabbing his hand. "Yes, yes, only the most serious of business for his Highness." You intertwined your fingers, took a deep breath, and opened the floodgates.

Your senses were instantly muted, like you'd been plunged into a deprivation chamber, and yet your perception felt sharper than usual. It was as if your very consciousness expanded out of your body and funneled into every point of contact between you and Bakugou. You frowned (or, at least, you felt yourself frown. You were a bit too disconnected to claim total ownership of any of your movements) as your energy tugged at his, trying to soothe the maelstrom wreaking havoc on his system. You knew he'd been skipping out on guiding sessions, hell, that was the whole reason you had to corner him in his house at his most exhausted, but the backlash was worse than you were expecting. Sighing, you pushed even harder, all but brute forcing the connection as you willed him into a better state of mind. It was probably pretty uncomfortable on his end, but, you thought dimly to yourself, if he wanted comfortable guiding he should've come to his regular appointment. Emergency intervention meant emergency measures.

The time ticked away. Slowly but surely, the backlash receded until the raging storm was more of a light rain. You extricated your fingers from his and immediately let your body sag into the cushions. You were drained, so drained that forming thoughts was a chore. Any awareness of your surroundings was shot and you felt dangerously close to passing out. Vaguely, you registered Bakugou moving around next to you, but it was also possible your overtired mind hallucinated that. After a period of time that could've been three minutes or three hours, an ice cold glass was gently pressed to your temple. The contact dredged up a sound from your throat that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and you somehow managed to summon up enough motor skills to accept the beverage with a numb hand. With your eyes still half-closed you put it to your lips and downed all of it in one go, the chilled water bringing you at least a little bit back to life.

"Do you have anything stronger?" you managed to croak out. The couch dipped again, and you cracked your eyes open to look at your companion. He looked leagues better, calmer. His cheeks even looked rosy, though maybe that had less to do with your guiding and more to do with a general sense of embarrassment. He was…pretty, when he wasn't being a pain in your ass.

"If you mean alcohol, you're shit out of luck." Even his tone of voice was softer. "I don't keep any of that here. I have water, protein shakes and apple juice, pick your poison."

"How you live like this is beyond me. Fine, apple juice."

A minute later, Bakugou returned with a glass of juice that you inhaled just as quickly as you did the water. You held the cup out to him and he took it, chuckling as he made his way back to the kitchen. Feeling marginally more like a real person and not a paper cutout, you managed to sit up when he came to the living room again.

"You look like shit," he said, echoing your earlier judgement of him. You flipped him off.

"And whose fault is that?" you replied testily. "Quit skipping your sessions and I won't have to come over here and almost kill myself to stop you from losing your mind and rampaging through the city."

Bakugou at least had the good sense to look chastised, which pleased a small, vindictive part of you. Rolling your eyes, you reached for the bag you'd brought with you and started digging around for your keys. Picking up on your intention, Bakugou's eyes widened almost comically.

"You can't seriously be considering driving home right now. I doubt you can even make the walk to the fucking driveway!"

"If you're so concerned, bring up the Esper-Guide wage gap to the Ministry of Labor next time you see them. I don't want to pay for a rideshare back to my place, then another one back here to pick up my car later. Better to just do it once."

Bakugou opened his mouth, closed it, growled, and opened it again. "I'll pay. Both times, just let me know when you want to come get your car."

You shot him a puzzled look. "Seriously?"

"Wha—fuck me, how much of an asshole do you think I am?"

"Your first words to me today were 'get out'."

"I was delirious!"

"So you admit, you did need my help."

Bakugou threw his hands up in exasperation. "Fuck, fine, yes, I needed help. What, you want a damn written apology too?"

"You're joking but that would be lovely. I would frame it in my office."

Bakugou's face settled into an expression somewhere between incredulous and contemplative. The two of you stared at each other for a beat, then two, before you cracked a small smile.

"Fine, you win."

You rattled off your address for Bakugou to enter into the rideshare app, his mouth tugged upwards in smug satisfaction the whole time.

"It'll be here in five minutes. I didn't realize you lived so damn far."

"Yeah, my place is basically clear across the city. Ironically we have the same commute though, we're equidistant from the office."

"…I don't commute. Teleportation, remember?"

You were struck with the realization you'd never seen him drive. "Do you even own a car?"

"No."

"But…your house has a garage?"

He shrugged. "It was in my price range and it's a good location."

"Fucking Espers."

At first, no one ever believed you when your match rate with Bakugou came up in conversation. Esper-Guide pairs with over 70% compatibility were rare and coveted. Partnership at that level promised huge power and performance boosts for both parties, supercharging their capabilities and offering the chance to become beloved household names. Everyone who awakened their powers and chose to pursue a career in the field at least subconsciously hoped for a match that high. Among A- and S-rank Esper circles, finding a Guide that was even a 50% match was considered great luck, so the office was abuzz for weeks when it came out that the two of you had a match rate of—

"97%???"

You pasted on a tight, polite smile as the greenhorn Guide sputtered on her drink. Almost a year since you were hired and you still didn't know how to react to people's reactions. On one hand, you understood. You and just about everyone in the testing room had reacted in much the same way when your biometrics pinged a match in the Esper database and that number flickered to life on the holographic board. They'd run the complete test two more times just to rule out any human error or technological bugs. It was an absurd number, almost unheard of. Other than the two of you, there were only five pairs with a compatibility in the 90s in the whole world. On the other hand, it wasn't like you had much to show for it. How did you end up as an almost perfect match to the only Esper alive who treated getting guiding with as much enthusiasm as doing laundry?

You shot a look around the table and, to your dismay, everyone else seemed much too amused by the situation to bail you out. An extremely difficult, high risk dungeon had finally been cleared and disappeared, so you and some close colleagues had decided to go out to celebrate the end of a long week of almost nonstop guiding (consequences of drinking on a work night be damned) as Espers had trooped in and out of the dungeon in an near endless stream. The final boss had been defeated by none other than Yuuei's prized S-Class, Bakugou Katsuki himself. The conversation had naturally drifted to the gifted Esper, and a new hire your group had unofficially taken under their wing had started to daydream about what it would be like to match with someone like him. A few awkward glances led to a reluctantly muttered number, and now the poor girl was trying to wipe drops of sake off her nice shirt.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, it's just…I mean, you guys don't act like it at all!" A ripple of gentle laughter went around the table following her exclamation as your friends and longtime witnesses to your suffering tried to use food or cups to hide their mirth. The new girl (Kari, you think) flushed even more, and you were really starting to pity her.

"No, it's not your fault," you started, trying to soften your smile into something more comforting as you shot reproachful glares at the rest of the group. "Anyone would think we had no compatibility at all."

It's not that you and Bakugou disliked each other; in fact it was quite the opposite, you had a pretty good professional relationship. Emphasis on professional. After your house call months ago, he'd been more or less punctual with his scheduled guiding sessions. The two of you sat in a private company room, held hands for five minutes to facilitate the necessary energy treatment, then went your separate ways. Sometimes you talked, most times you didn't. The whole thing was very clinical in nature, and truly the only evidence of how well your energies matched was the speed of it all. The pair with the second highest match rate at Yuuei were 81% compatible, and they took at least fifteen minutes of guiding per appointment. Though, judging by some of the sounds that managed to escape the soundproofing, those two had a much different skin-to-skin approach than you and Bakugou did.

"Can I, er, ask some questions, then?" You were brought back to the present by the sound of Kari's voice. You nodded, mentally steeling yourself for whatever she was about to throw at you. "So, if you have such a high match with an S-rank Esper, how come you're still here with us doing grunt work?"

A few members of the group playfully protested being labeled as grunts, but it was a fair question. Guides weren't assigned ranks the way Espers were. They weren't measured by individual ability or prowess but by how well they were able to sync with an Esper. Match rate was everything, and anyone who failed to make a match of 40% or higher was automatically relegated to a sort of general Guide pool. In times of crisis, like with the recent dungeon, anyone designated a GenGuide would be mobilized into a sort of battlefield medic unit, providing quick and efficient guiding so Espers could clear the dungeon as quickly as possible. Any other time, an unmatched Esper could come in fresh from a mission and be attended to by anyone with a free time slot. GenGuides (or F-ranks, according to some of the snobbier Espers) could also be requested and booked in advance if they were skilled. There would always be more Espers than Guides, so no one was ever truly out of work, but the company paid performance-based bonuses, making the whole thing a bit of a cutthroat popularity contest.

On the flip side of that, matched Guides weren't expected to do much except attend to their Espers. Their salary was increased automatically, but their bonuses were now based on the performance of their partner. It was extremely common, almost expected, for matched pairs to enter romantic relationships. After all, it was a well-known fact that since guiding was established through skin-to-skin contact, getting intimately close to your partner produced the most effective and preferred guiding results. The higher the match rate, the more intense the connection between the matched pair; therefore, you and Bakugou were freaks not only because of your insane compatibility, but because the two of you hadn't gotten engaged by the second month of knowing each other.

In response to her question, you shrugged. "It's a bit of a paradox. He's so good at his job, and our match rate is so high, that I don't really need to spend more than a handful of minutes on him in a week. So, I like to come down to the general floor and hang out with you guys."

"But doesn't he get jealous? With you guiding other Espers and all."

You couldn't suppress your snort. "We're not together. If he has any problems with it, then he hasn't expressed them to me." That said, the mental image of Bakugou getting pissy over you wasn't an entirely terrible one. No sooner did the thought cross your mind than you grimaced and took a large sip of your drink.

Kari opened her mouth, no doubt to fire off another question, but she was cut off abruptly by the loud vibration of your phone against the table. Picking it up, you made an incredulous noise at the name in the caller ID.

Bakugou Katsuki.

One of your friends caught sight of your phone and laughed, slapping you gently on the shoulder. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear."

Your mind was racing as you excused yourself, heading outside to take the call. Bakugou didn't call you. You were shocked he even had your number. Was there an emergency? You had a session scheduled for tomorrow, but maybe he overextended himself during the final battle and the backlash needed imminent treatment. Worried, you picked up with a tentative "Bakugou?"

"…Hey."

"Hey? Are you okay? Should I come over?"

"No!" Your worry was quickly turning to confusion. He sounded a little slurred, but not strained or weak, so what the hell was he calling you for?

You heard some rustling and a sigh before Bakugou spoke up again. "The damn nerd told me to call you."

"The nerd…you mean Midoriya? Our boss told you to call me? Why?" The nature of Midoriya and Bakugou's relationship baffled you at the best of times, but this was an especially odd development.

"Hell if I know. He's got it in his head that we need to talk or some shit."

"Bakugou, we literally see each other tomorrow. This could've waited."

"Katsuki."

"What?"

"Fucking—call me by my first name. Katsuki." This call was getting weirder by the second, but you couldn't deny the little thrill that went through you. It felt like a crack had appeared in some invisible wall that had been separating the two of you for the longest time.

"Okay. Katsuki, what is this about?"

"I don't—this is so dumb."

"You called me! Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"No, that's not what I meant, I just—" A frustrated groan crackled over the line, and you envisioned Katsuki sat on his nice couch in his empty apartment raking a hand over his face at his inability to get through one conversation. "Can we, fucking, start over?"

"You're not making any sense."

"Look, I know I was a dick—"

"You are a dick, present tense."

"Yeah, fine, let me finish. It's just, it's so fucking weird how everyone looks at us like we should be married with kids and we're practically strangers. I don't even know your favorite color."

"My favorite—are you drunk?"

"'M not drunk! I had, like, two beers."

"I thought you didn't drink."

"I never said I didn't drink, I said I didn't keep alcohol at my house. The nerd brought it."

A headache was quickly forming in the space behind your eyes. You massaged your temples in an attempt to calm yourself and dissipate the tension building there. "Okay, let me see if I have this straight. Midoriya dropped by with alcohol, the two of you got to talking, he told you to talk to me, and now I'm trying to get through the most confusing phone call of my life. Do I have that right?"

After a second or two of silence, Katsuki replied with, "…mm."

"Okay, alright, so we're strangers. Do you want to change that?"

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"And what do you propose we should do as a bonding activity? Mountain climbing? A sightseeing tour of a dungeon?"

When he spoke again, his growing irritation was more than evident, though what exactly he was irritated with remained unclear to you. "I'm not saying we have to start doing crazy shit. We can just…talk. I want to talk to you."

You couldn't resist taking the opportunity to tease him, just a little. "You're already talking to me."

"No, not like this." God, was that a whine you heard? "I wanna get to know you, not just as my Guide. It feels like, I don't know, like a waste of good compatibility if we just stay coworkers. You're one of the most tolerable people I've ever met, I don't want to lose out on that."

You weren't sure what to make of the sudden vulnerability, but you wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. If Katsuki wanted to get closer, then it was at the very least worth a shot. Though a part of you wondered just how far he wanted to take this. More than coworkers, but would it stop at friends? Would it escalate to lovers? If you were being honest, it wasn't a possibility you hated the idea of. Katsuki was an attractive man, and competent to boot. If you had to entertain the idea of a romantic relationship, you could definitely do worse. But was that what he wanted? For the first time, you wished you were an Esper. The telepathic kind, so you could pick his brain and get a straight answer from him. Unfortunately, you had to settle for the means available.

"Okay, okay. I'll see you tomorrow, and we can talk. We'll have a nice long conversation, promise."

"Hm. See you tomorrow, then." The second the words were out of his mouth, he ended the call. You stared at the phone in your hand and asked yourself what you'd just agreed to.

"So, how are things going?"

"They're…going."

For most people, getting called to their boss' office was cause for apprehension, nervousness, maybe even fear. But for you, Midoriya requesting your presence was about as threatening as a phone call from your nosiest friend.

The two of you had met in university and become thick as thieves almost instantly. Even then, anyone with eyes could see the reverence Midoriya held for the world of the supernatural. Espers, Guides, monsters, rifts, dungeons, it all fascinated him to no end. When you awakened as a Guide, he was the first person you contacted and to this day you don't think you'd heard anyone shriek quite as loud as he had. You both kept in touch even after graduation, and when he'd opened Yuuei he'd promised that there would always be a spot for you on the payroll if you ever decided to join. Sure enough, a few years later you found yourself at Yuuei's doors and he'd welcomed you with incredibly open arms. The two of you tried to keep things semi-professional during business hours, but it was no secret around the office that you were close.

And then there was…whatever he and Katsuki had going on. They were allegedly close, childhood friends (frenemies? maybe even straight up enemies? you'd never managed to weasel the full story out of either of them) that had maintained a relationship into adulthood. Katsuki was one of the first Espers to join the company, and having an S-class Esper off the bat undoubtedly did wonders for its reputation. No one had been more shocked and delighted at the news of your match rate than Midoriya, and since then he had taken what some might call an unhealthy interest into the relationship between the two of you. Still, you weren't going to deny him this small bit of joy and entertainment, no matter how unprofessional.

Midoriya chuckled and leaned forward with his elbows braced on his desk. "That's vague."

"It's the best descriptor I have. I think we're getting closer. We talk during the day, and he texts me sometimes. I'm learning more about him but I still feel like there's a distance between us. Plus, he's been…weird, lately."

Midoriya physically perked up. "Weird? Weird how?"

"He's around more, for one. Sometimes I see him wandering around the general floor, looking conflicted and a little lost. I can't acknowledge him in any way or else he gets spooked and darts off to pick up a new mission. Have you ever known Katsuki to loiter?"

"I have not."

"That's what I thought. Also, he hasn't said anything outright but if I happen to mention another Esper during our sessions, a sort of shadow crosses over his face? I don't really know how to describe it, it's like he gets really pissed for half a second before going back to normal."

Midoriya had the same expression as a kid in a candy store. "I can't believe this. Kacchan is trying to find excuses to be around you. Kacchan is jealous."

"I wouldn't say that much."

"I would!"

"I think you need to put down those cheesy Esper and Guide romance books."

He laughed, unrestrained. "Well, chin up. Regardless of anything, you two are on a first name basis and he texts you. For Kacchan, that's basically third base."

"Midoriya."

"I'm serious! I can count on two hands the amount of people Kacchan considers friends, and none of them are people he met in adulthood. This is good progress."

You let out a sigh, though a smile sat upon your lips. "Yeah, well then you're going to love this. He invited me to dinner."

Midoriya immediately leapt to his feet, green eyes ablaze with interest. "He asked you out?!"

"Not like that," you retorted. "The other day, we got to talking about our hobbies, and he mentioned he liked to cook. I made a joke about how I'd be down to help him with the eating part, and next thing you know he invited me over to his house."

"Oh my god. He's going to make you a home cooked meal. Next you'll tell me he's going to propose."

"You're really getting ahead of yourself. It's just dinner between friends!"

"For anyone else, maybe. But not for Kacchan, and definitely not for you and Kacchan."

"There is no me and Kacch—Katsuki. Just because our match rate is high doesn't mean we're secretly denying some soulmate bond."

Midoriya didn't respond immediately, instead taking a moment to study you. He had a habit of that, staring at people like they were puzzles he needed to sort and figure out. Abruptly, he rounded his table and stopped in front of where you sat, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Fine, not soulmates, but what is your end goal here? Is a platonic relationship all you want, and if so, does he know that?"

You tried very hard not to fidget in your seat under the weight of his scrutiny. "That's not a very appropriate question to ask a subordinate."

"Don't pretend to care about HR violations now because you want to avoid the question."

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you scrambled to sort your somewhat tangled feelings on the subject of Bakugou Katsuki into a palatable answer. "I…don't really know. I guess I've always been somewhat attracted to him. Before I joined the company, it was just a basic acknowledgement of physical attraction whenever one of his missions would make the news. Then, I became his Guide and all of that was promptly buried by how unpleasant he was to be around. But now, we're shaking off our rough start and I feel…conflicted. He still grates on my nerves sometimes, and he's sort of a prick, but he can also be thoughtful and funny and kind."

"Baby's first complex man."

The glare you shot him was packed with all the venom you could manage. "I'm not going to keep talking about this with you if you're going to make fun of me."

Midoriya immediately raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, sorry. So, what, your crush is back?"

You settled deeper into the leather office chair. "I guess? It's different now, though. Before, a one night stand would have gotten him thoroughly out of my system. Now, I feel like having sex with him would be the single worst decision I could make."

The teasing you expected from Midoriya didn't come. Instead, the man before you only made a contemplative noise. "How so?"

"Well, it might create a precedent, you know? We're not just two random people, we're a highly compatible pair. If we cross that threshold, the unspoken implication is going to hang over every guiding session we have for the rest of time. My options would be to cave to that style of guiding or suffer a slow, torturous death from the sheer awkwardness of it all. Anything that may or may not be budding between us would be killed before it even got a chance, everything would be ruined."

Midoriya nodded once before fixing you with that piercing stare once more. "Fair. Then I suppose the next question is, what are you going to do?"

"Right now? My plan is go to dinner, have a nice evening, and to not, under any circumstance, sleep with him."

Dinner was incredible, spectacular, amazing, just about every positive adjective you could think of. Your expectations were admittedly middling, but he had totally outdone even what you'd considered the best case scenario. Good conversation followed good soup, and, as was natural for the two of you, the topic had turned to work.

"I just—I never really got it, you know?" Katsuki groused, sinking deeper into the cushions. "The whole…sex guiding thing."

You exhaled hard, legs folded where you sat next to him. "What do you mean you don't get it? It's pretty straightforward, no?"

"Obviously, I get the concept," he flicked a piece of sofa lint at you, "I just never understood the logic of it. I find it hard to believe that spending half an hour screwing your coworkers and making a mess is more efficient than what we do."

You shifted, trying to organize your thoughts. "Well, we're not exactly a good comparison. A pair with 50% compatibility would need twenty minutes to transfer the same amount of energy we could in two. But with more, you know, skin to skin contact, the whole thing goes a lot faster."

Katsuki hummed and crossed his arms. "I guess. Not that I don't still think fucking on the clock is dumb, but if I were some low rank extra and I had to choose between staring at someone's face for the better part of an hour or—fucking, I don't know—multitasking, the second option does sound more appealing."

"You wouldn't stare at my face for an hour?" You teased, hand coming up to poke his arm.

He swatted you away, but you could see the beginnings of a blush on his chest. "Fuck off."

You chuckled and let your head fall against the back of the sofa. "I get what you're saying, but, I don't know, you've never been curious about it?"

"Of course I've been fucking curious, 'm not a corpse." You were mildly taken aback by his candor, honestly expecting him to deflect your question with a scoff or a grunt or any other of his various nonverbals. "But," he continued, "like you said, there's no point, really. We're too compatible, and it's not like I'd do that shit with any of those nobody guides."

"Don't be mean, Katsuki." You replied on instinct, but your head began to spin as the implication of his words settled in. This was dangerous territory, a road that only ended in ruin. You gazed at the man next to you, golden hair haloed by the hallway light and sleeveless tee draped sinfully over his upper body, so close you could lean over and plant a kiss on his bare shoulder if you wanted, and suddenly the road to hell looked very, very appealing.

"I'm serious. Going to anyone else for guiding would just piss me off, not to mention if I had to stick my dick in any of them. At least I give a shit about you." God. God. What was his problem. Why was he being so casual about a topic like this? You were so screwed.

Before your brain could catch up to your subconscious and take any sort of preemptive, preventative measures, the words were already formed and out of your mouth. "Try it with me."

Katsuki's head snapped to face you, and you immediately regretted even agreeing to come here. "I—I mean, obviously I'm not saying we should fuck, but, you know, we're both here and curious and I figured there was no harm in trying a more, um, involved style of guiding?"

Ruby eyes blinked at you in a way that could only be described as owlish. The longer the silence stretched, the more your stomach churned. Right when you decided to excuse yourself before you were sick all over his nice rug, his voice reached your ears.

"I'm not…I'm not unstable enough for a full session."

"It doesn't have to be one!" You rushed the sentence out, trying and failing to keep any semblance of cool you might've had left. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you forced your voice back to its regular register. "We don't need to do a lot. I can just take the edge off until we meet again during work. If…if that's okay with you?"

You watched the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard, hands twitching at his sides, before he nodded yes. Moving slowly, you closed the distance between your bodies, heart thudding in your chest. He tensed when your touch landed on his thigh, but when you went to retreat his hand closed around your wrist. Your eyes flicked to his and he nodded again, signaling you to continue your approach.

Which was how you found yourself in his lap, thighs bracketing his legs as pink crept up his neck and his hands hovered uselessly in the space above your hips.

"You know," your voice was light and teasing in an attempt to mask your nerves, "this doesn't work unless you touch me. That's kind of the basic principle of guiding, yeah?"

The pink hue spread to his ears but his palms finally settled on your thighs, right below the hem of your shorts, strong fingers resting on plush flesh. You hummed in satisfaction, your own hands braced on his shoulders. He was warm and firm under you, steady and comforting. You'd appreciated his body before but this was different, you felt almost drunk off the contact alone. Fighting the urge to move your hands down and explore more of him, you leaned in until your chest pressed against his.

"You good?" you queried with a tilt of your head. He huffed and squeezed your thighs once.

"Quit it with the kiddie gloves shit, 'm not a damn virgin." You bit back the quip of disbelief already on your tongue. Time and place.

"Alright. Here goes." You inhaled to steady yourself before pushing out the breath and your energy.

A gasp tore through you as your nerves lit up. Lightning flared under your skin at every point of contact, threatening to drag you under a sea of sensation. The usual dullness you associated with guiding was nowhere to be found; it felt like someone had flicked a switch in your brain that activated some sixth sense you didn't know you had, bringing the world into stark Technicolor. Your nails dug into his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself against the onslaught of stimuli, and his hands pulled you closer in response. You were panting, you realized, and he wasn't much better, the grip on your thighs vice-like.

You had half a mind to stop, pull your power back, but the electricity arcing up and down your spine had taken on a pleasurable edge. His energy pressed against yours, the synchronicity of the ebb and flow only strengthening the buzz.

"Holy shit," you said, finally remembering how to work your vocal cords. You managed to meet his gaze and were struck by the heat you found there. His eyes had become two voids, small rings of red the only remnants of color. Your lips parted slightly, but the words you were preparing died in your throat as he surged forward to kiss you.

The angle was wrong, not good enough for a proper kiss, but neither of you particularly cared. A few moments of messy desperation later, Katsuki growled and pulled away. You didn't even have time to miss him before he lifted you with ease and altered your positions. Your back had scarcely connected with the couch cushion when he descended on you again. You gasped, whined, groaned, and made a litany of other mildly embarrassing noises as the two of you made out. At some point, your abilities fizzled out, destroying any remaining pretense behind your actions. Your leg ended up hiked over his hip and the shock of his thigh against your core pulled you somewhat back to sanity.

"Katsuki—fuck, wait a sec." Your voice was breathy as you craned your neck away in an effort to not get pulled back into your lustful daze.

The man on top of you frowned as he moved back, creating some distance between your heated bodies, and you wanted to kiss the pout off him so badly it almost hurt. Through a herculean show of self-restraint, you didn't yank him back down to finish what you started.

"What's wrong?" The slight rasp in his tone was about to drive you crazy. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, it's just—we shouldn't do this."

"Do you…not want to?" His face flashed with hurt and guilt and the sight twisted your stomach in a way that made you rush to reassure him.

"No! No, I want to. But, you just said it's not a good idea to screw your coworkers."

"I don't want you to be my damn coworker." His response was immediate. "I don't give a shit if it's corny or cliché or whatever anymore. I want you to be mine. I wanna be yours. All the stereotypes about high match rate pairs, I want them to be true. I want you, more than I've ever wanted anything in my whole damn life."

The confession knocked the air clean out of your lungs with the sheer weight of its intensity. The most beautiful man in the world was on top of you, spilling his guts and baring his throat, looking down at you like he was trying to figure out a way to tuck you into his ribcage, which, honestly, sounded like a great place to be.

"I want you too, Katsuki. I'm serious about this if you are."

"I'm serious as the fucking grave. I know I can be a pain, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be sorry. I wouldn't like you half as much if you had no bite."

His mouth spread in a wicked grin. "Wanna find out just how much bite I have?"

When you received the letter assigning you as taskforce 141’s guide, you weren’t sure what to think. Not long ago, portals which contained monsters from another universe began opening up everywhere. These monsters caused catastrophic destruction and destabilized the entire world, almost throwing humanity into ruin.

However, some mercy was granted through the appearance of espers. Espers are people who were gifted with unique powers that enable them to fight these monsters. Although not all espers choose to fight monsters, the large paycheck and widespread reverence and appreciation are a large incentive for most. While espers were essentially granted infinite use of their powers, they also have a fatal weakness. During their fights with monsters, espers can take significant damage to their bodies and also build up large amounts of harmful energy within themselves. If this energy is not removed and they are not healed, they either die or go on a deadly rampage as if they are monsters themselves.

As if hearing another desperate plea for mercy, guides also appeared in order to help these espers. Guides are people who have the unique ability to release the harmful energy and rapidly speed up espers’ healing process. You are one such guide. 

Unfortunately, espers do not only fight monsters. Despite humanity already struggling to survive the carnage from the portals, many decided to take advantage of the spreading chaos and began attacking weakened societies in order to take control. In addition to needing groups which fight monsters, many countries were also forced to organize groups to protect themselves from other espers.

Widespread subjugation of un-powered individuals and guides became a prevalent issue, one which many governments were actively fighting against. Even though these groups only fought other espers, negative energy and injuries would still accumulate, meaning these groups of espers also required guiding. When you were recruited as a guide, you fully expected to guide espers who fought monsters because that is what you were initially trained for. Unfortunately, things didn't work out that way and you were assigned to a task force that specialized in fighting other espers. 

You read over the letter again and again and still, the assignment remained the same. You were instructed to pack up your few belongings and move into the barracks with your new team within the week. Being an S-class guide, you were truly shocked to be paired with a team like this, however you could only assume that they were high level like you and that is why they needed you. Being high level also meant that they were likely put in substantially more dangerous situations than the average esper. The thought of the sheer amount of injuries alone was enough to make you cringe, not to mention the negative energy on top of that…

Sighing to yourself, you folded up the letter with your assigned location, and slipped it into your bag. You exhaled and gathered up your remaining items and packed them into your bag. Finally grabbing everything, you reassured yourself that everything would go smoothly as you made your way to your new assignment. 

Security at the base was shockingly troublesome and took much longer than you had anticipated. By the time you finished getting through the security check point and found the supervisor in charge of your new team, you were already worn out. Finally, you stood stiffly in her office as she looked over your paperwork. Your hands were clasped behind your back as you stood up painfully straight and completely still, waiting for her to speak to you. 

“I see that you are assigned to Captain Price’s team.” She gave you a calculating look over the top of the files in her hands. You swallowed and then nodded. “Yes ma’am, they have determined that this would be the team where I would be most useful.” She nodded and looked back down at your file. “Well, since everything has already been settled, I will show you where you will be staying.” You nodded again and waited for her to stand.

You were slightly surprised that someone as high ranking as her would bring you to your new team, but they were a highly ranked team after all… Perhaps this is normal here? As she stepped past her desk and you, she hesitated before opening her door, “Be patient with them, give them time. I am sure they will be difficult, but just give them a chance.” With that, she opened her door and began leading you down the hallway again and towards your new team.

Looking back, there was no way she knew just how difficult they’d be and how many chances you’d give them. If you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into, you would have laughed in her face. Unfortunately you didn’t know, so you followed her as she led you through the base.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You subtly glanced around as different groups of espers, guides, and recruits walked past you. Some sent curious glances your way and you quickly realized that this was definitely not a normal occurrence. The glares that were also sent your way did not go unnoticed by you as you struggled to keep up with the station chief’s brisk pace.

Laswell kept a steady pace as she walked right into their building and through the empty hallways, the wood occasionally squeaking underfoot as she led you into their rec room. As you shuffled in behind her, you noticed the silence that immediately fell on the room.

You stepped out from behind her so that you could see your new team, an anxious pit formed in your stomach. Sitting at the small table on the right of the entrance were two of your presumed teammates who were obviously in the middle of a card game. One had dark hair that was cut into a shaggy mohawk and dark stubble, his light eyes watched you as a look of interest passed over his features. The man sitting at the table with him had much darker features and short, neat hair. He was quite pretty and had soft brown eyes that carefully studied you. To the left of the entrance, was a small worn out sofa that had a man with a hat sitting on it. He was spread out comfortably, but you could tell that he was on guard once you entered the room. He had mutton chops and a stern look on his face, his jaw clenched subtly and you quickly glanced at Laswell, wondering if something was wrong. Lastly, on a recliner next to the sofa, was a large man with a dark balaclava covering his face. His entire body was covered, save for his brown eyes that raked over you harshly. He was sitting tensely and looked as if he was ready to jump up at any moment.

As soon as Laswell had fully entered the room, the group quickly focused their attention and waited for her to speak. Laswell began speaking to the group, but you tuned her out as you glanced around the room. Once you heard your name leave her mouth, you stood at attention and looked up. Laswell quickly introduced everyone and instructed you to take the last empty bedroom in their wing of the building, the room specifically reserved for the team’s guide. She swiftly handed over the files and paperwork to the man you now knew was Captain Price and then gave you a brief once over, before leaving the way she came. 

The deafening silence that followed was broken by a grim chuckle from the man with the mohawk. “It's rare for Laswell to bring them here herself. I guess you must be something special, huh?” The man who you now knew was ‘Soap’ looked you up and down, “I’m sure you’ll be the same as all the rest,” He scoffed at you.

You bristled as you looked at the others in surprise, half expecting them to say something, but they all remained silent and simply watched. Now that you were standing alone, you began to feel nervous under their scrutinizing gazes, shifting from one foot to the other. Price quickly skimmed the paperwork in his hands before he glanced up at you. He gave a gruff, “Welcome to base,” before standing and walking out of the room.

Slowly, each of your new team members brushed right past you, clearly choosing to ignore you. You quickly stumbled out of the way as Ghost shouldered past you and you frowned. Once the door shut behind them, you let out the breath you were holding. Doubt swirled in your mind. After lingering for another moment, you took a deep breath and grabbed your large bag once again and made your way down the hallway. Each room had a labeled placard with their callsigns, you kept walking until you found the one room without one. 

You opened the door to a plain room and glanced inside. You weren’t shocked to see it void of anything except for a bed, desk, chair, and small wardrobe. You remembered hearing about the building's communal bathrooms from Laswell earlier. The right wing of the building was occupied by another team, meanwhile the left wing was taken by your team, and the bathrooms were in between.

You began unpacking and reviewing what you remembered of the schedule you had been given. Due to how long things had taken with security and Laswell, it was already time for dinner. Your stomach rumbled loudly as a reminder that you had eaten lunch quite a while ago. Finally deciding that this was a chance to see more of the base, you made your way to the dining hall. 

The walk was short, but it gave you a chance to finally breathe. When you entered the building, you found the dining hall was bustling with casual conversation filling the room. The smell of food made your stomach growl again, so you quickly grabbed some food and began looking for a place to sit.

When you turned around, you spotted your new team close by. They were talking amongst themselves and you watched as they began to playfully bicker over something. You watched for a second before deciding it was probably better to sit elsewhere, so you found an empty table away from them, near some of the other guides that you recognized.

When you finally made it back to the rec room after dinner, you found the rest of your team relaxing. They were obviously on edge when you entered the room, so you quickly made your nightly tea and escaped to your room. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Your first morning with them was not one that you could easily forget. You had barely slept due to nerves from being in a new place, and decided that a good way to start the day was some guiding in order for them to feel refreshed. Even if it meant that you would be tired the rest of the day, you didn’t mind. 

You waited in the common room while nursing a hot cup of tea. Ghost was the first to enter early in the morning, just after sunrise. As soon as he entered the room, his eyes narrowed at you and his steps stuttered almost imperceptibly. As he made his way to the counter, you quickly stood up, your chair scraping against the floor.

With his back now turned to you, you released a breath and began to slowly approach him, “I’m not sure what schedule you have here, but I thought maybe I could give you some guiding this morning?” Ghost paused in his actions before glancing back at you, “No.” Slightly taken aback, you tried again after he turned back to his tea.

“I just figured since it was my first day here and I don’t know when you all received guiding last—” “I said no.” Your eyes shot up to meet his steely glare, startling you. “Right, right, I apologize—”

With his eyes still on you, he continued, “You’d do best to stay outta’ our way.” His gaze didn't falter and you could feel the intensity behind his warning.

Deciding it was best not to fight him on this, you looked down at your feet and nodded before leaving the room with your mug clutched in your hands. 

Unfortunately, that was just the beginning of many rejections that you had faced. When you had tried the others the same day, they similarly made their displeasure known. When you tried to join Gaz and Soap in their morning training session, they gave you a weak excuse before scurrying away. When you tried to join the team for dinner, Price’s harsh stare caused your steps to falter before you again decided to eat on your own. 

A few times you found yourself at Price’s office, sometimes offering some guiding and sometimes just looking for any sort of contact, but you were always met with a gruff voice and a look of anger. Every. Single. Time.

You were often left feeling embarrassed and useless, and some of the other guides and espers on base seemed to notice. They often made comments when they saw you leave his office with a look of disappointment on your face. Your face felt hot as your eyes burned and panic filled you. How would you be able to stay here if you weren’t able to do your job? You would do absolutely anything if it meant that you didn’t have to go back to that place. You would even be willing to break your one boundary if it meant that they’d keep you. Laswell’s words rang in your head and you took a deep breath. You just have to keep trying and be patient…

Like a loyal dog, you always waited for them after their missions, be it in rain or hail, you were always there to greet them first when they returned. Their displeasure towards you seemed to grow when they caught on to your persistence, seemingly ignoring the fact that it was quite literally your job to help them. 

Disappointingly, the rest of your team was just as bad, if not worse than Price, when it came to rejecting you.

Gaz outright avoided you, which wouldn't be too bad if he didn’t make it so painfully obvious. When you walked into any room when he was the only one there, he quickly left no matter what he was doing, even going so far as to leave the stove on just to escape you.

Soap seemed slightly more snappy at you and often made humorless comments and snide remarks about how little you contributed to the team. The mocking you received from the others on base didn’t hurt nearly as much as the mocking from your own team. Frustration built up inside of you each time he took a jab at how helpless you were and about how little they needed you. You took to glaring at him more times than not, choosing to ignore the sting you felt each time he laughed when you offered guiding.

Ghost was similarly very obvious with his distaste, however he was only slightly more subtle. He glared at you whenever you walked into a room with them, seemingly disturbing their peace. Even after you stopped openly offering guiding, he still made it very clear that he did not ever want you to touch his skin directly. Typically he was covered from head to toe anyways.

Occasionally you would stumble across him without gloves on and in casual clothing, and you could visibly see his defensiveness. Even if he only had his gloves off, he still yanked himself away from you if you got within arms reach. You would never attempt to touch nor guide someone without consent, and the fact that he seemed to doubt that hurt you.

Even if all guiding required was your hands to touch theirs, and it was effectively first aid, you would still never force them. After three weeks straight of rejection, when you were only trying to do your job, you chose to step back and see if they would come to you instead. 

The only things that were expected of you as a guide were for you to take care of your espers, and for you to stay in shape in order to complete all aspects of guiding. As a guide, you were only able to help espers through physical contact. Typically, temporary guides only provide services through hand holding, kissing, or other basic forms of physical touch. However, more permanent guides were expected to provide full guiding, especially in cases of emergency. This could only be done through close intimate contact, often meaning sexual intercourse.

Despite the constant sting of rejection, you were honestly relieved that you hadn’t been forced to be intimate with your team, especially since they were basically strangers. One of your requirements while working was that you refused to be sexually intimate with an esper, even in an emergency situation.

Part of being able to maintain this boundary was consistent maintenance of the espers’ energy and health. And while your team clearly did not want you to even get close to touching them, you worried about how long they could go without receiving any guiding. Especially since you absolutely did not want to see them go berserk if they exceeded their limit.

Since you were so clearly rejected by your espers, you decided to focus on the other aspects of your job. While guides often have different expectations in this line of work, you were highly trained due to your class level. S-class guides were expected to have significant endurance, be trained in stealth, and complete high levels of self-defense training.

While normal guides were not expected to take part in missions, high level guides were expected to tag along and support their espers during and after missions. Guides were often provided with highly specific training ranging from deescalation, first aid, CPR, and anything else they might need in order to properly support themselves and their espers. This specific work required much more training for guides than simple work like fighting monsters did. Overall, it was taking you quite a while to adjust to your new life.

Although you did already understand the basics in first aid, CPR, and self-defense, your combat skills apparently left much to be desired. So much so, that Price decided your team would personally oversee your combat training. 

Often, right after your morning runs, you began hand-to-hand combat training with Ghost and the new recruits. Initially you weren’t sure why the newer recruits seemed afraid of him, but the more you worked with him, the better you understood their fear.

Ghost is strict and ruthless when it comes to training, he never holds back. Much of your training was done with the new recruits as if you were one yourself. However you are not, you are a guide and they are espers. At times it was refreshing to be treated the same as everyone else, but there were also times when you were reminded that you are in fact not the same as them. 

Ghost went much harder on you. Often, he used either Gaz or Soap for demonstrations, but sometimes he took it upon himself to demonstrate with you. Countless times you were knocked down, hit, kicked, or crushed in the name of demonstrations.

In addition, the recruits were commonly rough with you during sparring, clearly having picked up on their superiors’ rejection and disliking of you. Your joints often throbbed and your ribs ached, but all you could do was bite your tongue and swallow your tears.

On one particular day, your emotions got the best of you. On that specific day, Ghost made you stay after the regular training because you apparently ‘needed more practice’, but you got sick of having the shit kicked out of you and stormed out.

That all happened yesterday. When you walked into the training room, you were once again met with an angry look from Ghost. “Thought you gave up and quit finally. Why’d you come back?” The eyes of the other recruits subtly drifted over to you. You grit your teeth before responding, “Respectfully, I did not quit Lieutenant. I needed a break.” 

His eyes narrowed at your response and he scoffed. With his arms crossed, he stepped towards you, “Do you think you get to take a break out in the field? You guides are always so weak.” 

At that comment, your nostrils flared and your jaw clenched, but you remained silent. 

He continued, “Right, then you don’t mind if I use you to demonstrate what happens if you do let your guard down.” 

You paused before taking a step towards him, you weren’t sure what his plan was, but you felt uneasy. He stepped towards you, before pivoting and turning to the recruits. “Today you will be practicing how to get out of a chokehold.”

Suddenly he was behind you and before you had a chance to think, his arm was wrapped around your throat. You grasped his arm with both of your hands and quickly sucked in a breath. Before he put any pressure on your throat, he muttered into your ear, “Try to get out of this one.”

With that, his arm pulled tight around your neck and your oxygen was cut off as your feet lifted from the ground. You kicked and flailed as your nails raked down his sleeve-covered arm, a brief panic filled you. He let out a few grunts as your body thrashed and your hands yanked at his grip. Hot breath met your ear, “Is this the best you’ve got?” You twisted and hooked your leg behind his knee and tried to knock him to the ground. “I thought you were confident enough to take a break, but this is pathetic,” Ghost seethed, his hold tightening even more.

 Quickly you realized that your vision was starting to get dark as the circulation to your brain was being cut off. Instantly you sagged in his arms and the sudden dead weight pulled him low enough for your feet to meet the ground once again. Adrenaline filled you as you yanked his arm down and pivoted while hooking your leg around the back of his knee. You pulled him forward and over your shoulder as you kicked out his leg and he lurched forward.

At first it seemed as if he was going to catch himself, but he launched right over you and landed with a hard grunt. Despite getting him off of you, the lack of oxygen and blood to your brain had you seeing stars. You fell to your knees and slumped down on the mat as you struggled to catch your breath, your vision spotty.

When you finally caught your breath, you stood up quickly and swayed from the sudden motion, a nearby recruit caught you by the upper arm in a bruising grip. Frustrated, you glared at Ghost as he stood up, clearly trying to pretend that he wasn’t winded. You yanked your arm back and swore under your breath as you stormed out of the training room, ignoring the surprised looks on Soap and Gaz’s faces as you shouldered past them and into the hallway. 

You grunted as you stalked off and opted for a stop at the medical center to get your shoulder checked out again. Due to a past injury, your shoulder was easily re-injured and required frequent pain management due to the rough training you went through. Pulling open the main door, you stepped into the white waiting room and plopped down onto a chair. The staff there knew you by name and called you back after about ten minutes of you calming yourself down.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Not much later you left the medical center with some ointment for the bruises, a prescription for painkillers, and a reminder to not overexert yourself again. You clenched your jaw, ‘it’s not like this is my fault. They treat me like I’m an esper, but I’m not.’

Honestly, you missed your first home. You previously lived in a type of boarding school for guides, it wasn’t perfect, but it was much nicer than here. You had a few friends there and everyone was kinder, more patient… You missed the softness and comfort they provided. You thought you might eventually reach that level of comfort before, and maybe even with your new team here, but they have made it very clear that wasn’t going to happen. Additionally, being on this team seemed to have marked you as some kind of outcast and everyone else, including other guides, refused to get close to you. 

After being forced to take a rest day, you made your way to the cafeteria after washing up. Your shoulder ached and your entire body was sore, but you weren’t one to skip a meal. Once again, you thought back to the comfort of your old home and teared up a bit. You missed the comfort from the other guides, or any company at all…

After you grabbed your typical dinner and once again sat alone, you ate quickly due to your eyes beginning to feel heavy.

You were exhausted.

Everything. All the training, struggling to sleep, and constantly being on edge, was all catching up to you.

The other guides often bullied you in group training, and it was wearing you down even more than normal. Because you weren’t able to guide your own team at all and due to the scarcity of guides, you were forced to provide your services at the base’s medical center.

The other guides often made you take on the difficult patients, this meant that you were often paired with the extremely draining assignments, or the extra touchy ones. You tried not to let them get to you, but the rough training, rejection even among fellow guides, and terrible encounters with espers wore you down. You refused to cry in front of anyone, but you would occasionally let a few tears fall in the shower or in the sanctity of your room.

Finally you made your way back to the barracks, you were shocked to find your team waiting up for you in the rec room. Price was sitting on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. Ghost sat in his typical recliner with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark look in his eyes. Gaz and Soap were back at the table, reminiscent of your first meeting, however this time there were no cards in front of them and the air felt stagnant.

You huffed as you walked in and made your way to the kettle, your eyes glanced over all of them as you shuffled inside. As you began pouring the hot water into your mug, someone cleared their throat and the hot water splashed on your hand. You hissed when it made contact and glanced up as you waited for the person to continue. When no one spoke up, you scoffed as you rinsed your hand with cold water from the tap. “What? Don’t tell me you’re gonna ask for guiding after a measly fall like that?” Refocusing your attention on the group in the room with you, you looked at all of their faces as they remained silent.

Price shook his head and sighed deeply. “We don’t need guiding from you, we need you to stop trying that shit.” You bristled at that, “How can you expect me not to guide you? That’s literally my job?? You’re all acting like children who refuse to go to the doctor.” Soap rolled his eyes at your response, “Well ye’re no’ a bloody doctor are ye. What can you do?” Ignoring him, you directed your attention back to Price who continued, “We did not ask for help. We don’t need someone like you.” Incredulous of their attitude, you began to feel flustered. Your face turned red as your body heated up, rejection sunk in your stomach. “Well then why am I even here??” “We wish you weren’t.” 

A quiet gasp left you as you turned to face Gaz. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows creased together, his hands shaking. Frustrated tears began decorating your lash line, but you blinked them away quickly.

Exasperated, you finished making your tea and started to leave the room without another word. As you passed the sofa, a hand blocked your path. Price handed you a folder followed by, “Mission tomorrow, you’re coming with us. Be ready by 0500.” You nodded stiffly and tucked the folder under your arm before you continued to walk towards the exit.

As you were about to cross the threshold back into the hallway, a gruff voice stopped you, “And remember guide, don’t get in our way tomorrow.” Ghost’s reminder made you swallow hard before you continued your walk back to your room.

Your tears finally fell as you pulled on your sleep clothes. Blood rushed in your ears as you listened to the sounds of the base at night. Tonight was going to be another restless night…

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Your eyes peeled open shortly before 0430 and your limbs felt like they were made of lead as you forced yourself up. Your eyes burned as you quickly got ready, wincing as you dressed due to your injuries from the previous day. You double checked your supplies and your uniform, and quickly made your way to the tarmac, arriving 10 minutes early. As the rest of your team trudged up to where you were waiting, you could already see the disdain in their expressions as they passed you. You rolled your eyes, there was no need for them to be like this so early in the morning. Quickly, everyone double checked their weapons and supplies before boarding the aircraft.

Several hours later, you were all dropped at your checkpoint and were left to hike over a mountain in the middle of nowhere. The extraction point was a ways away from where your actual mission was in order to maintain stealth and ensure a safe retrieval.

Your boots crunched as you hiked through the wet snow. The slush covered as far as your eyes could see, and you hoped that it wouldn't get any colder. After spending several hours crossing the mountain, you finally stopped as the sun rose, catching up to the others as you took up the rear of the group.

They instructed you to find a good hiding spot and wait there until they finished, they clearly didn’t trust you to be part of their mission. You huffed as you turned and began searching for a surveillance point. The mountain was covered in a thick forest and you quickly hoisted yourself up onto the lower branches of a large tree covered in thick foliage and prepared yourself as a lookout in order to watch over their entry and exit point. 

Before they left, they reminded you to stay hidden as you grumbled a response and popped your earpiece into your ear. The small communication device crackled to life and you could hear your team as they began their infiltration of the building. Several guards were roaming the perimeter and you silently watched as the 141 efficiently took them out. As soon as their path was clear, they quickly slipped inside. All you could hear from outside was melting snow falling off of the surrounding tree branches and the occasional transmission over the mics.

Sitting was quite boring, but waiting for espers was something all guides were used to. You shivered and quietly huffed out a warm breath, hoping that your nose wouldn’t start leaking under your mask. As you began to space out again, you suddenly heard confirmation that the others found what you came for. Letting out a sigh of relief, you breathed for a moment before your blood suddenly went cold. The sound of an approaching vehicle made you hold your breath. A vehicle rolled up the road and stopped near the entrance of the facility, not far from where you were hidden.

Quickly turning on your mic, you forcefully whispered a warning to your team. After hearing no response, you tried again, “More enemy forces showed up, six men, armed and appear to be espers.”

Still no response. Frustrated, you realized that they were either ignoring you or your transmission wasn’t going through and you began panicking. Deciding that you needed to help them so that they wouldn't get killed, you slowly slid down from your hiding spot, and crept down the hill towards the hostiles. You watched with bated breath as several of the men rounded the building and found the unconscious guards. Shouting to the others, they seemed to be getting ready to ambush your team.

You reminded yourself to be cautious, these men appeared to be espers and there could be more of them. Finally making a decision, you aimed your weapon. The least you could do was distract the three near the exit and hope that your team could handle the other three that were still on the other side of the building.

Hearing confirmation that your team was coming back out, you steeled yourself, and fired three shots. The shots rang out in the otherwise quiet forest and you watched as the man closest to the door went down. The two closest to him seemed to be in shock before they turned towards the treeline where you were hiding. Taking advantage of their confusion, you shot twice more and hit one of them, before the other snapped out of his shock and began charging the treeline.

Shit. This one was definitely an esper.

You jerked back from your position and his eyes locked onto yours. Ducking behind a tree, fear filled you as you began panicking again. He was still a ways away when you last saw him, but you knew he saw where you went. Having the uphill advantage, you darted up another thick tree and hid in the thick branches, immediately going silent. Ice and leaves crunched under his boots as he crept closer and closer to the tree you were hidden in. Your left hand covered your mouth as your other arm gripped the trunk tightly. Your legs began to shake, but you remained completely quiet, crouched in the branches.

Walking directly under you, you watched as he stopped and turned around, clearly looking for you. He muttered something into a walkie and went quiet again. Finally, he turned and walked out of sight. You waited a few seconds before letting out a choked breath. Suddenly, the sound of an explosion forced you turn your attention back to the building as you realized the 141 made it out.

As you turned back to the ground below you, planning to join them, you were met with the jarring appearance of the man who had been chasing you. A sickening smirk stretched across his face, “There you are you little rat.” A yelp left your mouth suddenly as he slashed up at you. You clutched your side as you stumbled back and fell the short height out of the tree. Vegetation and snow crunched underneath you as sticks from the bushes stabbed your back through your uniform.

Gasping, your panicked eyes met him again as he advanced towards you. In desperation you threw your hands up to shield your face.

Suddenly you heard a shot ring out followed by a heavy thud right in front of you, a sudden weight crushed your legs. Your eyes shot open and you quickly locked eyes with a very angry looking Ghost, the rest of the team close behind him. Stomping towards you, he gripped the front of your uniform as he dragged you up from the ground. You winced as he yelled in your face, “Why didn’t you warn us.”

Gasping in a breath, you struggled to lift your head up, “I did warn you,” you choked out. Falling into the slushy snow had caused your entire uniform to be soaking wet, that combined with the unfiltered rage in his gaze caused you to shiver. “I warned you twice over the mics.” A look of disbelief crossed their faces as they exchanged glances.

Finally reaching towards Ghost and patting his shoulder, Gaz muttered, “Whatever the case we need to get out of here.” Soap nodded in agreement, “There may be more o’ them coming.” Price was crouched down  inspecting the man who Ghost had killed. “These are high level espers, we need to go.” Finally stepping back, Ghost let go of your collar and you slumped forward on the ground.

Heavy snow began to fall as the sky darkened and the wind picked up. You heaved out a breath as the others began stalking away, heading back up the mountain. Stumbling to your feet, you quickly followed them once again taking up the back of the group.

You shivered violently as the cold began to settle into your warm body. While your winter uniform was designed for short bouts of cold weather, it was not entirely water resistant and did not dry quickly. The wetness of your uniform began to feel colder and colder as you continued to hike up after your team, struggling through the thickening snow. As the adrenaline from the mission wore off, you continued to feel more of the effects of the frigid temperatures. Your hands shook lightly as you stumbled over a large branch and piles of snow. Glancing back at you, Ghost scoffed and Soap laughed before stalking after the lieutenant. Gaz hesitated slightly, before continuing after the other two. Price didn’t even glance at you as he muttered to keep up.

You glared at their backs and huffed, choosing to ignore their bad attitudes and ungratefulness for helping them. As minutes passed, more snow crunched under your boots as you and your team continued moving towards the extraction point. 

Slowly, you began to feel a strange wet warmth and then immediate coolness in your right side. You looked down in confusion and felt your side for the source of the strange wet feeling. You pulled your hand away when you felt a dampness and your breath stuttered when you saw red dripping down your fingertips.

Shit. The esper must have wounded you and you didn’t notice due to the adrenaline. You clenched your jaw as the feeling in your side slowly started to return, the adrenaline now properly wearing off.

As the 141 kept a steady pace, you started to fall behind, your movements sluggish as you struggled through the thick snow. Your breathing became more ragged and your eyes felt heavy as your side burned with a new bout of pain. A few more glances were sent your way, but no one mentioned anything until you stumbled against a tree, the mission now miles behind you.

Your breathing was shallow, your arm desperately clutched your side as you leaned up against a tree and used your free arm to keep yourself steady. The pain bloomed the more you breathed and struggled to walk. In the distance you heard a voice calling you, but you didn’t realize what it was until a hand grabbed your chin.

Looking up, your droopy eyes met the enraged gaze of Ghost. His breaths came out in puffs of hot air, even through his mask, as he said your name again. He was saying something to you, but you couldn’t hear him through the cotton that filled your ears and mouth. Using the arm that was supporting you against the tree, you grabbed onto his forearm and attempted to steady yourself against him.

Looking back up at his face in confusion, you leaned in, words slurring, “Whas wrong Lieutenant? Did I do something wronggg?” He looked shocked for a second, before he was asking you something again. Your other hand came up as you attempted to pull back from him and his gaze suddenly dropped to the snow beneath you. He turned and quickly shouted something at the others before their voices started getting louder.

"You should take care of yourself more, phainon. You just woke up and you're wounded." You clicked your tongue at the man in front of you, alternating between staring at his medical report and at his badly injured bandaged body. Top class Esper? Please, all you could see is just another glorified reckless kid with superpowers.

One that an overworked guide such as yourself is not paid enough to babysit for.

"But I got the job done, didn't I?" He tries to muster a grin at you, though with the shake in his voice and the clouded gaze, you know he's on the edge after overusing his powers that much.

The man looks up at you with pleading eyes, breathing ragged as he panted out, "Can I.. get my reward? Please?"

You know it's not a good idea with how wounded he is but it's your job to take care of him when he gets like this. As a guide, you have to be the one to stabilize him, and the others as well. Good grief, when will you ever get your rest?

"You're very impressive, I'll give you that. Holding up your sanity even after you've far overexerted yourself." You hum as your hand glides over his face. The man sighs in content and nods, his eyes closing as he leans into the palm of your hand, trying to be closer and closer to you.

Hopping onto the bed, you slot yourself between his legs. Though, you didn't have to do anything. Phainon opened his legs wide for you before you commanded him to, his hospital gown barely covering his raging anticipation.

"Please.. I've been so good, haven't I?" He gulps, holding back a whimper when he sees you unbuckling your belt. Though, he didn't receive the praise he was hoping for, making him whine at the lack of your affections on him. "..Am I not a good boy? Please, I tried so hard- I took the hardest case they have, I even defeated that monster solo! I-"

"That's exactly why, phainon." The coldness in your voice cut him off, completely catching him off guard. This isn't how he thought things would go, you were supposed to praise him, kiss him, love him, why? Where did he go wrong?

Perhaps it's due to the unexpectedness of it all, or perhaps it's due to his current unstable state that he's so lost. He needs you so bad, why aren't you giving it to him? Are you disappointed in him? Did he fail you? Ah, the thought of it hurts. It hurts so bad.

Your eyes soften as you lean in to kiss his tears, a hand starts to tease his leaking tip as the other puts its thumb in his mouth. "Why did you do it?"

"H-huh?" He whines at the sensations you're giving him. It's not enough, yet it's too much at the same time. He's so overwhelmed by emotions right now it's a miracle he's not going berserk.

"The mission. You know it's dangerous, you know it's powerful. So why? Why did you go alone and put yourself in danger?" A flick of your wrist and his head jerked upwards, more tears welling in his eyes. "You could've been killed. You think getting yourself killed will make me happy?"

"No- No.. ah, I'm just- shit, I wanted you to be proud of me-eEeeGh!" Another flick.

"Do you think I'd be proud of your recklessness? Do you see yourself?" You frowned at his response, grabbing him by the chin to look you in the eyes. You know he means well. But fuck, you couldn't help the anger that's burning within you right now. You could've lost him, if it weren't for Hyacine's skillful hands patching him up. "No matter how strong you are, you're not immortal! You should think things through before you do shit like that!"

Phainon's eyes widened, tears that welled up in his eyes now falling down his cheek. That tone.. Are you mad at him? No, please don't be mad. Please don't be disappointed.. no no no no! He can't take it, no, it hurts so so bad.

"No- don't hate me p-please! I did it all for you— I-" The man choked out, his sobs taking away his voice as he hugged into you, his hands clawing your back to make sure you don't run away. His eyes are starting to swirl, his breathing even more ragged as he starts to hyperventilate. "I- I- I just wanted you- I w- wanted you to notice me..to praise me, I- I don't want you to be taken away. Do you think I haven't noticed?! The way the others looked at you?! The way they touch you, talk about you, the way- No- you're mine, you're mine mine-"

Phainon sobbed out through gritted teeth and choked out words, clearly not in his right mind.

A breakdown.

"Yours?" You mumbled holding back a hiss, letting him dig his nails deeper as he bit hard into the crook of your neck, drawing blood. "Y-you.. really think getting yourself killed will make me yours? Please, you're better than that."

Just a bit more.

You positioned yourself to his entrance. Before you could even reach for the lube on the nightstand, Phainon grabbed your wrist with an expression far from normal. "No- want you- want you so bad! Now! Please-"

And so you obliged, thrusting yourself inside and earning a loud moan from the man beneath you and a deep groan from you. "Hhaaaa, even when you're being controlled you're still as loud as ever."

The man's grip on your back tightens even more than before, sharp nails forming and puncturing deep into your flesh.

Shit, that hurts.

"No- no no nono-OoohhhNGh! W- why? Why do you h-hate me so much? Why do y-y-you want me dead so badly?!" Phainon's blue eyes swirled darker, along with his hair, turning into that of a yellowish shade instead. It's Khaslana, Phainon's power taken form.

He's clearly losing control of himself, shown by the way his powers are activating on you and the way his speech becomes more and more erratic, breathing ragged out. But that means you're close to getting it out of him.

"You really think you could get away? Controlling my esper's body and think I won't notice? Oh please, spare me the details." A particularly sharp thrust into the man has him arching his back off the bed, what was once white now no longer pristine with the spots of blood dripping from your back.

"FUCKOFFFUCKOFF- GET AWAY FROM M-ME I'LL KILL YOU-! DIEDIE- N-NO DON'T DIE PLEASE DON'T GO!" He sobs, screaming at you derangedly through his hyperventilation while his hands digged deeper and deeper into your back. He's conflicted, you noticed. Pushing your body away yet claws his way deeper to get you closer again.

"GO AWAY I HATE YOU! NO. DON'T LEAVE ME I LOVE YOU- DIE-"

A special case you've gotten yourself into.

It's true that the man beneath you is Phainon, an Esper under your care. This time, it's Phainon with his mind and body impaired- taken over by something. A parasite, you could say. A mind controlling one, at that.

Dangerous, yes. It eats away the mind and memories of the infected host, blending in and acting like the host as it takes full control of its host's body like an empty shell of a puppet. In the end, they'll end up as nothing more than zombies.

And unfortunately, your dear Esper had caught it. Perhaps it's because Phainon's a powerful one, so even though the parasite that got into his body is fully grown, it couldn't take over completely. You could tell, beneath it all that you could see him struggling against it. Yet at times it's hard to tell which one is the parasite's acting and which one is him.

You had to fish it out, it's your job. But hell, you'd be lying if you say you don't feel guilty right now.

"-Phainon?! Phainon where are you?!"

"Captain, I see him!"

"Shit- He's bleeding out! Someone-"

The scene was chaotic, the sky red as flamed engulfed broken buildings everywhere. Screams of worry from the search party echoed as they searched for one of their own.

There he was, found heavily wounded and his chest torn open along with some other deep cuts on his body, beneath the corpse of a three headed giant mutant. It's a miracle he survived, really.

The team performed immediate first aid and rushed him into the clinic, where Hyacine tried her best to sustain him while Anaxagoras performed the usual procedures, medical scanning and health check up after missions.

"He's what?" Shock is the best way to describe how you felt when you heard the news from professor Anaxagoras, a well esteemed researcher within this field- and also one of the Espers under your supervision. "I know there's no way you're joking but- dammit. Is there nothing we could do to stop it?"

"As I've said, do not panic. I am telling you this simply so you won't be fooled by that.. thing once it awakens with his body. It probably went inside his open wounds after its host was killed by phainon." Anaxa hands you the medical report before he turns around to grab a vial. "As you can see, fortunately for us, and him, he is that of a top ranked Esper which translates to the fact that he's strong. Ridiculously so. Usually these things incubate for a while, hence the camouflage traits it has. But alas, with the old host killed and Phainon vulnerable, it transferred hosts in an attempt to survive. Although this one is mature, having developed itself within the old host's body, It should take a while before that parasite starts to destroy him. Another fortune case is the fact that we form check ups every time, enabling us to catch on to infections like these before it's too serious."

"And this is why I do not want to hear any complaints on why that procedure is a must. However," he continues, dosing a syringe with the liquid of that vial. "We still have to extract it before anything bad happens, it's not worth the risk of potentially having a powerful esper turned into a zombie as an enemy. So that's where you come along."

"Okay, I'll do whatever it'll take to make sure he's alright." You hand out your arm to him as you listen intently, realizing that he's going to inject you. "Is this.. an antidote?"

"..More like repellant and immunity enhancers. We need you and phainon to bond to stabilize him and I cannot risk you getting infected while you guide him. Finding a guide that's compatible with us like yourself is hard enough as it is." Anaxa found your pulse quite quickly, injecting the so-called repellant with ease in one smooth motion. "But this wouldn't be your regular guiding. As much as I do not wish to say this, but you are required to break him during it. The amount of distress paired with the Esper's own immune system should be enough to cause the parasite to suffocate and potentially try to change hosts."

"..And perhaps you wouldn't have much trouble doing so. He's already in an unstable condition thanks to how reckless he was, pushing himself past his limits and now fighting this thing, on top of that."

"Breaking him to stabilize him? Isn't that counterintuitive? Are you serious? Isn't that far too dangerous?" You bit the inside of your cheek, contemplating your choices. "Forcing him to that point is a bit.. if anything goes wrong, it could be fatal."

"I know." The professor simply said as he looked at you in the eyes and squeezed your hand, his gaze filled with unwavering conviction. A rare moment from the usually stern professor. "But I also know that you can do it. It's Phainon we're talking about, If it's anyone who can get him back, it's you. Do you trust me?"

You stared at his reassuring grip around your own hand and then held his tighter before letting go.

"I do."

A sharp cry echoed within the room as you roughly yank something out of the wound on his chest that reopened itself through the bandages, your grip deadly around it to ensure that it won't escape and shoved it into the special glass jar anaxa has prepared for you that was on the nightstand. Oh the hatred you feel for this little thing is immaculate.

Phainon immediately went limp as soon as that thing was pulled out, hair returning to its original snowy white color while looking completely exhausted.

"...I'm sorry." You say, your eyes softening now that everything is over. You pulled yourself out of him and leaned down to give him a soft loving kiss on his temple, noting the way his body twitched at your touch. "You're so strong.. Thank you for holding on, Phai."

With a sigh, you fixed his slightly torn hospital gown and yourself to cover up. Anaxagoras soon entered the room after receiving a message from you, his gaze sharp and unreadable when you handed him the jar of specimen, eyeing the blood seeping through your clothes instead of the parasite.

Before he could even question you, your balance wavered as dark spots started to fill your line of sight before you fell unconscious completely.

The parasite was taken to the lab for further studies, while you and Phainon were brought to the clinic for further examination. Hyacine was horrified when she saw how bad your wounds looked and how much blood you lost, immediately rushing to your side. Anaxagoras just stared at you on the sidelines, frowning when he got a good look at your bare back being treated by the girl and left with an annoyed click of his tongue.

You awoke not long after, presumably a few hours, to a worried team. Even Mydeimos, the man who's usually stern came by your room with concern on his face.

The HQ feels calmer, no more panic searching for the Esper now that they've got everything under control. But it doesn't soothe the worry eating at you from the inside as you wipe down his unconscious body with a warm towel. He's so pale.. a stark contrast to how bright he usually is.

Time passed with you staying by Phainon's side the whole day, holding his hand while kneeling beside his bed looking out for any signs of movement or discomfort. You could barely get a single wink of sleep due to how anxious you are from waiting for the medical results.

"..How is he? We didn't bond all the way through so.. I don't know if the guiding was enough. I'm afraid that he might.. ugh." You worriedly asked the professor, who had been analyzing his medical papers and lab analysis while Hyacine noted updates on Phainon's body.

"No, you did well. The guiding was successful even if you didn't go all the way through, That thing absorbed most of it so that amount of physical contact was enough. Right now he's stable, thanks to your efforts. Our hypothesis was correct, It seems like the parasite unknowingly absorbed the negative emotions from an Esper's distress while it tried to eat, harming it in the process and forcing it to abort. It wasn't too hard to get rid of." Anaxagoras informs you without missing a beat, not even glancing away from alternating between his papers to even glance at you.

"Absorb..?"

"Yes, it's like... A sponge! Think of it as a cup of dirty water and a sponge, the body is like a cup. When we go berserk or have breakdowns, our cup gets filled with dirty water. Usually a guide refills that water with fresh water- overflowing the dirty one and replacing it with your clean water." Hyacine noticed you were parroting the professor, assuming you were confused, and explained to hopefully to soothe your worries. "The parasite is the sponge, it soaks up the water and expands, eventually filling the cup with itself.. The thing is, they can't really choose which water to absorb since it's all in the same cup. Usually it could handle a certain amount of dirty water, but the dirty water from an Esper is far too toxic for the parasite, and even for the Esper themselves."

"And once you took the sponge out there's barely any dirty water left within the cup since it soaked up most of the water, which is why he didn't die. The repellant also worked just as I had predicted, if not you could've been the new host by now." The professor added, now turning his gaze at you. It's cold.

"But enough about that. What about you?"

"..What?"

"I'm asking what about you? You should worry about yourself more, with that sort of wound you could've died. Why didn't you tell me right away? How dumb are you to not do that? You're not an Esper like him, while he has an enhanced body you don't. You're still human. If it were any later we could've lost you."

You were at a loss of words, opening your mouth before quickly shutting it again as the man In front of you scolds you for all you're worth.

"You dare to lecture him when you, yourself, are you any better? I trusted you because you're our captain, I should've known that someone like you couldn't even consider your own safety. What a fool."

"What- it was your plan! I only did what you wanted me to-"

"I never told you to die on me did I? Are you so incapable of thinking for yourself that you're not able to know that 'not dying' is not part of the plan? You're a guide, act like one."

You frown, the guilt of putting Phainon through that already eating you inside, and now paired with the words Anaxagoras are saying to you, the insecurities you've been feeling about your inabilities as a guide are rearing it's ugly head. You understand he's concerned, and you know that he's right.

"Okay.. I'm sorry." You say bitterly, already moving to leave the room before things could escalate further and cool your head. You'd talk it out with him, but not now. Not with these emotions stinging inside your chest.

The room went quiet for a while, the only sound being the constant beep of the monitors. It wasn't long before Hyacine opened her mouth. "Professor... You could've worded that nicer. I know the captain was reckless but-"

"And what are you going to do if the captain died? Then what? Prove that my hypothesis was wrong? That I have to live off with the guilt that I killed them?" The green haired professor couldn't take it anymore and snapped at Hyacine before she could even continue her words, his own guilt could be heard from the crack in his voice. "It was my plan, I was the one who made the captain do it. If the captain died, that would mean Phainon would be taken over by that thing. And I'd be the failure that killed both them."

The girl looked at him with pity, and nodded silently. She knew, even through the harsh words he said to you, he cares. So much that he couldn't bear losing you.

And perhaps, she understands the professor, deeply relating to how he feels.

Because she wouldn't know what she'd do with herself if she had failed you, letting you die in her arms. No, that won't happen. None of them would let it.

A few days have passed since then. You weren't allowed to go on any missions so that you could fully heal. Other than guiding the Espers that needed you, you've been by Phainon's bedside for the most of it.

You stare at the unconscious man in front of you, his face illuminated by the Moonlight. It's night, currently. Your eyes are so heavy. Would you finally be able to sleep this time? How many days has it been since you last slept? Three? Five? A week? You couldn't tell, too out of it to think.

You couldn't hold on anymore as slumber takes you deep inside.

The clinic building was quiet, saved for only the footsteps of the night staff doing rounds. A soft knock can be heard from the room, opening to reveal a familiar pink purple haired girl. ".. Excuse me, captain are you here?" She says as she enters the room. You should be here since you've never left Phainon's side for long since the incident, and it's her turn to do rounds. Perhaps she has an ulterior motive, but alas that motive was quickly shattered when she saw what was in front of her.

There layed your head on the side of Phainon's bed, deeply asleep with a frown on your face. You looked so pale, did you not eat when she told you to? And those eye bags..

But what surprised her was the fact that Phainon was awake, sitting on the bed as he stared at your face before turning to the newcomer of the room.

The next morning you felt your heart drop deeper than it already did.

"I'm sorry.. there shouldn't be any permanent damage- I don't know why this happened. Perhaps the sponge was stronger than we thought. I know I said it couldn't choose which water but-" Hyacine looked down at her clipboard solemnly while Phainon stared at the two of you in confusion, tilting his head so cutely like that. "Oh, hello! You were the one next to my bed yesterday? Nice to meet you."

With how much you've been frowning lately, it wouldn't be a surprise if you got wrinkles because of it. "..Nice to meet you.. too?" You mumbled in confusion, stepping closer to the bed while Hyacine looked down at the floor, too ashamed to meet your worried gaze. The main perks up at your response and grinned, "Apparently my name's Phainon! She said so. What's yours? Oh, I forgot to ask yours too, miss nurse!"

You wished that it's a joke. Hope that it's just a prank. But the horrified look Hyacine has and the clueless one on his own is enough to make your chest sting.

He forgot about you.

Cadet Lilliope has a unique perspective as....a victim.

She's part of a system that recruits Guides and Transcendants as children. If you're a pair with potential you get sent out to fight in The Magic Stone War...early.

Lots of children have been sacrificed already.

Cadet Lilliope knows her destiny is death. She will die attempting to guide a rampaging S-Class Transcendant named Acteon. Her final solution is to escape her "school" with her brother Hyacin. She doesn't care if she dies or if it's treason. As a reincarnated person she already knows the truth. The war being fought is not noble. Cadet Lilliope dies unsung and forgotten. Her loving brother is on the way to becoming a "villain" to avenge her, and the walls are closing in.

Surely, taking risks is better than obeying the system.

The real protagonist, Milla, is emblematic. She completely sums up The Problem with alot of romantic war stories. She's a pretty distraction. A noble obsession. In the original story Acteon becomes obsessed with her in order to cling to his own sanity. He meets her after he has already accidentally killed other guides (Cadet Lilliope for example) and he is now desperately searching for a bond that can save him from violence he sews unwillingly.

Millia can save him. She's special like every protagonist, but the point of this story is it's not enough. The original plot was quite sad and pathetic. Millia spends her stressful existence comforting unstable men who could kill her at any moment. They are hopeless, dependant men who demand comfort at every turn. In the end she chooses the male protagonist because he can protect her best, and he's the kindest and least demanding....but is that really love? Really? When he still demands to be bonded to her through a barbaric ceremony, under the supervision of a government that sees their "love" as a war weapon???

Cadet Lilliope, a B rank destined for the war shredder, is forced to look for a way out.

Her brother will die anyway.

She will never be treated with value anyway, so she challenges those men who previously sought only comfort.

Is this really who you want to be, while your comrades die before you? While you wait your turn in a lineup labelled "slaughter"?

Acteon hesitates at first.

He doesn't know what Cadet Lilliope wants.

He eventually gets folded into a plan hatched by the imperial Prince.

A man who might just want to see change during his reign.

Someone who noticed Cadet Lilliope wants to save her brother. Money? Prestige? No. She seems to have noticed that even her "special" brother is more oil for the war machine.

So, the prince brings Cadet Lilliope and Acteon together.

Why?

Well, Acteon loved a certain Guide like a brother.

His S-Class sister, Claire, went insane. Not from a magical curse or whatever. Actually insane. Her loving Guide could not save her, because war was the issue. Claire could not handle all the violence she saw. She was too young. A conscripted soldier who felt like a monster. A talented Guide cant fix post traumatic stress disorder.

She killed herself, and she took her kind Guide with her.

Acteon watched.

Its no wonder that he sought comfort and a strong bond in the original story.

The Prince sees potential in him though, as the glory of war has been spoiled for him.

When Millia returns to the plot she's frightened. She knows the plot too, and she has her own plans. Ones that focus on her own survival. Hyacin actually inspired her to look out for herself this time. She watched him fall to revenge after Lilliope died, and she has no desire to become a comfort doll because of it.

Luckily, the men have changed.

Acteon most of all.

When Lilliope saves him it's about trust and hope, not comfort. He is forced to face his immature self, and he's happy she's there with him.

Who knows?

Perhaps this will create a deeper, less superficial bond.

*

That is, until Jinwoo reawakens as an S-class esper with his power scale offing the charts right from the get-go. The association in charge of esper-guide matching scrambles to find someone for him, and Reader is hastily appointed. The thing is, Jinwoo already has the System to stabilize him, so he doesn't actually need her guiding. Still, she does her duties diligently, staying by his side and all that. Her guiding—while rendered obsolete for stabilizing his powers—ends up offering Jinwoo peace of mind instead: calming his heart, body, and mind whether he's in turmoil, riding an adrenaline high during or after a raid, or when he just wants to not think.

I'm thinking of that "she fell first, but he fell harder" dynamic. Beside Jinwoo, Reader finally feels like she can be a person instead of a commodity. But she also feels useless, since her supposedly high-tier guiding—the very reason she was assigned to him—proves more or less ineffective for his actual condition. She feels like she have nothing to offer him back in return for giving her a life.

Jinwoo falls for her because she's just an overall sweet person to him, caring for him when she doesn't have to. Especially since, with their abnormal esper-guide temporary bond, she could technically just sit back and not bother with him.

Eventually, the matching association notices the abnormality and requests a proper compatibility test. And well—their score comes back as a 7. Not 70, not even close to the average stable match of around 60-ish. Just 7%. A number so low it makes everyone question how in the world Jinwoo is even receiving her guiding without showing a single ounce of agitation in response to the incompatibility. They association's conclusion? Reader's guiding is potent enough to override the low compatibility. 🤔

After that is just various shenanigans:

How Jinwoo staves of the matching association from disturbing his and his Reader's peace with their annoying insistences, that they can find him a better match but with the priority goal of retrieving Reader back into their arsenal;

How Jinwoo, after multiple experiences of being guided normally by Reader, starting to wonder how it would feel like to undergo the quote-unquote "Ultimate Guiding" by—ahem—sleeping with with her 🤭;

How Jinwoo wanting to be officially bonded to Reader, truly and permanently, as her one and only esper; and... yeah, that's how far my daydreams about this version of guideverse have gone, for now. ASDFGHJKL 🤣🤣🤣