#reader x est

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When you’d chosen him, amongst all the other meisters and fairies, Est had initially felt somewhat…pressured.

After all, it’s no hidden secret within Magia Seminar that he isn’t exactly the best of teachers. Proficient as he is with his magic, he has no doubts about his ability to protect you.

But to guide you? To answer whatever questions you had about this world? To be your tutor?

Est could only brace himself for your dismissal of him in the future.

Yet, to his skepticism, that day never comes and he doesn’t understand why.

He’s seen the way your features twist into an expression of confusion whenever he tries to explain something theoretical to you, the sigh that always escapes from your lips when he hands you supplementary readings for you to peruse, and how tired you always seem to be whenever you take a seat in one of his classes.

He wants to question you about your intentions, but he can never seem to find the right moment to ask you. The only times that the two of you are together, he can’t find it in himself to pop the question, especially when he’s how stressed you’ve looked from other matters.

So, because he still is a researcher, he observes.

He watches how you turn to him for any questions lingering in your mind, something thoughtful appearing in your eyes despite your difficulty with understanding the technical terms he uses. He comprehends, then, that the reason for why you studiously read the books he recommends is so that you can better understand his reasoning and lessons.

Once he’s collected enough data, all he can do is stare at the only conclusion he’s able to come to.

You rely on him. No, that isn’t right. You chose to rely on him, even if there are easier alternatives for you to choose from, and this sudden recognition of your efforts just to stay by his side fills his chest with something that bubbles warmly.

When you enter the library in search of him, you’re treated to a sight you’ve never seen before: Est, with a hand pressed right up against his forehead and his entire face blazing red.

“Here, this is for you. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but these are the notes I made when I was younger and magic had been new to me. I hope these will be able to help you.”

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As both a student and a medical magic practitioner, Kai can acknowledge that he truly has too much on his plate right now.

So, when you chose him, a refusal was already forming at the tip of his tongue. And he would have, if he hadn’t seen the knowing look that Sion had sent him; from thereon, his pride was honestly the only reason that made him grudgingly accept the offer.

Initially, he’s sullen whenever he has to accompany you, a constant sour twist to the corner of his mouth, his thoughts constantly straying to what he could have been studying at that time or which patient would be dropping by in an hour.

But, regardless of how time-sensitive he feels, he sincerely devotes himself to the task of protecting and guiding you.

He always has his medical kit on his body in the case you get hurt, his magic a sporadic thing that lashes out at the sign of hostility from others, and he makes it a point to answer your questions to the best of his capability.

He can sympathize, after all, what it’s like to feel lost.

For him to warm up to you, all it takes is one realization. He’s of the assumption that you expect him to invest most of his attention on you, but when you break it out to him that you understand that he has other duties to attend to and that you don’t mind, the weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders lift.

From thereon, rather than having a thunderous rain cloud following your wake, it’s as if you’ve acquired an excitable puppy trailing after you.

In what little reprieve the two of you are able to afford, he drags you out for lunch, visiting businesses owned by his former patients who are all too happy to have him there. Sometimes, when you find yourself free and waiting for him, he lets you into his infirmary where you’re able to see him at work, the energy constantly buzzing beneath his skin turning into a calm hum as he treats his patients kindly.

He’s aware that he’s showing a foreign side of him to you, but he doesn’t particularly mind it. Still, it does make him wonder just what made you decide to choose him out of everyone, because he can concede that he’s neither the strongest nor the smartest.

When he asks you, he doesn’t bother beating around the bush. He looks you straight in the eye, his cheek pressing against the back of his hand, and looking for the all the world like the question doesn’t have a grasp on his heart right now.

But when you give him a genuine answer, you’re treated to the sight of his composure fracturing, a flush riding high on his cheeks that he tries to cover with his hand, his gaze meeting everything but yours.

“Oi, come here…Are you serious? Look, I won’t bite, so just come closer. Your neck’s been hurting right? I know a thing or two about massages, so let me give it a try.”

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To put it plainly, Sion doesn’t really care whether or not he gets chosen by you.

Because in the end, whichever route you go with, you’ll eventually find out that not only is he incompetent to his own lineage but also opposed to the very magic that flows through his veins. A combination that, truly, you’ll most likely want to distance yourself from.

Yet, your gaze turns to him, something clicking into place in the space between the two of you, and Sion doesn’t even bother hiding his glower when he realizes just what this means—just a prolonged denial for the inevitable.

He keeps his distance from you, for both of your sakes, but he’s bound by duty to return to your side whenever you need it the most, be it for protection or guidance. He keeps his words curt and clipped, his tone uninterested and cold, and he can very well see the bewilderment on your face as to why you’re being treated in this way despite having only just met him.

He expects you to talk to him about this being a mistake, about him being the mistake, as is always the case, but that never happens. Instead, whenever he tries to scurry away from you after helping you with a task, you persistently dog his steps, sticking close to him just to keep the conversation going.

Sooner or later, your interactions begin to look less like a master calling for their pet and more like a cat chasing after a mouse. Sion will swear up and down that it isn’t true, because if it were the case, then wouldn’t that make him the mouse in this situation…?

Things come to a deadlock when you finally figure out his best hiding spot.

It’s a quaint area that used to be a side courtyard for the guild that has been now abandoned due to the fact that mostly everyone stays inside the libraries to study. Sion goes there often for the sake of it being a quiet place. And, as you soon come to learn, for the kittens play there.

The two of you stare at one another for a good long while, stunned, but the moment is broken when the little animal in Sion’s hands paws him in the face, meowing for more kisses on its tiny head.

Sion looks ready to bolt, completely horrified, but it takes you sitting down beside him and taking another kitten into your lap and playing with the little guy for him to calm down, a suspicious eye trained onto you.

It’s probably because this is the longest time that the two of you have spent time together than you tell him, keeping your gaze carefully trained a kitten, your reasons for choosing him.

He listens and, at the end of it, he doesn’t say a word. You worry that you might have been too impatient with him when he leaves, but the next morning, instead of having to initiate another one of your games of hide-and-seek, you find him waiting for you at the entrance of the guild.

“...I’ll only say this once, but—If you don’t mind having me, then I’ll do my best to take care of you and erase any of your worries.”

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At first, Gui thinks that you’ve made a mistake. Surely, you didn’t just call out his name? Or had you perhaps mistaken him for another meister?

But no, it’s not a mistake, because you’re looking straight at him, truly at him and not through him, with a smile on your face that’s gradually becoming more awkward, hand stretching out towards him for the taking.

It’s a clumsy first meeting, one that he’ll later on learn will be the general description for his relationship with you.

Because that’s technically what it is. No, scratch that, that’s what he is whenever you’re around, which is almost all the time.

For some convoluted and omnipresent reason, it’s as if whatever he’s holding suddenly turns into butter the minute you take a peek over his shoulder and ask what he’s working on, your face so close to his that he could feel practically every breath you exhale against the side of his neck.

It’s led to a couple of accidents within the guild that always lands him a scolding in the hallway, curious onlookers trying their best to listen in as they slowly walk by.

He would ask you to stop visiting him during his tinkering hours, but it feels wrong for him to do so.

He knows that it really isn’t your fault, even if you are the catalyst. It’s more of a him problem, really, so he lets you drop by whenever you want with a promise extracted from you that you’ll at least try and get his attention first from a distance.

Besides, despite the consequences, it feels…nice. To be appreciated like this. For him and his efforts to be seen.

It’s this sudden awareness of why he feels so happy lately, why he’s so reluctant to spend less time with you, that makes him wonder—just what had piqued your interest in him? So much so that you chose him out of the other meisters?

It takes time for him to gather the courage to raise the question to you, but he does so eventually because quitting is one thing unfamiliar to him. He keeps his eyes on his latest invention, trying his best to ignore the anxious fluttering in his gut.

Seeing his nervousness through the slight tremors in his hands, you reach across the table and take them in yours, caressing your thumbs over the back of his hands. You wait until the shaking stops before you answer him, giving him a fond smile that only succeeds in making the butterflies in his gut fly high up to his chest, filling him with a sense of adoration.