Andulka
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ojovivo
Xuebing Du
pixel skylines
hello vonnie
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
we're not kids anymore.
Origami Around
Keni
★
Kiana Khansmith
Three Goblin Art
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
ellievsbear
🪼
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Claire Keane
Game of Thrones Daily
$LAYYYTER
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@leibitch
I GENUINELY THOUGHT UR FRIEND'S VAPE IS A PEN OR SOME SORT.. I HAVE NEVER SEEN A VAPE LIKE THAT BEFORE.. damn, i really need to socialise... 😢
no it’s ok me too idk shit 😭
Js reblogging this to say I hope you're doing well! I love ur smaus sm and I hope life has been treating you well lately!
KPOP BEAUTY STANDARDS ARE INSANE
KPOP BEAUTY STANDARDS ARE UNREALISTIC
KPOP BEAUTY STANDARDS ARE DANGEROUS
Yes, idols are gorgeous human beings but don’t model yourselves after them to the point that it makes you pick yourself apart.
You don’t need to starve yourself. You don’t need surgeries. You’re beautiful as you are. Don’t compare yourself to people who are taught to hate the natural versions of themselves. I beg of you.
“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”
not even risking that shit
scrolled past this, re-evaluated my life, then SCROOOLLLED back up and hit the damn reblog button.
She ain’t no games in real life so I take her serious all the time
Anyone with a name that starts with a “Z”, ends with an “i”, and isn’t some kind of Italian pasta, IS SERIOUS
I’m not climbing no mountain with a pig on my back, 🙅🏽🙅🏾🙅🏿 Negative.
Nope. I know better, have your reblog Madame Zeroni.
who the fuck is Madame Zeroni
Look at these stupid children who don’t know who Madame Zeroni is
Man lissen if you don’t know you better ask somebody AFTER you hit the reblog button
Idk who she is but I have an exam today so I’ll reblog her
idk who she is but i have an exam today so i’ll reblog her
^Haiku^bot^0.4. Sometimes I do stupid things (but I have improved with syllables!). Beep-boop!
Because wise, I am.
Oh fucks no she’s back lmao must reblog. I’m sorry guys
Reblogging Madame Zeroni because I would hate for my great-great grandson to get hit in the head by running shoes
back after my year long execution
GUILTY PLEASURE || kinich social media au
𖥻 31. anxiety
( y/n lore ahead! and again, not proofread!! )
“oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! what a play! the pass comes in high, and everyone in the arena is expecting a big swing from the outside hitter— even the blockers are anticipating that. liyue university’s setter, l/n, jumps like she’s going to set a perfect high ball, but instead, she just flicked her wrist and dropped the ball right into the middle side of the court!”
“the libero, kuki, is literally frozen on the floor. the inazuma university was so ready for a power hit that they completely forgot to guard the net! look at the look on their faces— they’re just staring at each other.”
“that is a world-class trick right there. you don’t need a fast spike when you’ve got a brain like that. just a soft touch, a little bit of confidence, and l/n just stole a point right out from under their noses. absolutely amazing.”
“l/n y/n is standing back there, just bouncing the ball, looking dead-focused. you can hear a pin-drop in here.”
“what a great focus, indeed. she’s probably thinking how they are going to make this point to reach the match point, and claim the victory.”
“she tosses it up, way above the antenna, and…. whack! oh that speed looks like a thunderbolt! it’s moving so fast the camera can barely keep up. the opponent team can barely move and didn’t have time to receive that powerful serve!”
“it’s so rare to see female volleyball players use jump serves. because usually, they would prefer the tricky serves such as jump floater serve, right? but l/n, she did it like it was nothing!”
“exactly. and because of that powerful jump serve, liyue university is now in match point! just one more point and they will take this overwhelming victory and proceed to the nationals.”
“what happened, y/n? you were doing so great in the first three sets. we were so sure that we will defeat the other team. did you slack off? did you think that the opponents would not catch up so you decided to play it safe? if you continue doing this, i’ll remove you from the starting team tomorrow. i don’t need a player who only gives half-assed sets in this team.”
—
"split into two teams! third years against fourth years," coach arai shouted. "y/n, you're with the fourth years."
all you could do was nod and walk to the other side of the court. it was the first day of training camp, and while you knew you should be excited, you felt the exact opposite.
you feel like throwing up, and your palms are wet from sweat. you’d already taped your fingers, hoping the nervousness you're feeling wouldn't mess up your sets, and your overall performance.
but you couldn't shake the heavy feeling in your chest after taking more deep breaths. you’ve done training camps before the big tournaments back in liyue, so why did this one feel so different?
is it because you’re new? but you’ve been practicing with them since you joined.
is it because of your teammates? no, they’re doing great.
or maybe…
“i have high expectations of you.”
coach arai.
but kinich already told you that she only said that because she trusts you. because you’re an asset to the team, coming from a powerhouse school and all.
“i don’t need a player who only gives half-assed sets in this team.”
this. this has to be it. the words keep repeating in your head and it's making you lose focus.
you were lucky enough because you still managed to push through the drills and warm-ups before this.
now, as the game was about to start, you pressed a hand to your chest and tried to focus on taking another deep breath.
it’s okay, y/n… this is not an official match. just play like usual. you’ve been practicing with these people, you will be fine.
you will be fine…
you will be fi—
“just focus on the game.” your silent mantra stopped when you heard a voice beside you.
yuki— the fourth year player you replaced in the starting line-up. she’s smiling at you and taps your shoulder before moving to her position. you could only watch her.
you still don't have any idea why she stepped down and gave you the setter position for the official match. but with the way she smiled at you and gently patted you, it almost felt like she’s silently telling you, “it’s okay, this is my choice. just give your all and do your best.”
oh boy you feel like crying.
“y/n, get in your position!”
“yes, coach! i’m sorry!”
you told yourself that you’ll give something to her after this.
okay, y/n, time to lock in!
—
this is the worst. this might be your worst day you’ve ever had in your twenty-one years of existence.
you can feel your teammates’ gaze at you as you kneel in front of coach arai— waiting for her to scold you, or give feedback on your awful performance today.
it could be both.
“what happened to the player who outplayed thirty other girls during tryouts?” her voice was calm, but you can still hear the disappointment laced in them.
“i’m sorry, coach.” you said, almost a whisper as you bit your lip to prevent yourself from crying.
“go cool your head outside. come back only when you feel like you can play normally again.” coach arai said and stood up. you did the same. you didn't even look back when you made your way to the gym door because you don't want to see your teammates’ look that contains nothing but pity.
“kokomi, take y/n’s position. we will play three sets before we wrap up.”
wow, you really messed up this time, y/n. so much for looking forward to and enjoying the training camp..
—
you feel the chilling air through your jersey as you walk to the school grounds. you can still hear the balls and whistle from the gym.
your chest felt tight, like you can't breathe— like there’s a heavy weight pressing down on it that prevents you from breathing. after a few minutes of walking in circles, you found a nearby bench and slumped onto it.
you buried your face in your hands and sighed. the silence of the campus was loud, and every time you closed your eyes, you kept seeing your mistakes earlier.
the ball slipping through your fingers, the mistimed and awful sets, and the way the hitters had to jump awkwardly just to keep the ball in play because your tosses were too low.
your performance was like a beginner who’d never played volleyball.
"stupid," you whispered to yourself. "so stupid."
you weren't just some rookie. you were the girl who made fast serves. you were the setter who fooled entire defenses with a single flick of a wrist. but right now, you felt like you didn't even know how to hold the ball.
without thinking, you lean back, look up, and raise your hands. the moon is bright and you thought of it as a ball. you focus yourself to enter a zone— like you're in an official tournament.
yanfei already made her serve, ling is moving further to the back to prepare for a back attack—
you stopped.
“wait, i should do this with my current teammates…”
you close your eyes once again, trying your best to enter a simulation where you're playing with your new teammates.
nana already made her serve, riko is moving further to the back to prepare for a back attack, akira had already jumped for a straight shot. and the middle, saki, is waiting for my set. by the looks of the opponents’ positions, they're likely anticipating an attack from riko because their front is wide open. i’ll just use a dump to break those hope of receiving our hitters’ attack.
smiling, you flick your wrist and watch the other side’s players dive for the ball.
“yes!”
completely forgetting that you were in your own simulation, you stand up and cheer for your own nonexistent success.
realizing that you’re alone in the school grounds, you quickly purse your lips and slowly sit back down on the bench.
ears burning, you really hope no one saw that. it’s one thing to be the "fallen star" of the team, but being the girl cheering at the moon in the middle of the night? that’s a whole different level of embarrassing.
but as the silence settled back around you, the small spark of excitement from that fake play started to fade. you feel the cold air on your skin, and the reality of the situation comes crashing back down.
simulation or not, in the real world, you were kicked out.
your teammates might not say anything, but you’re sure that they’re disappointed in your right now. especially yuki. she willingly gave up her position to you but you’re like this; getting anxious and not knowing what to do in the middle of the practice game. this is just the training camp, what will happen when the official tournament comes?
"i’m pathetic.." you muttered, pulling your knees up to your chest.
back in liyue, you were the one everyone relied on. you were the brain, the heart, the one who’s in control in the court. now, you feel like the one who needs to learn the basics again. coach arai was right— the player who outplayed thirty other girls was gone, replaced by someone who couldn't even toss a ball without her hands shaking.
you were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't hear the footsteps nearing on you.
“y/n?”
you look up when you hear a familiar voice called out to you.
“what are you doing here? it’s cold, and you're wearing only your jersey.”
the tears that you’ve been holding back in the gym are threatening to fall as you listen to his voice. he kneels down in front of you and looks up at you. he’s smiling gently but you can see worry in his eyes.
you feel your lips wavering, you open your mouth to say something but no words would come out.
“how was the first day of training camp?”
that question was enough for you to break down.
you choked back a sob, tears started running down your face like falls, and finally, you started telling him everything that happened like a child telling his mother a bully has stolen her candy.
“kinich… i was kicked out of the team!!”
previous ⑅ masterlist ⑅ next
── 𖥻
a/n: I GOT SUNDAY AND EVANESCIA 😭😍
SYNOPSIS: you dont know why you have your cousin’s best friends’ number saved on your phone, but all you know is that he’s attractive— exactly your type. not wanting to lose this chance to shoot your shot, you decided to become his chat bestie to get closer to him because why not? it’s not everyday you’d get to talk to someone as handsome as him! (careful though, your cousin doesnt want his friends to meet you so try your best to keep this secret from him!)
── 𖥻
TAGLIST (closed).
── @xianamin @jamieexistss @v3ntis-lyr3 @livelaughlovekuni @itsjustmillie @yuukigyatgyat @ashyiiy @morgyyyyyyy @lalalaloveallmydays @sharineee @jiminscarmex @fandomfan-102 @potteraep @ravenbc @atlatcaheart @crazydreamcat @allenmqww @xiaomainlmao @bvtterflyyy @help-whatdoimakemyusername @keiiqq @aestherin @isuckat-avery-thing @hanniejji @eruphiiiii @ariesloves @dancinghillary @midnightfiction143 @astro-pioneer @matolka @dazqa @minjizzie @kyouzki @karma-gisa @usagiarchive @pandiemeen-blog1 @adres-tia @madison777x @euphoraia @neuviloved @nomnom21 @qt-yhuji @vuiturvolans @lloversss @kunikuzushis-darling @heartnala @fuhrasloves @kr3ideprinz @tired-jaz @potabletable [ 1/3 ]
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TAGLIST (closed).
── @pluielotus @yaoizee @ayayaaayyiire @jayathelostdragon @animeobsessed56 @cabbagecatowo @wiggly-yrath @lauverslane @jellydazais @mizukieatstrashlol @dyavorange @meikini @komataru @hugs4shizu @gl00muraaii @abejaruby @sunshinebachim @redninjakitty14rp @anastaxiah @sincerelyruu @rxshiirxm @inumakisimp706 @ayangyyen @atlasisme2-0 @aurettesworld @pruthiveeakaearthly @swivi @akiralovespenguins @beasalmeh @shinjuuz @stayriki @revrevrevs @okukura @cyb3rc4tty @redheadedsilly @kokoscutie @bluedmonsst @maiznamai @choclatekisses @lyunsafebubble @bananasquash @koiromii @lanternlions @arrynxx @slvdsjjk @ashvieq @mokkechild @ananeuvii @honeyfewr @e-dollly [ 3/3 ]
Hi, what about batfamily x reader that can see dead people? Like i believe that they would think at the beginning that the reader has schizophrenia.
𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐬
pairings: platonic!batfam x medium!gn!reader (+platonic!john constantine) summary: they wrote you off as sick, not right in the head. Whispered how your mind shows you things that don't exist. Instead of listening to you when you told them about the ghosts you saw, they upped the dose of your medications. But the ghosts were never fully felt; instead of seeing them clearly, you only saw their shadows, so you learned to keep quiet, worried that the higher dose might end up killing you. tags: mentions of medication and being high, the family thinks reader is crazy, they're wrong tho, death mentioned? reader is called peculiar in a derogatory way a/n: added John to make it a tiny bit funnier, hope you like it :3 might make a part two
Bruce knew there was something wrong with you from your first steps in the manor. At first he thought the soulless look in your eyes and staring off into the distance was due to you witnessing your mother's death. Maybe you witnessed something you were not supposed to.
Then Jason mentioned that he heard you talk to yourself, talking about how you mumbled 'be quiet' when he entered the room even though nobody was there. Dick told him a similar thing a few times as well, even though he hadn't been visiting the manor as often since Jason's arrival, let alone (name)'s. Bruce brushed off the boys at first, explaining to them how you're young and were probably playing with an imaginary friend of yours.
It took Alfred expressing worry over your behaviour for Bruce to decide to investigate it himself.
At first he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, for him at least. While, yes, you were a little… peculiar with the way you played with the toys he bought you or the way you would wander the manor at night as if you were looking for something. He just thought you had never got to play with the toys before, and that's why you didn't know how to play, and the wandering he brushed off as you being kept awake by nightmares.
It was only when he caught you in a study after a long patrol. He saw that the lights were on and thought that Alfred forgot to turn them off when he was inside. You sat at one of the chairs, staring at the sofa. You nodded along as if someone was telling you a story, then told that person that you don't know how to help them. Except there was no one in the room other than you and now Bruce.
"(Name)? "Who are you talking to?" He asked, fully stepping inside.
"Oh! I'm just talking to Ms Sherry." You lighten up when you realise Bruce had returned. She could actually use your help—"
"(Name), sweetheart, there's no one on this couch." He walked up to you, crouching down in front of the chair you were sitting on. "It's just us two here, nobody else."
"But Ms Sherry is right there! She's staring at you, don't you see?" you pointed, pouting. "Ms Sherry, say something."
"Enough of that, (name); let's get you to bed." Bruce picked you up, making sure your arms were around his neck before he started to walk.
"But she was there! I see her all the time," you sniffled, looking behind Bruce at Ms Sherry. "Other people too, there are so many of them, more than in my mummy's house!"
"We'll… talk about it in the morning, sweetheart," he promised you.
You two did talk the next day, just not the way you thought you would. Bruce took you somewhere first thing in the morning, to the building with white walls, tiled floors and small windows. He asked you to repeat what you told him the previous night to a woman in white clothes and a kind smile. You knew that Bruce wouldn't bring you to someone that would be mean to you, so you obediently told the woman about Ms Sherry and other people you saw.
By the end of your story, she asked to speak to Bruce outside and told you to wait in the room.
After returning, Bruce told you that you will stay with the doctor for a bit and that she will help you.
When you grew up, you learned that the doctor you stayed with was a psychiatrist and the building you stayed in was a hospital.
And that they didn't really help you. Even if everyone around you thought they did. They gave you pills, but those people you only saw were still there, just a little more blurred. You attended sessions, and after each one the people became more and more blurred. The woman kept it up until you realised that you will only be allowed to come back to Bruce and Alfred if you stop talking about the people, or shadows, since that's what they were reduced to.
The years went by and your family grew, yet you didn't get close to them after Dick and Jason. The badge of being mentally unwell stuck to you over the years, and most of Bruce's kids learnt to keep their distance. Most of them weren't outright mean to you, but you knew that there was a part of you that made them uncomfortable.
You researched more about the shadows that you saw when you thought nobody was looking, finding out they're most likely ghosts and that you're not sick, just a medium. You wondered if your mother was a medium as well or if you got it from other parts of your family. But that knowledge didn't stop you from taking your pills each morning and ignoring the whispers of the shadows around you.
You were going about your day as usual when John Constantine came by the Batcave to help Batman with something. He was going over the evidence they gathered when he froze, sensing another strong presence inside the manor.
"Huh, that's weird," he mumbled, furrowing his brows.
"What?" Bruce asked, thinking it was something about the case.
"I'm sensing something," John explains, leaving the papers on the table.
He talked out of the cave and into the manor, with Bruce and his kids following closely behind.
You were in the back patio, reading a book on your lap when a blonde man barged in.
"Hello there." He greeted you with a grin. He squinted his eyes as he stared at you. "You're peculiar, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry?" You asked, the book falling from your lap. The last time you heard someone referring to you as such was when Bruce was introducing you to Tim.
"No, that's a good thing!" the man cackled, walking up to you. "You can see dead people, right?"
"What? No…" You look away, your body feeling hot in embarrassment.
"They can't see dead people," Bruce explained from behind the man.
"Well, not now! Take 'em off drugs," the man scoffed, crouching down in front of your chair. "I'm telling you the power they have seeps through even when you have them high, so just imagine what they can do when you take them off."
"John, we can't," Bruce tried to argue.
"They're sick—" Damian scoffed, ready to say more, but the blonde man stopped him.
"Yeah, sick of your bullshit," John spat, looking back at your family. "You're destroying their liver or something just because you couldn't be bothered to think they might not be lying about seeing dead!"
You watched him take out a small paper out of his pocket, handing it to you. You took it, reading the words on it and realising it had his full name and a phone number on it.
"Seriously, kid, stop taking those meds; you don't need them," he suggested, standing up. "A week off should be enough, and after that call me, I'll help you."
John went back inside the manor after that, leaving you to stare down at the paper and your family to stare at you. It was then that the realisation hit Bruce.
Maybe instead of taking you to a mental facility like the internet suggested when you told him about the people you saw, he should've looked deeper into it and got you actual help.
For now, he will just have to hope you'll forgive him.
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BLUE TURQUOISE HAIR - kashimo hajime
Kashimo doesn't usually stay on social media, but the day he decides to be, his world tilts for a degree.
NEXT -> to be added
a/n ; omfg kashimo smau everyone cheer for the anon who requested this ily
this is like the same universe as my sukuna smau okay just go w the flow
this is a new series!! if you want to be added to the taglist let me know via comments!
# GOJOCRASHES OUTAGAIN
the gap moe is gojo satoru, number one gaming youtuber in japan, and how he crashes out loser style whenever people hit on his vlogger girlfriend. (that’s you, by the way.)
content: language, crude humor, crack fic, modern au, youtuber au, everyone is an adult, hints of reverse harem
Fake It Till You Make It (Then Make It Real) || Ruggie Bucchi
You, S-Class Esper, hired a Guide to pretend to guide you. He took the job for the generous paycheck. Neither of you expected the "falling desperately in love" part of the arrangement.
or: Guideverse!
wc: ~18.8k
Series Masterlist
The world was barely fine before the Gates opened.
Humanity had already been juggling enough catastrophes to fill a very depressing bingo card: wars for reasons that made less sense than a fortune cookie written by a sleep-deprived philosophy student, the ongoing debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (it didn't, and anyone who said otherwise was clearly a chaos agent), and the collective realization that nobody actually knew how to properly fold a fitted sheet. Scientists had confirmed in 20XX that fitted sheets were, in fact, a psychological warfare experiment that had escaped containment from a Cold War laboratory.
Then the Gates happened.
One morning, reality developed a structural integrity problem. Giant shimmering portals began tearing open across the globe like cosmic zippers being yanked down by an impatient god who really needed to use the bathroom. These Gates, as humanity unimaginatively named them (the committee had considered "Doom Holes" and "Monster Sphincters" but decided those wouldn't test well with focus groups), led to dimensions that were apparently having a fire sale on nightmares.
Inside each Gate lurked monsters. No, not the metaphorical kind that represented society's ills or whatever—actual, literal monsters with too many teeth and a complete disregard for architectural preservation. If a Gate wasn't suppressed within a certain timeframe, it would collapse, which sounded good until you realized "collapse" in this context meant "vomit its entire contents of angry interdimensional wildlife out onto the streets like the world's worst piñata."
Enter the Espers.
Espers were humans who had developed supernatural abilities, presumably because evolution looked at the Gate situation and said, "You know what? Fine. Here's some superpowers. Try not to blow up the planet before I can properly evolve you some better knees." They were humanity's frontline defense, diving into Gates before they could collapse, fighting monsters and generally having a worse time than anyone who'd ever worked in customer service during a holiday sale.
The problem was that using their powers drove Espers completely bonkers.
Their abilities were fueled by energy that human brains were absolutely not designed to process, like trying to run Genshin Impact on a calculator watch. After a Gate dive, Espers would emerge crackling with enough unstable power to level a city block, their sanity deteriorating faster than an ice cream cone in a sauna.
This is where Guides came in.
Guides were support personnel with the ability to stabilize Espers, neutralizing the excess energy before an Esper could accidentally turn a city block into a crater. They waited outside Gates like the world's most anxious pit crew, ready to tackle returning Espers and perform what was technically called "guiding" but which basically amounted to being a psychic shock absorber slash emotional support human.
Together, Espers and Guides kept the world stable.
Well. "Stable" was perhaps generous. More like "consistently on the edge of apocalypse but managing to avoid it through a combination of supernatural powers and the kind of bureaucratic incompetence that somehow worked out in humanity's favor." The world was basically being held together with duct tape, good intentions, and the hope that the monsters would eventually get bored and go back to wherever they came from.
They had not gotten bored.
In fact, they seemed to be multiplying, which suggested that somewhere in the interdimensional void, monsters had discovered the concept of franchising.
You are an S-rank Esper, which means you are theoretically living the dream.
The reality is more accurately described as living inside a washing machine that's been set to "apocalypse" cycle while someone throws progressively weirder items into the drum. Last week it was a monster that looked like a filing cabinet had achieved sentience and chosen violence. This morning it was something that resembled a horse if horses were made of screaming and had seventeen extra legs growing out of places legs had no business growing from.
S-rank means you're in the top percent of Espers globally. You can do things that make physics professors cry into their morning coffee and then switch to whiskey before lunch. You get paid enough money that you could probably buy a small island nation, except you're too busy diving into hell-dimensions five times a week to enjoy tropical dictatorships.
Your apartment is very nice in the theoretical sense that you own furniture and it exists in space. You have never been conscious inside it for more than six consecutive hours because Gates don't take vacations and therefore neither do you.
The problem, the absolutely teeth-grinding migraine-inducing problem, is the touching.
Guides can only guide through physical contact. This is a completely normal and reasonable aspect of how guiding works, according to every single person who has ever lectured you about it. You understand the mechanism. You have attended the mandatory seminars where someone in a blazer too tight for their shoulders explained the science with PowerPoint slides that had too many animations. You have read the pamphlets that explain how skin-to-skin contact creates the necessary channel for energy transfer and psychic stabilization, complete with helpful diagrams that look like they were drawn by someone who'd never actually seen human hands before.
You hate it with the burning intensity of a star going supernova in the middle of a kindergarten classroom.
The touching thing isn't personal (mostly). You don't have some tragic backstory that explains everything in neat little psychological packages tied with therapeutic ribbon. You haven't been wronged by touch in some dark and brooding way. You just possess a very sincere and deeply held preference for people to keep their goddamn hands to themselves, which apparently makes you the unreasonable one in a profession where someone grabbing your face and forcing sustained eye contact while whispering affirmations is considered standard medical procedure.
Also, your situation is completely different from that one SSS-class Esper who literally cannot be guided without causing psychic feedback to themself. That person has a medical exemption signed by four different doctors and a priest who may or may not have been legitimate. You just have what your last Bureau supervisor called "an interpersonal challenge" and what you call "a basic understanding of personal space."
The absolute worst part is what happens after a Gate dive.
Picture this: You stagger out of a portal that's been vomiting violet lightning for the past forty minutes, covered head to toe in something that used to be inside a monster before the monster experienced a catastrophic loss of structural integrity (your fault, entirely justified). Your power is crackling around you in visible arcs that are making the air smell like rotten eggs.
Your brain feels like someone has replaced all your thoughts with angry wasps wearing tiny boots, and the boots have cleats. You're already having the worst time. The Gate was full of monsters that had too many limbs arranged in geometries that violated several laws of nature and possibly one or two laws of good taste, and they kept making sounds like a fax machine being murdered by a dubstep artist.
And then, inevitably, some Guide materializes out of nowhere and grabs you.
They grab your arm, your shoulder or even your hand if they're feeling particularly ambitious. Their energy starts pouring into you like someone has decided to fill your skull with lukewarm oatmeal using a funnel that's slightly too small. They're doing their job. You understand they're doing their job. This does not make you hate it less.
"Breathe in," they'll say, their hands clamped around whatever part of you they've managed to latch onto, their voice doing that special Guide thing where it gets all soft and deliberately calming in a way that makes you want to bite something. "Breathe out. Match my rhythm. Focus on my voice and let the energy flow through the connection."
You don't want to focus on their voice. You want to focus on going home, standing in a shower hot enough to get minor burns, and then eating something that isn't a protein bar with the nutritional content of compressed sadness and the flavor profile of sweetened cardboard. You want to sleep for sixteen hours in a bed that isn't trying to heal you or stabilize you or do anything except exist as a horizontal surface.
But no. You have to sit there on whatever bench or chair or patch of ground they've herded you to. You have to tolerate their hands on your skin while their energy does its work. You have to pretend that the sensation doesn't feel like someone's running a cheese grater very slowly across the inside of your brain while simultaneously filling your sinuses with television static. You have to endure their murmured affirmations and guidance while they treat you like a spooked horse that needs to be talked down from a ledge.
"You're stabilizing really well," they'll lie, because you're absolutely not stabilizing well. You're tolerating a necessary medical procedure with all the grace and enthusiasm of a cat being forcibly bathed.
So you had done what any reasonable person would do when faced with an intolerable situation: you filed for a transfer.
You had heard rumors about this one Guide who was apparently some kind of freak of nature. Word through the grapevine was they could guide without physical contact, which sounded like the kind of miracle that usually came with a catch like "but only during a solar eclipse" or "while reciting the alphabet backwards in Finnish." The details were vague. The rumors were probably ninety percent bullshit. You filed the paperwork anyway because even a ten percent chance of salvation was better than your current situation.
You waited six weeks for the request to crawl through the Bureau's bureaucratic digestive system, which appeared to process paperwork at the same speed a sloth would process advanced calculus. You packed your entire life into boxes that you labeled with a Sharpie and increasing desperation. You said goodbye to nobody because you hadn't really known anyone at your old branch and they seemed fine with that. You moved across several time zones to a new city you'd never been to, full of hope and the kind of desperate optimism usually seen people buying lottery tickets.
The hope lasted approximately forty-five minutes.
That was how long it took for someone in HR to cheerfully destroy your entire reason for existing.
"Oh yeah, that Guide," the HR person said, squinting at their computer screen. "They left the Bureau three weeks ago. Went off to travel the world with their Esper partner."
"When did they leave?" you asked. Your voice was doing something unnatural, operating in a register that suggested imminent violence.
"About three weeks ago? Maybe four? Time is kind of a soup here, you know how it is."
Three. Weeks.
You had spent six weeks waiting for paperwork to process. You had packed your entire life into boxes. You had moved across multiple time zones and possibly several climate zones based on how different the weather was. You had done all of this for a Guide who had quit A MONTH AGO, and nobody had thought to mention this at any point during the transfer process.
The universe apparently had a sense of humor and that sense of humor was specifically dedicated to making your life resemble a comedy written by someone who hated you personally.
So now you're stuck. Stuck in a new city where you know absolutely nobody and the coffee tastes wrong in a way you can't quite articulate. Stuck in a Bureau branch that's already looking at you like you're a problem that arrived in a box labeled "FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH INDUSTRIAL GLOVES AND MAYBE A PRAYER." Stuck with the same terrible options you had before, except now you're having them in a location with worse weather and no familiar take-out places.
Which is why you have developed what you generously call a system and what the Bureau medical staff calls "a concerning pattern of noncompliance."
The system is stabilizers.
Stabilizers are the pharmaceutical band-aid solution to the guiding problem. Little bottles of liquid that taste like someone liquified a migraine, added artificial cherry flavor to insult you personally, and then charged you a lot for the privilege. They're designed to be a supplement to proper guiding, something you take between sessions to keep your energy levels from doing anything dramatic.
They work fine for lower-ranked Espers who aren't diving into Gates every other day. B-rank and C-rank Espers can practically live on the things. Even some A-ranks can get by on stabilizers alone if they're not diving too frequently and they don't mind feeling like they're running their consciousness through a filter made of steel wool.
S-rank? The efficacy drops off a cliff so steep it has its own gravitational pull.
For SS-rank Espers and above, stabilizers might as well be very expensive, foul tasting Gatorade that does absolutely nothing except drain your bank account and make your pee glow colors that don't exist in nature.
You are S-rank, which means the stabilizers work at maybe sixty percent of their intended effectiveness on a good day. When the wind is blowing in the right direction and you haven't eaten anything that disagrees with your intestinal fortitude.
Your Bureau-assigned medical officer has developed Opinions about your stabilizer dependency, which she expresses through increasingly passive-aggressive emails with subject lines like "Re: Your Health Metrics (URGENT - PLEASE READ)" and "Fw: Fw: Fw: Fw: Seriously We Need To Talk About Your Treatment Compliance."
You delete these emails with practiced efficiency because you have made peace with your life choices and are comfortable disappointing medical professionals.
What you actually need, what you desperately require, is a Guide who will not force you to be guided.
You need someone who will take one look at you stumbling out of a Gate covered in fluorescent monster organs and crackling with enough unstable energy to power a small city, and they'll just nod. They'll go, "Yeah, that seems fine" and then they'll wander off to do something else while you handle your own shit. A Guide who possesses a healthy sense of self-preservation and a flexible relationship with Bureau protocol. Someone who can be bribed with cash or food or the promise that you'll stop making their life difficult if they just let you mainline stabilizers in peace.
You have not found this Guide yet.
The Gate today was supposed to be class A, which in Bureau terminology means "moderately dangerous but you'll probably survive unless you do something phenomenally stupid."
Except when you got inside, there was already an SSS-rank Esper in there, and he was having what could only be described as the time of his life.
You recognized him immediately because he had horns. This was that SSS-rank Esper that everyone whispered about in the break room. The guy who'd once decimated a Category 5 Gate while humming what witnesses swore was a lullaby. The Esper who was so catastrophically powerful that his own Bureau branch had a separate insurance policy just for him.
He was also, according to bureau gossip, kind of weird about not being invited to things.
Right now he was fighting monsters with the enthusiasm of someone who'd finally been invited to a party and was determined to make it everyone's problem. There was this creature that looked like a filing cabinet had achieved consciousness and chosen violence as its entire personality. This absolute unit of an Esper pointed at it almost delicately, and it exploded into green lightning and what might have been confetti but was probably monster viscera.
You stood there holding your weapon, which you had not used even once, feeling like the world's most useless party guest.
The Gate had maybe a hundred monsters in it when you'd arrived. Past tense. Had. He was systematically erasing them from existence so casually like he was doing a crossword puzzle. He looked thrilled about it too. Every time he obliterated something, he got this little smug smile like he'd just won a prize at a carnival.
"Oh, this one has an interesting defensive structure," he observed, examining a monster that looked like a crab fucked a chandelier and their offspring had severe emotional problems. He tilted his head. The monster exploded so violently that you felt the shockwave from fifty feet away.
The whole massacre took maybe six and a half minutes, and that was only because the dude had stopped to examine a few of the monsters before killing them. He seemed genuinely curious about their biology in the way a scientist might be curious about a new species, except his method of study was "turn it into atoms and see what happens."
By the time he was done, you were still holding your weapon, having contributed absolutely nothing.
"Oh!" His face brightened immediately, like he'd just noticed a friend at a party. "I didn't see you there. My apologies. Did you need assistance with any of the creatures? I'm afraid I may have gotten carried away."
You looked around at the devastation. There was nothing left. The Gate site was cleaner than it had been before the monsters arrived.
"No, I'm... I'm good," you managed.
"Wonderful!" He seemed genuinely pleased. "It's always nice to have company during these exercises. So many people forget to invite me to Gate raids. I always RSVP."
He said this with the innocent confusion of someone who truly did not understand that people were extremely terrified of him.
Then he just left, walking out of the Gate with perfect posture and his hands clasped behind his back like he was taking a pleasant stroll through a garden he'd just napalmed.
You stood there for another ten seconds trying to process what you'd just witnessed.
"Waow," you finally said, to absolutely nobody.
You walked out of the Gate feeling like you'd just been an extra in someone else's action movie, except the main character was overpowered to the point of absurdity and also possibly didn't understand social cues.
The outside of the Gate was the usual nightmare of bureaucratic chaos. Bureau staff were sprinting around with tablets and the desperate energy of people whose jobs depended on data entry. Medical personnel had set up their guiding stations, which looked less like medical facilities and more like ambush points.
And the Guides. Oh god, the Guides.
They were prowling around like sharks who'd smelled blood in the water, except the blood was Espers and the water was the designated recovery area. You watched one Guide literally sprint-tackle a B-rank Esper who'd tried to make a break for the parking lot. The Esper went down hard. The Guide was already on top of them, starting the guiding process while the Esper made muffled sounds of protest into the ground.
This was a nightmare. This was hell. You needed to get out of here immediately.
You started moving, activating what you'd mentally labeled Operation Absolutely Fucking Not.
You'd gotten good at this. Dodging Guides had become your primary skill, more refined than your actual combat abilities. You could read their body language now, spot the micro-adjustments that signaled a Guide preparing to intercept. That tall one with the clipboard was tracking you. You could see her eyes following your movement, her weight shifting onto her front foot. You ducked behind an equipment cart.
Another Guide was approaching from your left with a determined expression and a badge that said "SENIOR GUIDE" which probably meant they'd been doing this long enough to be extra aggressive about it. You pivoted, using a confused A-rank Esper as a human shield.
The A-rank gave you a look that clearly said "what the fuck dude" but you were already moving.
You were so focused on your evasion tactics, treating this like a stealth mission in a video game where getting caught meant immediate game over, that you almost missed him entirely.
There was a Guide leaning against one of the Bureau's portable barriers, and his entire energy screamed "I am being paid to be here but nobody said I had to care."
He had messy hair that stuck up in a way that suggested either aggressive bedhead or a complete lack of mirror access. His Guide jacket was technically regulation but he wore it like someone had put clothes on him against his will and he was still mad about it. His posture suggested that standing upright was a personal favor he was doing for gravity.
Most importantly, most beautifully, he was not trying to guide anyone.
He was just standing there, leaning, looking at his phone with the focused intensity of someone who'd found something way more interesting than their job. Every few seconds he'd glance up, survey the chaos with detached interest like he was watching a nature documentary about animals he didn't particularly like, and then go back to his phone.
The aura of "not my problem" radiating off him was so strong you felt genuine joy.
You changed direction so fast you nearly wiped out on some loose gravel, zeroing in on him like a heat-seeking missile that had just found its purpose in life.
He noticed you coming because you had all the subtlety of a car accident. His eyes flicked up from his phone, tracked your approach with the enthusiasm of someone watching a bird shit on a car, and then went back to his screen like maybe if he ignored you hard enough the universe would make you someone else's responsibility.
You essentially collapsed onto the bench next to him. Not close enough to be weird, but definitely close enough that anyone watching would assume you were his problem now.
You were breathing way too hard considering you'd done basically nothing in that Gate except stand there and have an existential crisis.
"Hey," you said, trying to sound normal and probably sounding more like someone who was one bad day away from a breakdown. "I need you to do me a huge favor that will require almost zero effort on your part."
He looked at you properly now, one eyebrow rising in a gesture that communicated "I'm listening but I'm already calculating what this is going to cost you."
The look in his eyes was pure mercenary interest. You loved him immediately.
"I need you to pretend you're guiding me," you said, words tumbling out fast. "Just grab my sleeve. You don't actually have to guide me. I don't need it. I have stabilizers. I just need it to look official so every other Guide here stops trying to hunt me down and perform involuntary medical procedures on me."
You stuck your sleeve out toward him like you were offering a handshake to a dog you weren't sure about.
There was a pause. A beautiful, considering pause where you could practically hear his brain working, running calculations about risk versus reward and effort versus profit.
"What's in it for me?" he asked, and somewhere in your chest, angels started singing.
This. This was the question you'd been waiting your entire career to hear from a Guide. This magnificent bastard understood that altruism was a scam and everything in life was a negotiation.
"Dinner's on me," you said. "Anywhere you want. Price is not an issue."
You watched his entire face transform. His eyes went wide. His pupils dilated. If he'd been a cartoon character, there would have been sparkles and possibly dollar signs. He looked like you'd just told him he'd won the lottery, except the lottery was food he didn't have to pay for, which was apparently even better than actual money.
"Deal," he said immediately, with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been personally blessed by a deity of good fortune.
He sat beside you, reached out and grabbed your sleeve with the delicate touch of someone handling a slightly damp receipt they might need later. His grip was barely there. There was no energy transfer happening and no actual guiding. He was just holding your sleeve while maintaining an expression of professional concentration that would have convinced anyone watching from more than five feet away that he was performing legitimate medical services.
You could have kissed him. You could have built him a shrine. You could have written his name in the stars.
Instead you pulled out your stabilizers and started chugging them like a college student on dollar beer night.
The stabilizers tasted like burned going down. They made your teeth feel fuzzy. They were working at maybe fifty percent efficiency, which meant you'd feel like shit later but at least you wouldn't accidentally level any buildings considering you didn't really do anything today except warmup.
But you were drinking them in peace. Nobody was actually touching you. Nobody was making you do breathing exercises. Nobody was murmuring therapeutic nonsense while making aggressive eye contact.
This was bliss. This was heaven. This was the best you'd felt after a Gate in years.
"Ruggie Bucchi," the Guide said, still pinching your sleeve with one hand while his other hand went back to his phone. He was looking at what appeared to be restaurant menus. He'd opened at least seven different apps. "A-rank Guide, if you care about credentials or whatever."
"I super don't," you admitted, downing another stabilizer and trying not to gag as it scorched its way down your throat, "but good to know I guess."
He laughed, and it was the laugh of someone who'd just scammed the system and gotten away with it. "Yeah, figured. You got that look about you."
"What look?"
"The 'I would rather die than let someone touch me' look. See it sometimes. Usually on the S-ranks who think they're too good for proper medical care." He said this with absolutely no judgment, still scrolling through menus. "So what're you, S-rank? Maybe A-rank with an attitude problem?"
"S-rank," you confirmed.
"Nice. That means you got money." He said this with the casual avarice of someone who'd just confirmed their lottery ticket was a winner.
You were starting to really like this guy.
"Yeah," you said. "I got money."
"Good," Ruggie said, and he tapped something on his phone screen with the decisive air of someone finalizing a battle plan. "Because I'm thinking that new steakhouse that opened downtown. The one where the cheapest thing on the menu is like fifty bucks. You said anywhere, right?"
"I did say that."
"Excellent. Love doing business with people who keep their word."
You sat there for another few minutes, the two of you creating what had to be the world's most half-assed medical procedure. Other Guides walked past, clocked that you were already being handled, and moved on. One Guide even gave Ruggie an approving nod, like "hey good job doing the bare minimum," and Ruggie nodded back with the solemn professionalism of someone absolutely robbing the system blind.
It was beautiful. It was perfect. You wanted to frame this moment and hang it on your wall.
A Senior Guide walked by and actually stopped to observe for a second. You froze. Ruggie didn't even flinch. He just adjusted his grip on your sleeve slightly and said, without looking up from his phone, "Energy levels are stabilizing nicely. Should have them cleared for release in about five minutes."
He sounded so professional. So competent. The Senior Guide made an approving sound and walked away.
You stared at him.
"What?" Ruggie said, still looking at his phone. "You think this is my first time faking work? I've been doing this since I figured out how jobs worked. The trick is to look busy enough that nobody questions you but not so busy that they give you more work."
"You're a genius," you said, and you meant it with your entire soul.
"Nah. Just poor enough to get creative."
When the stabilizers had finally bullied your energy levels back into something that wouldn't cause property damage, and you felt less like a bomb and more like a person who'd just had a really bad day at work, you turned to look at Ruggie with the expression of someone about to propose a marriage of convenience.
"I want to make this a regular thing," you said. "Long-term deal. Every single time I come out of a Gate, you pretend to guide me. You don't actually have to do anything. Just grab my sleeve, look official, let me drink my stabilizers in peace. I'll pay you. Food, cash, whatever you want."
Ruggie's hand finally stopped scrolling. He looked at you with the expression of someone who'd just been told they'd inherited a fortune from a relative they'd never heard of.
"Every Gate?" he asked.
"Every single one."
"And you'll pay me every time?"
"Name your price."
You could see his brain working. He was doing math. Calculating how many Gates you probably ran per week, multiplying that by meal costs, adding in additional compensation, running a full cost-benefit analysis in real-time.
His grin started small and grew until it looked like it might split his face in half.
"Okay so here's what I'm thinking," he said, and he actually put his phone away so he could use both hands to count on his fingers. "Meals are great. Love meals. But also I want cash. Not a lot, Just like, enough to make it worth my time if you catch my drift. And also if you ever got extra food from somewhere, like leftovers or whatever, I will take those. I'm not proud. Food is food."
"Done," you said immediately.
"And if there's ever any special events or whatever where the Bureau is giving out free shit, you let me know first so I can grab the good stuff before everyone else takes it."
"Absolutely."
"And, this is important, if anyone ever asks to actually guide you for real, like really guide you, you gotta back me up when I say you're too unstable or whatever and need a specialist."
"I will lie so hard for you," you promised.
His grin was now approaching dangerous levels. He looked like he'd just won every lottery that had ever existed simultaneously.
"Pleasure doing business with you," he said, and stuck out his hand for a real handshake, not the fake sleeve-holding thing.
You shook his hand. His grip was firm and warm and slightly callused even through your gloves , the handshake of someone who understood that a deal was a deal and money was sacred.
"Same," you said, and you meant it with every fiber of your disaster of a being.
You had done it. You had found your person. Your partner in crime. Your Guide who would gladly watch you engage in questionable medical decisions as long as the price was right.
Somewhere in the distance, you could hear a Guide screaming as an Esper tackled them. You felt a wave of pity for everyone in the world who hadn't found their Ruggie yet.
Life was beautiful. The sun was shining. You had a contract with someone who understood that everything was negotiable and sentiment was for people with better insurance.
You were going to ride this arrangement into the sunset or into a medical emergency, whichever came first, and you were going to do it while maintaining your personal space and your dignity.
"So," Ruggie said, already pulling his phone back out. "That steakhouse tonight? I'm thinking we should get appetizers. Multiple appetizers. Maybe all of them."
"Get whatever you want," you said, and you'd never meant anything more in your entire life.
The steakhouse Ruggie picked was the kind of place where the menu didn't have prices listed, which meant the prices were definitely high enough to constitute a felony in some countries. The host looked at both of you when you walked in, took in your post-Gate appearance (you didn't technically do anything but you still looked like you'd had a rough day), took in Ruggie's obvious glee, and seemed to decide that this was none of their business.
"Reservation for Bucchi," Ruggie said confidently, despite definitely not having a reservation.
"Of course," the host said, because apparently confidence was all you needed in life. "Right this way."
You got seated at a booth near the back. Ruggie grabbed the menu with the enthusiasm of a scholar discovering a ancient text. His eyes went wide as he scanned the options.
"Oh shit," he said reverently. "They got the good stuff."
You picked up your own menu mostly out of politeness. You weren't really planning to eat much. The stabilizers had absolutely fucked your metabolism and tastebuds over the past few years. Food mostly tasted like cardboard now.
You'd been living off coffee and protein shakes, the food of people who'd given up on joy. Eating felt like a chore, like something you did because your body required fuel and not because you enjoyed it.
The waiter came over. Ruggie ordered an appetizer. Then another appetizer. Then a soup. Then he asked if he could get the surf and turf but with extra surf. The waiter wrote all this down without blinking.
"And for you?" the waiter asked, turning to you.
"Just water," you started to say, but then you caught Ruggie's expression. He looked personally offended.
"Nah," Ruggie said, shaking his head. "You're eating. You're paying for this, might as well get something."
"I'm not really hungry," you said, which was true. You were never hungry anymore. Hunger had become a theoretical concept.
"Don't care." He turned to the waiter. "They'll have the steak, medium rare, with the garlic mashed potatoes. And bring some of those fancy bread rolls."
The waiter looked at you for confirmation. You shrugged. Sure. Why not. You could just push it around your plate and pretend.
But then the food started arriving and something weird happened.
Ruggie ate like he was personally in competition with the concept of hunger itself. The first appetizer came out, some kind of thing with prawns and sauce, and he made a sound that was borderline inappropriate for a public restaurant.
"Oh man," he said, mouth full, already reaching for another prawn. "This is so good. You gotta try this."
He shoved the plate toward you. You took a prawn mostly to be polite.
It was actually good. Really good. You'd forgotten food could taste like something other than obligation.
"Right?" Ruggie said, grinning at your expression. "Told you."
The soup came out. Ruggie attacked it with the dedication of someone who'd been personally wronged by hunger. He was making these little satisfied sounds while eating, completely unselfconscious. He looked so happy in a way that was kind of infectious.
Your steak arrived. You looked at it. It looked back at you. You picked up your fork.
Ruggie was now onto his main course, the surf and turf with extra surf, and he was narrating his experience like he was a food critic.
"Okay so the lobster is fucking incredible," he said, gesturing with his fork. "Like buttery. Who made butter taste like this? This is illegal. And the steak..." He cut off a piece and popped it in his mouth. His eyes actually rolled back. "Yeah okay I'm in love. I'm proposing to this steak. We're getting married."
You cut off a piece of your own steak and tried it.
Fuck. When was the last time you'd eaten something that actually tasted good? The protein shakes were efficient but they tasted like punishment. This tasted like someone had remembered that food was supposed to be enjoyable.
"See?" Ruggie said, pointing at you with his fork. "You look less dead already. Eat more."
So you did. You couldn't really eat a lot, your stomach had apparently shrunk to the size of a walnut, but more than you'd eaten in years. And weirdly, watching Ruggie demolish his food with such obvious pleasure made it easier. He was enjoying himself so much that it reminded you that eating could be something other than fuel intake.
Ruggie ordered three desserts. He ate two and a half of them and then pushed the remaining half of a chocolate cake thing toward you.
"I'm gonna explode if I eat more," he said happily, leaning back in his chair with the satisfaction of someone who'd just won a war. "But you should finish this. It's too good to waste."
You ate the cake. It was absurdly rich and tasted like chocolate had achieved enlightenment.
When the check came, you didn't even look at it. You just handed over your card. The number was probably horrifying. You didn't care. This was the best you'd felt in months, and it definitely cost less than your monthly stabilizer budget.
"Oh hey," Ruggie said as the waiter walked away with your card. "Can I get some of this to go? Like, a lot of this to go?"
"Sure," you said. "Get whatever you want."
His face lit up. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. Why not. Order whatever."
He flagged down the waiter and proceeded to order what sounded like half the menu to go. The waiter's expression suggested this was unusual but not unprecedented. They came back with your card and what appeared to be multiple bags of food.
Ruggie looked at the bags like they were treasure chests. "You're alright, you know that?" he said, grinning at you. "Most S-ranks are stuck-up assholes. You're a stuck-up asshole with good priorities."
"Thanks, I think."
"That was a compliment. Take it."
You drove him home because you were pretty sure he couldn't carry all those bags on public transport. He lived in an apartment building that had definitely seen better days, maybe in a different decade. He got out of the car, struggled to grab all the bags, and then turned back to you.
"Same time next week?" he asked.
"I'll probably have another Gate before then."
"Even better. More free food for me." He paused. "You should actually eat something tomorrow too. You look like you're gonna keel over if someone breathed on you."
"I'll think about it."
"Don't think. Do. That's an order from your Guide." He said this with a completely straight face and then ruined it by cackling at his own joke.
You watched him haul his bags of food into the building, and then you drove home feeling something you hadn't felt in a while. Content, maybe. Or at least less actively miserable.
Your apartment was still exactly as you'd left it that morning- clean and impersonal. It was clear that its occupant was never home long enough to make it lived-in. You sat down at your desk, opened your laptop, and pulled up the Bureau's internal portal.
There was a form for registering a permanent Guide. You'd looked at it before and always closed it immediately because the thought of committing to regular physical contact made your skin crawl. But Ruggie wasn't regular physical contact. Ruggie was a business arrangement. Ruggie was someone who understood transactions and didn't try to make it weird.
You filled out the form. Name: Ruggie Bucchi. Rank: A-rank. Reason for assignment: Compatible working arrangement. You almost wrote "he doesn't touch me" but figured that would raise questions.
You hit submit. It was 9 PM. You weren't expecting a response until at least tomorrow, maybe later given how fast the Bureau usually moved, which was to say at the speed of continental drift.
Your phone pinged thirty seconds later.
The response was from HR. Their email was in all caps and had multiple exclamation points, which seemed excessive but also very on-brand for Bureau HR.
"REQUEST APPROVED!!! We're so DELIGHTED you've finally agreed to proper guiding treatment!!! This is wonderful news for your health and safety!!! Ruggie Bucchi has been notified of his new assignment and has accepted!!! Please report to medical for a baseline evaluation at your earliest convenience (we know you won't do this but we're required to ask)!!! Welcome to the path of proper Guide-Esper partnership!!!"
But the important part was: approved. You were immediately approved with no waiting period or review because apparently the Bureau had been that desperate for you to accept regular guiding.
If only they knew.
You closed your laptop and sat there for a moment in your quiet apartment. Ruggie was now your official Guide. You had an arrangement that would let you keep avoiding physical contact while maintaining the appearance of following medical protocol. You'd eaten real food and felt more human than raccoon in years. The Bureau thought you'd finally seen reason.
Everyone was happy. You'd scammed the system and the system was thanking you for it.
You got ready for bed feeling something unfamiliar. It took you a minute to identify it.
Peace. You felt peace.
You climbed into bed and closed your eyes. For the first time in months, you fell asleep without the background anxiety of knowing you'd have to endure unwanted touching tomorrow. Tomorrow you'd have Ruggie, who'd grab your sleeve, let you drink your terrible stabilizers, and probably ask what you were buying him for lunch.
Life was good.
You fell asleep with what might have been a smile on your face, which was concerning but you were too tired to worry about it.
The next morning, Ruggie sent you a text at 6 AM that just said "we need to go to HR."
You stared at your phone with the confusion of someone who'd just been told they needed to report to the dentist for a mandatory root canal when they don't even have teeth.
"Why," you typed back.
"Bonuses. If I'm your official Guide I can get bonuses for successful partnerships or whatever. Bureau pays extra for Guides who maintain long-term assignments with difficult Espers."
"I'm not difficult."
"You're literally paying me under the table to NOT guide you. You're the definition of difficult. Anyway I want that bonus money. Pick me up in 20."
You picked him up in twenty. He got in your car holding a coffee that he'd definitely made himself because it was in a travel mug with a logo for a grocery store chain.
"Morning," he said cheerfully. "You eat breakfast?"
"Coffee."
"That's not breakfast."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine but I'm not your keeper. Just your fake Guide." He took a sip of his own coffee. "Okay so here's the plan. We go to HR, I tell them about our amazing partnership, they give me paperwork for the bonus program, I fill it out, we get money. Well, I get money. You already have money."
"Sounds fine."
"It will be fine. HR loves this shit. They live for successful Guide-Esper pairs. Makes their metrics look good or whatever."
He was right. When you walked into the HR office, the person at the desk looked up and their entire face transformed into joy so pure it was almost unsettling.
Then you actually looked at them and your stomach dropped.
You knew this person. This was the same HR representative who'd processed your paperwork when you'd first registered as an Esper, years ago. You'd been younger, significantly more naive, and not yet aware that your life was going to become a series of increasingly absurd situations held together with spite and caffeine.
They looked at you. Their eyes got shiny.
"Oh my god," they said, voice wobbling. "You've grown so much."
You froze. What the fuck was happening.
"I remember when you first came in," they continued, and oh god they were getting emotional. "You were so young. So powerful. So angry at the consent forms. And now look at you! You have a Guide! A registered Guide! You're taking care of yourself!"
They sniffled and actual moisture appeared in their eyes.
"I'm so proud of you," they said, and you desperately wished for a natural disaster to occur so you could escape this conversation.
This person had apparently decided that your professional relationship with the Bureau was some kind of weird fucked up child-growing-up situation and they were the emotional parent figure. You had no idea how to process this. You didn't want to process this. You wanted to leave.
"Uh," you said, because your brain had completely abandoned ship.
Ruggie, blessed Ruggie, immediately stepped forward with the energy of someone who'd sensed an opportunity.
"Hi! Ruggie Bucchi, A-rank Guide, newly assigned to this wonderful Esper here." He gestured at you like you were a prize he'd won. "We're here to register for the Guide partnership bonus program. I've got all my documentation, they've got their approval, we just need to iron out the details."
The HR person wiped their eyes and immediately shifted into professional mode, though they kept glancing at you with the expression of someone watching a particularly moving commercial about dogs.
"Of course! Yes! Let me pull up the forms. This is so wonderful. I'm just so happy you're finally accepting proper care."
You decided to focus very intently on anything that wasn't this conversation. You turned slightly and looked out through the glass wall of the office into the common area where other Guides and Espers were milling around.
There was a pair sitting on one of the couches. The Guide was a guy who looked like he baked bread as a hobby and possibly wore cardigans voluntarily. He had green hair and glasses and the overall vibe of someone who'd never raised his voice in his life. He was currently patting the back of an Esper who appeared to be vibrating at a frequency visible to the naked eye.
The Esper was talking rapidly, gesturing with their hands, bouncing slightly in their seat like they'd consumed their body weight in sugar and were now experiencing the consequences. They looked like a caffeinated squirrel that had achieved human form.
The Guide just kept patting their back with the patience of a saint. His expression was calm, almost serene, like this was just a normal day for him. The Esper said something that involved very aggressive hand gestures. The Guide nodded thoughtfully and said something back. The Esper's vibrating intensified.
Poor bastard, you thought. That Guide looked way too calm and collected to deserve being partnered with someone who had that much energy.
Then again, maybe he was into that. Maybe he found it charming. People were weird about their partnerships.
"Okay so I just need you to sign here, and here, and initial here," Ruggie was saying, and you tuned back into the conversation to find him surrounded by paperwork. The HR person was still looking at you with damp eyes.
"You've really matured," they said to you, unprompted. "Taking responsibility for your health and accepting help. I'm just so glad you found someone compatible."
"Yep," you said, because what else could you say? "Sure did. Found him. Very compatible. Much health."
Ruggie made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh.
"All done!" he announced, straightening up with a stack of papers. "Bonus program registered, direct deposit set up, everything's official."
"Wonderful!" The HR person clasped their hands together. "You two are going to do amazing things together. I can feel it. Please don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything. Anything at all. I'm so invested in your success."
"Great," you said, already moving toward the door. "Thanks. Bye."
You basically fled. Ruggie followed, still clutching his paperwork, making absolutely no effort to hide his amusement.
"They really care about you, huh?" he said once you were safely in the hallway.
"Apparently I'm their weird emotional support project."
"Could be worse. Could be nobody giving a shit if you live or die."
"I guess."
Your phone buzzed. You pulled it out and saw a Gate notification. Grade S, downtown location, estimated threat level high, report immediately.
You jerked your head toward the exit and looked at Ruggie.
He saw your expression and grinned.
"Ooh, Gate time already? Man, I love this job." He started walking toward the exit with you. "Okay so today I'm thinking sushi. There's this place that does all-you-can-eat. And it's fancy sushi. You ever been so full you regretted your life choices?"
"No."
"Well today's your lucky day! You're gonna learn what true suffering feels like, and that suffering is eating so much salmon that you start to become the salmon."
You walked out of the Bureau building together, Ruggie already pulling up the map to the restaurant on his phone, you mentally preparing for whatever dimensional horror show was waiting in the Gate.
The HR person waved at you through the window, still looking proud.
Your phone buzzed with the Gate details. Ruggie was now showing you pictures of sushi platters.
The Gate was a Grade S, which meant it was really annoying but not immediately life-threatening unless you did something spectacularly stupid.
You did not do anything spectacularly stupid. You went in, you fought monsters that looked like someone had designed them during a bad trip, and you were handling it fine.
The problem was that there was another Esper in there with you.
He had red hair styled in a way that suggested he spent actual time on it, and his uniform was so perfectly pressed it looked like he'd ironed it that morning with a ruler and a protractor. Everything about him screamed "I have my life together and I'm mad that you don't."
You'd heard about him. Everyone had heard about him. He was the Esper who took discipline so seriously that he'd apparently once written someone up for breathing too loud during a mission briefing. He treated the Bureau rules like they were holy scripture and anyone who violated them was personally offending him.
You were wearing gloves.
This was apparently a problem.
"Excuse me!" he shouted over the sound of a monster dying in the background. "Are those extra layers?!"
You looked at him. You looked at your gloves. You looked back at him.
"Yeah?" you said, confused about why this was a conversation.
"Extra layers compromise mobility and are against regulation Gate gear protocols!" He was getting red in the face, which was impressive given that he was also actively fighting a monster. "Section 6, subsection 7 clearly states that Espers should minimize unnecessary equipment to maintain optimal combat efficiency!"
"They're gloves."
"They're a VIOLATION!"
This guy was really upset about your gloves. You'd been wearing gloves into Gates for months and nobody had ever said anything. Mostly because the gloves meant you could avoid skin contact during the initial Gate entry checks, but that wasn't something you were going to explain to this incarnation of a hall monitor.
You stuck your tongue out at him.
His face went from red to purple. "How DARE you—"
He actually swung at you. His power flared and you had to dodge before he took your fucking head off with what looked like a very aggressive playing card that had been sharpened to a molecular edge.
"WHOA," you yelled, because what the fuck.
"REMOVE THE GLOVES!"
"They're JUST GLOVES!"
A monster tried to eat both of you during this argument. You both killed it without looking, still arguing.
"Regulations exist for a REASON!"
"The reason is to make people like you feel important!"
You spent the rest of the Gate fighting monsters and also occasionally ragebaiting the world's angriest Esper. It was honestly kind of fun. He was so mad. So incredibly mad about your gloves. Every time you caught him looking at your hands his eye would twitch.
When the Gate finally cleared, you walked out feeling pretty good about yourself. You'd survived monsters AND a disciplinarian with anger management issues.
Ruggie was waiting on a bench near the Gate perimeter, scrolling through his phone. When he saw you, he straightened up and pulled something out of his jacket.
Your stabilizers.
He'd brought them. He'd remembered. You felt something warm in your chest that was either affection or the early stages of a heart attack.
"Rough one?" he asked, handing you the first bottle.
"There was this one guy who tried to kill me because I was wearing gloves."
"What?"
"He was very upset about regulations."
"Espers are fucking weird, man." Ruggie shook his head. Then he reached out and grabbed your gloved hand, his grip loose and casual. "Drink up."
You downed the first stabilizer and it tasted like Satan's cough syrup as usual. Ruggie just held your gloved hand to maintain contact for appearances while you suffered through your liquid punishment.
When you finished the first bottle and reached for the second, Ruggie shifted slightly.
"You sure you don't want actual guiding?" he asked, and his tone was different. "Like, I can actually do my job if you need it. I know the stabilizers aren't as good for S-ranks."
You looked at him and he stared back. There was no judgment or frustration in his expression and it didn't seem like he wanted to push you into it.
"I'll be okay," you said.
"Alright," he said immediately, and dropped it.
He accepted your answer and went back to holding your hand while you drank poison. You fucking loved that about him. The fact that he got it and didn't push.
You finished the second stabilizer, then the third. Your energy levels were dropping back to normal, the dangerous crackling feeling fading into something manageable. Ruggie let go of your hand and pocketed the empty bottles.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yeah."
You stood up, stretching out the residual tension in your muscles. Your body felt like you'd been put through a blender and then reassembled slightly wrong, which was pretty standard for a Grade S Gate. Ruggie stood up too, already pulling out his phone to check whatever restaurant he'd picked.
"Okay so the sushi place is like fifteen minutes from here," he said, starting to walk toward the parking area. "They got this deal where if you choose the all-you-can-eat option, you can sit in front of the conveyor belt and go ham on everything. I'm talking salmon, tuna, eel, those little egg things, the whole deal. You ever had eel?"
"No?"
"Well you're having it today. Come on, car's this way."
He started walking ahead, already absorbed in his phone, probably looking at the options and planning his attack strategy.
You stood there for a second, just watching him. This guy who'd agreed to scam the system with you for the price of free food. Who brought your stabilizers without being asked. Who held your hand through gloves and didn't make it weird. Who offered real help but backed off immediately when you said no.
Something in your chest felt warm and full, and it had nothing to do with Gate energy or stabilizers.
You caught up to him in two quick steps and ruffled his hair.
He made a sound of protest and swatted at your hand, but he was grinning.
"Dinner's on me tomorrow too," you said.
His eyes lit up like you'd just promised him a winning lottery ticket. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. And the day after that, probably."
"Oh shit, are you getting sentimental on me?" He was still grinning, already trying to fix his hair where you'd messed it up. "Am I your favorite person now? Are we bonding?"
"Don't push it."
"Too late, I'm pushing it. You love me. I'm the best Guide you've ever had and you know it."
"You're the only Guide who doesn't make me want to fake my own death."
"I'll take it!" He laughed, that slightly hyena-like sound that suggested he was deeply amused by his own fortune. "Okay boss, you got yourself a deal. I'll follow you forever if you keep feeding me like this."
He said it like a joke, but something about the way he said "boss" made you grin.
"Lead the way then," you said.
He did, practically bouncing toward your car while narrating his plans. You followed, feeling lighter than you'd felt in months.
The angry Esper from the Gate walked past you in the parking lot, saw your gloves, and made a sound of disgust. You waved at him cheerfully.
Ruggie laughed so hard he almost tripped.
You were watching Ruggie systematically demolish the entire sushi conveyor belt with focused determination like he'd been personally challenged by the concept of leaving food uneaten. He had plates stacked in front of him like he was constructing some kind of delicious Jenga tower, and he showed no signs of slowing down.
"Oh shit, is that the fancy tuna with the gold flakes on it?" he said, his eyes tracking a plate as it went by. He snagged it with the precision of a hunting bird. "Yeah, that's definitely mine. You see this? They put actual gold on it. I'm eating gold. I'm fancy as hell right now."
"You have rice on your face," you observed.
"That's how you know I'm doing it right." He shoved the gold-flaked tuna in his mouth and made a sound that was borderline pornographic for a family establishment. "Oh man, that's the good shit. Why does expensive fish taste so much better? Is it the suffering? Do the fish suffer more?"
"I don't think that's how it works."
"Well something's different because this tastes like the ocean personally blessed it." He was already reaching for another plate, this one loaded with salmon that had some kind of crispy topping. "And this one, oh this one's got the crunchy bits. I love the crunchy bits."
You were picking at your own considerably smaller pile of sushi, managing to actually eat some of it because watching Ruggie experience what appeared to be religious ecstasy through fish made eating seem less like a mandatory biological function. You'd gotten through maybe four pieces, which was practically a thanksgiving feast by your recent standards.
"Oh hey," you said, remembering something that had been lurking in the back of your mind like an unwanted dental appointment. "I've got my yearly checkup this weekend. The whole power measuring circus."
Ruggie looked up from his plate, still chewing what looked like an entire roll he'd just shoved in his mouth whole. He swallowed. "The one where they make you shoot lasers at stuff to see how dead you can make things?"
"Something like that. More like controlled energy output in a reinforced room while people with clipboards take notes and judge me."
"Sounds like a great time. Very fun. Much excitement." He grabbed another plate off the belt. "What time?"
"Seven AM. It's a whole thing that takes like two hours. They do the power measurement, then medical evaluation, then they poke at me some more just for fun probably."
"Cool, I'll be there," Ruggie said, like this was already decided and you had no say in the matter.
You blinked at him. "You don't need to come. It's boring as hell and also kind of depressing. You'd literally just be sitting there watching me get examined like a weird science experiment."
"Yeah but I'm your Guide now, right? Official and everything. I should probably show up to this stuff so it looks legit." He grinned at you, his teeth showing. "Plus breakfast is on you after."
"I just said you don't need to be there," you repeated, though you could already feel yourself losing this argument.
"And I'm saying I'm coming anyway. You can't stop me. I know where the testing facility is. I'll just show up and tell them I'm your emotional support Guide." He was already looking way too pleased with himself. "So you better give me a ride or I'll take the bus and show up anyway and then you'll feel bad."
"I won't feel bad."
"You absolutely will. You'll see me standing there all sad because I had to take public transportation at six in the morning, and you'll feel terrible." He pointed his chopsticks at you for emphasis. "Just admit defeat now and promise me pancakes after."
You sighed, because he was right and he knew it and there was no point in arguing. "Fine. Pancakes."
"Excellent!" He moved to high-five you but then seemed to realize both his hands were completely occupied with holding plates and chopsticks. He paused, assessed his options, and then just smacked your shoulder with his tail instead.
You stared at him. "Did you just tail-slap me?"
"Sure did! That's what happens when you make important business agreements while I'm in the middle of eating." He looked entirely too proud of himself. "Consider yourself officially tail-fived. Now shut up, there's more eel coming and I need to focus on my strategy."
"You have a strategy for conveyor belt sushi?"
"Of course I have a strategy. You think I got this good at eating by just randomly grabbing shit?" He was already eyeing the approaching plates like a general surveying a battlefield. "Eel first, then those little egg ones, then I'm gonna grab like three of the salmon because they keep running out. This is a science."
You watched him continue his systematic destruction of the restaurant's sushi supply and felt something in your chest that might have been fondness or possibly just indigestion from eating more than your usual nothing.
You picked Ruggie up from his apartment building at six-thirty in the morning, which was an absolutely criminal time to be awake, and found him waiting outside looking somehow more alert than you'd ever been in your entire life. He bounced into your car holding the same travel mug from last time.
"Morning, boss!" he said with the kind of cheerfulness that should be illegal before eight AM. "Ready to get poked and prodded by people in lab coats who are definitely going to have opinions about your life choices?"
"I hate everything about this already," you said.
"That's the spirit! Very positive. Great attitude." He took a sip of his coffee and made a face. "Man, this coffee tastes like it was filtered through someone's gym sock but I'm too tired to care."
The checkup facility was located in a reinforced building on the outskirts of the city, and the structure looked like it had been designed by someone who'd watched too many disaster movies and decided to prepare for all of them simultaneously. You'd been coming here once a year since you'd first registered as an Esper, and every single time you hated it more than the last.
The "doctors" were all retired Guides, which made sense from a practical standpoint because they needed people who could handle Esper energy output without immediately dying. What made less sense was why they felt the need to maintain physical contact during the entire goddamn process.
You walked into the examination room and immediately wanted to walk back out. There were three doctors waiting, all wearing expressions that suggested they were already exhausted and the day had barely started. The lead doctor was an older woman who looked like she'd been doing this job since before you were born and had seen enough shit to fill several horror anthologies.
"Good morning," she said in a tone that suggested it was not, in fact, a good morning. "Standard annual checkup today. We'll be doing power output measurement, energy stability evaluation, and baseline guiding assessment. The whole process should take approximately two hours. Your Guide can wait in the observation area."
Ruggie immediately sprawled into one of the chairs set up behind a wall of reinforced glass that probably cost more than most carsr. He pulled out his phone and settled in like he was about to watch the world's most boring movie.
"Right then," the lead doctor said, turning her attention to you. "Let's begin with the power output measurement. We'll need you to channel your abilities at progressive intensity levels while we monitor your readings. Physical contact will be maintained throughout to ensure you don't accidentally obliterate the building."
And there it was–the thing you hated most about these appointments.
They were going to make you unleash your power in a controlled setting, which was fine, you'd done it a million times. The problem was they insisted on grabbing onto you the entire time, their hands clamped on your shoulders or arms, their Guide energy flowing into you to keep everything stable. It felt invasive in a way that made your skin crawl, clinical and detached, like you were a dangerous lab rat they needed to study while wearing protective equipment.
You gritted your teeth and let them position you in the center of the room. Two doctors moved to either side and grabbed your arms after rolling your sleeves up.
The sensation of their hands on your bare skin made you want to peel your own arms off and throw it at them.
"Begin with twenty percent output," the lead doctor instructed, her tablet at the ready.
You channeled your power, letting it flow out in a controlled stream. The air around you started crackling with visible energy. The doctors' grips tightened immediately, their own power pressing into yours to keep it from going wild.
"Thirty percent."
You pushed harder. Your power flared brighter, distorting the air around you like heat waves off asphalt. The doctors were murmuring to each other in that annoying medical professional way where they talked about you like you weren't even there.
From behind the glass, you saw Ruggie look up from his phone. He caught your eye and immediately crossed his eyes while sticking his tongue out to the side, making himself look absolutely deranged.
Despite the discomfort and the invasive hands and the general awfulness of the situation, you almost laughed.
"Forty percent. Maintain focus, please."
The energy was building now, hot and uncomfortable under your skin. Your power at this level wanted to be used, wanted to destroy something, and keeping it contained while people grabbed you felt like trying to hold onto a live electrical wire. The doctors were channeling more energy into you to keep you stable, and the sensation was like being squeezed from the inside out by hands you couldn't see.
Ruggie was doing something new now, making his hands into little mouths that appeared to be having an argument with each other. One hand-mouth was clearly very angry. The other hand-mouth looked shocked and offended. He was doing voices under his breath that you couldn't hear but could definitely see based on how his mouth was moving.
He looked like a complete fucking idiot. It was helping.
"Fifty percent."
This was where it started to actually hurt. Your power at half capacity was not something that enjoyed being restrained, and your body was very firmly suggesting that maybe you should stop listening to these doctors and start listening to your basic survival instincts that were screaming. The doctors had their eyes closed now, concentrating on keeping you stable, their energy wrapped around yours like chains.
Ruggie had apparently abandoned the hand-mouth theater and was now making faces that suggested he was watching something deeply disgusting. He looked like he'd just witnessed a crime against nature. His whole face was scrunched up in exaggerated horror.
Your concentration wavered slightly. The lead doctor said something sharp and medical-sounding. You refocused.
They pushed you up to seventy percent before finally calling it quits. By the time they released you, you were shaking slightly, your power subsiding back down into something that wouldn't accidentally level the building. The doctors immediately turned away to consult their tablets, comparing numbers and graphs that probably meant something terrible.
"Alright," the lead doctor said after a moment, her professional mask firmly in place. "Power output is consistent with last year's measurements. No significant degradation in your ability levels. Now we need to perform the baseline guiding assessment to evaluate how your energy system responds to external stabilization."
This was somehow even worse than the power measurement. At least when they were testing your output you were doing something active, channeling your power, staying engaged. The guiding assessment was completely passive. You just had to sit there like a lump while they poked around in your energy pathways and made judgmental observations.
You sat down in the designated examination chair, which was about as comfortable as sitting on a pile of rocks. The lead doctor positioned herself directly in front of you and placed her hands on your temples with the clinical efficiency of someone who'd touched a thousand foreheads and was tired of all of them. Another doctor moved behind you and put their hands on your shoulders. The third doctor stayed at the monitoring equipment, watching screens that were probably displaying your imminent demise in graph form.
"Try to relax," the lead doctor said, which was possibly the most useless instruction anyone had ever given you.
Their energy flooded into you like water being poured into a container that really didn't want to be filled, seeking out the pathways in your system, checking for blockages and damage and whatever else they were looking for. It felt like being turned inside out and then examined by someone with ice cold hands. You could feel them encountering the rough spots, the places where your energy didn't flow quite right anymore, the patches of your system that had started deteriorating like old pipes.
The lead doctor's expression changed. Her eyebrows drew together in a way that suggested she'd just found something she really didn't want to find. She looked distressed, which was concerning because these people were supposed to be professional enough to maintain their poker faces.
It was always like this. Every single year, the same progression. Initial examination, growing concern, that specific look that meant they'd confirmed whatever terrible thing they'd suspected.
She pulled back, removing her hands from your temples like you'd burned her. The other doctor let go of your shoulders and stepped away.
"We need to discuss your results," she said, and her voice was doing that thing where it was carefully professional but you could hear all the concern lurking underneath like a shark under calm water.
Ruggie had straightened up in his observation chair behind the glass. Even from this distance you could see his expression shifting from bored to alert.
"Your energy pathways are showing significant deterioration," the lead doctor said, pulling up something on her tablet and turning it to show you. The screen was full of graphs and charts and numbers that were probably meant to convey something important but mostly just looked like evidence of your bad decisions rendered in visual form. "Specifically in your primary energy channels. This pattern is entirely consistent with long-term stabilizer dependency without adequate guiding supplementation."
"Okay," you said, because you already knew this and had known this for a while now.
"This level of deterioration is not sustainable," she continued, and now she was doing that thing doctors do where they explain terrible news in calm measured tones like maybe if they say it gently enough it'll hurt less. "At your current rate of decline, within approximately two years you'll experience one of two outcomes. Either your pathways will collapse entirely and you'll lose your abilities permanently, or you'll experience catastrophic energy overflow that your compromised system won't be able to contain."
She said it all clinical and professional, but what she actually meant was: your powers are either going to disappear or they're going to kill you, pick your favorite.
"I know," you said.
Her expression shifted to something that looked like frustration mixed with concern, which was apparently the standard medical professional response to patients who acknowledged their problems but refused to fix them. "Then why are you continuing to rely primarily on stabilizers? You need regular proper guiding sessions. Real guiding, not whatever arrangement you have with—" She glanced at Ruggie behind the glass. "Multiple sessions per week at minimum. This isn't optional anymore."
"I know," you said again, because what else was there to say?
She looked like she wanted to argue, wanted to lecture you about responsibility and health and all the things that responsible Espers did to not die horribly. You could see her gearing up for it.
"Thanks for the checkup," you said, standing up before she could get started. "Same time next year?"
You didn't wait for her response. You just walked out of the examination room, through the hallway, and out toward the parking lot with a purposeful stride, fleeing a conversation you qbsolutely did not want to have.
Behind you, you heard Ruggie scrambling to grab his stuff and follow.
He caught up to you in the parking lot but didn't say anything. You could feel him vibrating with unasked questions, could sense all the words building up behind his teeth like water behind a dam, but he kept his mouth shut and just walked next to you in silence.
You drove to the pancake place. The silence in the car was so thick you could have cut it with a knife and served it on a plate. The waitress sat you at a booth with a cheerful greeting that you barely managed to reciprocate, completely unaware that she was seating two people who were both having internal crises of different varieties.
Ruggie ordered his chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped cream and enough butter to constitute a heart attack. You ordered coffee that you had no intention of drinking.
When his pancakes arrived, he picked up his fork, ate a few bites, and then put his fork down and pushed the plate away.
Ruggie Bucchi, the man who treated food like a religious calling, the guy who'd nearly cried tears of joy when you'd first offered to buy him dinner, was leaving pancakes uneaten on his plate.
"Not hungry?" you asked, even though you knew the answer.
"Nah, I'm good," he said, which was such a blatant lie that you didn't even bother calling him out on it.
The silence stretched between you and Ruggie kept looking at you, then looking away, then looking back like he was trying to solve a puzzle but couldn't find the right pieces. His tail was doing something anxious and twitchy that you'd never seen before, moving in small jerky motions that suggested his body was expressing the agitation his mouth was holding back.
You paid the bill without looking at it. You drove him home with the radio off and the windows up and the silence pressing down on both of you like a weighted blanket made of discomfort.
When you pulled up outside his apartment building, he didn't immediately get out. His hand was on the door handle but he wasn't pulling it.
"Look—" he started.
"Don't," you said.
"I'm just saying, maybe you should—"
"Ruggie. Please."
He went quiet. His hand was still on the door handle, gripping it tight enough that his knuckles were going white. Then he turned in his seat, reached over, and squeezed your hand.
His was hand on yours with no gloves between you, skin to skin, warm and slightly callused and real.
You should have hated it. You should have jerked your hand away and told him to back off and reminded him that the entire point of your arrangement was avoiding exactly this. That was your whole thing, the reason you'd gone through all this trouble in the first place.
But you didn't pull away because you didn't feel disgust.
Because this wasn't some Guide performing their job duties. This wasn't clinical therapeutic contact meant to stabilize your energy or fix your problems. This was just Ruggie, who'd clearly been freaked out by what he'd heard in that examination room, trying to offer some kind of comfort in the only way he could think of.
The contact lasted maybe three or four seconds. Then he let go, got out of the car, and headed into his building without looking back, his shoulders hunched in a way that made him look smaller than usual.
You sat there in your parked car for a long moment, staring at your hand where he'd touched it, feeling the residual warmth fading from your skin.
Then you put the car in drive and went home.
You didn't let yourself think about the doctor's words. You drove home, parked in your building's garage, took the elevator up to your floor, unlocked your apartment, and sat down on the floor next to your couch in the growing darkness as the sun set outside your windows.
Two years, give or take.
Two years before your powers either disappeared entirely or killed you in some dramatic energy-related disaster that would probably make the news.
You'd known this, obviously. It wasn't new information. The doctors had been hinting at it for the past few checkups, getting progressively less subtle about their concerns. But hearing it stated outright as a medical fact, seeing it displayed on graphs and charts, watching a professional look at you with barely concealed pity while delivering your prognosis, that made it real in a way it hadn't been before.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out to find a text from Ruggie.
"Thanks for breakfast boss"
You stared at the message for a long time, your thumb hovering over the keyboard, before finally typing back.
"anytime"
You meant it more than you'd meant anything in a while.
You put your phone down, leaned back against your couch, and stared at your ceiling in the dark, trying very hard not to think about anything at all.
The Gate energy readings had pinpointed a location in the industrial district, which meant you were currently standing around outside a garage that smelled like old tires, waiting for a dimensional rift to tear open reality so you could go fight monsters.
Ruggie was sitting on a concrete barrier next to where you were standing, scrolling through his phone with a focus that suggested he was either reading something very interesting or avoiding thinking about something very concerning. You were betting on the latter based on the way his eyebrows were doing that worried furrow thing they'd been doing ever since the checkup.
You were grateful he hadn't brought it up again or tried to lecture you about your health or your terrible life choices or the fact that you were apparently speed-running your way toward either power loss or death. He'd just gone back to the normal routine like nothing had changed, showing up when you needed him, grabbing your sleeve, letting you drink your stabilizers, and then taking food as payment.
But you could see the worry on his face. It was there in the tightness around his eyes, the way he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren't looking, the unusual quietness that had replaced his normal running commentary about food and money and whatever else popped into his head.
Some absolutely deranged part of your brain looked at that worried expression and thought, "I want to kiss that away."
You immediately slapped both your cheeks hard enough that it made a sound.
Ruggie looked up from his phone, startled. "The fuck was that?"
"Nothing. Impulsive thought. Had to murder it."
"You good?"
"Extremely not good but we're not talking about it."
"Fair enough," he said, and went back to his phone, but the worry was still there on his face and you had to look away before your brain produced any more thoughts that needed to be violently suppressed.
There was another Esper standing nearby, a B-rank rookie who looked like he took his job very seriously and also possibly did his own stunts. He had dark blue hair and an earnest expression that suggested he still believed in things like justice and doing your best. You'd heard he'd gotten in trouble recently for something spectacularly stupid, but he'd apparently learned from it and was now trying very hard to follow all the rules.
He was looking at you with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice doing that thing where it was trying to be casual but came out worried anyway.
"I'm fine," you said. "Just tired."
"Oh! Okay, well, you're doing great!" He moved like he was going to clap you on the back in a gesture of camaraderie, his hand already coming up, but then he paused mid-motion like he'd suddenly remembered something important.
He'd remembered your reputation. The fact that you were the S-rank Esper who hated being touched and had a whole thing about it.
The pause was kind of adorable, actually. Here was this earnest rookie who'd been about to make a friendly gesture and then stopped himself because he'd done his research and knew about your boundaries. Most people either didn't know or didn't care.
You waved him off. "It's fine, go ahead."
His face lit up and he patted your back with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever who'd just been told he was a good boy. "You're gonna do great in there! We're all gonna do great! I've been training really hard for Gate scenarios!"
You saw Ruggie's eyebrows furrow even more, his expression shifting into something that looked almost annoyed. You were about to ask him if he was jealous, because that would be funny and also completely ridiculous since there was nothing to be jealous of, when the air started doing that thing where it felt like reality was about to have a structural failure.
The Gate opened and it was a swirling vortex of purple and black energy that made your teeth hurt and your eyes water and generally made you regret every choice that had led you to this career.
Everyone straightened up immediately. The Guides started moving away from the Gate perimeter, heading to their designated waiting area where they'd sit around being anxious until the Espers came back out either victorious or dead. Ruggie stood up from his concrete barrier, gave you a look that clearly meant "don't die in there," and walked off with the other Guides.
You and approximately fifteen other Espers, including the earnest B-rank rookie, headed into the Gate.
The inside was a mess.
There were monsters everywhere, which was expected, but they were respawning, which was significantly less expected and much more annoying.
You'd kill a group of them and then thirty seconds later more would just appear out of thin air like the world's worst magic trick.
"They're respawning!" someone yelled, which was obvious but people tended to state the obvious when they were stressed.
"We need to find the core!" someone else shouted, because apparently this Gate had a core that was generating the monsters and if you destroyed it the respawning would stop.
What followed was approximately two hours of the most tedious combat you'd ever experienced. The monsters themselves weren't particularly strong, mostly low-rank creatures. But there were so many of them, and they kept coming, and finding the core required actually exploring this fucked up dimensional warehouse while fighting off waves of angry goat adjacent nightmares.
You used your power constantly. You didn't have to keep it at high output because you didn't need to blast everything into atoms, but the constant sustained use of your abilities was like running a marathon where every step required you to punch someone in the face. Your energy reserves were draining steadily, and you could feel your body starting to protest the extended exertion.
The earnest B-rank rookie was doing pretty well, actually. He had some kind of ability that involved summoning things that hit really hard, and he was using it quite well.
Eventually, someone found the core. It was this pulsating crystal thing that looked like it was having a very bad day. Everyone converged on it and hit it with everything they had. It exploded in a very satisfying way, and suddenly the monsters stopped respawning.
Cleaning up the remaining creatures took another twenty minutes. By the time the Gate stabilized and you could leave, you were exhausted in a way that went beyond physical tiredness and into something that felt like your soul was tired.
You stumbled out of the Gate and immediately knew something was wrong.
Your vision was blurring at the edges. Your breathing felt strained, like someone had replaced your lungs with smaller, less efficient lungs that were really struggling with the whole oxygen thing. Every step felt like you were walking through mud.
You looked around for Ruggie and found him about thirty feet away, apparently in the middle of yelling at another Guide. The other Guide was shorter than Ruggie, had lavender-purple hair, and was holding what looked like a Guide emergency kit. Ruggie was gesturing aggressively and his face was doing that thing where he was clearly furious but trying to keep it professional. You couldn't hear what he was saying over the general noise of Espers and Guides and Bureau personnel doing their post-Gate routines.
Ruggie saw you approaching and his expression immediately shifted from angry to guilty to worried in the span of about two seconds.
You made it to a nearby bench and basically collapsed onto it. Your breathing was getting worse. You could feel your energy levels fluctuating wildly, unstable and chaotic, because you'd used too much power for too long without proper stabilization and now your system was having some kind of crisis about it.
Ruggie sat down next to you immediately, close enough that his shoulder was almost touching yours. "That fucking rookie Guide put apple juice in the stabilizer kit instead of actual stabilizers," he said, his voice tight with barely controlled anger.
You'd stopped buying and bringing your own stabilizers. The official Bureau-provided ones were supposed to be better quality, more effective, and you'd been relying on having access to them after Gates recently. You were really regretting that decision now.
Your vision blurred more. You had to press a hand against your chest because breathing was becoming actively difficult, like your ribcage had decided to stop cooperating with the whole respiration process. You were taking gasping breaths that didn't seem to be getting enough oxygen.
"What's wrong?" Ruggie asked, and his voice had gone from angry to worried. "Hey, what's happening?"
You tried to answer but all that came out was another gasping breath. Your energy was spiraling out of control inside you, too much of it with nowhere to go, and your compromised pathways couldn't handle the strain. You felt like you were going to shake apart from the inside.
"Okay, fuck this," Ruggie said, and there was decision in his voice. "Let me guide you. Right now."
You managed to nod, because you were too busy trying to breathe to argue and also because you were pretty sure you were going to die if someone didn't stabilize you in the next sixty seconds.
"Okay," he said, and then his hands were on you.
His hand took yours, fingers interlacing, the other hand moving to your head. "C'mere," he said softly, and guided your head down to rest against his shoulder, your face ending up in the crook of his neck.
Then he started guiding you.
His energy flowed into you and it was completely different from every other time you'd been guided. The doctors in the examination room had felt invasive, clinical, like being examined by someone wearing rubber gloves who didn't particularly care about you as a person. The Guides who'd tried to stabilize you after Gates had felt impersonal and rushed, just doing their job and doing it efficiently.
This felt warm. This felt safe. This felt like coming home after a brutal exam to find your mom had made your favorite meal and was waiting to tell you it would be okay.
Ruggie's energy wrapped around yours carefully, almost gently, finding all the places where you were spiraling out of control and slowly, patiently, bringing everything back into balance. His hand in yours squeezed slightly, grounding you. His other hand was petting your head in slow, soothing strokes that you would have found condescending if it was anyone else but somehow just felt comforting.
You could feel your breathing starting to even out and the painful pressure in your chest was easing.
You pressed your face further into his neck and just breathed. He smelled like coffee and something else you couldn't quite identify, something that was just him. His hand kept moving through your hair in steady, rhythmic strokes. His energy kept flowing into you, warm and steady and safe.
When he finally finished, pulling his energy back slowly and carefully, you felt better than you had in years. You felt better than you'd felt since you'd gotten your powers. Your energy pathways felt clear, your power settled and calm, your body relaxed in a way you'd forgotten was possible.
"You okay?" Ruggie asked quietly, and his voice was right next to your ear because your face was still pressed into his neck.
You pulled back slightly to look at him, and he was so close, and he was looking at you with those eyes that were worried and relieved and something else you couldn't quite name, and your brain decided that now was the perfect time to stop thinking entirely.
You kissed him.
You leaned in and pressed your mouth to his, and he made a small surprised sound and then immediately kissed back with an amount of enthusiasm that suggested he'd been thinking about this too.
You pulled him closer and he came willingly, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head, the other still holding your hand like he was afraid if he let go you'd disappear. His mouth was warm and he tasted like the coffee he'd been drinking earlier and something sweet, and when you deepened the kiss he made another sound that went straight to somewhere in your chest.
When you finally pulled apart because breathing was once again necessary, he immediately hid his face in your neck, and you were almost certain you could feel him purring. Like, actually purring, a low rumbling sound that you could feel more than hear.
"Are you purring?" you asked, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.
He bit your neck in retaliation, not hard enough to hurt but definitely hard enough to make a point. "Shut up."
"You are! You're purring!"
"I said shut up," he mumbled into your neck, but his tail was doing something happy and his whole body was relaxed against yours in a way that suggested he was extremely okay with this situation.
You wrapped your arms around him and just sat there on that bench, holding him, feeling more satisfied and fulfilled than you could remember feeling in your entire adult life.
Around you, other Espers and Guides were finishing their post-Gate routines, people were filing reports, the Bureau machinery was churning along as usual. Nobody was paying attention to the two of you sitting on a bench in a increasingly intimate embrace.
"We should probably talk about this," Ruggie said eventually, his voice muffled against your neck.
"Later," you said. "Right now I'm enjoying the part where I feel like a functional human being for the first time in months."
"Fair enough," he said.
You sat there together as the sun started to set, and you thought that maybe you'd finally found something worth pushing on for.
Ruggie Bucchi had learned early that nothing in life comes for free, and anyone who told you otherwise was either lying or trying to scam you.
When his Guide powers awakened, some Bureau representative had shown up at his tiny hometown and offered him a spot in the city training program. They'd talked about duty and service and protecting humanity, but what Ruggie heard was "guaranteed income" and "escape from poverty." He'd packed his bags that same day.
The city was expensive in ways that made his hometown look like a charity case. Everything cost money. Breathing would probably be monetized if the landlords could figure out how to charge for it. But Ruggie was determined to squeeze every possible advantage out of his situation, so he lived frugally in a shitty apartment that had character, which was realtor-speak for "things are broken and we're not fixing them," and he sent most of his paycheck back to his grandma.
Being a Guide paid okay. Not great, because Guides weren't the ones diving into hell dimensions and fighting monsters, but okay. The problem was that Espers made significantly more money and also got significantly more respect, which Ruggie thought was bullshit because Guides were the ones keeping those maniacs from leveling cities, but nobody had asked his opinion when they were setting up the pay scale.
The Espers themselves were a mixed bag of psychological issues wrapped in superpowers.
Some of them begged for guiding, practically throwing themselves at Guides after every Gate like they were desperate for someone to hold them and tell them everything would be okay. Others acted like they were too good for guiding, like accepting help was beneath them somehow. And then there were the ones who only wanted extremely high-ranked Guides, who'd turn their noses up at anyone below S-rank.
Ruggie had watched more than one Esper try to request Vil Schoenheit specifically, despite the fact that Vil was bonded to his Esper partner and literally could not guide anyone else even if he wanted to, which he definitely didn't because he'd made his feelings on the matter very clear in several public statements. Idiots, all of them.
Ruggie's strategy was simple: show up to as many active Gate sites as possible to collect the attendance bonus, but stay far enough back that he wouldn't actually have to exert himself guiding anyone unless absolutely necessary. He was getting paid to be present, not to be helpful. If someone specifically requested him, fine, he'd do his job. But otherwise he was perfectly happy to stand around looking official while scrolling through his phone.
This strategy had been working great for months.
Then you showed up and ruined everything by being weird.
Ruggie had been minding his own business, leaning against a barrier and contemplating whether he could afford the good instant ramen this month or if he was stuck with the cheap stuff that tasted like salted cardboard, when you'd approached him with an expression that suffested you were about to ask for something insane.
"I need you to pretend you're guiding me," you'd said, and Ruggie's brain had immediately gone "what the fuck?"
He'd seen Espers do a lot of stupid things, but he'd never seen one actively try to avoid being guided. Most of them were desperate for it. The fact that you were an S-rank, clearly in-demand based on the quality of your gear, made it even weirder. Why would someone with your power level want to fake it?
Then he'd actually looked at your face and recognition had hit him like a truck.
You were that Esper. The one who'd almost thrown a Guide across a parking lot for grabbing you without warning. The incident had made it into the Bureau gossip network, complete with eyewitness accounts and speculation about your psychological issues. Everyone knew you had a thing about being touched.
Which explained the request, actually.
"What's in it for me?" he'd asked, because Ruggie didn't do charity work and he wasn't about to start now.
The promise of dinner had sealed the deal. Free food was free food, and you'd said "anywhere you want" which meant Ruggie could pick somewhere expensive and you'd apparently just pay for it. He'd grabbed your sleeve, you'd drunk your stabilizers, and it had been the easiest money he'd ever made.
The ongoing arrangement you'd proposed afterward was even better. He got to sit around doing absolutely nothing, you got to avoid actual guiding, and Ruggie got paid and fed on a regular basis. He could send more money home to his grandma. He could buy himself nice things occasionally instead of living on nothing but instant ramen and spite.
It was perfect.
At first, your stabilizer dependency seemed like a preference thing. Some Espers were just weird about guiding and would rather rely on the pharmaceutical option. Ruggie didn't care. It wasn't his body being slowly destroyed by inadequate medical treatment.
Then he started noticing things.
The way you'd wince sometimes when you thought nobody was looking. The slight tremor in your hands after particularly tough Gates. The fact that you looked like you'd forgotten what a full meal was and had been surviving on coffee and protein shakes that probably tasted like despair.
He realized this wasn't just a preference. This was bad. This was actively harmful. Your system was suffering and you were choosing to let it happen for reasons Ruggie couldn't understand.
But also, he wasn't your mother or your lover. Why would he care? If you were determined to make terrible life choices, who was he to question you? You were an adult who was paying him. His job was to grab your sleeve and look official, not to fix your life.
When he'd asked you to come register the partnership officially at Bureau HR, he'd expected you to say no. Rich people usually didn't go out of their way to do things that benefited the people they were paying. But you'd just agreed and driven him there without complaint.
The HR person had gotten weirdly emotional about you having a Guide, which was uncomfortable to witness but also kind of funny. You'd looked like you wanted to sink into the floor.
The more time Ruggie spent with you, the more he realized you were actually a decent person.
You seemed to understand his nature, the fact that he wanted things and wasn't ashamed of it. Most people either judged him for being mercenary or tried to take advantage of it. You just accepted it and worked with it. You spent freely on him, taking him to expensive restaurants and letting him order whatever he wanted, buying him things when he mentioned wanting them.
And it didn't feel like bribery. It felt like you actually cared about his quality of life. It was almost like you cared about him as a person and not just as a convenient accessory to your medical avoidance.
The sushi place had been when Ruggie started suspecting he might be in trouble.
You'd been watching him eat with this expression on your face, open and fond, like watching him enjoy food made you happy. When he'd said he'd come to your power checkup in exchange for breakfast, your whole face had lit up in a way that made his heart do something uncomfortable in his chest. You tried telling him he didn't need to but the ways your eyes lit up made him abandon the thought of taking it back.
He'd hidden it with humor, smacking you with his tail and pretending he was too busy with food to properly touch you, because the alternative was acknowledging that he was developing feelings for his Esper which was definitely a bad idea.
The power checkup had been horrible for Ruggie in ways he hadn't expected.
He'd sat behind the glass watching them test your power output, watching you endure their invasive touching, watching them guide you for the assessment. You'd looked miserable the whole time but you'd done it because it was mandatory.
And then the doctor had said it.
Two years. Maybe.
Two years before your powers either disappeared or killed you.
Ruggie had sat there in his observation chair feeling like someone had punched him in the stomach with a fist made of ice. What the fuck did they mean you'd die in two years? How could that be? You were strong and powerful and yeah you made terrible choices but surely that didn't mean you deserved to die?
But you'd never stop being an Esper. That was clear. This was your job, your identity, your entire life. Which meant you were going to die.
You were going to die and you knew it and you were just accepting it like it was inevitable.
The pancakes had tasted like ash in his mouth. He'd barely managed three bites before pushing the plate away, his appetite completely gone. You'd driven him home in silence and he'd squeezed your hand before getting out, some desperate attempt to convey something he didn't have words for.
For the first time in a long time, Ruggie had cried that night.
He'd sat in his shitty apartment with its broken heating and water stains on the ceiling, and he'd cried for you. For the fact that you were going to die. For the fact that you'd accepted it. For the fact that he couldn't do anything about it except watch it happen.
The next few Gates passed in a blur. Ruggie tried to hide his concern because he knew you hated it when Guides tried to overstep, when they pushed and prodded and insisted they knew better. You'd chosen him specifically because he didn't do that. He wasn't about to ruin the best thing in his life by suddenly developing opinions about your medical care.
But it was hard.
It was hard watching you come out of Gates looking progressively more exhausted. Hard watching you chug stabilizers that he knew weren't working well enough. Hard knowing that every Gate was bringing you closer to that two-year deadline.
The Gate in the industrial district had been particularly bad.
You'd been waiting outside with him before it opened, and that earnest B-rank rookie had asked if you were okay. You'd said you were fine, and the rookie had moved to pat your back in what was clearly meant to be a friendly gesture.
And you'd let him.
You'd smiled at this kid and told him it was okay and let him touch you, and Ruggie had felt something bitter and hot in his chest that he recognized as jealousy.
Why couldn't you let Ruggie guide you properly? Why couldn't you let him touch you without the barriers of gloves and sleeves? Yes, you'd let him squeeze your hand that one time, but you were smiling at this rookie like he was harmless and friendly and meanwhile you were going to die because you wouldn't let people help you.
Then the Gate had opened and you'd gone in and Ruggie had spent the next two hours trying not to have a panic attack.
He'd checked the stabilizer kit out of nervous energy and found apple juice. Actual fucking apple juice because that rookie Guide had apparently grabbed the wrong bottles and not bothered to check.
Ruggie had been in the middle of crashing out on him, explaining in very clear terms exactly how badly he'd fucked up, when the Espers started coming out.
They all looked tired and beat up, which was normal. What wasn't normal was when you came out and sat down on a bench and your eyes were unfocused in a way that made Ruggie's blood run cold.
He'd explained about the stabilizers while watching you, and then he'd seen you press your hand to your chest. Your breathing was labored, gasping, like your body had forgotten how to process oxygen. Your energy levels were probably spiraling out of control without stabilization.
"Let me guide you," he'd said, and it had come out more desperate than he'd intended.
You'd nodded, and Ruggie had never moved faster in his life.
He'd taken your hand, interlacing your fingers with his, and guided your head down to rest in the crook of his neck. Then he'd started channeling his energy into you, trying to make it as gentle and non-invasive as possible.
He loved you. He loved you desperately. He'd known it for a while now but he'd been avoiding thinking about it because it was complicated and messy. But he loved you, and he wanted you to stay alive, and he was going to guide you properly even if it killed him.
Your energy had been a mess, chaotic and painful, and Ruggie had carefully wrapped his power around yours and brought everything back into balance. He'd petted your hair because it seemed to help, keeping his touch steady and soothing. You'd pressed your face into his neck and just breathed, and Ruggie had felt his heart doing something complicated.
When he'd finished and pulled back to check if you were okay, you'd kissed him.
Ruggie's brain had short-circuited for a solid three seconds before catching up and kissing back with all the enthusiasm he had because he had been wanting this for weeks and had finally gotten permission.
You'd pulled him closer and he'd gone willingly, completely unable to resist, one hand coming up to hold the back of your head like he could keep you there through sheer determination.
When you'd pulled apart he'd hidden his face in your neck because he was definitely purring and he didn't want you to see how stupidly happy he was.
You'd teased him about it and he'd bitten your neck in retaliation, but he couldn't stop purring and honestly didn't want to. You'd wrapped your arms around him and just held him, and Ruggie thought that maybe he'd finally found something worth more than money.
You were warm and solid and alive, and your energy felt stable and healthy for the first time since he'd known you. Maybe this was fixable. Maybe you didn't have to die in two years. Maybe if he could just guide you properly on a regular basis, your pathways would heal and you'd be okay.
Maybe he could keep you.
"We should probably talk about this," he mumbled into your neck, because they definitely needed to discuss what had just happened.
"Later," you said, and Ruggie decided later was fine.
His tail was doing something happy. His whole body felt warm and settled. For the first time since the checkup, Ruggie felt like maybe things would be okay.
Life was significantly better when you actually let yourself be guided properly. It also helped that the Guide was your partner whose touch was something you welcomed.
Ruggie guided you regularly now, real guiding with actual energy transfer and physical contact, and the difference was frankly embarrassing. Your energy pathways had started healing, slowly but noticeably. The constant background ache you'd gotten so used to that you'd stopped registering it had faded. You felt more stable, more grounded, less like a disaster waiting to explode.
You'd also weaned yourself off the stabilizers entirely, which meant you no longer had to drink liquid suffering. Your last checkup had shown significant improvement, enough that the doctor had looked genuinely shocked and then immediately launched into a lecture about how you should have been doing this the whole time. You'd nodded politely and let Ruggie drag you out before you said something deeply mean.
The other major change was that you had an appetite now. You were eating real meals, plural, sometimes multiple times a day. It was still a work in progress because your stomach had apparently shrunk to the size of a walnut during your years of coffee-and-protein-shake existence, but you were getting there.
Ruggie was insufferably smug about all of this.
"Remember when you were all 'I don't need guiding, I'll just slowly kill myself with stabilizers'?" he said for approximately the fifteenth time this week. "Remember when you were basically a suicidal emo teenager with a death wish disguised as professional preference?"
"I was not emo," you protested from where you were standing in the kitchen of the apartment you now shared, which was significantly nicer than either of your previous apartments.
"You were absolutely emo. You had the whole tragic brooding thing going on. Very 'I must suffer alone for the greater good' energy." He was sprawled on the couch looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I'm pretty sure if you'd had a diary it would've been full of sad poetry about the burden of your powers."
"I'm going to bite you."
"Promises, promises."
You abandoned your juice and walked over to the couch with clear intent. Ruggie saw you coming and his grin got wider, the menace. You grabbed him and pushed him down into the cushions, and he laughed with the delight of someone who'd absolutely been trying to provoke exactly this reaction.
"What're you gonna do, boss?" he asked, still grinning up at you. "Gonna punish me for being right?"
You leaned down and bit his cheek, not hard enough to actually hurt but definitely hard enough to make your point. He made a sound that was half-laugh and half-something else.
Then you kissed him properly, and he immediately melted into it with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he'd been hoping this would happen. His hands came up to grab at your shirt, pulling you closer, and you let yourself sink into the kiss and the warmth of him and the general rightness of this entire situation.
When you pulled back slightly for air, Ruggie looked up at you with eyes that were doing something soft and fond that still made your chest do weird things even though you'd been together for months now.
"Bond with me," he said between kisses, his voice doing that thing where it was trying to sound casual but came out sincere instead.
You looked at him. He looked back. Bonding was permanent, the kind of commitment that meant your energy would be linked forever, that you'd be each other's designated Guide and Esper until one of you died.
"Yeah," you said, because of course the answer was yes. It had always been yes. "Yeah, okay."
His face lit up in a way that made your heart do acrobatics, and then you were pressing him back into the couch and kissing him harder, channeling your energy toward his in the specific way that would initiate the bond.
Ruggie arched up into you, his hands gripping you tight enough to leave marks, and the bond snapped into place with almost audible click in your mind.
It was overwhelming and perfect and you kissed him through it, swallowing his sounds as the bond settled and solidified into something unbreakable.
When it was done, when you were officially bonded and linked forever, you collapsed onto him because your bones had temporarily stopped working. Ruggie made a pleased sound and immediately curled into you, tucking his face into your neck and wrapping himself around you like a particularly affectionate octopus.
You lay there together on the couch, breathing hard, feeling the new bond thrumming between you like a live wire.
Then you remembered something and groaned out loud.
"What?" Ruggie asked, his voice muffled against your neck.
"We have to tell our assigned HR guy about this," you said with the tone of someone contemplating their own execution. "They're going to be so emotional. That same person is going to cry again and tell me they're proud of me."
Ruggie started laughing, his whole body shaking with it. "Oh man, they're gonna lose their shit. They're gonna think this is the best thing that's ever happened. You're their weird emotional support project and now you're bonded to your Guide? They're gonna throw a party."
"I hate this. I hate that you're right."
"You love it. You love me. You literally just bonded with me forever." He propped himself up slightly to grin at you. "Can't take it back now, boss. You're stuck with me."
"I know," you said, and you couldn't keep the smile off your face even though you were trying to maintain your dignity. "I regret nothing."
"Liar. You definitely regret the upcoming HR conversation."
"Okay yes I regret that specifically, but nothing else."
Ruggie kissed you again, soft and sweet and lazy, and the bond hummed contentedly between you. You could feel his happiness mixing with yours, amplifying it until you felt like you might burst from how good everything was.
He was your home. The person who'd agreed to scam the system with you for the price of free food and had somehow become the love of your life. The Guide who'd saved you from yourself without ever making you feel like you were being saved.
You wouldn't trade this for anything. Not for unlimited stabilizers, not for a promotion, not for all the money in the world.
Well. Maybe you'd trade it for the ability to skip the HR conversation, but that was it.
Ruggie snuggled back into your neck, and you wrapped your arms around him and decided that the HR conversation was a problem for future you. Right now you had a bonded partner who loved you and a really comfortable couch.
Life was good.
Life was really, stupidly, embarrassingly good, and you were going to enjoy every second of it.
"Love you," Ruggie mumbled into your neck.
"Love you too," you said, and meant it with every fiber of your being.
Masterlist ; Series Masterlist
Sync or Sink || Vil Schoenheit
You, an overworked S-Class esper with the survival instincts of a damp sock, catch the eye of SSS-Class guide Vil Schoenheit. He decides you’re his personal fixer-upper project. Shockingly, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.
or: Guideverse AU!
Series Masterlist
The world was already hanging on by a thread — economic collapse, melting ice caps, influencers starting cults via TikTok. It was a mess. You’d think that would be enough. You’d hope that would be enough. But no. Some ancient cosmic being — probably named something dramatic like Thar’zul the Chronovore — looked down at Earth and said, “You know what this needs? Fun.”
And by fun, it meant Gates.
Gates are like if cursed portals, radioactive sinkholes, and a haunted Etsy store had a baby. They pop up anywhere and everywhere: in libraries, parking garages, yoga studios, even in the middle of someone’s wedding ceremony. (“Do you take this—OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT?!”)
These glowing tears in the fabric of reality are basically open invitations to every monster, demon, and unholy abomination in the neighborhood. And if left unchecked, they break, releasing those nightmares into your already-taxed existence like a hellish game of whack-a-mole.
But don't worry! Humanity, against all odds, did not die out immediately.
Because the universe, in its infinite chaos, also gave rise to Espers. Special little guys. Think emotional time bombs with telekinetic temper tantrums and the ability to level buildings if they stub their toe too hard. Espers are the only ones who can suppress Gates and fight back the monsters. They're strong, fast, powerful—and also dangerously dramatic.
Like, “cries during dog food commercials” dramatic. “Blew up a vending machine because it ate their dollar” dramatic. If they don’t have someone helping them regulate their powers (and by extension, their feelings), they’re a walking nuclear disaster waiting to happen.
Which brings us to Guides.
Guides are born with the power to soothe, ground, and stabilize Espers before they turn into emotional IEDs. They go through rigorous training. They meditate. They are the human equivalent of “have you tried deep breathing?”—except instead of calming down toddlers, they’re keeping an Esper from melting the freeway with their grief-powered fireballs.
This entire survival system hinges on compatibility between Espers and Guides. Sounds romantic, right? It’s not. It’s mostly screaming, paperwork, and sometimes unspoken sexual tension.
So, to recap:
Gates = Bad.
Espers = Powerful but emotionally unstable.
Guides = The only thing standing between civilization and utter monster-induced ruin.
Together, Espers and Guides form the first — and only — line of defense between humanity and total monster-induced annihilation.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, this system hinges entirely on two people getting along.
Which, as anyone who's ever been in a group project can tell you, is a complete joke.
The Gate had been rough. You were bleeding, caked in monster goop, and running on exactly one granola bar, four energy drinks, and pure spite. Monsters just kept coming—one after another like it was a clearance sale on eldritch horror—and now your knees were shaking, your head was pounding, and you were 99% sure you were hallucinating the talking goat that told you to “go into the light.”
You stumbled out of the Gate zone, vision blurry. There were Guides waiting beyond the perimeter, crisp in their uniforms, radiant with that “I got 8 hours of sleep and drink water” glow. Unfortunately, most of them had already been snagged by the other Espers, who were quicker, cleaner, and not currently dripping ectoplasm from their sleeve.
You blinked. The only one left was… well, no. That couldn’t be right.
Standing a few feet away, untouched and oddly pristine, was a man who looked like he’d walked straight out of a high-end fashion magazine shoot titled "War-Torn But Make It Couture."
Tall, composed, and stunning in a way that made your brain short-circuit, he was clearly someone Important™. The other S-Ranks had actively avoided him, which should’ve been a clue. But your frontal lobe was melting. You didn’t have the bandwidth to care.
You wobbled forward like a dying Roomba, grabbed a handful of his sleek uniform, and mumbled, “Guide. That’s you, right?”
And then you slumped forward and face-planted directly onto his collarbone.
There was a pause.
“…Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked, incredulously.
You groaned. “Yeah. You’re a Guide. You’ve got the badge.”
Another pause. Longer, this time.
He sounded… offended. And faintly intrigued.
“…You don’t recognize me?”
“Should I?” you mumbled into his neck.
You didn’t see the expression on his face, but if your ears weren’t lying, he audibly gasped. Like someone had just told him dry shampoo was canceled. Like the very idea of not being recognized was a personal attack.
But instead of pushing you off, he slowly brought a hand up, fingers grazing your temple. You felt a wave of warmth radiate through your skull like a breath of fresh air had crawled into your ribcage.
It was… good. Too good.
A jolt of relief punched through your nervous system. Your heart rate settled. The Gate static stopped screaming in your ears. Your whole body sagged, weightless and calm, and you barely had time to mutter “holy shit you’re good at this” before your knees gave out completely.
You passed out in his arms.
And Vil Schoenheit—SSS-Rank Guide, national treasure, and walking perfection—stood there holding your limp, grime-covered, unconscious form with a complicated look on his face.
You came back to consciousness the way a phone boots up after being thrown into a wall. Slow, glitchy, and confused.
Something was warm under you. Something was very firm. You blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the strange sensation of not being in pain anymore. The Gate headache was gone. Your soul no longer felt like it had been sandpapered. You were, inexplicably, comfortable.
That’s when you realized: you were still wrapped around the fancy Guide like a human backpack.
Face: mashed against his shoulder. Legs: around his waist. Arms: locked in a desperate hug like a koala going through a rough breakup. And he… was just sitting there. On a recovery bench. Completely calm. Holding you like this was something that happened to him all the time.
“Oh,” you mumbled, sleep-dazed. “My bad.”
He tilted his head, glossy hair catching the light like it had a sponsorship deal with a shampoo brand. “Are you done?” he asked, voice sharp. “Or shall I assume you’ve permanently relocated to my clavicle?”
You peeled yourself off him with all the grace of wet laundry sliding off a countertop. “Thanks for, uh, not letting me die,” you offered, scratching your head.
He stared at you for a long moment. “Do you know who I am?”
You blinked. “…A Guide?”
He inhaled. Visibly. Offended on a spiritual level. The look on his face could’ve soured milk. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Are you actively trying to offend me?”
“What? You’ve got the badge! That’s all I need, right?”
Vil Schoenheit—as he introduced himself—flicked you on the forehead. It was somehow both dismissive and full of judgment. “Recover. Properly.” he snapped, standing in one fluid, graceful motion. “You’re lucky I’m magnanimous.”
He swept out of the room like a disgruntled ballerina.
You blinked after him, rubbing your forehead. “What the hell was that about?”
A nurse walked in and immediately gasped like she'd just witnessed a royal birth. “Oh my Seven—was that Vil?!”
“Vil… who?” you asked, trying not to sound like an idiot.
She turned to you so fast her clipboard flew off the counter. “Vil Schoenheit. SSS Guide. He’s a legend. Do you have any idea how many Espers have tried to bond with him and been turned away in tears?”
You stared at the door where he’d just vanished. “No? He just kinda… guided me.”
The nurse screeched. “YOU JUST KINDA GOT GUIDED—are you INSANE? That man once made a Grade-SS Esper cry because they wore Crocs to an informal debriefing!”
You slowly sat back against the pillow, eyes wide.
“…I told him ‘oops sorry lol.’”
You were still internally combusting about the whole “Oops sorry lol” situation when you finally worked up the nerve to go to Vil’s office. Not to bond—you weren’t delusional—but at the very least, to apologize. Maybe offer him a thank-you fruit basket. Or one of those luxury hair masks. Something.
Espers were better paid than Guides. That wasn’t a flex—it was just how the system worked. You’d always thought it was kind of unfair, but now, standing outside his office, you suddenly felt even worse. Because if Vil was being underpaid to deal with Espers, plural, like you? He deserved hazard pay.
You raised a shaky fist and knocked on the door before pushing it open.
The door opened, and you were hit with the distinct scent of wealth, vintage cologne, and spiritual intimidation. The office looked like it belonged in a magazine titled Power & Passive Aggression: Interiors for the Elite. It had velvet chairs. A chandelier. And on the floor, sobbing, was an SS-ranked Esper.
“Please,” she was whispering, clutching Vil’s coat like he was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. “Please, just once. I know I’m not SSS, but my compatibility score is so close—”
“I don’t guide based on some arbitrary number,” Vil said coolly, extracting himself with the same disdain you'd use to avoid stepping in gum. “I guide based on worth.”
You were already edging away when his eyes snapped up—and softened.
“…What are you doing here?” he asked, voice shifting so drastically in tone it gave you whiplash.
“I—uh. I just wanted to apologize. For, you know. The slumping. And the drool. And the calling you ‘a Guide’ like you’re not the Guide.” You laughed nervously. “Also. Uh. I can repay you?”
He stared at you like you’d offered to give him pocket lint.
Then, without even glancing at the SS Esper still on the floor, he waved a perfectly manicured hand and said, “Leave.”
She looked up, stunned. “W-what?”
“I said leave.” His voice sharpened like glass under velvet. “Now.”
You watched her scramble out in silence. Then Vil turned to you, posture relaxing like you were an entirely different species of Esper.
“Sit,” he said, pointing to the velvet chair.
You obeyed. Of course you did. Your legs moved like they belonged to someone else.
“I didn’t come here to be guided,” you said quickly. “I just thought I’d offer some compensation since you took care of me back at the Gate, and—”
“Hush.”
You blinked.
“I didn’t guide you for compensation,” Vil said, moving closer, “and I certainly don’t require repayment.”
“But I—”
“Do not interrupt me,” he said smoothly, placing his hand just under your jaw and tilting your head with two fingers. “Close your eyes.”
You did.
And just like before, the storm in your chest went still.
He hadn’t even made full contact yet, and already your frayed nerves calmed, your aching muscles relaxed, and that hollow echo left by the Gate quieted.
You opened your mouth to speak again—because, honestly, who wouldn’t panic under that much raw focus—but his voice cut in before a single syllable escaped:
“Did I say you could talk?”
You shut your mouth.
Vil smiled. Like he’d just won something important, and wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet.
“Good. You learn quickly.”
You staggered out of the Gate like a soldier crawling back from the front lines of a war no one believed in. Your clothes were singed, your limbs were shaking, your skin was buzzing with leftover energy that had nowhere to go, and your brain was running the Windows 95 shutdown noise on loop. You had fought monsters for the past hour with all the grace of a dying blender.
Everything hurt. Your body felt like it had been used as a battering ram. Your soul felt like it had been microwaved.
So when you saw the sweet, merciful glow of a Guide badge ahead in the crowd, your instincts took over. You staggered forward like a half-dead Roomba on its last cycle, locked onto the nearest beacon of safety.
The Guide in question had orange hair and the smug look of someone who thought they were God’s gift to humanity despite the fact they were clearly holding a vape pen and a clipboard.
You didn’t care.
You lurched toward him, arms outstretched like a cryptid emerging from the woods.
“BRO NO,” he yelped. “DUDE, I’M NOT CERTIFIED FOR THIS LEVEL OF TRAUMA—DON’T PUKE ON ME—”
But before your forehead could connect with his very punchable shoulder, a blur of movement swept in.
You were yanked back by the collar like an untrained dog trying to bolt into traffic.
“Absolutely not,” a cool, smooth voice said with the unmistakable tone of expensive disdain. “You are not grounding with him.”
You turned sluggishly to your new captor and immediately forgot how to breathe.
Vil. Hair perfect despite the apocalyptic weather conditions of a gate zone. Wearing a coat that probably cost more than your entire existence and looking at you like you were a particularly unfortunate stain on said coat.
You blinked at him. “Am I in trouble?” you mumbled.
Vil arched a brow. “You’re seconds away from slumping onto a Guide who once tried to ground an Esper by playing lo-fi beats through his AirPods. Yes, you’re in trouble.”
You were too tired to be offended.
He sighed, took your hand, and suddenly, bliss.
Like every nerve in your body was dunked in lavender oil and told to shut up. Your breathing evened out. Your vision cleared. Your bones climbed back into their sockets like, “Our bad, we’ll behave now.”
You let him guide you to a nearby bench, too dazed to do anything but follow the magical angel who had just saved you from the worst decision of your life.
Vil sat gracefully. You slumped next to him like a dying cactus in a thunderstorm.
“Post-gate recovery is non-negotiable,” he said, like he hadn’t just watched you nearly expire in public.
You closed your eyes and focused on the cool, steady rhythm of his guidance, and then—
A crinkle.
You opened one eye to see him pull a juice box from his bag. With a bendy straw.
He inserted the straw and handed it to you like you were a toddler who’d just had a very bad day at daycare.
You stared at the juice. Then at him. “Is this for me?”
“No,” he said dryly. “It’s for the other S-class Esper currently drooling on my coat.”
You blinked, deeply touched. You took a sip.
It was… heavenly.
You made a soft noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.
And then—your eyes stung.
“No,” Vil said immediately, without looking at you. “Whatever emotional reaction you’re about to have—don’t.”
You sniffled. “But you brought me juice. Nobody’s brought me juice since I got classified. Everyone just shoves me into Gates and tells me not to die.”
He flicked your forehead. “If you die, I have to find another Esper whose personality doesn’t give me hives. That sounds exhausting.”
“Are you… saying you like me?”
“I’m saying your emotional resilience is marginally less pathetic than average,” he said, adjusting your posture so your head leaned more comfortably on his shoulder. “And I don’t hate your voice.”
You sipped your juice box, trembling like a Victorian child given a warm meal for the first time.
No one had treated you like this since you joined the system. You’d been weaponized, categorized, and told to sit still and kill things on command. You were a tool. A number. A sharp object.
But Vil wasn’t afraid of your sharp edges. He looked you in the eye and said, “That’s a guide badge you’re drooling on, potato. Not a chew toy.”
And then gave you juice.
You sniffled again.
“If you sob, I will end you,” he muttered, but his hand never let go of yours.
And you knew, deep in your wrecked little Esper heart, that you would fight a thousand more gates just to be guided by him again.
Even if he bullied you the entire time.
So apparently, post-gate recovery hadn’t just been juice boxes and emotionally confusing hand-holding.
No. It turned out you had to take something called a Routine Compatibility Check for “guidance efficiency optimization.”
You hadn’t known what any of that meant, but someone had shoved a clipboard at you and told you to “go sit in the glow room and don’t touch anything,” so there you were. Sitting in a sterile white room that smelled like hand sanitizer and despair. Waiting to meet your newly assigned “guidance match.”
A door creaked open.
You turned around—and in walked a guy who looked like he hadn’t seen direct sunlight since the invention of the lightbulb. His shoulders were hunched, hoodie too big, blue glowing hair all mussed like he’d lost a fight with a hairdryer. He had eyebags for days and the posture of a raccoon caught mid-fridge-raid.
He looked at you.
You looked at him.
He looked at you harder—and visibly recoiled like you’d just bit him.
“…Uhhh,” he said, voice high and trembling. “You’re the S-class?”
“Yup,” you replied.
“Oh no.”
This man looked like he was seconds from writing “HELP” on the window with a dry erase marker. His hand was already twitching toward the panic button. He was mentally Googling “what to do when assigned a battle demon.”
You opened your mouth to say something reassuring—like, “Hey, I only explode on some guides,” or “I’ve never actually flattened a building during a meltdown”—
—but the door slammed open behind you.
“Absolutely not.”
You turned around.
Vil Schoenheit stood in the doorway like the wrath of God dressed in Gucci. Impeccable coat. Sunglasses indoors. Holding a coffee cup that you knew wasn’t from the office vending machine.
He eyed the situation—your tentative shuffle toward your new guide, the way the poor guy was gripping his ID badge like a rosary—and his lip curled like someone had just handed him expired tofu.
“I’m taking them,” Vil said flatly to the Guidance Office rep standing nearby. “This is non-negotiable.”
The rep blinked. “But, Mr. Schoenheit, the match—”
“—was laughable. They’re mine.”
Your poor assigned guide looked so relieved it was almost insulting.
“Thank the stars,” he mumbled, already gathering his things like you were a bomb that’d just been safely disarmed. “No offense, but I really don’t do well with… uh… physical contact or eye contact or conflict or—”
You were too stunned to reply as Vil grabbed you by the wrist, effortlessly pivoted on his heel, and strode out of the room with you in tow like a high fashion tornado.
You stumbled after him. “Okay, hi, hello? What was that?”
“I saw your assignment,” Vil said coolly. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let that continue.”
“But—I thought you weren’t accepting new matches?”
“I’m not.”
You blinked. “So…?”
He glanced over his shoulder at you, slow and deliberate, like you weren’t quite connecting the dots fast enough.
“I didn’t consider you ‘new'.”
You shut your mouth because your brain was full of static. Something about the way he said that made your knees consider filing for divorce from the rest of your body.
He guided you all the way to the elevator, in silence, while you tried to process what had just happened.
You, apparently, had been claimed.
And worst of all?
You thought you might have liked it.
It all started with a noble quest. A simple dream.
You just wanted a hoodie.
Not a fancy one. Not a designer one. Not a limited edition “inspired by the blood of fashion victims” collection. No, no. You wanted one of those oversized, marshmallow-soft hoodies that whispered “lay down and give up, my liege” every time you put it on. The kind of hoodie that could absorb emotional damage.
So there you were. Financially stable (thanks, murder gates), emotionally unstable (thanks, murder gates), and elbows-deep in a display bin labeled “3 for 2: Emotional Support Wear”, when fate struck.
Or rather, sashayed past in four-inch heels and an aura of contempt.
Vil.
You froze. He looked like he’d just walked out of a fashion spread. Every strand of hair in place. Jacket tailored within an inch of its life. Cheekbones that could slice open a space-time rift. And where was he going?
Straight into a boutique so fancy it looked like it would ask you for a résumé just to step inside.
Naturally, you turned the other way. This was not your world. You were not dressed for it. You were wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a questionable graphic of a goose wielding a knife. You were simply a humble raccoon-person in search of softness.
But then—
“You.”
Oh no. Oh god. Oh no god.
You turned around slowly, hoodie clutched to your chest like a shield. Vil stood there with shopping bags and the expression of someone who’d just discovered a stray in his favorite restaurant.
“Come. I need hands.”
“Sorry,” you said. “I left mine at home. Can’t help you.”
He blinked. Then, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t hear nonsense, he handed you his bags and turned around, fully expecting you to follow.
And you did. Because unfortunately, curiosity was stronger than shame.
The next hour? Was… actually kind of amazing.
Vil didn’t shop. He conquered. He moved through stores like a well-dressed storm, flinging judgment at poor fabric choices and muttering dark things about asymmetrical hemlines. Store staff parted for him like he was royalty. Other customers wilted under the weight of his gaze.
You, meanwhile, trailed after him like a high-end goblin, carrying his many, many bags, dressed like a sleep-deprived college student who had just lost a fight with a laundry machine.
It was great.
You watched him try on outfits with the kind of reverence usually reserved for museum pieces. He was graceful. Efficient. Disgustingly photogenic. You felt like you were witnessing a documentary: “The Endangered Fashion Icon in His Natural Habitat.”
And then, miraculously, he let you live.
He suggested a coffee break and even let you pay—probably out of pity. You made a mental note to deduct it as a business expense under “accidental deity encounter.”
Sitting across from him, sipping overpriced lattes, you made a joke. Something dumb. Something about a pair of jeans you'd seen that looked like they'd been personally attacked by a cheese grater.
Vil laughed.
You were not prepared.
It was real. Warm. Shockingly cute. Like, “I’ve been guiding murder monsters all week and now suddenly I believe in joy again” kind of cute.
You stared. He looked at you. You looked away, sipping your drink very intently, trying not to say “please laugh again, it heals my soul.”
You didn't say it out loud.
But you thought it really hard.
You walked into Vil's office like a responsible little murder gremlin, fully prepared for your weekly check-up guidance session.
What you were not prepared for was the sheer atmospheric rage brewing inside.
Vil was pacing like a cat who'd just realized its favorite toy was in the hands of a toddler—absolutely done with life. He was muttering to himself under his breath, phrases like, “Espers with zero gratitude... how dare they ask for guidance without a thank-you,” and, “I swear if one more person thinks my time is free like it's some kind of community resource—
He saw you, exhaled the deepest sigh known to man, and pointed at the couch like he was casting a curse. Not a word of greeting. Just The Finger of Sit.
So you sat. For about three seconds.
Then, something in your little gremlin heart said: No. He is cranky. He is suffering. This is a job for Emotional Support Esper.
You got up, walked behind him, and—without a word—started massaging his shoulders.
Vil tensed like a cat about to fight god. Then slowly—slowly—melted into it.
“This isn’t part of your session,” he grumbled, but it lacked bite. His head tilted forward, giving you better access. “You’re not guiding me, you know.”
“I’m aware,” you said, digging your thumbs in just right. “You’re welcome.”
He didn’t reply. Just… breathed. It was weirdly serene. You, massaging one of the most powerful and terrifying guides in the country. Him, finally looking like he wasn’t five seconds away from incinerating someone with nothing but his glare.
Eventually, you sat back down on the couch. And then—shock of all shocks—Vil slumped down next to you.
No dramatic speech. No biting commentary. Just one very exhausted, very overworked guide leaning on your shoulder like gravity had personally betrayed him.
“…Don’t say a word about this,” he murmured, eyes already closed. He reached for your hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and held it tight.
You stayed there for a long time.
You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.
You just sat with him in silence, wondering how the hell you’d gone from emotional demolition expert to comfort pillow. And, weirdly, feeling kind of honored.
You weren’t sure how you got home, but judging by the trail of blood, sludge, and crushed energy drink cans leading up the stairs, you had clearly made the journey using sheer spite and possibly a small miracle. Your legs moved on autopilot, powered by rage, trauma, and about four remaining brain cells—none of which were cooperating.
You’d just come back from a gate that had gone so poorly, it might as well have been cursed by the gods, the devs, and your second-grade math teacher. Breach. Casualties. Screaming.
There was definitely a moment where you almost flung a monster into a building and then screamed louder when you realized it was the emergency response building. Whoops.
It wasn’t even your assigned gate. It was a last-minute scramble. You and a handful of other S-rank espers were yanked in because the gate was behaving badly. Like, “snarling, vomiting monsters that defied physics” badly. And you—foolish, heroic, caffeine-soaked gremlin that you were—ran in first like someone had dared you.
You fought. You fought so hard you forgot your own name for about two hours. And still, people died. People always died. But this time, it felt like too many. You saw a little kid’s shoe and had a breakdown mid-punch. You tried to do everything, and your body just… stopped cooperating.
You didn’t even get guided afterward.
Vil wasn't at this gate. The other guides were all assigned or recovering themselves. Some were crying. A few had fainted from strain.
And you? You looked around, felt your knees give out a little, then just muttered “okay cool” and left like a ghost clocking out after a double shift at a haunted Wendy’s.
By the time you reached your apartment, you were so dissociated you forgot how doors worked. You stood outside yours for a full minute before realizing the knob turned left. You walked in, left your boots and weapon where they fell, and didn’t even consider locking the door behind you.
Let fate come. Let a gate burst into your living room. Let some criminal wander in and steal your furniture. That was Future You’s problem. Current You was Busy.
You peeled yourself out of your battle gear like a sad, oversized fruit roll-up, leaving it in a heap that would absolutely start growing mold by tomorrow. You wandered to the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared inside for three solid minutes, and then closed it again. There was nothing in there but expired yogurt, an empty ketchup bottle, and the overwhelming sense of despair. Just like your soul.
Your eyes landed on the couch. You made eye contact. It made eye contact back.
You didn’t go to your bed. The bed had too much hope. The couch? The couch knew. The couch had seen things. It was your emotional support furniture, and it beckoned you with lumpy cushions and the faint scent of Febreze and failure.
You collapsed into it with the grace of a dying walrus, grabbed the nearest throw blanket like a life raft, and curled up.
Your muscles throbbed. Your eyes were dry, too tired to cry. Your heart was heavy and hollow, a contradiction wrapped in fatigue.
You didn’t call the Guidance Office.
You didn’t reach for your communicator.
You didn’t even consider getting guided.
Because why would you?
You hadn’t earned it.
Guidance was for espers who did good. Who came back whole. Who saved people and feel okay about it.
You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. Least of all Vil—the most terrifyingly elegant guide in existence, whose soothing voice could calm a charging bull but whose judgmental stare could reduce you to ash on the spot. You could already imagine it:
“Potato, why didn’t you call?” And you’d go, “Because I sucked. And also I was busy eating my weight in sadness on my couch.”
So no. No guidance. No messages. No crying. Just you, your depression blanket, and your ever-growing collection of trauma under a mountain of emotional avoidance.
You passed out like that, too. Face-down, limbs sprawled, snoring gently, still wearing one sock and gripping the couch cushion like it owed you rent.
And in the hallway, your door remained unlocked.
Because honestly?
Let the monsters come.
You’d either sleep through it or invite them in for leftover yogurt and mutual despair.
You woke up feeling like a truck had hit you, reversed, parked on your spine, and left its high beams on just to be petty. Every bone in your body creaked like an abandoned haunted house. Your mouth tasted like regret and half a protein bar. Your blanket was half off the couch, half on the floor, and a mysterious corn chip was stuck to your elbow.
You blinked at the ceiling in confusion. Then your phone screamed.
100 missed calls.
37 texts.
All from: Vil Schoenheit.
Each message angrier than the last.
The final one simply said: “Pick. Up. Now.”
You did.
The moment the line connected, there was a beat of silence—then his voice, sharp and low like the edge of a knife:
“Address. Now.”
You mumbled something barely coherent, possibly your zip code, possibly the ingredients of a burrito. Either way, you texted him your location, dropped the phone on your chest, and passed out again like a Sims character who ignored every need bar until they collapsed.
The next time you woke up, it was to someone violently shaking you like they were trying to exorcise a demon.
“The door was wide open. Wide. Open. Are you out of your mind?! What if someone broke in?! What if something followed you?! What if—”
You cracked one eye open. Vil was kneeling beside your couch in full luxury casuals, flawless hair tied back in a silk ribbon, eyes blazing with a fury usually reserved for war crimes or off-season fashion.
“Why didn’t you call me?!” he snapped, voice wobbling between fury and panic.
You sat up slowly. Your limbs felt like wet noodles. You looked at him—actually looked at him—and saw the edges of worry in his perfect posture. You didn’t think. You just leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, clinging to his surprisingly warm, cologne-scented form like a soggy baby koala.
He froze.
Then he hugged you back, one arm sliding firmly around your waist, the other hand smoothing over your hair with a tenderness that made your throat tighten.
“You didn’t respond,” he murmured, voice much softer now, like he’d deflated the moment you touched him. “I was at a gate, and you—you should’ve called me. You idiot.”
“I didn’t deserve it,” you croaked, still clinging. “I couldn’t save everyone. I didn’t earn it. I didn’t—”
THWACK.
He flicked you so hard on the forehead you saw colors. You yelped and recoiled, holding your skull like he’d smacked you with a frying pan.
“OW—what the hell, Vil?!”
“Use your brain,” he snapped. “You don’t have to earn guidance. You lived. You fought. You made it back. That’s enough.”
You stared at him, stunned and blinking. Your brain, which had been curled in a ball screaming failure failure failure, screeched to a halt. It didn’t know what to do with this information. It flailed.
“...but—”
“No.” He pressed two fingers to your temple. “Quiet.”
And just like that, warmth bloomed across your skin. Calm, grounding, steady. His presence wrapped around your rattled mind like a weighted blanket.
You hadn’t realized how loud your thoughts had been until everything went quiet.
You slumped forward again, forehead on his shoulder.
“…thank you,” you whispered.
He made a soft, exasperated noise and squeezed your hand.
“Next time,” he muttered, “if you don’t call me, I will drag you to a spa against your will and lock you in a bathhouse for six hours.”
Honestly?
That sounded kind of nice.
You nodded into his shoulder and let the warmth pull you under again.
It wasn’t a thunderbolt moment. There was no dramatic gasp, no heart-skipping beat, no rom-com soundtrack swelling in the background.
No. It happened while Vil was in the middle of passionately criticizing your instant ramen consumption.
“You don’t even check the sodium levels, do you? Of course not. Why would you? That would require basic self-preservation instincts, which you clearly lack,—are you even listening to me?”
You were, actually. Kind of. Mostly you were just watching the way his eyes flashed when he got worked up, how his voice lilted, how his hair caught the light like he had a personal filter on at all times. His hands moved a lot when he was mad—elegant, precise little gestures like he was conducting an orchestra of outrage.
And somewhere in the middle of him saying something about how your body was “not a landfill for factory-processed poison,” you thought:
Wow. He’s perfect.
There was a pause.
A silence that felt loud in your own brain.
Not because he noticed—no, he was still going. But you did. You noticed. And you felt your entire emotional infrastructure collapse like a badly built IKEA table.
You sat there, nodding along, eyes wide and empty like a man realizing he’d dropped his phone into lava. Because you knew exactly what this meant.
You were so, so screwed.
You didn’t even try to deny it. You were too tired for that. Too experienced in emotional disasters to think, “maybe it’s just a crush!”
Nah. You liked him. For real. In the "I’d wear sunscreen just to impress him" kind of way. In the "he could tell me I look homeless and I’d say thank you" kind of way.
So, you just accepted your fate.
You nodded solemnly while Vil insulted your meal plan and thought:
Well. I guess this is my life now. Time to emotionally implode in private.
You weren’t going to tell him. Absolutely not. The man had standards higher than Mount Everest. You were a gremlin in sweatpants. He guided you out of what had to be some misplaced sense of moral responsibility, not because he liked you.
So, your plan was simple: keep it quiet. Let the crush rot in your chest. Maybe it would fade. Maybe Vil would never find out. Maybe you’d survive.
…Maybe.
“Are you even paying attention?” Vil snapped, snapping his fingers in your face.
You jolted back to reality. “Yes! Yes. Sodium bad. Body temple. I got it.”
He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You’re acting weirder than usual.”
“I’m always weird,” you said quickly. “That’s my brand. Very consistent.”
He sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hopeless.”
You watched him for a second longer and thought, God, I’m doomed.
And then you smiled and said, “Yeah. But at least I’m charming about it.”
He rolled his eyes.
But he didn’t deny it.
You were just trying to survive. That’s all.
Because being around Vil Schoenheit every other day, breathing the same air as him while he guided you while scolding you, was no longer tenable. Your heart was staging a full-blown coup against your sanity.
Every smirk he threw your way shaved years off your life. Every time he flicked your forehead for being “reckless” or “insufferable” or “a walking cautionary tale,” you internally swooned like a Victorian maiden on a fainting couch.
So, you did what any emotionally fragile raccoon-person would do when faced with unattainable love and regular exposure to flawless cheekbones: you fled.
To the Guidance Office.
You kept your voice steady when you asked for your previous guide’s contact. The poor intern looked like he’d rather explode than question you, especially once he realized who your current guide was.
Still, he handed over the transfer form and you sat down, heart racing, tapping your pen like a death drum. You were halfway through scribbling your tragic little freedom request when—
A shadow loomed.
Perfume wafted.
And the temperature dropped ten degrees.
You didn’t even have time to look up before the form was snatched from your hands with all the grace of a man committing a stylish crime.
“Up. Now.”
Vil’s voice was frost and fury and every hair on your body stood up like soldiers called to war.
You stumbled after him, too stunned to protest, as he marched you through the hallways with terrifying grace. You passed several people who were clearly wondering if they were witnessing a kidnapping, but no one dared interfere.
His office door slammed shut behind you, and he turned on you like a beautifully irate weather phenomenon.
Then—rip.
Your transfer form disintegrated in his hands.
“OUT,” he snapped, voice tight, angry. “If you’re going to be a complete and utter fool, then get out of my sight.”
You blinked. “What—why are you mad? I’m doing you a favor!”
“A favor?” he repeated, like you’d just spat in a glass of Château Margaux.
You held your ground, though you were 97% sure he could kill you with a single sigh. “You didn’t want to guide me in the first place! I’m—look, I’m making it easier for both of us. No more clingy potato energy. No more… emotional spirals. You can guide someone who isn’t a complete mess.”
He stared at you, eyes narrowed, jaw tense, and then he—kissed you.
No warning. No build-up. Just lips crashing against yours like your poor little romantic delusions had summoned it from the abyss. His hands cupped your face, tilting it just right, and you—froze.
You opened your mouth to say something.
He kissed you again.
This time, slower. Angrier. Like he was trying to shove every word you weren’t letting him say directly into your bloodstream.
“I love you,” he hissed when he finally pulled away, chest heaving. “You stupid, overthinking potato.”
You blinked. “I—wait, what?”
“Oh, now you’re speechless?” he snapped, pacing. “You think I guide you because it’s convenient? You think I chose to rip you away from that quivering ball of social anxiety just to be charitable? I don’t have to guide anyone. I chose you.”
You were still stuck on the part where he said “I love you” and hadn’t immediately revoked it.
He pointed at you. “Sit down.”
You sat. Immediately.
He sat next to you, crossed one leg over the other, and glared. “We’re going to talk about this. Then you’re going to delete the idea of transferring from your thick, tragically underutilized brain. Understood?”
“…Yes?”
“Good. And drink some water. You look like you’re about to combust.”
You obeyed. Because frankly? You were.
“You’re serious?” you asked, voice a little cracked around the edges, sitting on his plush office chair like you were squatting in a throne you had absolutely no right to. “You love me?”
Vil stared at you with the exhausted patience of a man who had been in love with a rock for three years. “Yes. I’ve loved you for a while, and you—” he poked you in the forehead again, harder this time, “—have been blissfully, astoundingly oblivious.”
“That’s not fair,” you said, already sweating. “You’re very hard to read!”
“I’m not,” he said flatly. “You’re just emotionally illiterate.”
“Give me one example.”
“Oh, one?” He tilted his head and actually laughed, as if he had been waiting for this moment. “Let’s start small, then. Remember the time I brought you a silk-lined weighted blanket because you said you liked ‘being squished by fabric’ and your apartment ‘felt like a haunted fridge?’”
You blinked. “I thought that was just you mocking me with luxury.”
“I custom-ordered it in your favorite color and personally dropped it off.”
“…Okay, that’s fair.”
“And what about the emergency juice box I carry around exclusively for you, because you tend to spiral into a puddle after difficult gates and refuse to ask for help?”
“…You said that was because I’m ‘emotionally six.’”
“That was a joke.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pointed at you again. “What about when I held your hand during guidance and you told me, ‘This is wildly intimate,’ and I said, ‘That’s the idea, darling,’ and you laughed and said, ‘Ha ha good one,’ and proceeded to talk about raccoons for twenty minutes?”
Your face was hot. Like boiling kettle hot. You were being roasted over the open flames of your own idiocy.
Vil, now fully in his villain origin arc, stood up, arms crossed. “Or the time I made you lunch because you skipped breakfast three days in a row and you cried a little, and I wiped your tears, and you said, ‘You’d make such a good husband, wow,’ and then called me bro.”
“I was tired that day,” you whispered.
He paced. “I took a personal day to guide you after that one breach because you refused post-gate care. I showed up at your house! You were curled up like a soggy blanket and told me you didn’t deserve comfort, and I guided you anyway! I even brought snacks!”
You were holding your head in your hands now, processing. “Oh my god. I’m the clown. I’m the whole circus.”
Vil sighed and came to kneel beside you again, gentler now. He pulled your hands from your face and took them in his, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature. “I assumed you didn't like me. But this?” He smiled a little. “This is honestly worse.”
“Okay. Ouch.”
“I love you,” he repeated, quieter now, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve loved you for a long time. And I don’t want you to change guides. I want you to stay.”
You looked down at your joined hands. Then up at his face, soft and real and so, so stupidly beautiful.
“...Can I kiss you again?” you asked.
He rolled his eyes. “Finally.”
And he did. And this time, when he kissed you, you didn’t freeze or black out or say anything about raccoons. You just held him closer and kissed him back, trying very hard not to think about how many brain cells you’d wasted missing the obvious.
(But you did apologize to him later. After the third kiss. And after asking if he’d consider writing a “Vil Schoenheit’s Guide to Realizing Your Guide is Flirting” manual for future dumbasses like yourself.)
The first time Vil met you was… unfortunate.
You'd collapsed on him like a sandbag flung from the heavens by a god with no taste.
He'd been called in to assist after a gate breach—nothing unusual, really, just a high-stress emergency with far too many untrained espers and not enough functioning brain cells among them. His job was to stabilize, guide, and keep anyone from combusting mentally or emotionally, preferably both. It was clinical, routine, and efficient.
Until you.
You stumbled out of the smoke and screaming with wild eyes and your uniform half-burnt, looking like you’d just gone twelve rounds with the concept of mortality. You locked eyes with him—briefly, like a bird recognizing glass mid-flight—and then passed out straight into his arms.
Correction: onto him.
He wasn’t sure how you managed to fall with such inconvenient geometry, but one moment he was standing, perfectly composed, and the next he had an unconscious stranger face-planting onto him, limbs sprawled like a freshly felled tree.
His first thought was: Excuse you?
His second: Do they not know who I am?
Honestly, the offense was justified. People didn’t usually touch Vil without permission, let alone treat him like a fainting couch. And yet when the medics arrived to assist, he waved them off with a sigh, brushing soot out of your hair and stabilizing your exhausted psyche with the practiced ease of someone too annoyed to be fazed. You were just another Esper, he told himself. Another mess to be cleaned up.
Then you woke up.
You blinked at him. Groggy. Confused. Soft in the eyes in a way that caught him off guard. “Oh,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “Sorry. My bad.”
No recognition. No fawning. No demands for priority guidance.
Just that—thanks—like he was your local neighborhood guide and not one of the most in-demand SSS-ranks in the country.
And that was when it happened: the first crack.
A hairline fracture in his perfectly sculpted composure. Something warm and startlingly gentle wedged itself in his chest. The faint, whispering thought: They’re not like the others.
He'd left soon after and that should've been the end of it.
But the next day, you came to his office. Not to request a partnership. Not to ask for more guidance sessions. Not even to praise his skill, as most did when they finally found out who he was.
No.
You walked in with a slightly bent energy drink and said, “Hi. Just wanted to thank you again. For yesterday. And, like, if you want anything—coffee, or uh, a meal, or maybe a really good nap on my couch—I can return the favor.”
He blinked. “You're offering me compensation?”
“Yeah,” you said, like it was obvious. “I didn’t mean to fall on you. Also, you helped me not die. That deserves at least a smoothie.”
He stared at you. You stared back, unbothered and vaguely hopeful, like someone trying to barter with a raccoon they’d wronged in a past life.
And that’s when the thought struck him:
I wish more Espers were like this.
Earnest. Direct. Not wrapped in ego or desperation. You treated him like a person and not a tool or a celebrity. Like someone who deserved appreciation, not worship.
He didn’t say yes to your offer.
And later that evening, sipping the mango smoothie you left on his desk with a sticky note that said “Thanks again, Your Highness,” Vil caught himself smiling.
Disaster or not, you had… made an impression.
And for better or worse, that impression was starting to stick.
Soon, he found himself buying your favorite juice on the way to work.
He told himself it was to bribe you into being less reckless. That he just “happened” to know your favorite. That it was a coincidence.
He also started carrying headache meds. And bandaids. And snacks. And spare gloves because you kept losing yours and pretending you didn’t need them.
A week later, he spotted you in the hallway again. You were coming out of a gate looking like you’d been mugged by gravity and a brick. But what truly horrified Vil was not your appearance (which was a hate crime against fashion), but the fact that you were about to be guided by someone else.
Some junior Guide with too much gel in his hair and the audacity to step away from you.
Vil's soul left his body.
He didn’t even think. He stomped across the hallway, yanked you away like a cat stealing laundry, and declared, “Absolutely not.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Guiding you. Sit down. Shut up.”
“...Okay?”
He’d never been so professionally compromised. He gave you the most aggressive, possessive, emotionally repressed guiding session in history. It was like channeling affection through gritted teeth.
He was doomed.
Vil Schoenheit was a man of control. Precision. Elegance. He kept his calendar color-coded, his wardrobe steamed, and his guiding sessions timed to the minute.
So when he heard through the grapevine that you were about to be reassigned to another Guide—because of some nonsense about “compatibility tests” and “emotional interference” (rude)—he did not react well.
No, he did not pout.
He did not sulk.
He marched directly to the Guidance Office, pulled rank in that way that only Vil could—part charm, part cold-blooded menace—and made it very clear that you were off the market.
“This Esper is mine,” he said, crisp and cool like a glacier in a fur coat. “Officially. Put it in writing.”
The poor intern at the desk blinked up at him, then at the screen.
“Um… you mean, you want to—?”
“Yes. I want to take full responsibility for their guiding.”
“Sir, do you mean romantically—?”
“Professionally.” A beat. “For now.”
Vil was shopping for seasonal essentials, which of course required strategic planning, multiple fitting rooms, and approximately seventeen judgmental head tilts. He saw you wandering out of a soft-clothes store with a hoodie that looked like a blanket and a dream.
You saw him.
You tried to leave.
He grabbed your wrist.
“I need hands,” he said.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
And then he handed you a bag and moved on like a model on a mission.
You carried his bags for hours. You offered no complaints, just commentary like, “That color makes your cheekbones illegal,” and “If I try that on I’ll look like a deflated beanbag.” You actually enjoyed yourself.
And then—then—when you ended up in a café and he reluctantly allowed you to buy his coffee, you sat there, sipping from your little cup, and made some stupid joke about luxury couture and cheese graters.
He laughed.
He laughed.
And it wasn’t polite or dismissive. It was the kind of laugh that knocked loose something in his ribcage. The kind that made him stare at you over the rim of his drink and realize, with full-body horror:
I’m doomed.
Because he liked you.
He really, really liked you.
Not in the “you’re tolerable and I guess I won’t smite you” way. In the “I want to wring your neck for not wearing gloves but also maybe hold your hand” way. The “I will destroy that junior Guide if he even looks at you again” way. The “please stop getting injured or I will cry and then deny it until the sun explodes” way.
And you had no idea.
You were still out here calling yourself “emotionally bulletproof” and stealing his granola bars like it was normal. Still calling him “Vilbo Baggins” and poking his forehead like you weren’t holding the shreds of his dignity in your little chaos-stained hands.
So yes. Vil was doomed.
And he couldn’t even blame you.
Because of all the Espers in the world, it had to be you—you with your messy hair and shiny eyes and stupid brave heart.
Fast-forward to a Tuesday. Or maybe Thursday. Vil had lost track. It had been a day full of Espers with no manners, no boundaries, and one who tried to touch his hair mid-guiding.
By the time you wandered into his office, he was one broken string away from full violin villainy.
And for once, you didn’t joke.
No "What’s up, Guidezilla?"
No "Did your skincare try to abandon you too?"
You just took one look at him, walked over, and—gently—placed your hands on his shoulders.
Vil froze.
You kneaded the tight muscles there with surprising skill. Still no words. Just the quiet press of your thumbs, the steady warmth of your touch. And when he exhaled—shaky, involuntary—you didn’t tease him for it.
You just said, softly, “You don’t always have to do everything alone, you know.”
And that was when he broke a little.
Not obviously. But his posture slumped just slightly. His head tilted just enough to rest against your shoulder. Not even for a minute—maybe twenty seconds.
But it was enough.
Enough to make him realize: This is the safest I’ve felt all day.
And the fact that it was you—you, with your chaos and your grin and your glitter stickers stuck to your ID badge—that was terrifying. And comforting. And utterly, stupidly addicting.
He didn’t say thank you. Not out loud.
But later, when you weren’t looking, he moved your next few guiding sessions to the prime slot on his calendar. The one reserved for important things.
And in his fridge?
There was already more of your favorite juice.
He told himself it was just being thorough.
He was a liar.
It had started like any other deployment day. You and he had both been assigned to different gates, which wasn’t uncommon anymore. It was annoying—yes, he preferred to keep you in arm’s reach like a chaotic, overly affectionate pet raccoon—but manageable. You hadn’t called, hadn’t messaged, so he assumed it was fine. Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you’d just fallen asleep.
But then he heard the reports.
Talk around the guidance center was that your gate had gone bad. A breach. Casualties. They'd barely managed to contain it. The kind of mission that rattled even the seasoned Espers.
Vil had frozen mid-conversation, a pen slipping from his hand and clattering onto his desk.
“Did they get guided after?” he asked, voice sharp.
The other Guide had shrugged. “Apparently not. Took off the moment debrief ended.”
And that was when the spiral started.
He called you. Once. Twice. Ten times. Fifty. A hundred.
Pacing his office like a man possessed, he left increasingly deranged voicemails.
—"Pick up your phone, I swear to the God, if you are ghosting me because you’re feeling ‘emotionally crunchy’ again—"
—“If you're hurt, I need to know. If you're not hurt, I'm going to kill you myself.”
—“Potato, I’m serious. Answer the phone.”
When you finally picked up, sounding groggy and like someone had drop-kicked your soul, all you said was:
“…Vil?”
And that was enough.
“Address. Now.”
You sent him a dropped pin and then promptly passed out again.
He’d never gotten to your place so fast in his life. Nearly crashed into two pedestrians, scared a delivery driver into a full existential crisis, and parked in a tow zone without blinking.
The front door was unlocked.
He burst in like divine judgment, only to find you curled up on your couch like a sad, emotionally fried ferret.
“You left the door open. What if someone had—?! You didn’t even—! I called you a hundred times! Why didn’t you—!?”
You blinked up at him, slow and a little disoriented. “Vil?”
He was kneeling next to the couch before he realized it, shaking you like an overcaffeinated nurse trying to keep a patient conscious. “Why didn’t you call me?!”
Your voice was small. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”
Something in Vil's chest cracked with a soundless, incandescent rage. Not at you. Never at you.
At the situation. At himself. At the idiocy of a world where someone like you—who put yourself on the line for people who didn’t know your name—could think for one second you didn’t deserve comfort.
You sat up and hugged him before he could speak. And Vil, for all his pride and poise, let you.
He guided you right there on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around you like he could anchor all your scattered pieces back into place with sheer force of will. His fingers were steady against your temple, his voice low and soothing.
You didn't fight it this time. Not really. You were too tired. Too raw.
But later, when you were dozing against him and he felt the weight of your breathing even out, he looked at you and thought:
If I ever lose them, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.
And he realized, with an unflinching kind of horror, that this wasn’t just fondness anymore.
This was love. Stupid, all-consuming, feral love.
Oh, when Vil saw the transfer form in your hands—his potato, his utterly chaotic, absurdly self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated Esper—filling out a request to switch Guides?
He saw red. No, scratch that. He saw every shade of fury on the spectrum. He didn’t even remember walking; one moment he was across the hallway, the next he had the form in his fist and you in his office, the door slammed shut behind you with enough force to rattle the entire floor.
“What. Is. This.”
You blinked at him like a cat caught stealing food, caught between guilt and indifference. “A transfer form? I—uh. It’s not a big deal—”
“Not a—” Vil looked genuinely scandalized. If he wore pearls, he would’ve clutched them. “Do you think I’m running a halfway house for wayward Espers?! I have been guiding you, carrying juice boxes for you, putting up with your ridiculous snacks, and you think this isn’t a big deal?!”
You stared at him, flustered and slightly confused. “I—I just thought maybe it’d be easier for both of us if I wasn’t—like—around all the time, you know? I’m not exactly low maintenance—”
Vil’s brain short-circuited.
He kissed you.
No thought. Just lips. Panic. Longing. Rage. Chapstick.
Your sentence died like a bug on a windshield.
Vil pulled back just long enough to snarl, “I love you, you stupid overthinking potato.”
You blinked.
“I—what—”
He kissed you again. You weren’t going to ruin this with words. Not today.
When he finally let you breathe, you looked dizzy. In love. Slightly offended. Vil understood.
“You’ve been in love with me?” you asked, voice very much in the ‘I missed every single sign like a blind NPC in a dating sim’ zone.
“Oh finally,” Vil groaned. “Yes. For ages. Do you think I just carry juice boxes for anyone? I had to go to a wholesaler to find your weird imported apple-lychee thing. I do not do that for strangers.”
You looked like the Earth had tilted sideways. “Oh my god. I thought you were just—like that.”
“‘Like that?!’” he cried. “I forced you to carry my shopping bags through an entire mall and called it a bonding experience! I let you pay for my coffee! I let you touch me when I was emotionally unbalanced! Me!”
“Oh my god,” you said again, very softly. “I am Stupid.”
Vil sighed like he was asking the universe for strength. “Yes. But you’re mine now. So unless you want to see what a real tantrum looks like, stop trying to fill out transfer forms like we’re in some tragic rom-com and just stay.”
You looked at him for a moment, soft and stunned and still processing the part where he said “I love you” more than once.
Then you reached for him, and he let you pull him into a hug, and despite everything—despite the rage, the confusion, the two destroyed pens on his desk and the emotional whiplash—you smiled into his shoulder like you couldn’t quite believe your luck.
Vil closed his eyes.
And all he could think was:
If I have to live in this ridiculous, broken world... let it be with you.
You didn’t expect it to come up like this.
You were lying on Vil’s fancy designer couch, head on his lap, while he scrolled through his tablet like he wasn’t also playing with your hair and ruining your heart. It was a quiet kind of peace, the kind you didn’t get often, the kind you didn’t want to jinx.
Which is exactly why he jinxed it.
“I want to permanently bond,” he said, tone casual in the way a gun cocking across the room is casual.
You blinked. “What?”
He looked down at you like you were the idiot for not reading his mind faster.
“I don’t want to guide anyone else,” he said. “You’re mine.”
Your heart made a sound like a microwave short-circuiting.
“You’re sure?” you asked, because you had to—because you needed him to say it again, to look you in the eye and confirm this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment emotion, or drama, or guilt, or—
Vil gave you a glare so sharp it could slice through reinforced glass. You didn’t even need to hear him speak. The look alone said: If you ask that again I will end you and then raise you from the ashes just to scold you properly.
So naturally, you pulled him closer.
He kissed you like you’d insulted him and he was trying to forgive you with his entire mouth. And then he pushed you down onto the couch with all the grace and pent-up need of someone who’d waited far too long to do this.
There was nothing dramatic about the bond itself—it was warmth, deep and golden, spreading between your minds like a whispered promise. Familiar, grounding, and so right it made you dizzy. You felt him in a way that no one else could ever match—his feelings humming beneath your skin, threaded through your heartbeat, echoing in your thoughts.
It felt like falling and landing and being caught all at once.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just pressed his forehead against yours and held you close, letting the bond settle between your chests like a vow.
Then, quietly:
“Finally.”
You laughed, breathless. “Yeah,” you said, hugging him tighter. “Finally.”
Life was still mildly cursed. You weren’t about to tempt fate by saying otherwise. The gates still opened at the worst times, your body still ached in places that didn’t make sense, and someone still managed to microwave metal in the guidance office kitchen every single week.
But—
You had Vil. And that made it survivable.
He had finally, finally reprogrammed you out of your self-destructive nonsense, though it had been a war. You were talking metaphorical trench warfare. It took a thousand forehead flicks, an aggressively color-coded sleep schedule, and a terrifying PowerPoint presentation titled “If You Die, I Will Be Very Upset (And Also Kill You) – A Visual Threat.”
And in return, you had managed to make Vil Schoenheit loosen up. The man who once flinched at the idea of touching door handles with his bare hands now shared hoodies with you and let you kiss him with gate-dust still in your hair.
It was progress.
So when the door to your shared home clicked shut behind you both after another long day, you let out a sigh and slumped like a corpse released from its mortal coil. Vil caught you by the collar before you hit the floor like “absolutely not, we are not breaking furniture today.”
You peeled off your jacket, dropped your bag, and turned to him, still stuck in your boots. “Is it bad I want to sleep on the floor?”
“Yes,” he replied instantly. “Go shower, you reeking gremlin. I’ll order dinner.”
You blinked. “Will it be salad?”
“No. I’m ordering dumplings.”
You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Who are you and what have you done with my overachieving nutrient-balanced microgreens–”
Vil shoved you gently toward the bathroom. “Shoo. I’ll be waiting here with your emotional support carbs when you’re done.”
And that was it.
You went to shower, and he ordered dinner. And maybe life was cursed and weird and exhausting—but it had given you Vil. And now, the worst thing he threatened you with was hydration reminders and forehead kisses.
Honestly?
You wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Series Masterlist ; All Masterlists
Gate Crashers and Heart Breakers || Lilia Vanrouge (2/2)
The world has dimensional gates that vomit monsters. This is somehow less horrifying than admitting that you fell hook, line and sinker for your Guide.
or: Guideverse au!
Part 1
You've spent a whole week hyping yourself up, practicing in the mirror, running through different scenarios in your head. You were going to ask Lilia out on a date.
Maybe coffee, maybe dinner, maybe something fun and casual where you could actually talk without the threat of monsters or Sebek's yelling.
You had a speech prepared. And then you saw Lilia in the hallway, and your brain immediately forgot every single word you'd planned.
"Hey!" you said, maybe too loudly, because he turned around with that amused expression he always had, like he was perpetually in on a joke you didn't know about.
"Hello," he said warmly. "You seem energetic today. Another successful training simulation clear?"
"No, I just—I wanted to ask if you wanted to—" Your brain was short-circuiting. The words were there, you knew the words, why weren't the words coming out right? "Do you want to do something? Together? Like, a thing? An activity? For fun? With me? Just us? Well, not like JUST us, other people can be there, I mean they don't have to be, but like, we could hang out? Casually? Or not casually? Whatever works?"
Lilia tilted his head, looking delighted by your floundering. "An activity?"
"Yeah! Like, uh—" What were activities? What did people do for fun? Your mind went completely blank. "Like an escape room! Have you ever done an escape room?"
"I haven't, actually. That sounds interesting."
"Great! Perfect! Let's do that!" You were already pulling out your phone, desperately booking tickets before you lost your nerve or said something even more stupid.
"When were you thinking?"
"This weekend? Saturday? Is Saturday good?"
"Saturday works perfectly."
You beamed at him, feeling victorious. You did it. You asked him out. This was happening. You and Lilia, alone, in an escape room, having fun and bonding and—
"Should I invite the others?" Lilia asked innocently. "Malleus has been saying he wants to do more human activities. And Sebek could use some team-building exercises. Silver too, though he'll probably nap through half of it."
Your brain screeched to a halt. "I—what—I mean—"
"It'll be fun! A whole team outing!" Lilia was already texting, his fingers flying across his phone screen. "I'm sure they'll all be delighted."
And that's how you ended up in an escape room with Lilia, Sebek, Malleus, and Silver.
The escape room was themed "Haunted Library," which should have been your first warning. You stood in the lobby with your team while an overly enthusiastic employee explained the rules.
"You have sixty minutes to solve the puzzles and escape the room! Work together, think creatively, and most importantly—have fun!" The employee smiled brightly. "Oh, and there might be a few jump scares. Nothing too intense! Just to keep things spooky!"
"Jump scares?" Malleus asked, looking genuinely curious. "What is the purpose of frightening the participants?"
"It's, uh, for atmosphere?" the employee said, looking uncertain about how to explain entertainment to someone who apparently didn't understand the concept.
"Fascinating," Malleus said, in the same tone someone might use to observe an interesting scientific phenomenon.
"THIS WILL BE SIMPLE," Sebek announced loudly, making the employee jump. "WE ARE HIGHLY TRAINED ESPERS! A SIMPLE PUZZLE ROOM WILL BE NO MATCH FOR OUR COMBINED INTELLECT AND—"
"Sebek," Lilia said gently. "Inside voice."
"THIS IS MY INSIDE VOICE."
"Your inside voice is making that poor employee reconsider their life choices."
The employee nodded frantically.
You were ushered into the room, which was decorated to look like an old library complete with dusty bookshelves, cobwebs, and dramatic lighting that was probably meant to be spooky but mostly just made it hard to see. There was a grandfather clock in the corner, some portraits on the walls, and a desk covered in papers and strange objects.
The door clicked shut behind you.
"ALRIGHT TEAM!" Sebek immediately took charge, because of course he did. "WE NEED TO SEARCH SYSTEMATICALLY! I'LL TAKE THIS SECTION, YOU TAKE—WHY ARE YOU PULLING BOOKS AT RANDOM?!"
"Looking for secrets," you said, yanking books off the shelf to see if any of them triggered hidden compartments.
"THAT'S NOT SYSTEMATIC!"
"It's working though." You pulled a red book and heard a click. A drawer popped open in the desk across the room. "See?"
Sebek looked like he wanted to argue but couldn't because you'd literally just found something.
Silver had immediately found a comfortable chair in the corner and sat down. "I'll keep watch," he mumbled, and was asleep within thirty seconds.
"SILVER! SILVER, WAKE UP! THIS IS A TEAM ACTIVITY!"
Silver did not wake up.
Malleus was examining everything with the intense fascination of someone who'd never seen a staged haunted library before, which, to be fair, he probably hadn't. He picked up a skull from the desk—probably plastic, hopefully plastic—and studied it with deep interest. "The craftsmanship on this is quite good. Very detailed."
"Young Master, that's a prop, we need to look for clues!" Sebek said desperately.
"This could be a clue," Malleus said reasonably.
Lilia was having the time of his life. You could tell because he kept picking up completely random objects and presenting them to you with great seriousness. "What about this candlestick? Very suspicious."
"That's a red herring," you said.
"How can you tell?"
"Because you're grinning like a maniac and I know you're messing with me."
"Am I?" He set down the candlestick and picked up a book. "What about this book titled 'DEFINITELY NOT A CLUE'?"
"Lilia."
"It could be reverse psychology!"
You found a code on the back of a portrait that corresponded to numbers on the clock. You started turning the clock hands while Sebek yelled instructions that contradicted what you were already doing.
Malleus asked thoughtful questions about why humans enjoyed trapping themselves in rooms for fun. Silver briefly woke up, solved a puzzle by pointing out that the Latin phrase on the wall was an anagram, and then immediately fell back asleep in his chair.
"How did he—" you started.
"SILVER! SILVER, WE NEED YOU AWAKE!"
"Let him rest," Malleus said. "He's clearly tired."
"THIS IS AN ESCAPE ROOM, NOT A BEDROOM!"
You found a locked box that required a four-letter code. There were clues scattered around the room—something about "the answer lies in the yeet," which you assumed was supposed to say "sheet" but the theming was trying too hard to be hip with the youths.
"What's a yeet?" Malleus asked seriously.
"It's—" You tried to figure out how to explain modern slang to someone who was probably several centuries old. "It's when you throw something? Really hard? With enthusiasm?"
"Why would the answer involve throwing things?"
"It doesn't, it's a typo, they meant sheet—"
"PERHAPS IF EVERYONE STOPPED TALKING ABOUT YEETING AND FOCUSED—"
Lilia found another clue that was definitely not a clue and presented it to Sebek just to watch him have an aneurysm about time management.
You were trying to solve a puzzle involving matching symbols when the first jump scare happened. A bookshelf panel slid open and a figure in a ghost costume popped out with a recorded scream.
You didn't react. You'd seen actual monsters. Fought them. This was a person in a bed sheet.
Malleus didn't react. He just observed the ghost with polite interest. "Hello," he said to it.
Sebek didn't react because he was too busy yelling about the puzzle solutions to notice.
Silver didn't react because he was asleep.
Lilia, however, very theatrically gasped and looped his arms around your neck from behind, pressing against your back. "Oh no," he said in a completely unconvincing frightened voice. "I'm so scared. Protect me."
Your brain immediately short-circuited.
He was touching you. His arms were around your neck. You could feel his breath near your ear. He was warm and solid and RIGHT THERE and your heart was doing gymnastics in your chest.
You tried to act casual. You are cool and unbothered.
"It's just a person in a costume," you said, and your voice only cracked a little bit.
"But such a convincing costume," Lilia said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. He knew exactly what he was doing. "I feel much safer with you here."
You were doing cartwheels in your head. Backflips. Your internal monologue was just screaming. This was fine. Everything was fine. He was just being playful. This was normal friend behavior. Friends hugged each other from behind in escape rooms all the time. This was totally normal and not at all making you want to combust.
"We should, uh, keep solving puzzles," you managed.
"Mm, probably," Lilia agreed, but he didn't let go immediately. He stayed there for another few seconds—the longest few seconds of your life—before finally releasing you and going back to examining random objects with that insufferable knowing smile.
You stood there, frozen, trying to remember how to be a person.
"ARE YOU GOING TO HELP OR JUST STAND THERE?!" Sebek shouted.
"Right. Yes. Puzzles. I'm helping." You stumbled toward the nearest puzzle, your brain still offline.
You escaped with two minutes to spare, which Sebek took as a personal victory and immediately started lecturing everyone about what they could have done better. Silver woke up long enough to say "good job team" and then dozed off again while standing. Malleus said he found the experience "educational" and asked if all human entertainment involved being locked in rooms, because he had several questions about that as a concept.
Lilia was grinning at you like he'd won something.
You walked out of the escape room feeling like you'd failed your initial mission but also kind of like you'd succeeded at something else you hadn't planned for.
"That was fun!" Lilia said cheerfully. "We should do more team activities like this."
"Yeah," you said weakly. "Fun."
"Same time next week?"
"Sure. Or—" You took a breath. You could do this. You could ask properly this time. "Or maybe just the two of us could do something? Like, specifically just us? As in, a date? I'm asking you on a date. This is me asking you on a date. Just to be completely clear."
Lilia's grin widened. "Was that what today was supposed to be?"
"...Yes."
"And I invited everyone."
"Yes."
"Oh dear." He didn't look sorry at all. He looked delighted. "Well, then I suppose I owe you an actual date. Just the two of us. No surprise team members."
"You knew?!"
"I had my suspicions when you started panicking about activities." He patted your arm. "Next time, just say 'I want to take you on a date.' It's clearer."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
He was right. You didn't.
Sebek appeared behind you. "WHAT ARE WE TALKING ABOUT?"
"Nothing!" you said quickly.
"MASTER LILIA, THEY'RE BEING SUSPICIOUS AGAIN!"
"Let them be suspicious, Sebek. It's character building."
Next time, you'd ask him out properly.
(Next time, he'd probably say yes immediately instead of making you suffer through an escape room with your entire team, but where was the fun in that?)
The second date—technically first date, since the escape room disaster didn't count—was quite nice.
You'd learned from your mistakes. This time, you'd been direct. "Lilia, I want to take you on a date. Just us.." And he'd said yes with that knowing smile that suggested he'd been waiting for you to ask properly, which was both flattering and irritating in equal measure.
You went to a movie first—some action film with dubious physics that you both spent half the runtime quietly mocking. Lilia had opinions about the combat choreography, pointing out which moves would actually be effective in a Gate situation and which would get you killed immediately.
You'd never thought about how unrealistic movie fighting was until you'd spent months actually fighting monsters, and now you couldn't unsee it.
Then dinner at a small restaurant that didn't ask questions about why one of you had red eyes and the other kept nervously adjusting their napkin every thirty seconds. The food was good. The conversation was better.
Lilia told you about his previous experiences with Gates, back when he'd been an active Guide with other Espers. He talked about the early days of the Bureau, when nobody really knew what they were doing and Gates were new and terrifying.
He mentioned raids that had gone wrong, ones that had gone right, Espers he'd worked with who'd retired or transferred or, in some cases, burned out completely.
"It's gotten better," he said, swirling his wine in a way that suggested he'd done this many times before, probably over many decades. "The protocols, the training, the understanding of how Guiding actually works. Back then, we were just... making it up as we went along. Hoping for the best. A lot of people got hurt because we didn't know better."
"Sounds terrifying," you said, genuinely.
"It was." His expression went distant for a moment, remembering things you weren't there for. "But also exciting. There's something about being on the frontier of understanding, even if that frontier is 'how do we stop monsters from eating everyone.'"
"You've come far," Lilia said, and there was genuine pride in his voice. "When I found you in that alley, you were a mess."
"I'm still a mess. Just a more controlled mess."
The conversation flowed easily, comfortably, like you'd been doing this for years instead of months. You told him about your life before the Bureau—the convenience store job, the careful isolation, the fear of being discovered.
It was nice. Really nice. You felt warm and happy and like maybe this could actually work, whatever "this" was.
And then you ruined it by mentioning bonding.
It came up naturally in conversation. You'd been talking about other Esper-Guide pairs you'd seen at the Bureau, and you mentioned how some of them seemed almost telepathically connected. "Like that pair on Team Seven," you said. "They barely have to talk during raids. It's kind of romantic, honestly. That whole permanent bond thing, being connected to someone that deeply."
Lilia's expression dropped.
It was subtle—he was good at controlling his face—but you saw it. The way his smile became fixed. The way his eyes went distant. The way his hand tightened slightly around his glass.
"It's... not always romantic," he said carefully, and then changed the subject. "Speaking of Team Seven, did you hear about their last raid? Apparently they encountered a monster that could mimic human speech. Caused all sorts of confusion."
You let him change the subject, but your brain was working.
The second time bonding came up—you'd been talking about training, about how some Guides and Espers trained together to improve their resonance—his reaction was the same. Expression dropping, subject changed, a subtle tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.
The third time, you weren't even the one who brought it up. A couple at the next table was talking loudly about their friend who'd just formed a permanent bond with their Guide, going on about how beautiful the ceremony was, how romantic, how lucky they were to find someone compatible.
Lilia went very still. His smile stayed in place, but it looked painted on. Fake.
You might act like a feral raccoon who made poor life choices and yelled about groceries when panicking, but you could put two and two together.
You'd heard about forced bonding. Everyone at the Bureau had. It was talked about in hushed voices, used as a cautionary tale during training. Really desperate Espers, ones who were burning out or losing control, sometimes tried to force a bond with a Guide. Thought that a permanent connection would stabilize them, fix them, make everything better.
It never did.
Forced bonding ended well for no one. For the Guide, it was like being set on fire from the inside out, your psyche being ripped open and invaded and permanently damaged. They usually lost their Guiding powers entirely afterward, if they survived at all. Some went catatonic. Some died. The ones who lived were never the same.
And the Esper responsible was usually imprisoned, if they were lucky. If they weren't lucky, well. The Bureau had ways of dealing with Espers who proved too dangerous to society.
Lilia had lost his Guide powers years ago. He'd said it was an injury. An incident.
You didn't need to be a genius to connect those dots.
The realization made something cold settle in your stomach. Made you want to find whoever had hurt him and introduce them to the business end of your fists, enhanced with every ounce of power you possessed.
But you didn't ask. You didn't want to make him talk about something that was clearly painful.
Instead, you looked out the restaurant window and spotted some guy trying to parallel park and failing spectacularly. He'd hit the curb three times and was now at an angle that shouldn't be physically possible.
"Oh my god, look at that guy," you said, pointing. You reached across the table and grabbed Lilia's hand, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing gently. "Is he okay? Is he having a medical emergency? Should we call someone?"
Lilia followed your gaze, and you felt the tension in his hand start to ease. "I think he's just a terrible driver."
"He's hit the curb four times now. Four. That's a skill issue."
"Perhaps we should offer to park it for him."
"I don't know how to drive."
"Neither does he, apparently."
The guy finally gave up and just left his car at a diagonal angle, taking up two spaces. You and Lilia watched him get out, look at his parking job, shrug, and walk away like this was fine.
"I respect the confidence," you said, squeezing Lilia's hand tighter. "Wrong, but confident."
Lilia laughed—a real laugh, not the forced politeness from earlier. His smile was genuine again, reaching his eyes. He squeezed your hand back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what? Making fun of terrible drivers? That's just good citizenship."
"For not asking."
You squeezed his hand again, tighter this time. "Nothing to ask about. We're watching a guy who can't park. That's the whole activity right now."
His smile went soft, something tender and grateful in his expression. He turned his hand over in yours, properly interlacing your fingers, and held on like he didn't want to let go.
You sat there, holding hands across the table, watching some stranger struggle with basic motor vehicle operation, and felt like you'd just dodged a landmine you hadn't known was there.
Whatever had happened to Lilia, whoever had hurt him, it wasn't your business unless he wanted to make it your business. You weren't going to push. Weren't going to demand explanations or tragic backstories or force him to relive trauma just to satisfy your curiosity.
You were just going to sit here, hold his hand, and make fun of people who couldn't park.
That seemed like the right thing to do.
"Want to get dessert?" Lilia asked after a moment.
"Only if we can sit by the window and continue our parking commentary."
"Deal."
You got dessert. You did continue the parking commentary—two more people attempted to park in that spot and both failed hilariously. Lilia's hand stayed in yours the entire time, warm and solid and real.
It was a good date.
Some things might never need to be said at all.
Lilia dropped you off at your apartment. The car ride back had been comfortable, filled with easy conversation and the occasional comfortable silence that came when you didn't feel the need to fill every moment with words. His hand had stayed in yours the entire drive, only letting go when he needed to shift gears, and even then he'd reach back to reclaim it immediately after.
You stood outside your apartment building, suddenly uncertain. How did dates end? You'd seen movies. You knew the theory. But theory and practice were very different things, and your brain was extremely unhelpful right now, suggesting terrible ideas like "shake his hand professionally" or "give him a high five" or "run away screaming."
Before you could do any of those things, you leaned in and kissed him.
Lilia kissed you back.
His hand came up to cup your face, gentle and warm, and for a moment everything else disappeared. The street, the city, the fact that you were standing outside your apartment building where your neighbors could definitely see. None of it mattered.
You pulled back, breathless, grinning like an idiot.
Lilia's expression was complicated. Soft and wanting, but also hesitant. Uncertain in a way you'd never seen him be uncertain about anything.
"Are you sure I'm the one you want?" he asked quietly, and there was something fragile in his tone that made your chest hurt.
You felt like screaming. Lilia, who was always full of whimsy and mischief and chaos, who approached everything with confidence and that insufferable knowing grin, being hesitant was wrong. It didn't belong in this world. It didn't belong on his face. The universe had made an error in allowing Lilia to doubt himself, and you were personally offended by it.
"Shut up," you said, and kissed him again.
This time he kissed back hard, like he'd been holding himself back before and had just gotten permission to stop. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and just melted into it.
When you finally broke apart—because breathing was unfortunately necessary—you were both slightly dazed.
"You're very persistent," Lilia said, and he was smiling now, that genuine soft smile that made your heart do acrobatics.
"I learned from the best," you shot back, slightly breathless. "Your persistence is what brought me here. You found me in an alley eating drywall—"
"You weren't eating it yet."
"—ALMOST eating drywall, and you didn't let me run away. You kept Guiding me even when I was a disaster." You tightened your arms around his neck. "So yeah, I'm persistent. I'm persistent because you taught me that persistence pays off."
Lilia laughed, bright and genuine, and something in his expression settled. The hesitance faded, replaced by that familiar mischief and something deeper. Warmer.
"Do you want to come in?" you asked, jerking your head toward your apartment building.
You watched him consider it. Saw the moment he made his decision.
"Yes," he said simply.
You grabbed his hand and dragged him inside, fumbling with your keys because your hands were shaking slightly—from nerves or excitement or the lingering adrenaline of actually kissing him, you weren't sure. You finally got the door open and pulled him into your apartment.
It was still the same apartment where you'd barbecued a spider. The scorch mark on the wall had been painted over but was still slightly visible if you knew where to look. Your furniture was mismatched and secondhand. There were dishes in the sink you'd been meaning to wash. It wasn't impressive or fancy or anything special.
You pulled him toward the couch. You both sat down, closer than strictly necessary, your sides pressed together. His arm went around your shoulders automatically, like it belonged there.
"So," you said.
"So," he echoed, grinning.
"This is happening."
"Apparently so."
"You're okay with this?" You needed to hear him say it. Needed to know that the hesitance was gone, that he actually wanted this as much as you did.
Lilia turned to face you properly, his red eyes serious despite his smile. "I'm more than okay with this. I just needed to make sure you knew what you were getting into."
"A relationship with my Guide who happens to be fae and has seen things I can't even imagine and makes terrible jokes?"
"That's a very accurate summary, yes."
"Sounds perfect," you said, and kissed him again because you could now.
He kissed you back, one hand tangling in your hair, the other pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. It was warm and comfortable and felt right in a way that made everything else—the Bureau, the Gates, the stress, the fear—fade into background noise.
You pulled back just enough to rest your forehead against his. "For the record, I don't care about your past."
Lilia's expression flickered with something complicated. "You don't know what happened."
"I don't need to. Not unless you want to tell me." You cupped his face with both hands, making him look at you. "I just need you to know that I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. And I'm very, very sure about this."
He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch like it was something precious. "You're going to be the death of me."
"That's dramatic. I'm going to be the best thing that ever happened to you."
He laughed, opening his eyes, and they were softer than you'd ever seen them. "I suppose you are."
You spent the rest of the evening on your couch, talking and kissing and existing in the same space without the pressure of Gates or training or professionalism. Lilia told you stories about his past—carefully edited ones, nothing about the incident that had taken his powers, but stories about other Espers, other Gates, moments that had stuck with him over the years.
You told him about your life before, about your dreams of being a marine biologist that had died when you'd sneezed a car into orbit.
"You could still study marine biology," Lilia pointed out. "As a hobby."
"Do I look like I have time for hobbies?"
"You're literally required to take a week off every month. You negotiated that into your contract."
"...Okay that's fair."
He stayed until late, until you were both tired and comfortable and reluctant to move. When he finally stood to leave, you walked him to the door, holding his hand the entire way.
"Same time next week?" he asked, and kissed you one more time before leaving.
You closed the door behind him and leaned against it, grinning like an absolute idiot.
You pulled out your phone and saw a text from Lilia already.
Lilia: Made it home. Thank you for tonight. You're wonderful, even if you can't park.
You: I DON'T EVEN HAVE A CAR
Lilia: Exactly my point.
You laughed and went to bed feeling lighter than you had in years.
The alarm went off at 3 AM, which was never a good sign.
You jolted awake to your phone screaming and a message from Bureau dispatch: EMERGENCY GATE - SS-RANK RESPONSE REQUIRED - REPORT IMMEDIATELY.
You were out the door in five minutes, still pulling on your uniform, your brain struggling to come online. The Bureau building was chaos when you arrived—people running, shouting, the emergency lights flashing red. You found Lilia immediately because he found you first, materializing at your side like he always did.
"Big one," he said, and his voice was tense in a way you'd never heard before. "S-rank Gate, possibly higher. It opened in a residential district."
"Where's Malleus? Sebek? Silver?"
"Already deployed to another Gate across the city. It opened at the same time." His jaw was tight. "You're going in without them."
You felt your stomach drop. You'd always had your team. Malleus who could level mountains, Sebek who was competent despite the yelling, Silver who solved problems in his sleep. Going into a high-level Gate without them felt wrong.
But you were SS-rank. This was literally what you'd signed up for.
The transport to the Gate site was fast and silent. You could see it from blocks away—the thing was massive, easily twice the size of any Gate you'd seen before, pulsing with sickly energy that made your teeth hurt even from a distance.
When you arrived, you saw the Guides waiting outside.
Some of them were crying.
You saw decimated Espers in their arms, bodies broken and bleeding, being desperately Guided back from the edge. Some were unconscious. Some were screaming. Some were too far gone, their eyes vacant and empty, minds already shattered beyond repair.
You watched a Guide sob over their Esper's body, trying to Guide someone who couldn't be Guided anymore, who'd burned out so completely there was nothing left to save.
You felt cold.
Lilia grabbed your arm, pulling your attention to him. For the first time since you'd met him, he looked genuinely worried. Scared, even.
"You have to come back," he said, and his voice was tight. "You understand? You have to come back because I still need to teach you how to park."
"I don't even have a car," you said automatically, the familiar joke feeling hollow.
"Then I'll buy you one just so I can teach you. So you have to come back." His hands were on your shoulders, gripping tight. "Promise me."
Instead of promising, you kissed him. For luck. For courage. For the possibility that this might be the last time.
He kissed you back hard, desperately, like he was trying to pour every ounce of protection he could into you through sheer force of will.
Then you turned and walked into the Gate.
It was a nightmare.
The space inside was wrong in ways that made your previous Gates look like pleasant vacation destinations. Reality bent and twisted. Gravity was a suggestion. The monsters were horrible—not just ugly, but wrong on a fundamental level, like they'd been designed by something that hated the concept of life itself.
There were other SS-rank Espers with you, people you'd seen around the Bureau but never worked with. You fought together because you had to, because the alternative was dying alone.
You took hits. A lot of hits. A claw raked across your side and you felt ribs crack. Something with too many teeth bit into your shoulder and you had to blast it off, taking some of your own flesh with it. Your power was surging and spiking and you were using too much, you knew you were using too much, but the alternative was letting these things win.
An Esper next to you went down, their scream cutting off abruptly as a monster crushed them into the crystallized ground. You couldn't help them. You could barely help yourself.
You lost track of time. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like minutes. Everything was pain and power and the slowly growing certainty that you might not make it out of this one.
But you fought. You and the other surviving Espers pushed forward, cleared the Gate section by section, destroyed the boss monster with combined attacks that left you all gasping.
The Gate shimmered and began to collapse.
You stumbled out.
Everything was blurry. Your vision was going dark at the edges. Everything burned—your muscles, your skin, your brain most of all. The familiar screaming was back but worse, louder, suggesting things that were increasingly divorced from reality. Your power was still surging out of control, eating you from the inside.
You saw red rushing toward you.
Lilia.
You collapsed directly onto him, your legs giving out. He caught you smoothly, his arms wrapping around you as he sank to the ground, sitting right there on the concrete and pulling you into his lap.
"I've got you," he said, and his hands were already on your face, your neck, trying to Guide you. "I've got you, just hold on—"
The relief came but it wasn't enough. You were too far gone, burned out too badly. You could feel him trying, feel the Guiding energy flowing into you, but it was like trying to fill an ocean with a cup. You were drowning and he couldn't pull you out fast enough.
You were struggling to breathe, to think, to exist. Your power was tearing you apart.
Lilia was starting to panic. You could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. His hands were shaking.
He kissed you.
It helped. The connection between you flared, stronger than just Guiding, and for a moment you could breathe again. But then it faded and you were drowning again, gasping.
"Bond with me," Lilia said, and his voice was desperate. "Right now. We need to bond. It's the only way—"
"No," you managed to choke out. You were lucid enough for that, at least. Lucid enough to know what you were refusing. "I don't—I can't hurt you—"
"You're not going to hurt me—"
"Someone else did—" You were crying now, tears streaming down your face mixing with blood and dirt. "I can't—I won't—"
"I'll be fine!" He grabbed your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him. His red eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I'll be FINE, so just bond with me! I can't lose you! Do you understand? I can't—" His voice broke. "Please. Please just trust me. I can handle it. Just don't leave me."
You were dying. You could feel it. Your consciousness was slipping, the screaming getting louder, your power about to tear you apart completely.
You kissed him hard, desperately, and opened yourself up completely.
The bond snapped into place.
It felt like lightning, like your soul recognizing his and reaching out and connecting in a way that was permanent and fundamental and absolute. You felt him gasp against your mouth, felt the bond solidify between you, felt his presence suddenly THERE in your mind in a way that was intimate and terrifying and perfect.
And then he Guided you.
It was different now. Stronger. The energy flowed between you effortlessly, naturally, like your minds had been designed to work together. The drowning feeling receded. The screaming stopped. Your power settled back into something manageable, controlled, safe.
You could breathe again.
And then you started sobbing.
"I'm sorry," you choked out, clinging to him. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to—I didn't mean to make you—"
"Shh, it's fine—"
"It's not fine!" You were ugly crying now, snot and tears and complete emotional breakdown. "You were hurt before and I just—I forced you to—I made you bond with me and what if it hurts you again? What if you lose your powers again? What if—"
Lilia kissed you to shut you up.
It worked.
When he pulled back, his expression was firm. "I'm fine. Look at me. I'm fine." He was Guiding you still, the energy flowing smoothly between you through the bond. "It's okay because it's you. Do you understand? It's okay because I chose this."
You tried to respond but your brain was short-circuiting from the kiss and the bond and the emotional whiplash and everything.
"I—you—but—"
He looped his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest, and pulled out his phone with his free hand. "Want to see baby Malleus?"
Your brain stuttered. "What?"
He showed you a picture.
It was an egg.
Just an egg. A large egg with some scales on it, sitting in what looked like a very fancy cushioned nest.
You stared at it. Looked at Lilia. Looked back at the egg.
"That's an egg," you said, your voice still hitching from crying.
"That's baby Malleus," Lilia said proudly. "I raised him from an egg. Isn't he cute?"
The sheer absurdity of it broke through your panic. You started laughing—half hysterical, half genuine—because you'd just nearly died and bonded with your Guide and he was showing you baby pictures of Malleus that were literally just photos of an egg.
"There you are," Lilia said softly, squeezing your cheeks with one hand. His smile was gentle, affectionate. "Welcome back."
You buried your face in his neck, fresh tears starting but different ones now. Overwhelming emotion that you couldn't name.
He hugged you back immediately, his arms wrapping around you securely. You could feel him through the bond now—his presence warm and solid and real in your mind, his concern for you, his affection, his absolute lack of regret.
"I don't regret it," he murmured into your hair, like he could feel you worrying through the bond. "I promise. I don't regret any of it."
You held onto him tighter.
Around you, other Guides were still working with their Espers. Medical teams were arriving. Someone was trying to get your attention for medical assessment, but Lilia waved them off with a look that suggested they'd lose fingers if they tried to separate you right now.
You stayed there on the concrete, holding each other, bonded now in a way that was permanent and irreversible and absolutely terrifying and perfect.
"We're going to have so much paperwork," you mumbled into his neck.
Lilia laughed. "That's what you're worried about right now?"
"I'm worried about a lot of things right now. The paperwork is just the most manageable one."
"Fair enough." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "We'll handle it together."
Lilia had lost his Guiding a long time ago.
He used to be able to Guide Malleus and the others—back when Malleus was still learning control, when Silver was a rookie stumbling through his first Gates, when Sebek was even louder and more reckless than he was now. Lilia had been good at it. One of the best.
And then someone had tried to take that from him.
An Esper. Too far gone, mind fracturing from Gate residue and desperation. Powerful enough that restraining them had been nearly impossible.
They'd grabbed Lilia during what should have been a routine Guiding session and forced a bond—ripped their way into his psyche with all the subtlety of a battering ram, trying to anchor themselves to him, to use him as a lifeline.
It hadn't worked. Forced bonds never did.
But it had ruined his powers anyway. The damage was permanent, irreversible. His ability to Guide had been burned out of him like someone had taken a torch to his nerves. He'd tried for months afterward—touching other Espers, trying to help, desperate to feel that familiar flow of energy. Nothing. Just emptiness where his powers used to be.
He'd had to retire. No Guiding meant no fieldwork. No purpose. No reason to stay.
He'd been bitter for a long time after that. Angry at the Esper who'd done it, angry at himself for not seeing it coming, angry at the universe for taking away something so fundamental to who he was.
He'd traveled for a while, trying to outrun the feeling of uselessness that followed him everywhere. Seen places he'd never had time to visit before. Picked up hobbies that didn't involve risking his life.
Eventually, he'd accepted it. The anger had faded into resignation, then into something like peace. He couldn't Guide anymore. That was just reality now.
So he'd come back to help Malleus, Silver, and Sebek in other ways—tactical support, training consultation, moral support. He couldn't go into fieldwork anymore, couldn't be the Guide he used to be, but at least he could be present. Be useful in spirit, if not in practice.
And then he met you.
He'd been taking a shortcut through an alley—old habits from his traveling days—when he'd seen you. Slumped against a wall, clearly struggling, power crackling around you in unstable bursts. An Esper on the edge of losing control, probably unregistered based on how poorly you were managing your output.
He'd walked over to help you up. Just basic decency. Maybe point you toward the Bureau so you didn't accidentally explode yourself or the block.
He'd touched your shoulder.
And for the first time in years, his powers had worked.
The shock of it had nearly made him stumble. That familiar sensation of energy flowing through him, of being able to sense your distress and smooth it out, of Guiding actually working—it was like a limb he'd thought he'd lost suddenly remembering how to function.
You'd passed out immediately after, which was inconvenient but expected given how far gone you'd been.
Lilia had sat there staring at you, unconscious and drooling slightly on his jacket, and made an impulsive decision. He'd given you his number. Told you to call if you used your powers again.
He'd expected maybe one call. A follow-up to make sure you hadn't died.
You'd texted him an hour later because you'd set your apartment on fire trying to kill a spider.
You were funny. Very scatterbrained in an endearing way, rambling about groceries and library books when you panicked. You made him laugh more than he had in years.
But he'd also seen the pain in you. Even when you pretended everything was fine, even when you joked and deflected, he could tell you were alone. Isolating yourself out of fear. And it was taking a toll on you—he could see it in the way you held yourself, the careful distance you kept from everything and everyone.
So he'd taken you to a Gate. Showed you what you could have if you stopped running. Convinced you to join the Bureau, even though it meant paperwork and commitment and everything you'd been avoiding.
And then you'd begged him to join too. To be your Guide.
He'd been apprehensive. What if this was a fluke? What if his powers stopped working again after he got used to having them back? What if he bonded with you—even temporarily through regular Guiding—and lost everything again when it inevitably fell apart?
But he'd said yes anyway.
Because you had this strange magnetism that kept him coming back. This earnest, chaotic energy that made him want to be around you, to see what ridiculous thing you'd do next, to be part of whatever disaster you were stumbling into.
You were strange and funny and so full of life, even when you were trying to hide it.
You'd become friends with even Sebek, which was a feat Lilia hadn't thought possible. The boy barely tolerated most humans, but he'd grudgingly accepted you after you'd hidden behind Lilia enough times and yelled increasingly unhinged things when cornered.
You were understanding with Malleus, treating him like a person instead of the strongest Esper alive, listening to his gargoyle lectures with genuine interest. You took Silver's narcolepsy in stride, sometimes joining him for naps after particularly brutal training sessions.
You fit into their strange little family like you'd always been meant to be there.
Lilia had known he might be screwed when he found himself stepping in when other Guides tried to Guide you. Making excuses about compatibility and training consistency when really he just didn't want anyone else touching you, helping you, being the one you relied on.
At some point, without him noticing exactly when, he'd started considering you as his.
His Esper. His responsibility. His.
When you'd nervously asked him to the escape room, stumbling over your words and clearly panicking, he'd wanted you to confirm if it was a date. So he'd invited Malleus and Silver and Sebek, just to see what you'd do. To his delight, you'd taken it in stride and then asked him out properly the next time—direct and flustered and absolutely endearing.
The actual date had been lovely. Easy. Comfortable in a way Lilia hadn't felt in decades.
Until you'd mentioned bonding.
He'd felt his expression shut down, felt himself retreat into old defenses. The memories of forced bonding, of pain and violation and loss, had risen up like bile. He'd changed the subject because he didn't know how to explain it, didn't want to see your expression change from warm to pitying.
But you hadn't pushed. You hadn't asked about his past, about what had happened, about why he'd flinched. You'd just let it go. Made a joke about someone's terrible parking and held his hand tighter.
You were so kind about it. So understanding without needing explanations.
And Lilia had thought, with growing certainty, that you deserved better than him. Better than a centuries-old fae with baggage and trauma and a past he couldn't fully share.
That's why he'd asked if you were sure it was him you wanted.
You'd looked so offended. Like an angry chipmunk, all puffed up and indignant. You'd told him to shut up and kissed him, and he'd kissed you back because somewhere along the way you'd ruined everyone else for him. He couldn't imagine wanting anyone else. Couldn't imagine this working with anyone but you.
The weeks that followed had been good. Better than good. You made him laugh. You challenged him. You fit against his side like you belonged there. He'd started thinking in terms of "we" and "us" without noticing the shift.
And then that S-rank Gate had opened.
He'd felt fear for the first time in years when he'd seen you heading toward it. Real, bone-deep terror that he was going to lose you. That you'd go in and not come back out, or come back so broken he couldn't fix you.
He'd made you promise to come back. Tried to make it a joke about teaching you to park, but his voice had shaken.
When you'd stumbled out of that Gate, barely alive, eyes unfocused and power tearing you apart from the inside, Lilia hadn't hesitated.
He'd pulled you into his arms and tried to Guide you, but it wasn't enough. You were too far gone. Burning out in real-time while he watched helplessly.
The bond had been instinct. Necessity. The only way to create a connection strong enough to pull you back from the edge.
"Bond with me," he'd said, desperate and terrified.
And you'd refused.
Even dying, even barely conscious, you'd refused because you didn't want to hurt him. Because you knew what had happened to him before—or guessed enough of it—and you were trying to protect him even while your own mind was fracturing.
That had been the moment Lilia knew with absolute certainty: it would always be you.
You were dying and you were still being considerate of him. Still putting his wellbeing above your own. Still so fundamentally kind that even your survival instincts took a backseat to not causing him pain.
So he'd begged. Pleaded. Made you understand that losing you would hurt infinitely more than any bond ever could.
When you'd finally kissed him and opened yourself up to the bond, Lilia had felt it snap into place like coming home. Perfect compatibility. Perfect resonance. Like your souls had been designed to fit together.
The Guiding had flowed effortlessly after that. He'd pulled you back from the edge, stabilized you, kept you anchored while your power settled.
And then you'd started crying.
Apologizing for forcing him, for making him bond with you, for potentially hurting him. Breaking down completely while he held you.
It had broken his heart.
So he'd shown you the picture of egg Malleus—ridiculous and absurd and exactly the kind of thing that would break through your spiral. And it had worked. You'd laughed, bewildered and still crying, but laughing.
"There you are," he'd said, and meant it. There was the person he'd fallen for. Chaotic and earnest and coming back to him.
You'd buried your face in his neck and he'd held you close, feeling your presence solid and real in his mind now through the bond. Feeling your emotions—the guilt, the relief, the love that you hadn't said out loud yet but that resonated through the connection between you.
He'd promised you he didn't regret it.
He didn't.
This was different from before. That forced bond had been violation and pain and destruction. Whereas this was his choice. It is perfect compatibility that feels right in a way nothing else ever had.
He could feel you in his mind now—a constant awareness of your emotions, your wellbeing, your existence. It was intimate and terrifying and absolutely perfect.
Lilia hoped to be by your side for the rest of his life.
However long that would be—and for fae, that could be a very long time indeed—he wanted to spend it with you. Watching you grow stronger, more confident. Being there when you stumbled. Celebrating your victories. Making terrible jokes and showing you embarrassing photos of baby Malleus and teaching you to park even though you didn't have a car.
You'd changed everything for him. Given him back not just his powers, but his purpose.
He pressed another kiss to your temple, feeling you relax against him, and smiled.
Yes.
It would always be you.
For however long forever lasted, it would be you.
And Lilia had never been more certain of anything in his very long life.
You and Lilia were bonded now.
You could feel him in the back of your mind—a constant presence that was comforting instead of intrusive, like knowing someone was in the next room over.
His emotions bled through sometimes, little bursts of amusement or affection or mischief that let you know exactly what kind of trouble he was planning before he even opened his mouth.
He was as chaotic as the day you'd met him in that alley. More chaotic, even, because now he didn't have to hold back. He knew you could handle it. Knew you'd match his energy with your own brand of disaster.
You think you've never loved anything before him.
Sure, you'd loved things. Loved your family in that familial way. Loved certain foods, certain places, certain moments. But this was different.
This was waking up every morning and feeling grateful that he existed. This was looking at him across the room and feeling your chest get tight with how much you wanted to keep him. This was knowing, bone-deep, that you'd found something worth keeping.
He cooked food so scary it made you pray to gods you didn't believe in. You'd watched him create something he called "soup" that had moved on its own. He'd served it with a proud smile while you'd seriously considered whether eating it or hurting his feelings was the worse option.
You'd tried one bite and immediately understood why Sebek had looked haunted when you'd mentioned Lilia's cooking. Silver had actually woken up from a nap just to warn you not to eat it. Malleus had given you a solemn nod of respect like you were heading into battle.
You'd eaten it anyway because the smile on Lilia's face had been worth the stomach ache.
He loved teasing you. Would say something completely outrageous just to watch your face cycle through confusion, realization, and indignation. Would whisper the most absurd things during serious Bureau meetings just to watch you try not to laugh.
He loved pushing you to try harder during training. Not in the harsh way Sebek did, all yelling and criticism, but in the way that said "I know you can do better and I want to see you succeed."
He'd celebrate your victories like they were his own. Would pick you up when you failed and dust you off and make you try again.
And you wouldn't have it any other way.
You were lying on the couch—well, your head was on his lap while he sat on the couch properly—watching him destroy people in some video game you didn't fully understand. His fingers moved rapidly over the controller, and you could feel his concentration through the bond, that sharp focus he got when he was in competition mode.
You were doomscrolling on your phone, looking at nothing in particular, just existing in his presence. Some article about Gate statistics. A video of a cat. A meme about Espers that was only funny if you actually were one. The comfortable silence of doing nothing together.
"GET WRECKED, YOU ABSOLUTE NOOB!" Lilia shouted at the screen, and you felt his glee through the bond. "YOUR AIM IS SO BAD I'M EMBARRASSED FOR YOU! DID YOU LEARN TO PLAY WITH YOUR FEET?!"
You snorted. "You're going to get reported for toxicity."
"They can report me all they want. I'm speaking truth." He landed another kill and cackled. "THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR CAMPING, YOU COWARD!"
He glanced down at you, his expression softening immediately from competitive gremlin to something tender, and leaned down to kiss your forehead.
"Your game wife is asking where you are," you say, stretching a little while looking at the screen. "She says you abandoned her at the altar. She's very upset."
"LISTEN JENNIFER, I TOLD YOU THIS WAS JUST FOR THE GUILD BENEFITS! I'M A LONE WOLF! I CAN'T BE TAMED!"
You could hear the other player's tinny voice through his headset, saying something angry.
"THAT'S VERY RUDE!" Lilia said, sounding delighted. "I'M REPORTING YOU FOR HARASSMENT! Yes, I know I killed you seven times! That's called SKILL, Jennifer!"
You laughed, feeling the vibration of his own laughter through his body. You could feel his joy through the bond—pure, chaotic delight at annoying strangers on the internet.
This was your life now. Bonded to a centuries-old fae who played video games like a toxic twelve-year-old and cooked food that violated the Geneva Convention and looked at you like you'd hung the stars.
You think there was no other place you'd rather be.
"I love you," you said, not looking up from your phone.
His hand stilled in your hair for a moment. Then through the bond, you felt it—a surge of warmth and affection so strong it almost made your chest hurt.
"I love you too," he said softly. Then, louder: "JENNIFER, I'M HAVING A MOMENT! CAN YOU STOP SHOOTING AT ME FOR FIVE SECONDS?! ...NO, I'M NOT GOING TO STOP CAPTURING THE ENEMY! THAT'S THE POINT OF THE GAME!"
You smiled and went back to your doomscrolling.
Yeah.
There was nowhere else you'd rather be.
Part 1
Series Masterlist ; Masterlist
Gate Crashers and Heart Breakers || Lilia Vanrouge (1/2)
The world has dimensional gates that vomit monsters. This is somehow less horrifying than admitting that you fell hook, line and sinker for your Guide.
or: Guideverse au!
Part 2
The world sucked before the Gates opened.
Humanity had been doing a bang-up job of making life miserable all on its own. There were politicians who couldn't agree on whether water was wet, climate change deniers who thought melting glaciers were just ice cubes in God's cocktail, and someone had invented those automatic hand dryers that sound like a jet engine but have all the drying power of a asthmatic hamster wheezing on your wet hands.
Then the Gates showed up, as if the universe looked down at humanity's struggle and said, "You know what? They're handling things too well. Let's add dimensional portals that vomit monsters."
The Gates appeared literally overnight. One day, people went to bed worried about normal things like taxes and whether they'd left the stove on. The next morning, they woke up to giant shimmering doorways that looked like someone had installed the world's worst feng shui feature right in the middle of major cities.
New York's popped up in Times Square, which honestly improved the ambiance. Tokyo's appeared in Shibuya Crossing, and for about six hours, people just assumed it was some new experimental art installation until a creature that looked like a rejected Pokemon design crawled out and started eating vending machines.
The monsters were bad. The Gates themselves were worse if left alone.
See, Gates had this fun quirk where if nobody went in and cleared them out, they'd eventually say "screw it" and just open fully. And when a Gate opened fully, everything inside came flooding out like someone had just flushed the universe's most nightmarish toilet.
Cities got leveled. People got eaten. Insurance companies added a "dimensional monster invasion" clause and somehow made it even more expensive than flood insurance.
Humanity did what it does best when faced with extinction: it panicked, argued about whose fault it was, and then stumbled backwards into a solution.
Turns out, some people had developed powers. Nobody knew why. Scientists had seventeen different theories, all of which contradicted each other, and one guy on YouTube was convinced it had something to do with 5G towers and chemtrails, which was stupid but somehow got four billion views.
These powered people fell into two categories:
Espers were the damage dealers, the tanks, the heavy hitters. They could shoot fire from their hands, move objects with their minds, or punch things so hard the things stopped being things and became a fine mist with regrets. Espers were powerful, impressive, and about as stable as a Jenga tower in an earthquake.
Using their powers made them gradually lose their minds. The more they fought, the more their psyche fractured like a windshield meeting a brick. Without help, they'd eventually go completely bonkers and become just as dangerous as the monsters they were supposed to fight.
The government kept very quiet about the number of Espers who'd gone rogue and had to be "retired," which was a polite way of saying "put down like a rabid dog, except the dog could level a city block."
Guides were the support class, the healers, the people who kept Espers from turning into homicidal maniacs.
Guides could manipulate energy in a way that soothed Espers' fractured minds, basically acting as psychic Xanax. They couldn't fight worth a damn. Put a Guide in front of a monster, and the best they could do was maybe make the monster feel really calm about eating them.
But pair a Guide with an Esper, and suddenly you had a functional unit that could actually clear Gates without the Esper going full "The Shining" by the end.
Together, Espers and Guides became humanity's defense against the Gates. Governments set up agencies to manage them, match them, and deploy them. They called these agencies different things in different countries, but they all functioned the same way: bureaucratic nightmares that somehow kept the world from ending while drowning in paperwork.
The system worked. Barely. Gates got cleared, monsters got killed, and humanity continued its proud tradition of surviving through sheer spite and institutional dysfunction.
You knew you were a high-rank Esper when you sneezed during a particularly bad allergy season and accidentally launched your landlord's car into low orbit.
In your defense, the pollen count was astronomical, and your landlord had been riding your ass about rent being two days late. Still, watching his Honda Civic achieve escape velocity because your nose itched was the kind of thing that made you go "huh, that's probably not normal" followed immediately by "we're going to pretend that didn't happen."
You told your landlord it must have been a freak tornado. He bought it because the alternative was accepting that his tenant had sneezed his vehicle into the stratosphere, which would require paperwork he didn't want to deal with. The car came down three hours later in a neighboring city. You moved apartments the next week.
That was two years ago.
Since then, you've gotten very good at pretending you were absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent not an Esper.
You did not want to go to the Bureau. You did not want some government stooge in a cheap suit telling you where to go, what to fight, and how to risk your life and sanity for people who wouldn't even thank you for it. The Bureau loved to run those propaganda campaigns showing Espers and Guides as heroes, but you'd seen the news reports about the ones who burned out. The ones who went crazy and had to be put down. The ones who died clearing Gates while civilians complained that the street closures were inconvenient.
Ungrateful didn't even begin to cover it.
So you kept your head down, worked your dead-end job at a convenience store, and tried very hard not to sneeze near anything important.
Today, you were trudging home after almost getting caught up in a Gate that had opened in a farmer's market of all places. A farmer's market. What kind of cosmic targeting system put a dimensional hell-portal in the middle of a place where people were buying overpriced organic kale? Were the monsters trying to make a statement about sustainable agriculture?
Thank fuck you'd stopped outside the market to feed a raccoon. You'd been holding a ricecake, and this absolute king of a trash panda had waddled up to you with the confidence of a creature that knew it was adorable and wasn't afraid to weaponize it. You'd barely tossed it the food when the Gate opened two stalls down and all hell broke loose.
Raccoons really were the backbone of society. That little guy had saved your life with perfect timing and his unshakable belief that humans existed to provide snacks.
You'd gotten out of there while Bureau Espers showed up to handle it, feeling smug about your continued anonymity.
That smugness lasted approximately forty minutes.
You were cutting through an alley near your apartment when you spotted it: a monster that had somehow slipped out of some Gate, probably the farmer's market one. It looked like someone had asked an AI to generate "crab" but the AI had been drinking.
Too many legs. Eyes in places eyes had no business being. Claws that dripped something that was dissolving the concrete.
"Oh my god, bruh, you had ONE job," you muttered, glaring in the general direction of where you assumed the Bureau headquarters was. "ONE. Contain the monsters. That's literally it. How did this thing get past you? Did you all take a union-mandated coffee break at the same time?"
The crab-thing noticed you and made a sound like a garbage disposal trying to eat silverware.
You sighed.
You really, really didn't want to do this. Using your powers without training, without a Guide to stabilize you afterward, was like chugging expired energy drinks and then trying to operate heavy machinery. It was inadvisable, dangerous and likely to end with something exploding, and that something might just be your brain.
But the crab-thing was between you and your apartment, and you'd be damned if you let some interdimensional reject make you take the long way home.
You focused, felt the power coil in your chest like a spring wound too tight, and released it.
The monster didn't so much die as it ceased to exist in its current form. One second it was there, the next it was abstract art painted across the alley wall in colors that shouldn't exist in nature.
The recoil hit you immediately.
It felt like someone had taken your brain, put it in a blender, hit "puree," and then dumped it back into your skull while it was still spinning.
There was a noise in your head that sounded like if static could scream. Your vision went fuzzy at the edges. Your hands were shaking.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice that definitely wasn't yours was suggesting, very reasonably, that eating drywall seemed like a great idea actually. Drywall probably tasted good. Drywall might solve all your problems.
"No," you told yourself, sliding down the alley wall to sit on the ground. "We are not eating the wall. We are not eating anything. We are going to sit here and breathe and not explode the block."
The screaming in your head ramped up. This noise made you understand why Espers went insane. This was what it felt like when your mind started coming apart at the seams.
You were trying to remember if spontaneous human combustion was a real thing or just something you'd seen on TV when someone tapped you on the shoulder.
The screaming stopped.
Just like that. The noise cut off like someone had hit a mute button on your brain. The drywall cravings disappeared. The feeling of your sanity slowly leaking out of your ears vanished. Everything went quiet and calm and blessedly, beautifully normal.
You looked up.
There was a man standing over you. A short man, probably five-foot-nothing, with a bob haircut that should have looked ridiculous but instead looked like he'd stolen it from a fashion magazine and made it better. It was a hairdo that made you think "no one else could pull this off, but somehow he makes it look like the only correct haircut that has ever existed."
And his eyes. Red. Not the creepy red of colored contacts or some edgelord anime character, but a deep, genuine red like garnets or really good wine. Pretty didn't cover it. His eyes looked like someone had bottled sunset and chaos and poured it into his face.
"Thanks, man," you managed to say.
Then you passed the fuck out.
You woke up expecting to be in the Bureau.
You'd seen enough conspiracy videos to know the drill. They'd have dragged your unconscious ass to some sterile white room that smelled like disinfectant and broken dreams.
You'd be tied to a chair—or at minimum, sitting across from some dead-eyed bureaucrat who looked like they'd given up on life sometime in 2003 and had just been going through the motions ever since.
They'd give you the speech about duty and honor and serving your country, conveniently leaving out the part where Espers had a median life expectancy of "not great" and a retirement plan of "hopefully you don't go insane and have to be put down like Old Yeller."
Instead, you were still in the alley.
The garbage smell had somehow gotten worse, which you didn't think was possible. You were still lying on concrete that felt like it was actively trying to give you tetanus. And there was someone sitting next to you, humming a cheerful little tune that sounded like it belonged in a music box owned by a creepy doll that came to life at midnight.
You cracked open your eyes.
Bob Cut Man was still there, sitting cross-legged beside you like he was at a casual picnic and not in an alley that smelled like the dumpster itsefl had died and was currently decomposing. He was examining his nails like he had all the time in the world.
"Oh, you're awake!" he said brightly. "I was beginning to think you'd hit your head on the way down. You dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Very dramatic. I'd give it a six out of ten—points for commitment, but you didn't stick the landing."
You groaned and tried to sit up. Your body felt like someone had taken it apart, juggled the pieces, and put it back together using instructions written in a language they didn't speak. "Why am I not at the Bureau?"
"Why would you be at the Bureau?" He blinked at you innocently.
"Because I'm an unregistered Esper who just used powers in public and then passed out in front of a witness?" You squinted at him. "That's like, the exact scenario from their recruitment pamphlets. 'See something, say something, drag them to headquarters.'"
"Ah, but you see, I'd have to care about their recruitment policies for that to matter." He grinned, and it was the kind of grin that suggested he regularly broke rules just for the entertainment value. "Besides, where's your Guide? Surely they should be handling this."
You let out a laugh that sounded like a car trying to start in winter. "Oh, I accidentally lost mine."
He stared at you.
Then he burst out laughing, the kind of genuine delighted cackle that made him sound slightly unhinged. "Lost? You LOST your Guide? Like a sock in the laundry?"
"It was a whole thing," you said flatly. "Very emotional. There may have been a musical number. I don't want to talk about it."
He looked at you like you were the most entertaining thing he'd seen in years, which was either flattering or concerning. Possibly both. "Oh, you're fun. I like you. You're ridiculous."
"Thanks, I grew it myself."
"I'm Lilia Vanrouge," he announced, as if introducing himself in an alley next to what used to be a monster was perfectly normal. He even did a little gesture with his hand that was almost a bow. "Charmed, I'm sure."
You told him your name, wondering if you should be more concerned about the fact that he seemed to be enjoying this whole situation way too much.
"Delightful," Lilia said, and you genuinely couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. "Now, as entertaining as this whole 'rogue Esper speedrun to insanity' situation is, you need to be Guided properly. That little power usage earlier nearly turned you into a cautionary tale. If I hadn't been passing by, you'd have either eaten that wall or achieved spontaneous human fireworks. Possibly simultaneously."
"Why though?" You frowned at him, your brain still feeling like it was operating on dial-up internet. "You were enough. I'm fine now. Crisis averted. We can all go home."
Lilia went very still.
He stared at you with an expression you couldn't quite read—something between surprised and confused and maybe a little bit touched? It was hard to tell with the way his face seemed to cycle through emotions like a slideshow.
"I... helped?" he said slowly, like he was testing out the words.
"Yeah? You touched me and the screaming stopped." You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The voice telling me drywall was a valid food group just... stopped. That's Guide stuff, right? I'm not hallucinating this?"
For a second, Lilia looked almost vulnerable. Then his expression shifted back to amused so fast you almost got whiplash watching it.
Without warning, he reached out and grabbed your hand.
Oh.
OH.
You'd been Guided once before, by your friend after your first awakening when you'd accidentally discovered your powers. That had felt nice. Pleasant. Like someone had given your brain a gentle pat and said "there there, stop being a mess."
This felt like your nervous system had just discovered what relaxation was after spending your entire life tensed for a fight you didn't know was coming.
Every muscle you didn't know you'd been clenching unclenched. The weird staticky feeling that had been buzzing in your skull like angry bees just... evaporated.
Your brain, which normally felt like a browser with 47 tabs open and 32 of them playing different music, suddenly felt organized. Like someone had gone through and closed all the tabs and organized your mental bookmarks and maybe even cleared the cache.
You could feel him Guiding you—actually feel the energy smoothing out all the jagged edges your power had left behind, like someone running a sanding block over rough wood until it was polished.
He was GOOD. Suspiciously good. "Did you go to some kind of Guide university or something" levels of good.
You relaxed so much you probably looked like a boneless cat. "Oh damn," you mumbled, your words slurring slightly. "I'm gonna fall asleep on you if you keep this up. This is a threat and a warning."
"Please don't," Lilia said, sounding amused. "I just got this jacket cleaned, and you smell like alley."
"You're in the alley too. You also smell like alley."
He was still holding your hand, still Guiding you, and everything felt so stupidly comfortable and warm that when he said, "Come with me," in that cheerful tone, your brain—which was currently the consistency of warm honey—just went "yeah okay sounds good."
"Sure," you said, letting him pull you to your feet.
Somewhere in the distant background of your mind, the tiny part of your brain that was responsible for self-preservation was screaming. It was jumping up and down waving red flags.
It was pulling out the PowerPoint presentation from that assembly in middle school about stranger danger and secondary locations and how this was EXACTLY how people ended up on true crime podcasts.
But that part of your brain was very far away and very easy to ignore when you felt this relaxed.
So you followed Lilia out of the alley like a baby duck that had imprinted on a particularly chaotic mother duck who probably had a criminal record.
"Where are we going?" you asked, stumbling slightly as you tried to keep up with his surprisingly quick pace.
"Somewhere more comfortable than an alley," Lilia said cheerfully. "I have standards, you know. If you're going to pass out on me again—which you might—I'd prefer it happen somewhere that doesn't require a tetanus shot afterward."
"That's very considerate of you."
"I'm a very considerate person," he said, grinning over his shoulder at you. "Also, we should probably have a conversation about how you've been functioning as an Esper without a Guide, because that's either incredibly impressive or incredibly stupid. I'm leaning toward stupid."
"Why not both?"
"I like the way you think."
Behind you, the monster remains continued their dissolving process, leaving behind a stain that was going to confuse the hell out of the Bureau cleanup crew and possibly require a hazmat team.
Ahead of you, Lilia was humming again—some tune that sounded vaguely like a lullaby but with ominous undertones—and leading you through the streets with confidence, like he had done this before and found it hilarious every single time.
You were definitely making terrible decisions.
But you were making them while feeling the most relaxed you'd felt in two years, so really, who was the winner here?
Lilia got you ice cream.
He steered you into a convenience store like you were a traumatized kindergartener who'd just scraped their knee, pointed at the freezer section, and told you to pick whatever you wanted.
Who were you to say no to free ice cream? You grabbed something with an unreasonable amount of chocolate and possibly some cookie chunks. Lilia got one that was bright green and probably melon-flavored, which felt very on-brand for someone wearing a jacket with more zippers than seemed structurally necessary.
You sat on a bench outside the store, eating your feelings and your ice cream, while Lilia swung his legsand hummed between bites.
"So what's up with you?" you asked, gesturing at him with your spoon. "Do you just... pick up strays on the regular? Is this a hobby? Should I be concerned that you're running some kind of alley person collection service?"
Lilia laughed, bright and a little bit mischievous. "Something like that! I've always had a soft spot for lost things. Stray cats, confused Espers having existential crises next to dumpsters—really, is there much difference?"
"I feel like there should be."
"And yet here we are!" He took another bite of his aggressively green ice cream, looking perfectly pleased with himself.
When you finished, he pulled out his phone and handed it to you. "Put your number in."
You blinked at him. "Why?"
"So you can call me if you use your powers again," he said, like this was obvious. "You nearly turned yourself into a vegetable back there. Next time you might not be so lucky."
"There won't be a next time," you said firmly, typing in your number. "Jesus Christ, that was horrible. I'm never doing that again. I'm going to live a peaceful, power-free life and die of old age like a normal person."
Lilia's smile was indulgent in the way of someone watching a child promise they'll never eat candy again while still holding a lollipop. "Of course. I'm sure you'll be very successful at that."
"I will be. I'm very committed to this."
"I can tell."
You fucked up approximately one hour later.
You got home, exhausted and still a little loopy from being Guided. You kicked off your shoes, shuffled into your apartment, and immediately spotted it.
A HUGE spider, one so nasty that made you question whether God had favorites and you definitely weren't one of them. It was on the wall next to your kitchen, just sitting there with all its horrible legs, probably plotting your demise.
You screamed and powers activated on instinct.
Fire shot from your hand like you were some kind of discount flamethrower.
The spider was obliterated. So was a chunk of your wall. And your security deposit.
"No no no NO—" You stared at the scorch mark in horror, then at your hand, then at where the spider used to be.
The recoil hit you like a truck filled with smaller trucks.
Your brain immediately started doing that thing again where it felt like it was coming apart at the seams. The screaming started up. Somewhere in the static, a voice cheerfully suggested that maybe if you just stuck your head in the freezer, everything would be fine. Cold fixed computers, right? Probably worked on brains too.
You grabbed your phone with shaking hands and texted Lilia.
You: alley person here You: so You: funny story You: i may have used my powers again You: in my defense there was a spider You: a HUGE spider You: i have no other defense
The reply came back almost immediately.
Lilia: I'm disappointed but not surprised. Lilia: Where are you?
You sent him your address, then sat on your floor and tried very hard not to eat your couch cushions because they were starting to look oddly appealing.
Lilia showed up to your apartment in less than ten minutes, which seemed impossible given where the convenience store was, but you weren't going to question it.
He took one look at you sitting on the floor with your back against the wall and sighed. "You lasted less than an hour. I should start a betting pool."
"There was a spider," you said weakly.
"I'm sure it was terrifying."
He reached down and touched your shoulder.
Instant relief. The screaming stopped. The weird cravings vanished. Your brain remembered how to be a brain instead of a malfunctioning appliance.
You slumped against the wall, exhaling hard. "Oh thank god."
Lilia still looked shocked—genuinely surprised that his powers were working on you. His eyes were wide, and there was something almost melancholy in his expression before he smoothed it away into his usual amused mask.
You didn't dwell on it. He'd been nice enough to help you twice now. Who were you to interrogate him about why he looked surprised his Guide powers worked? Maybe he was having an off day. Maybe he usually worked with different Espers. Maybe you were just weird.
"Come on," you said, standing up. "I owe you dinner at least. It's the least I can do for making you run across town because I'm afraid of spiders."
You led him into your kicthen, trying not to look at the scorch mark on the wall. He looked at it anyway, tilting his head like he was examining a piece of abstract art.
"You really don't like spiders," he observed.
"In my defense, it was huge."
"I'm sure it was a terrible monster. Truly fearsome."
You ordered delivery because cooking was beyond you right now, and you sat cross-legged on your floor while Lilia perched on your couch.
"So," he said, pulling apart his chopsticks. "Why don't you want to go to the Bureau?"
You looked at him like he'd just asked why you didn't want to stick your hand in a blender.
"Are you serious? The government SUCKS." You gestured emphatically with a piece of chicken. "They'd own me. They'd tell me where to go, what to fight, when to sleep. I'd be a tool. A weapon. They don't care if Espers burn out or go crazy or die—they just care that the Gates get cleared and they look good on camera. Have you SEEN their propaganda videos? They're so bad. The acting is terrible. The one guy looks like he's being held hostage."
Lilia laughed, bright and genuine. "He probably is."
"Right?! And the benefits are garbage. I looked it up once. The health insurance doesn't even cover therapy, which seems like something Espers would desperately need? And the retirement plan is just 'hope you last long enough to retire.' No thanks. I'll take my chances with the spiders."
"The government does have its flaws," Lilia agreed, something twinkling in his eyes. "But the Bureau isn't as bad as you think it is."
You looked at him skeptically. "Are you a recruiter? Is this a recruitment pitch? Because I gotta tell you, the free ice cream already happened. You can't get me twice."
"Not a recruiter," he said, grinning. "Just someone with experience. The Bureau has its problems, certainly, but there are benefits too. It gives you access to Guides who can keep you from barbecuing your apartment every time you see an insect."
"I'm doing fine on my own."
"You needed me twice in one day because you almost went insane."
"...Okay but besides that."
Lilia's expression went soft, almost fond. "Come with me tomorrow. Somewhere interesting. I think you'll be surprised."
You should say no. Technically, this dude was still a stranger. You'd known him for less than a day. He could be anyone. A serial killer. A organ harvester. A time-share salesman.
But there was something about the melancholy in his eyes when he'd touched you, when he'd looked so surprised that his powers worked. Something genuine and a little bit sad and entirely trustable.
"Fine," you said. "But if you're a serial killer, I'm going to haunt you so hard. I'll be the most annoying ghost. I'll move your furniture two inches to the left every night. I'll make your milk spoil early. I'll hide one sock from every pair."
Lilia laughed, standing up and reaching over to ruffle your hair. "Duly noted. I'll pick you up at ten."
He left, and you sat in your apartment with a scorch mark on the wall and a strange man's number in your phone and the distinct feeling that your life was about to get significantly more complicated.
Lilia took you to a Gate.
No, not the general vicinity of a Gate. He took you RIGHT to a Gate, close enough that you could see the weird shimmer of it, like heat waves rising off asphalt in summer except the asphalt was a tear in reality and the heat waves were dimensional energy that probably caused cancer.
There were Guides waiting outside.
You could tell they were Guides by the way they were standing around looking nervous and checking their devices obsessively and doing that thing where they pretend they're not worried while being EXTREMELY worried.
One was pacing back and forth so much they were going to wear a groove in the sidewalk. Another was hiding behind a trashcan—fully committed to the hiding, crouched down with just their eyes peeking over the top—and you respected that level of dedication to anxiety management. A third was absolutely SCREAMING at another Guide who looked sheepish and kept trying to explain themselves.
"—APPLE JUICE? You filled the first aid kit with APPLE JUICE instead of stabilizers?!"
"In my defense, they're both liquids—"
"THAT IS NOT A DEFENSE. THAT'S NOT EVEN CLOSE TO A DEFENSE. DO YOU KNOW WHAT APPLE JUICE DOES FOR PSYCHIC OVERLOAD?"
"...Provides vitamin C?"
"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I STRANGLE YOU."
You looked at Lilia. "What are we doing here?"
He grinned, all mischief and secrets, and motioned for you to sit down on a nearby bench.
You sat.
"Usually civilians aren't allowed this close," you pointed out, eyeing the perimeter that you were definitely inside of.
"Usually," Lilia agreed, settling next to you like he didn't have a care in the world.
Nobody said anything. Not the Bureau personnel managing the perimeter. Not the Guides. Nobody even looked at you twice.
Lilia apparently had the kind of pull that made people just... accept his presence. And by extension, yours.
You filed that information away under "things that should probably concern me but don't because I'm too committed to this poor decision."
"We're watching," Lilia said simply. "Just watch."
So you watched.
The Gate shimmered. Pulsed. And then Espers started stumbling out.
Some were walking on their own, relatively stable but with that look in their eyes like they were holding themselves together through sheer willpower. Others were stumbling, barely keeping upright, their movements jerky and uncoordinated like puppets with tangled strings.
The Guides moved immediately.
Some ran to their Espers, catching them before they fell. Others waited, arms outstretched, as their Espers made their way over on shaky legs.
The Guide who'd been hiding behind the trashcan suddenly found their courage and sprinted to catch their Esper, who collapsed into their arms with the kind of trust that comes from knowing someone will be there to catch you.
You watched as connections happened. Skin-to-skin contact. The immediate relaxation in the Espers' postures as they were Guided. The relief on the Guides' faces as they confirmed their Espers were alive and relatively intact.
It made you feel... lonely.
Which was stupid. You'd chosen isolation.
You'd chosen to hide your powers, to avoid the Bureau, to keep yourself separate from all of this. You'd made that choice specifically to avoid getting caught up in this system, to avoid becoming another tool for the government to use and discard.
But watching someone wait for their Esper, watching them catch them before they fell, watching the way they held each other like they were the only solid thing in each other's worlds...
That made something in your chest ache.
Your powers had made you isolate yourself. Fear of hurting others. Fear of getting caught. Fear of losing control. You'd cut yourself off from people, kept yourself small and hidden and alone, because it seemed safer than the alternative.
But safe was also lonely.
And watching these pairs—watching the way they moved together, supported each other, trusted each other—made you realize how much you'd given up by choosing to hide.
Lilia tapped your cheek gently, pulling you out of your thoughts.
He pointed toward the Gate entrance.
The final Espers were stumbling out, and with them came civilians—regular people who'd been caught in the Gate when it opened, trapped inside with the monsters until the Espers could clear it and get them out.
They were crying. Thanking the Espers. Hugging them. One old woman grabbed an Esper's face and kissed their forehead while sobbing about how she thought she'd never see her grandchildren again.
The Espers looked exhausted and uncomfortable with the attention, but also... proud. Like they knew they'd done something that mattered.
Like they'd made a difference.
You felt something shift in your chest.
Your dead-end convenience store job had never made anyone cry with relief. You'd never saved anyone from monsters. The most impact you'd had on someone's life was probably giving them the correct change and not judging them for buying weird snack combinations at 2 AM.
This... this was different.
"So," Lilia said softly, his voice losing some of its usual playfulness. "What do you think?"
You were quiet for a moment, watching the last civilian get escorted to a waiting ambulance, still thanking every Esper they passed.
"I think..." You swallowed. "I think my job sucks and I've been wasting my life."
Lilia laughed, warm and understanding. "Many people feel that way. But you have a choice now."
"The Bureau—"
"Has its problems, yes. We've established this." He turned to look at you fully, those red eyes serious despite his smile. "But it also has purpose. Structure. Training. People who will catch you when you fall." He paused. "And if you want to resign and run away after the first week, I'll help you hide. I know some excellent hiding spots. Very dramatic. One of them is in a cave."
"A cave?"
"I have eclectic tastes."
You looked back at the Gate. At the Guides helping their Espers toward the medical tent. At the civilians being reunited with worried family members. At the Bureau personnel coordinating everything with practiced efficiency despite the apple juice incident.
It wasn't perfect. It was bureaucratic and messy and probably full of paperwork and annoying rules.
But it was also... something. Something more than hiding and pretending and living in fear of sneezing wrong.
"Okay," you said.
Lilia blinked. "Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. I'll give it a shot." You looked at him. "But you have to help me. I don't know how any of this works. I don't know what I'm doing. I've been avoiding this my entire life."
His smile was softer than you'd seen it, almost proud. "I can do that."
"And if it sucks—"
"Cave. Very dramatic. Possibly some bats."
"Perfect."
You sat there for a moment longer, watching the organized chaos of a successful Gate clear, feeling like you were standing on the edge of something huge and terrifying and maybe, possibly, worth it.
Lilia stood up, offering you his hand.
You took it.
"Come on then," he said cheerfully. "Let's go ruin some bureaucrat's day with paperwork."
"Is that fun for you?"
"Immensely."
You followed him away from the Gate, toward whatever fresh hell you'd just agreed to, and tried not to think about how your entire life had just changed because of a spider, an alley, and a short man with excellent hair and mysterious government connections.
Lilia waited outside while you got tested.
The testing room looked like someone had combined a doctor's office with a sci-fi movie set and then given up halfway through decorating. There was a glowing orb on a pedestal in the center that looked like it had been stolen from a fantasy game.
The walls were that specific shade of beige that only existed in government buildings, and there was a motivational poster featuring an Esper punching a monster with the caption "TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK" that had clearly been put up by someone who had never actually been inside a Gate.
You expected a solid A-rank. Maybe B.
You'd sneezed a car into orbit and barbecued a spider through a wall, sure, but that didn't necessarily mean you were anything special. Lots of Espers could do property damage. It was kind of their whole thing.
The recruitment videos were basically just montages of Espers breaking stuff in increasingly impressive ways while dramatic music played.
The Bureau person overseeing your test—a tired-looking woman with glasses held together by tape and a clipboard that had seen better days—gestured at the orb like she was explaining how to use a microwave for the ten thousandth time.
"Put your hand on it," she said in the tone of someone who had said this exact phrase 5,000 times and had lost all will to live around iteration 364.
You put your hand on the orb. It felt warm and tingly. It was like touching a TV screen with static electricity, except the TV was a metaphysical representation of your soul's power level and also possibly judging you.
The orb glowed brighter, which seemed normal. Then it glowed even brighter, which seemed less normal. Then it started making a noise—a high-pitched whine that sounded like a kettle screaming its last dying breath.
The woman looked up from her clipboard, eyes widening as her pen clattered to the floor.
The orb flashed brilliant white, bright enough that you had to squint, and spat out a holographic display with letters so large you could probably see them from space: SS-RANK
You stared at it. The woman stared at it. You stared at the woman. She stared back, and her expression transformed from tired bureaucrat to kid on Christmas morning who just got the exact toy they wanted so fast you got whiplash watching it happen. Her entire face lit up like someone had flipped a switch.
"Oh my god," she whispered, and you started backing up slowly because you recognized that look. That was the look of someone about to make your problem their entire personality.
"OH MY GOD!" She lunged for a phone on the wall with the speed of someone who had been waiting their entire career for this exact moment. "WE HAVE AN SS-RANK! I REPEAT, WE HAVE AN SS-RANK! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! SOMEONE GET HR! SOMEONE GET EVERYONE! SOMEONE GET THE GOOD COFFEE FROM THE EXECUTIVE BREAK ROOM!"
You backed up faster, eyeing the door. The door burst open before you could reach it, and approximately seven people in Bureau uniforms rushed in like you'd just announced free pizza in the break room.
They all looked at you with identical expressions of barely contained hysteria. Then at the orb, which was still displaying SS-RANK in letters that seemed to be getting bigger out of spite. Then back at you. Their expressions were terrifying in their enthusiasm, like a pack of very professional wolves that had just spotted a very valuable sheep.
You were about to make a break for the window—second floor be damned, you'd survived worse—when someone from HR materialized out of nowhere and physically blocked your escape route.
How did a HR person move that fast? Was there some kind of special HR technique they taught where you learned to sense when someone was about to flee? The HR person was slightly out of breath and clutching a contract so thick it could probably be used as a weapon.
"WAIT!" they shouted, holding up both hands like they were trying to calm a spooked horse. "Wait wait wait, don't run, we have BENEFITS!"
"I'm good actually—" you started, still edging toward the window.
"INSURANCE!" they interrupted desperately, and you could see the fear in their eyes that you were going to bail. "Full coverage! Medical, dental, vision! We'll include DENTAL! Do you know how rare dental coverage is? It's VERY rare! People write poems about dental coverage!"
You hesitated. Dental was expensive. You'd been using the same retainer for three years because you couldn't afford to replace it.
"We'll pay your rent!" another Bureau person chimed in, jumping on your moment of weakness like a shark sensing blood in the water. "Full coverage, any apartment within city limits! You want a penthouse? We'll get you a penthouse! You want a place with a balcony? DONE! You want one of those fancy buildings with a doorman who judges everyone? WE'LL MAKE IT HAPPEN!"
"We'll assign you a high-level Guide immediately!" someone else added, practically climbing over their colleague to be heard. "Top tier! The best! S-rank minimum! They won't fill the first aid kit with apple juice, we promise! That was ONE time and he has been reprimanded!"
The HR people could sense your flight instinct was still on full throttle. They were throwing benefits at you like someone trying to lure a feral cat with treats, getting increasingly creative and increasingly desperate. "Pension plan! Hazard pay! Access to the executive cafeteria, which has the GOOD coffee, not the break room sludge that tastes like someone strained it through a gym sock!"
"Paid time off!" another voice called from somewhere in the growing crowd.
"Gym membership! With the pool! The nice pool, not the one where someone saw a rat!"
"Free therapy! Which you'll need! We're very upfront about that! The job is stressful! We have EXCELLENT therapists! Some of them have only mild stress-related disorders themselves!"
You were being cornered by increasingly frantic Bureau employees listing benefits while you calculated whether you could fit through the air vent in the ceiling. It looked narrow, but you were motivated.
"A week off every month," you said desperately, playing your trump card because you were running out of wall to back up against.
Everyone went silent. The HR person's eye twitched. Someone in the back whispered "is that allowed?" and got immediately shushed.
"That's... that's excessive," the HR person said weakly.
"SS-rank," you pointed out, gesturing at the orb which was still helpfully displaying your rank like the world's most obnoxious scoreboard. "According to your glowing ball of judgment. I could probably sneeze this building into the sun if I wanted to. Accidentally. I have a history of sneezing things into orbit. Ask my old landlord."
You watched them do the mental math. You could practically see the calculations happening behind their eyes: cost of benefits versus value of SS-rank Esper versus likelihood of this person actually sneezing the building into the sun versus how badly they needed an SS-rank on their roster versus how much paperwork it would be if you escaped through the window.
"Deal," the HR person said, slapping the contract down on the nearest surface with the force of someone who had made a decision and was committed to it even if it killed them. "Sign here, here, and here. Initial here. Blood type here—that's for medical, not a ritual, I know it looks suspicious with the red ink but I promise it's normal paperwork. We just ran out of black pens and nobody wants to go to the supply closet because it's haunted."
You signed. Your hand was shaking slightly, and you weren't sure if it was from nerves or from the dawning realization that you'd just agreed to the exact thing you'd been avoiding for years or from the fact that the HR person had just casually mentioned their supply closet was haunted and nobody had questioned it.
But hey. Dental.
You stumbled out of the testing room in a daze, clutching your copy of the contract like it was a life preserver and you were drowning in a sea of poor decisions.
The past thirty minutes had been a whirlwind of glowing orbs and enthusiastic Bureau employees and benefits negotiations that had felt more like hostage negotiations.
Lilia was leaning against the wall outside, looking perfectly relaxed and completely unbothered by the muffled shouting that had definitely been audible from the hallway. He was examining his nails again, because apparently that was his default state of being. He grinned when he saw you.
"How'd it go?" he asked cheerfully, like he didn't already know the answer based on the fact that you looked like you'd just survived a natural disaster.
"SS-rank," you said numbly, still not quite believing it yourself.
His eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise flickering across his face before settling into something that looked almost like pride. "Oh my. That's exciting."
"They offered me dental."
"Well, that's just good sense. Dental is important. You should take care of your teeth."
"I signed my life away for dental and a week off per month."
"The week off is clever negotiating. I'm proud of you." He pushed off the wall with the easy grace of someone who had never been awkward a day in his life. "You'll do well here. Try not to sneeze any buildings into orbit. I imagine the paperwork for that would be extensive."
You grabbed his sleeve before he could walk away, your fingers clenching in the fabric with perhaps more desperation than was strictly dignified. "Be my Guide."
Lilia blinked, his expression cycling through confusion and then carefully controlled neutrality. "What?"
"Be my Guide," you repeated, more firmly this time. "They said they'd assign me a high-level Guide but I don't want a stranger. You're good at it. You made the drywall cravings stop. Twice. That's a 100% success rate. That's better statistics than most medical procedures."
Something flickered across his face—surprise, then something softer and sadder that made him look older than he should. "I don't work here."
You stared at him. Blinked. Stared some more. Your brain made the sound of a computer trying to process an error message and failing spectacularly.
"You... what?"
"I don't work for the Bureau," he said simply, like this was a perfectly normal thing to drop into conversation and not information that recontextualized your entire interaction.
"What does that MEAN?" You grabbed his shoulders and shook him, which was difficult because he was sturdier than he looked. "Are you in another branch? Are you a foreign Guide? Are you freelance? IS THAT A THING? CAN GUIDES BE FREELANCE? Why were you in that alley? Why did you help me? Why did you bring me here? EXPLAIN!"
"Stop shaking me, you'll give me whiplash and then who will Guide you through your inevitable breakdown?" Lilia said, looking more amused than concerned about being physically rattled like a snow globe.
You stopped shaking him but kept your hands on his shoulders, fixing him with your most intense stare. The one that usually made convenience store shoplifters confess immediately. "Explain. Now. Use your words. Complete sentences."
Lilia sighed, and that melancholy you'd glimpsed before crept back into his expression like fog rolling in. His usual playful mask slipped just enough that you could see something raw underneath. "I lost my Guide powers years ago."
You felt your stomach drop somewhere into the vicinity of your feet. "What?"
"An injury. An incident. A very exciting story that I don't particularly enjoy telling." He looked at you with those red eyes that suddenly seemed much older than they should be, ancient in a way that made you want to ask questions you weren't sure you wanted answered.
"The details don't matter. What matters is that I haven't been able to Guide anyone in a very long time. Somehow, you're the only one I can Guide. I don't know why. You're an anomaly. A statistical impossibility. Probably a clerical error in the universe's filing system."
That explained everything. The shock on his face every time he touched you and it worked. The surprise, and the nostalgia. The way he looked at you like you were something precious and impossible. The melancholy that crept in around the edges when he thought you weren't looking.
He'd been a Guide. Probably a good one, based on how effective he was with you. And then he'd lost it, lost that fundamental part of himself, and had been living without it until you'd stumbled into an alley and passed out at his feet.
"Be my Guide," you said again, quieter this time but no less firm.
"I don't think that's a good idea—"
"I came here because of you," you interrupted, and you weren't above guilt-tripping him if that's what it took because you'd already signed the contract and you were committed now and the idea of doing this with anyone else made your chest tight.
"You took me to that Gate. You showed me those people, those Espers and Guides working together. You showed me the civilians they saved. You convinced me this was worth trying, that maybe I could do something that mattered instead of just hiding and working a dead-end job and pretending I was normal. How can you just leave me here alone after all that? That's so cold. That's heartless. I thought we had a bond. I thought we were friends. I'm going to cry."
"You're not going to cry."
"I might! You don't know! I'm very emotional right now! I just found out I'm SS-rank, which I'm still processing, and I signed a contract that's probably going to ruin my life, and there was SO much paperwork, and one of the sections mentioned the haunted supply closet very casually, and I think I'm having a crisis!"
Lilia looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he started laughing—that genuine, delighted laugh that made him seem younger and less mysterious and more like a person who enjoyed chaos for its own sake. "You're very convincing. Has anyone ever told you that you'd make an excellent lawyer? Or possibly a con artist?"
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a yes." He gently removed your hands from his shoulders and patted your head like you were a particularly amusing puppy who had just done a trick. "Fine. You win. I'll be your Guide. But when you inevitably regret this decision, I want you to remember that you literally begged me."
"I'm fine with that. I'll write it down. I'll get it notarized."
"Let's go ruin HR's day twice in one afternoon," he said, walking toward the HR office.
You followed, feeling like you'd just won something but weren't entirely sure what. You could hear muffled sounds from other rooms—someone yelling about proper Gate procedure, someone else crying, the distant sound of what might have been a small explosion or just someone dropping something heavy.
The HR person looked up when Lilia walked in, saw exactly who it was, and their expression cycled through confusion, recognition, shock, horror, resignation, and finally the blank exhaustion of someone who had given up on understanding their life.
They looked like they aged ten years in five seconds.
"Vanrouge," they said weakly, and there was so much history in how they said his name. Exhaustion. Exasperation. This was someone who had dealt with this particular person before and knew exactly what was about to happen.
"Hello again!" Lilia said cheerfully, giving a little wave like he was greeting an old friend at a coffee shop and not walking into a government office to upend someone's afternoon. "I'd like to register as a Guide."
"You... your powers..." The HR person looked like they were trying to figure out how to phrase this delicately and failing. "You haven't been able to Guide anyone in years."
"Apparently they work on our new SS-rank friend here." He gestured at you with a flourish, like you were a prize on a game show. "So we may as well make it official, don't you think? It would be a shame to waste such a miraculous recovery. Very inspiring. You could probably make a motivational poster out of it."
The HR person looked at you with an expression that clearly said "why would you choose this?" Then at Lilia, who was radiating innocence in a way that was deeply suspicious. Then at the ceiling like they were asking for divine intervention or possibly checking to see if God was watching and judging their life choices.
"I don't get paid enough for this," they muttered, pulling out another contract from a drawer that seemed to contain nothing but contracts and disappointment.
"You know what? Fine. FINE. Today is clearly a day where nothing makes sense and the universe has decided to mess with me personally. Let's just... let's just do this. Do you have any idea how much paperwork this is going to be? Do you? Because it's a LOT. There are FORMS. So many forms. Forms about forms."
"I love paperwork," Lilia said, absolutely lying.
You and Lilia exchanged glances. He winked at you, eyes glinting with mischief and something that might have been genuine happiness. You tried not to smile and failed spectacularly, your face breaking into a grin that probably made you look slightly unhinged.
This was either the best decision you'd ever made or the worst, and honestly, you were fine with either option as long as it came with dental and Lilia's terrible sense of humor and the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you'd found something worth staying for.
The HR person began aggressively stapling papers together like they were taking out their frustrations on office supplies.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
The Bureau had decided, in their infinite wisdom, to immediately introduce you to your new colleagues.
Because apparently "letting you process the fact that you just signed away your life" was not on today's agenda. The HR person who looked like they'd aged a decade in the past hour led you down a hallway, muttering something about "team integration" and "collaborative synergy" and other corporate buzzwords that made you want to throw yourself out a window.
Lilia walked beside you, humming that creepy music box tune again, looking far too entertained by your obvious distress. His eyes were practically glittering with mischief, which should have been your first warning that whatever was about to happen was going to be deeply unpleasant for you and extremely entertaining for him.
"You'll love them," he said cheerfully, which was exactly the kind of thing people said right before you met people you would absolutely not love.
"I don't love anyone," you muttered, trying to mentally prepare yourself for whatever fresh hell awaited.
"Not even me? I'm wounded. Devastated. I may never recover from this betrayal."
The HR person stopped in front of a door, took a deep breath like they were preparing for battle or possibly their own execution, and opened it. "Your new team," they announced, gesturing inside with all the enthusiasm of someone introducing you to a root canal performed by a dentist with shaky hands.
You stepped inside and immediately wanted to step back out, directly into traffic, which would probably be safer.
There were two people in the room, and they were possibly the most contrasting pair you'd ever seen. One of them was half asleep standing up—actually standing there with his eyes closed, arms crossed, somehow maintaining perfect posture while clearly unconscious.
His hair was silver and fell across his face in a way that should have looked messy but instead looked like he'd stepped out of a shampoo commercial. He had the kind of ethereal pretty-boy look that belonged in a boy band or a fantasy novel about sad elves. He was breathing slowly and evenly, and you were genuinely impressed that someone could sleep standing up without falling over.
That took skill. Or possibly narcolepsy. Or maybe he was dead and just really committed to staying upright.
The other one looked like he was vibrating with righteous fury, like someone had taken all the rage in the world and compressed it into one human-shaped container that was about to explode.
His hair was aggressively green, styled in a way that seemed to defy both gravity and good sense. His eyes were wide and intense like he'd been waiting his entire life for something to be angry about and had finally, finally found it.
He was staring at you with an expression that suggested you'd personally insulted his entire family, his ancestors, his ancestors' ancestors, and possibly his favorite breakfast cereal.
You raised your hand in what you hoped was a friendly, non-threatening wave. "Hi, I'm—"
"HOW DARE YOU!" the green-haired one exploded, his voice reaching decibels that probably violated several noise ordinances and possibly the Geneva Convention.
You blinked. "What?"
"HOW DARE YOU CASUALLY TOUCH MASTER LILIA!" He pointed at you with a finger that was shaking with emotion, his whole arm trembling like he was physically restraining himself from attacking you.
His face was turning red, which clashed spectacularly with his green hair in a way that made him look like a very angry Christmas decoration. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO HE IS? THE AUDACITY! THE SHEER DISRESPECT! AND YOU—A HUMAN?!"
You stared at him, your brain struggling to process what was happening. "What does that even mean? We're all human here. That's—that's just a fact. Basic biology. Are you okay? Do you need to sit down? Do you need a paper bag to breathe into? Are you having a medical emergency?"
"I AM PERFECTLY FINE!" he screamed, somehow getting even louder, which you hadn't thought was physically possible. "YOU ARE THE PROBLEM! YOU WALTZ IN HERE, AN UNREGISTERED ESPER WHO PROBABLY DOESN'T EVEN KNOW PROPER PROTOCOL, AND YOU DARE TO—TO MAKE MASTER LILIA SIGN A CONTRACT? TO BECOME YOUR GUIDE? THE PRESUMPTION! THE ARROGANCE! THE—THE—"
Something in you snapped. Maybe it was the stress of the day. Maybe it was the fact that you'd just signed your life away for dental coverage. Maybe it was because this guy was yelling at you for reasons you didn't understand and hadn't even introduced himself first and you'd had about enough of today already.
"LISTEN HERE, YOU SENTIENT HIGHLIGHTER!" you yelled back, matching his volume and possibly exceeding it. "I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE, BUT I JUST HAD A VERY STRESSFUL DAY! I FOUND OUT I'M SS-RANK, WHICH IS INSANE! I SIGNED A CONTRACT THAT'S PROBABLY CURSED! THERE'S A HAUNTED SUPPLY CLOSET SOMEWHERE IN THIS BUILDING AND NOBODY WILL EXPLAIN WHY!"
"THAT'S NO EXCUSE FOR YOUR BLATANT DISRESPECT—"
"DISRESPECT?! I LITERALLY JUST MET YOU! I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME! YOU COULD BE ANYONE! YOU COULD BE KEVIN FROM ACCOUNTING FOR ALL I KNOW!"
"I AM NOT KEVIN FROM ACCOUNTING! I AM SEBEK ZIGVOLT, ELITE ESPER AND—"
"WELL GOOD FOR YOU, SEBEK!" You were fully panicking now, words just falling out of your mouth with no filter. "I NEED TO BUY EGGS! AND MILK! MY REFRIGERATOR IS EMPTY! I HAVEN'T DONE LAUNDRY IN TWO WEEKS! I'M WEARING MY EMERGENCY UNDERWEAR! DO YOU KNOW HOW STRESSFUL THAT IS?!"
Sebek faltered, looking confused. "What—"
"AND ANOTHER THING!" You were on a roll now, your brain completely divorced from reality. "I THINK I LEFT MY STOVE ON! DID I TURN IT OFF? I CAN'T REMEMBER! WHAT IF MY APARTMENT BURNS DOWN?! I JUST RENEWED MY LEASE! THE DEPOSIT WAS SO EXPENSIVE!"
"THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH—"
"I ALSO NEED TO RETURN MY LIBRARY BOOKS! THEY'RE THREE WEEKS OVERDUE! THE LATE FEES ARE GOING TO BE ASTRONOMICAL! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH LIBRARIES CHARGE?!" You were gesturing wildly now, completely unhinged. "AND I NEVER CALLED MY MOM BACK! SHE'S GOING TO BE SO MAD! SHE ALWAYS ASKS IF I'M EATING ENOUGH VEGETABLES AND I ALWAYS LIE!"
"STOP SPOUTING NONSENSE—"
"IT'S NOT NONSENSE, IT'S MY LIFE, SEBEK! MY LIFE IS NONSENSE! I SAW A RACCOON YESTERDAY AND IT JUDGED ME! A RACCOON! I COULD SEE IT IN ITS LITTLE RACCOON EYES! IT KNEW I WAS A MESS!"
"WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?!"
"I DON'T KNOW! I'M HAVING A CRISIS! MULTIPLE CRISES! A CRISIS SANDWICH! AND YOU'RE YELLING AT ME ABOUT TOUCHING LILIA WHEN HE'S THE ONE WHO GRABBED MY HAND FIRST! I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS! I DIDN'T ASK FOR ANY OF THIS! I JUST WANTED TO LIVE A QUIET LIFE AND MAYBE ADOPT A CAT SOMEDAY!"
Sebek looked like his brain was short-circuiting trying to process your increasingly unhinged yelling. "YOU—YOU CAN'T JUST—"
"I ALSO THINK I'M LACTOSE INTOLERANT BUT I KEEP EATING CHEESE ANYWAY! IT'S A PROBLEM! I HAVE MANY PROBLEMS! CHEESE IS JUST ONE OF THEM!" You were fully spiraling now. "AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON MY STUDENT LOANS! DO YOU HAVE STUDENT LOANS, SEBEK?! BECAUSE THEY'RE TERRIBLE! THEY FOLLOW YOU EVERYWHERE! IT'S LIKE BEING HAUNTED BY DEBT!"
"MASTER LILIA DESERVES BETTER THAN—"
"BETTER THAN WHAT?! SOMEONE WHO NEEDS TO BUY EGGS?! SOMEONE WHO'S BAD AT RETURNING LIBRARY BOOKS?! I'M DOING MY BEST HERE!" You threw your hands up. "I DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO BE AN ESPER! I WANTED TO BE A MARINE BIOLOGIST! BUT NO! I HAD TO SNEEZE A CAR INTO ORBIT! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO EXPLAIN THAT?!"
Sebek's eye was twitching. He looked like he couldn't decide if he wanted to continue yelling at you or just give up on the conversation entirely. "YOU'RE COMPLETELY UNHINGED!"
"YEAH, WELL, YOU'RE YELLING AT A STRANGER ABOUT TOUCHING SOMEONE WHO GRABBED ME FIRST, SO WHO'S REALLY UNHINGED HERE?!"
That's when you noticed it—static. Visible static electricity gathering around his hands, crackling in the air like he was a human Tesla coil who'd decided you needed to be deleted from existence.
Little sparks jumped between his fingers, making a sound like angry bees. The lights flickered ominously. Your hair started standing on end, which was just great because you already looked like a mess and now you were going to look like a mess who'd stuck their finger in an electrical socket.
Oh.
Oh no.
He was an Esper. Obviously. You were in the Bureau.
But he was an Esper who was currently furious at you for yelling about groceries and library books and was generating what looked like enough electricity to power a small city or possibly just electrocute you to death, and you'd really prefer the first option but suspected you were going to get the second.
You started backing up quickly, hands raised in surrender, your survival instincts finally kicking in. "Okay, okay, let's just calm down! Let's all take a deep breath! No need for the lightning! I'm sure we can talk about this like rational adults! I take back the highlighter comment! Your hair is very—it's very green! That's a neutral observation! Actually, it's nice! Very vibrant! Really pops! Makes a statement!"
"NEUTRAL?! MY HAIR IS MAGNIFICENT! IT'S A TESTAMENT TO MY DEDICATION AND—"
"YES! MAGNIFICENT! EXACTLY WHAT I MEANT! VERY MAGNIFICENT! EXTREMELY MAGNIFICENT! THE MOST MAGNIFICENT HAIR I'VE EVER SEEN! PLEASE DON'T ELECTROCUTE ME! I STILL NEED TO BUY THOSE EGGS!"
"WHY DO YOU KEEP TALKING ABOUT EGGS?!"
"I DON'T KNOW! I'M PANICKING! THIS IS HOW I PANIC! I THINK ABOUT GROCERIES! IT'S A COPING MECHANISM!"
You backed up directly into something solid—someone solid—and stumbled. You immediately started apologizing because your mother had raised you with manners even if everything else in your life was currently a disaster movie. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to—I'm just trying not to get electrocuted—very sorry—"
You looked back to see who you'd bumped into.
And up.
And further up.
And even further up because this person was unreasonably tall.
There was a guy with horns on his head. Actual honest-to-god horns that curved back from his temples like he was part dragon or demon or some kind of mythological creature that had decided to take human form and join the Bureau.
He was tall—impossibly tall, and made you feel like a small child looking up at an adult, except worse because you were an adult and he was just absurdly, unfairly tall.
His presence felt heavy, like gravity worked differently around him, like the air itself was bending to accommodate his existence. His eyes were green and sharp and ancient, looking at you with an expression that was either curiosity or the prelude to you being smited, and you weren't sure which would be worse.
He was wearing a Bureau uniform that somehow looked formal and elegant on him instead of like sad government-issued clothing, like he'd personally upgraded the dress code through sheer force of presence alone.
You knew this guy.
You'd seen him on the news. Multiple times. Usually with headlines like "STRONGEST ESPER CLEARS S-RANK GATE SOLO" or "MALLEUS DRACONIA SAVES CITY, CAUSES MINOR EARTHQUAKE" or your personal favorite from last month: "PLEASE STOP ASKING THE STRONGEST ESPER IF HE'S SINGLE, SAYS INCREASINGLY DESPERATE BUREAU SPOKESPERSON."
This was Malleus Draconia. The world's strongest Esper. SSS-rank, technically only one level above you, except he's been SSS-rank for years and actually knew what he was doing and probably didn't yell about grocery lists when confronted.
He could level mountains. He'd once accidentally caused a three-day thunderstorm because he was in a bad mood. There were rumors that he'd solo-cleared a Gate that had been designated "certain death" and came out without a scratch, looking mildly annoyed that it hadn't been more challenging.
Other rumors suggested that monsters sometimes just gave up and left when they sensed him coming.
You were stuck between a guy who wanted to electrocute you for unclear reasons involving touching Lilia and the world's strongest Esper, and you had the sudden, horrible certainty that you were going to die here.
On your first day. Before you even got to use your dental benefits. They'd find your body and the HR person would sigh and add you to some statistic about "new recruits who didn't make it past orientation."
This was it. This was how it ended. Death by angry colleagues in a room that smelled like industrial cleaner and broken dreams.
You opened your mouth, possibly to apologize or possibly to scream, you weren't sure.
To your complete and utter surprise, Malleus looked at the green-haired lightning generator and said, in a voice that was calm and deep and somehow made the air feel heavier, like his words had physical weight, "Sebek. Stop."
The effect was immediate and honestly kind of scary.
Sebek went completely still. The static crackling around his hands vanished instantly like someone had flipped a switch or unplugged him from whatever rage generator he'd been connected to.
His expression transformed from righteous fury to something that looked like a kicked puppy trying very hard to maintain dignity and composure in front of someone they desperately wanted to impress.
"But Young Master—" Sebek started, and his voice had completely changed, going from screaming banshee to something almost pleading.
"Stop," Malleus repeated, and there was no room for argument in his tone. His tone said "this discussion is over and we both know it."
Sebek stopped. He even stepped back, though he continued glaring at you with the intensity of someone mentally cataloging all your flaws for a future report that would probably be seventeen pages long and include citations.
You looked up at Malleus, and words started tumbling out of your mouth before your brain could stop them. "Thank you, thank you so much, I really appreciate it, I don't know what I did to make him angry but I'm sure we can work it out, I'm new here, first day actually, just signed the contract like an hour ago, still processing everything, definitely didn't mean to cause problems, thank you for not letting me get electrocuted, I really value not being electrocuted, it's like my third favorite thing after not being on fire and having all my organs on the inside where they belong—"
You were rambling. You were definitely rambling. But you couldn't stop because the alternative was silence and silence meant thinking about how you were trapped between two very powerful Espers and had somehow made enemies within the first five minutes of meeting your colleagues and your life was spiraling out of control.
Malleus tilted his head slightly, regarding you with what might have been amusement. His expression was hard to read, ancient and knowing in a way that made you feel like he could see directly into your soul and was finding the experience mildly entertaining. "You're the new SS-rank."
"That's me! Surprise! I'm just as surprised as everyone else! The orb thing said SS and I thought maybe it was broken or having a technical malfunction but apparently not! Apparently I'm just very powerful and had no idea! Cool! Great! Wonderful! Totally not terrifying at all!" You were still talking too fast, words running together. "I also still need to buy eggs! That's still a thing! The eggs situation hasn't resolved itself!"
"Interesting," Malleus said, and you couldn't tell if that was good interesting or "I'm going to study you like a bug" interesting or "I'm going to crush you like a bug" interesting.
You decided not to find out.
"Well, this has been great, really great, lovely meeting everyone, very educational, we should do this again sometime when I'm less likely to die, okay bye!" You ducked around Malleus with the agility of someone whose survival instincts had finally, finally kicked in after being on vacation for the past ten minutes, and ran for the door like your life depended on it.
Behind you, you heard Lilia's delighted laughter, bright and genuinely entertained. Sebek was sputtering something that sounded like more yelling mixed with protests and possibly the beginning of another lecture about proper respect.
And the silver-haired guy was apparently still asleep through all of it, which was honestly impressive. You'd just had a screaming match with someone who'd tried to electrocute you and he hadn't even stirred. That was commitment to napping.
You burst out into the hallway, pressed your back against the wall, and tried to remember how to breathe normally. Your heart was racing. Your hands were shaking. You were pretty sure you'd just had several years shaved off your life expectancy.
The HR person was standing there waiting for you, looking completely unsurprised by your dramatic exit. They didn't even look up from their clipboard.
"How'd it go?" they asked in a tone that suggested they already knew exactly how it went.
"I almost died," you gasped out, still trying to catch your breath.
"Yeah, that's pretty normal for meeting Sebek." They checked something off on their clipboard with a pen that looked like it was barely holding on to life. "You lasted longer than the last new recruit though. He ran out crying after two minutes. You made it almost five. That's a new record."
"That's—that's not comforting! That doesn't make me feel better! Why is that the standard?!"
"Wasn't trying to be comforting. Just factual." They started walking down the hallway at a brisk pace that suggested they had places to be and new recruits to traumatize. "Come on. I'll show you to your office. Try not to freeze anything or electrocute yourself or anger any more of your colleagues."
"I don't have ice powers!"
"Yet," they muttered ominously, like they knew something you didn't.
"What does that mean?! HEY! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!"
They didn't answer, just kept walking, and you had no choice but to follow while wondering if it was too late to get your old convenience store job back.
You decided that yes, it probably was, especially since you'd told your manager you were quitting by text message with the words "I HAVE FOUND MY TRUE CALLING" followed by seventeen exclamation points and three emojis you'd selected at random because you were having a crisis.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
Today was your first Gate.
You'd spent the past week in what the Bureau called "accelerated training," which was a fancy way of saying "we're going to throw information at you until you cry and hope some of it sticks."
There had been lectures about Gate classifications, monster types, proper combat formations, emergency protocols, and a truly baffling presentation about why you shouldn't try to pet anything that came out of a Gate, no matter how cute it looked. That last one had apparently been added after an incident that everyone referred to as "The Fluffy Incident" and refused to elaborate on.
You'd also been avoiding Sebek, which was harder than it should have been because he seemed to have a sixth sense for wherever you were and would show up to glare at you while muttering about proper respect and protocol.
The silver-haired guy—Silver—had woken up long enough to introduce himself politely before falling asleep again mid-sentence. Malleus had nodded at you once in the hallway, and you'd nodded back at him really hard because you were trying not to offend a natural disaster in human form.
Now you were sitting in the briefing room, choking on your coffee because Lilia had just told you that yes, you were going into a Gate today, and no, it wasn't going to be a small one.
"B-rank," you wheezed, coffee going down the wrong pipe. "You're sending me into a B-rank Gate? On my first day? In the field?"
"It's not your first day," Lilia said cheerfully, smacking your back repeatedly with more force than seemed necessary. Each hit felt like being hit with a small hammer wielded by someone who thought physical therapy meant causing pain. "You've had a whole week of training! You're practically a veteran!"
"A week!" you coughed out, your lungs trying to remember how to process oxygen instead of coffee. "That's—that's nothing! That's not even—" Another cough. Another concerningly hard smack from Lilia that made your spine crack. "Can you please stop hitting me?!"
"I'm helping you breathe."
"You're helping me develop internal bleeding!"
"Don't be dramatic," Lilia said, giving you one final smack that nearly sent you sprawling forward onto the table. "You'll be fine. You're SS-rank! You've got this! Probably!"
"PROBABLY?!"
You sent a prayer to anyone listening—God, Buddha, the universe, that raccoon you'd fed last week who seemed wise beyond its years and had probably seen some things.
Please let me survive this. Please let me not die in a horrific monster-related incident on my first actual mission. Please let me at least get to use my dental benefits once before I perish horribly. I haven't even scheduled a cleaning yet.
The Gate loomed in front of you like a cosmic wound, shimmering and pulsing with colors that shouldn't exist in nature or anywhere else.
Your team was assembled: Malleus looking completely unbothered like this was a casual day, Silver somehow napping while standing upright with his weapon strapped to his back, and Sebek vibrating with barely contained energy and shooting you looks that suggested he was mentally planning your funeral and had already decided on an unflattering eulogy.
There were other Espers but they weren't really doing anything of note.
Lilia stood next to you, checking his equipment with practiced ease. He wouldn't be going in—Guides stayed outside Gates. That was the rule. Espers went in to fight, Guides waited outside to stabilize them when they came back out.
Sending a Guide into a Gate was like sending a medic into active combat without weapons. Stupid, dangerous and a waste of resources.
"Remember," Lilia said, adjusting his gloves even though he wouldn't need them. "Stay with the group. Don't run off alone like some kind of action movie protagonist with a death wish. If you see something that looks friendly, it's not. If you see something that looks like it wants to kill you, it definitely does. And try not to use too much power at once. You're still new to this, and burning yourself out would be inconvenient."
"Inconvenient," you repeated flatly. "That's the word you're using. Inconvenient."
"Well, it would be inconvenient for me. I'd have to Guide you back to consciousness, and you get very clingy when you're half-conscious. It's adorable but also somewhat embarrassing in front of the other Guides."
"I'm not—you know what, never mind." You looked at the Gate, then back at Lilia. "So you'll just... wait out here?"
"That's how it works, yes. I'll be right here when you get back." He patted your shoulder. "Try not to die. It would ruin my perfect record."
"What's your perfect record?"
"None of my Espers have died yet. I'd like to keep it that way. It looks good on my resume."
"That's very comforting. Thank you."
"You're welcome!"
Sebek stomped over, looking agitated. "ARE WE GOING OR NOT?! SOME OF US ARE READY TO DEMONSTRATE PROPER ESPER PROTOCOL!"
"We're going," Malleus said calmly, and everyone immediately started moving because when the strongest Esper in the world said it was time to go, you went.
You took one last look at Lilia, who gave you an encouraging thumbs up and a grin that was probably meant to be reassuring but looked slightly manic.
Then you stepped through the Gate.
The sensation was like being turned inside out and then put back together slightly wrong. Your stomach lurched. Your vision went weird. For a moment, you couldn't tell which way was up, and then suddenly you were standing in what could only be described as a cosmic horror's idea of interior decorating.
The space inside the Gate was warped. Gravity didn't work right—you could see "up" curving back around to become "down" in the distance.
The sky was the wrong color, a sickly purple-green. Everything felt wrong, like reality had given up and decided to try some experimental new directions that violated several laws of physics and possibly good taste.
And the monsters.
Oh god, the monsters.
They were viscerally, aggressively ugly. Genuinely upsetting to look at ugly, the kind of ugly that made you want to apologize to your eyes for making them perceive this.
There was one that was basically a mass of too many mouths in places mouths shouldn't be, all different sizes, making sounds that made your teeth hurt and your skin crawl.
Another looked like someone had taken the concept of "legs" and decided to apply it about forty times to a body that could only support maybe six, skittering around with the coordination of a drunk spider having a crisis.
A third was just eyes. So many eyes. Blinking independently. Watching you. Judging you. Some of them had teeth. Eyes shouldn't have teeth.
You wanted to close your eyes, but that seemed like a bad survival strategy when surrounded by things that wanted to eat you.
You smacked monsters. A lot of monsters. You were venting a week's worth of frustration—the confusing paperwork that made no sense, Sebek's constant yelling about everything, the haunted supply closet that you'd accidentally opened and immediately closed when something inside had whispered your name, the cafeteria's mysterious "meat" that nobody could identify and everyone was too afraid to ask about, all of it channeled into your fists and your powers as you absolutely demolished everything in your path.
A mouth-monster lunged at you, all its mouths opening at once in a chorus of terrible sounds. You grabbed it and threw it into another monster with enough force that they both exploded into gore that thankfully vanished into sparkles because apparently Gate monsters didn't leave bodies. Thank god. The cleanup would have been nightmarish otherwise.
A leg-monster skittered toward you on its forty horrible legs. You didn't even think, just released a burst of power that sent it flying into a crystallized wall hard enough to shatter both the monster and the wall. The wall screamed. You didn't know walls could scream. You wished you still didn't know that.
It felt good. Really good. Cathartic. This was better than therapy. This was better than that stress relief room where you could break plates. This was—
Your powers went haywire.
You felt it the moment it happened—the control you'd been carefully maintaining just slipped like a wet bar of soap. The power you'd been using suddenly surged, wild and uncontrolled, crackling around you like lightning that had gained sentience and decided to have opinions.
Your vision started to blur at the edges.
The familiar screaming started up in your head, the one that suggested increasingly unhinged things like "what if you just released all your power at once and saw what happened" and "the walls here look even better than drywall, more crystalline, probably taste amazing, you should definitely try them."
Something smacked the back of your head. Hard. Like someone had just slapped you with a brick wrapped in anger.
"OW! WHAT—"
"YOU ABSOLUTE FOOL!" Sebek's voice, right behind you, loud enough to probably be heard in the next dimension. "YOU'RE GOING TO BURN YOURSELF OUT! DID YOU LEARN NOTHING FROM THE TRAINING?! WERE YOU SLEEPING?! WERE YOU THINKING ABOUT EGGS AGAIN?!"
Before you could respond—and you had a great response prepared, probably—he grabbed your arm with a grip like a vice and started dragging you backward, away from the monsters, toward the Gate exit, while simultaneously lecturing you at a volume that was probably attracting more monsters through sheer noise pollution. "RECKLESS! COMPLETELY RECKLESS! YOU CAN'T JUST USE YOUR POWERS WITHOUT REGARD FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY! WHAT KIND OF ESPER DOESN'T MONITOR THEIR OWN OUTPUT?! A STUPID ONE, THAT'S WHAT KIND! THE STUPIDEST! I'VE SEEN CIVILIANS WITH BETTER SURVIVAL INSTINCTS!"
"I was—I was doing fine—" you tried to argue, stumbling as he pulled you along like a particularly troublesome suitcase.
"YOU WERE ABOUT TO COLLAPSE! I COULD SEE IT! EVEN SILVER COULD SEE IT AND HE'S ASLEEP HALF THE TIME! YOUR POWER OUTPUT WAS SPIKING LIKE A GRAPH DRAWN BY A TODDLER!"
Sebek dragged you past a cluster of confused monsters who seemed unsure whether to attack the guy yelling or just let him pass because he seemed really committed to his lecture and interrupting felt rude. "MASTER LILIA ENTRUSTED YOU TO THIS TEAM AND I WILL NOT LET YOU DIE BECAUSE YOU HAVE THE SELF-PRESERVATION INSTINCTS OF A PARTICULARLY SUICIDAL LEMMING WITH A DEATH WISH!"
He hauled you through the Gate—that same inside-out sensation but worse because your brain was already malfunctioning—and suddenly you were outside again, back in normal reality where the sky was the right color and the ground didn't scream.
Lilia was right there, waiting exactly where he'd been when you left, like he'd never moved. His expression shifted from relaxed to focused the moment he saw you stumbling out with Sebek dragging you.
Sebek shoved you toward Lilia with more force than necessary, like he was delivering a particularly disappointing package. "THEY'RE AN IDIOT WHO DOESN'T KNOW WHEN TO STOP!"
You stumbled forward and Lilia caught you smoothly, like he'd been expecting this exact scenario, probably because it happened a lot with new Espers who didn't know their limits yet.
"There we go," Lilia said warmly, his hands immediately moving to check you over with practiced efficiency. One hand on your forehead, checking for fever and power backlash. The other on your wrist, checking your pulse which was probably concerning. His eyes scanning your face for signs of serious damage. "Let's get you sorted out, shall we?"
The moment his hands touched your skin, the relief was immediate and overwhelming. The screaming in your head cut off like someone had severed a wire.
The wild, chaotic energy thrashing around inside you like a trapped animal smoothed out, calmed down, settled back into something manageable. Your vision cleared. Your breathing evened out. Everything stopped feeling like it was about to fly apart at the seams.
You slumped against him, basically cuddling him at this point, too exhausted and relieved to care about dignity or professionalism or the fact that there were other Guides nearby watching this with various expressions of amusement.
He was warm and solid and most importantly, making your brain work like a normal brain instead of a malfunctioning appliance that wanted you to make terrible decisions.
Sebek was still standing there, his arms crossed, trying to look stern and unbothered but you could see the concern in his eyes that he was desperately trying to hide.
"Thank you," you croaked out, not opening your eyes, but making sure your voice was loud enough for Sebek to hear. "Thanks, man. You saved my life. Probably."
There was a moment of silence. You could feel Sebek's internal conflict from here. Then he sputtered, "W-WHATEVER! I WASN'T DOING IT FOR YOU! I WAS DOING IT BECAUSE LETTING YOU DIE WOULD REFLECT POORLY ON THE TEAM! DON'T GET THE WRONG IDEA! IT WOULD MAKE THE YOUNG MASTER LOOK BAD! AND MASTER LILIA WOULD BE DISAPPOINTED! THAT'S THE ONLY REASON!"
You could hear him stomping off, his footsteps loud and aggressive. In the distance, you heard a voice—definitely his Guide, a stressed-looking person who'd been pacing the entire time—say something like "Are you alright, Sebek? Do you need Guiding?"
"I'M FINE! THEY'RE THE ONE WHO'S NOT FINE! RIDICULOUS HUMAN WITH NO SENSE OF SELF-PRESERVATION! NO RESPECT FOR PROPER PROTOCOL!"
Lilia patted your head gently, his fingers running through your hair in a soothing motion that made you want to fall asleep immediately. You could feel him actively Guiding you, that warm, comfortable sensation flowing through you, fixing all the damage you'd done by being reckless and stupid. "Good job," he said softly, and there was genuine pride in his voice. "You did well for your first Gate. Very impressive. Lots of property damage. Several monsters completely obliterated. You made that one wall scream, which I didn't know was possible. And Sebek had to save you, which he secretly enjoyed even though he'll never admit it."
"Mhm," you managed, burrowing closer to him because he was comfortable and you were exhausted and your brain was shutting down now that the immediate danger was over and you were being Guided.
"You know, you're supposed to stay conscious after your first Gate," Lilia continued, still patting your head like you were a sleepy cat. "There's paperwork. A debriefing. Usually some light celebration that involves terrible cafeteria cake."
"Don't care. Sleeping now," you mumbled against his shoulder.
You passed out right there, slumped against Lilia while he Guided you, surrounded by the sounds of other Espers exiting the Gate and their Guides rushing to stabilize them.
You could hear Malleus's deep voice reporting something to a Bureau official. Silver asking someone if the Gate was clear yet so he could take a nap somewhere more comfortable. Sebek still yelling in the distance about proper protocol and rookie mistakes.
Lilia just sighed fondly, adjusted his grip on you so you wouldn't fall over, and continued Guiding you while making a mental note to add "passes out after Gates" to your growing list of concerning habits.
"Kids these days," he muttered affectionately, even though you were an adult and he looked younger than you. "No stamina at all."
One of the other Guides walked past, saw you unconscious and drooling slightly on Lilia's shoulder, and raised an eyebrow.
"New recruit?" they asked.
"SS-rank," Lilia said cheerfully.
"Ah. That explains it. Good luck with that."
The Gate shimmered behind you as the last Espers filed out, and then it collapsed in on itself with a sound like reality sighing in relief. The raid was over. Successful. Everyone survived, even the stupid rookie who'd nearly burned themselves out on their first mission.
You slept through all of it, guided and safe and completely dead to the world.
The training got better. Well, "better" was a generous term. More accurately, you stopped almost dying every single time you used your powers, which was a low bar but one you were proud to clear.
You could now fight for more than ten minutes without your brain trying to convince you that eating construction materials was a valid life choice. Progress.
You'd gone through countless drills, practice sessions, and controlled exercises that involved you shooting targets while someone monitored your power output and yelled at you when it spiked. That someone was usually Sebek, who had appointed himself your personal training supervisor despite nobody asking him to.
He would stand there with a monitoring device and scream things like "YOUR OUTPUT IS FLUCTUATING! STABILIZE IT! DO YOU WANT TO EXPLODE?! BECAUSE THIS IS HOW YOU EXPLODE!" which was very motivating in a deeply stressful way.
But gradually, slowly, you learned control. You could feel when your power was about to spike and pull it back. You could maintain steady output instead of swinging wildly between "barely functional" and "catastrophic."
You could fight monsters without Sebek having to drag you out of Gates like a disappointed parent removing a child from a grocery store.
You'd also come to a truce with Sebek. Well, "truce" was very generous considering the truce mostly consisted of you hiding behind Lilia whenever Sebek looked like he was about to start lecturing you about something.
Lilia thought this was hilarious and would sometimes deliberately step aside so Sebek could continue his rant, the traitor. When Lilia wasn't around, you hid behind Malleus, who was tall enough that you could completely disappear behind him if you stood in the right spot.
Malleus turned out to be actually a really nice guy. A little out of touch socially—he'd once asked you if people still used carrier pigeons for communication and seemed genuinely surprised when you said no—but nothing too bad.
He had this habit of appearing silently behind people and scaring them half to death, not because he was trying to be creepy but because he genuinely didn't understand that suddenly materializing next to someone was startling.
He'd invited you to his "gargoyle appreciation club" three times now, which apparently was just him looking at gargoyles and talking about their architectural significance. You'd gone once. It was actually kind of peaceful, if weird.
He also eventually found his own guide. You thought they were adorable together even if they weren't a couple yet.
Silver was still asleep most of the time, but when he was awake, he was unfailingly polite and also surprisingly good at combat. You'd seen him go from dead asleep to fighting a monster in about two seconds flat, dispatch it efficiently, and then sit back down and immediately resume napping. It was impressive and also slightly concerning from a medical standpoint.
Things were going well. You were adapting. Learning. Becoming a functional member of the team instead of a liability that had to be rescued every five minutes.
And then you found out Sebek hadn't been bullshitting when he called you "human" like it was a specific category that didn't include him.
It came up casually. You were all in the break room after a successful Gate clear, and someone made a comment about Malleus's horns—asking if they ever got in the way when he wore hats. Malleus had replied very seriously that he didn't wear hats because human fashion wasn't designed for fae anatomy.
You'd laughed, thinking it was a joke.
Nobody else laughed.
"Wait," you said slowly, looking around at the faces that were all completely serious. "What?"
"Fae," Sebek said, like this was obvious. "Young Master is fae. As am I. As is Master Lilia. Did you... did you not know this?"
You stared at him. At Malleus. At Lilia, who was watching you with barely contained amusement. "You're serious."
"Very serious," Malleus confirmed. "Did you think the horns were decorative?"
"I thought they were... I don't know, an Esper thing! A mutation! A really cool headband!" You gestured wildly at his horns. "I've seen people shoot fire from their hands and teleport and explode things with their minds! Horns didn't seem that weird in comparison!"
"That's actually fair," Lilia said thoughtfully. "We probably should have mentioned it earlier."
"PROBABLY?!"
Silver, who had just woken up from a nap in the corner, blinked sleepily. "Oh, are we telling them about the fae thing? I thought we did that already."
"YOU DID NOT!"
You sat there, processing this information. Fae. Which meant... which meant a lot of things, probably, but your brain was having trouble getting past the initial revelation.
You'd seen so many impossible things these past few months. Gates that opened to other dimensions. Monsters that violated the laws of physics and biology. Your coworker who could nap standing up. The haunted supply closet that whispered. The cafeteria's mystery meat that you were now 60% sure was some kind of Gate monster being served as "chicken."
You know what? Fine. This was fine. Better to accept it without questioning too deeply. That way lay madness, and you were trying to avoid madness. It was better for your sanity to just go "okay, fae exist, cool, moving on" rather than have an existential crisis about the nature of reality.
"Okay," you said.
Everyone stared at you.
"Okay?" Sebek repeated. "That's it? Just 'okay'?"
"Yep. Okay. You're fae. Got it. Makes sense. Explains the horns and the..." you gestured vaguely at Lilia, "...everything about you, honestly."
"I'm not sure if I should be offended or complimented," Lilia said.
But then a thought occurred to you. If they were fae, and fae were from like, fairy tales and folklore, then they were probably... old. Potentially very old.
You grabbed Lilia's sleeve. "Wait. How old are you?"
Lilia's grin widened, red eyes glinting with mischief. "That's not very polite to ask," he said teasingly.
You groaned. "I'm serious!"
"So am I. Didn't your mother teach you not to ask people their age?"
"Lilia."
"Hm?"
"How. Old."
"Old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway," he said cheerfully, and you knew—you KNEW—you weren't getting a straight answer out of him.
You groaned louder, letting go of his sleeve and slumping in your chair. And then immediately forgot about it because honestly, who even cared? Did it matter? He could be a hundred years old or a thousand years old and it wouldn't change anything.
This was your Lilia either way.
The one who'd found you in an alley. Who'd convinced you to join the Bureau. Who Guided you and patted your head and made terrible jokes and saved your life on a regular basis by keeping your brain from eating itself.
Your Lilia.
You had to pause.
Your brain just called him "your Lilia." Like you'd already assumed he was yours. Like somewhere along the way, without you noticing, you'd justn claimed him in your head. Decided he was yours and you were his and that was just how things were now.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
This was bad. This was a revelation you were not prepared for. You had feelings.
The kind of feelings that made you want to do stupid things like hold his hand for reasons that weren't just "I'm about to pass out from power exhaustion."
The kind of feelings that made you smile when he laughed and feel warm when he praised you and get irrationally jealous when you saw him talking to other Espers even though that was literally his job.
You sat there, frozen, while your brain exploded with the sudden realization that you had a crush on your Guide. Your significantly-older-than-you-but-you-didn't-know-by-how-much fae Guide who was way out of your league and probably thought of you as a particularly entertaining pet project.
You needed to sit down. You were already sitting down. You needed to sit down more somehow.
You stood up abruptly, walked over to where Malleus was standing by the window looking at the gargoyles on the building across the street, and leaned on him. Put your full weight against his side and closed your eyes.
Malleus looked down at you, tilting his head slightly in that way he did when he was trying to understand human behavior. He saw something in your expression—probably the desperation, the internal screaming, the look of someone having a crisis—and made a decision.
He didn't say anything. Just shifted slightly to better support your weight and let you have your breakdown against his shoulder.
This was why Malleus was great. He didn't pry. He just let you exist in your misery.
"Are you alright?" he asked after a moment, his voice quiet.
"No," you said honestly.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
"Absolutely not."
"Understood." He paused. "Would you like to hear about the gargoyles on that building? They're from the neo-gothic period and feature some fascinating water spout designs."
"...Yes please."
And so Malleus told you about gargoyles while you leaned on him and tried not to think about the fact that you had feelings for Lilia.
He went into detail about the architectural significance, the historical context, the different styles of craftsmanship. His voice was soothing in its monotone enthusiasm. It was exactly what you needed—something to focus on that wasn't your own emotional crisis.
Across the room, Lilia watched this with an expression that was hard to read. Amused, certainly. But there was something else there too. Something softer.
Sebek looked between you and Lilia and made a disgusted sound. "THEY'RE BEING WEIRD AGAIN."
"They're always weird," Silver mumbled, already half asleep again.
"I KNOW, BUT THIS IS WEIRDER THAN USUAL."
Lilia just smiled and said nothing.
You continued to lean on Malleus while he explained the difference between grotesques and gargoyles, which apparently was a thing, and tried very hard not to think about red eyes and knowing smiles and the way Lilia's hands felt when he Guided you.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
(It was not fine. You were having a crisis. But at least you were learning about gargoyles while having it, so that was something.)
Part 2
Series Masterlist ; Masterlist
Bug Like Angel
Spacing out
________
Potential.
You hated that word.
It meant possibility. It meant that you were almost good. almost great. almost perfect.
You've heard it from everyone.
You heard it from teachers at parent-teacher conferences.
"She's a good student. She has the potential to be great."
Maybe if you weren't such a smartass during class, you would be great. perfect, even.
It wasn't your fault; you already knew most of the things your classes would teach.
You would correct the teachers when they got something incorrect.
That got on their nerves.
You heard it from annoying boys at your middle school who would rate every girl on a number scale.
"She has potential, but she's a smartass and kind of off-putting… plus those rumors—"
How annoying. How were you offputting? You tried your hardest to interact with others correctly.
You watched others interact with each other and learned their mannerisms to fit in.
You would attempt to understand social cues you never understood growing up.
You heard it from your family growing up.
"She has the potential to be Robin. She's kind of weird, though."
How were you weird?
Even if you were, they never saw you be weird.
They were never around. You were never enough.
Growing up, you never truly saw yourself as equal to others.
You weren't good enough to be great. which is why you couldn't believe that your friends actually saw you as something other than potential.
Your spider-friends, that is.
You don't like to think about your old friends.
Your new friends could see right through the facade you put on frequently.
The one where you were a quiet, perfect girl who let everyone walk over her.
They didn't see you as what you could be, but as who you are.
You didn't have to burn yourself out trying to be something you couldn't be.
You could be yourself around them.
They were your safe space. which was why you were so annoyed at this moment.
You had to bring your family along with you to the spider society.
______
Earlier in the morning, you had gotten the message from Miguel.
The one warning about the spot.
You got up from your warm bed, the light from your window waking you up.
You yawned, fangs protruding.
You mentally made a plan on how to go about your day.
You tried to pretend you weren't scared over what you learned yesterday.
You went through your morning routine, ignoring the pit in your stomach.
You walked out of your room.
You spotted Jason (why was he even visiting?) in the living room.
You went to sit down to eat breakfast. You kept dozing off by accident.
You put your head down for it. a moment more, hoping to get more sleep, only to be awoken to the sound of a mug hitting the table.
You look up to see it was Alfred who had placed it.
You muttered a quick "thanks" and looked around.
You noticed how everyone was sitting together at the table, an unusual sight.
You quickly pull out your phone from under the table to see if it was a special occasion. It was Sunday.
Years ago, Alfred suggested Sundays should be days where the family had at the very least one meal together.
You were never really invited or involved with these meals, so this was really your first or second one.
You let out a groan, quiet enough so no one can hear.
You look to your left and see Damian glaring at Tim across the table, who's next to Bruce.
On your right is an empty space, luckily for you.
You aren't cramped.
You took a sip of the coffee and let out a yawn, the coffee doing nothing to wake you up due to your boosted metabolism.
As you yawned, your fangs showed again, catching the attention of your family.
"Holy shit, you have fangs?" Jason asked, bewildered.
"Yeah," you said, clearly not wanting to talk anymore.
Dick spoke, "How long have you had them?"
"A while," you tapped your foot impatiently, wanting to get up and leave.
"Are you a meta?" Tim asked, clearly taking mental notes.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"B doesn't want metas in Gotham, you know," Dick said, about to ask if you wanted to stay in Bludhaven with him instead.
You spoke before he could, though. "That's fine. If he doesn't want me here, I could move back in with Miguel."
Bruce paused for a moment before speaking up. "That isn't needed."
Conversations continued amongst them. However, you got up before breakfast was even served.
You ignored their confusion and left for your room.
You got changed into your costume and left the manor through your window.
You went to secretly patrol, on the lookout for any suspicious spot activity.
You ended up finding spots scattered around where the jester would pop up the most, which you thought was strange. You took photos for evidence maybe you were a little afraid your friends wouldn't believe you). You know they always will, but deep down you feel that they will ignore you as your family once did.
You made your way to the manor, stopping by some stands to buy breakfast on the way.
You also attempted to think about this more clearly.
How was the spot connected to the joker?
Has he gone to other universes?
How has nobody noticed he left?
You pull out your phone to send a message to your friends.
__
Y/n: Meet at my universe, my room
y/n: ASAP no rocky
____
Maybe they have information you don't. You doubt it, though.
It was implied by the message you all got from Miguel earlier that up until yesterday no one knew he had escaped.
__
Once you made your way back to the manor, you sneaked into your room through the window.
As you stayed in your room and set up some snacks you had bought from a corner store nearby, you couldn't get your mind off the spotty situation.
You decided to not go into the main living spaces, knowing that if your family saw you, they'd know something was up.
They were all extremely observant of your body language and how you acted when you were feeling anxious.
You'd be surprised if they didn't know you were anxious this morning.
You knew that they'd immediately bug you for answers, and that was the last thing you needed.
Talking about bugs, the number of bugs they placed was insane.
You've always had a habit of excessively cleaning your room when you were bored (which was always), and you started noticing that some bugs were placed in your room.
You don't know how long they've been placed there.
What you do know is that you've gotten rid of them each time. Because of some tech Peni made you ages ago, you could spot recording devices.
You also got rid of the cameras that were suddenly placed near your window. You knew they were placed recently because ever since middle school, you've snuck out through the window.
The lack of cameras made it easy to leave.
You would go out for walks late at night alone.
It wasn't until you got bitten that you had a way to protect yourself.
Usually you'd just go out into the Gotham night with nothing but cheap earbuds and an old portable music player.
The worst they could do is attack you or kill you, but hey, you didn't have much to live for anyway.
You got mugged a couple times, but they could tell you had nothing valuable on you.
They didn't know you were also Bruce's daughter; lucky you.
Thank goodness he didn't flaunt you around like his sons.
Who knows what those criminals would've done to you?
You always spaced out. usually falling into a daydream.
You were always described as a girl with an imagination too big for her size, especially when you were younger.
You used to spend hours every day daydreaming.
Imagining yourself as a superhero, or as a magical girl, or as a self-insert OC you made.
It started off as something normal kids do. It started to get more and more concerning when others noticed how you'd space out for hours listening to music.
Usually at a blank wall, on walks, or while you are getting rides.
As soon as you heard yelling, you'd put in your earbuds and try to drown out the sounds of your family.
Of course, your family barely noticed.
When they did, they just played it off as you being weird.
It wasn't just about how you spaced out. Growing up, Alfred would "find" your drawings and write about them. He definitely didn't go snooping.
You stopped drawing or writing about them as you got older, out of fear someone would find them.
Most of the time, your art was innocent.
You meeting Superman, you becoming a superhero, hanging out with friends, inserting yourself into your favorite show, etc.
Years ago, you drew and wrote about a treehouse.
After a couple months of begging, Bruce grew more and more agitated until he hesitantly got one built.
He proceeded to forget about it and got it chopped a year later after Tim complained about it obscuring his view from his window.
"Jerk." Alfred could hear your voice complaining years later.
What really caught his attention is how a lot of them were about you getting adopted into different families.
Being Superman's daughter, being adopted by some teachers of yours, hell, you even wrote about replacing your siblings with friends you thought of as siblings.
He tried telling the others; however, he'd always be dismissed.
"She's just trying to get attention."
"She's not serious."
"Strange... anyways—"
All you could do was roll your eyes and walk away.
You spaced back once you heard someone come in through the window.
Well, not just someone. All of your spider gang (as Miles once called you all, and you teased him for being corny despite the warmth in your heart) started making their way through the window.
Miguel was absent, but that was expected from you anyway.
He was probably trying to locate the spot.
Same with Jess; she was most likely busy too.
You assume that Margo couldn't make it either.
It was a miracle Noir could make it. You felt a hand comfortingly meet your back.
"You alright, mate?" Hobie asked, face uncharacteristically concerned.
"You spaced out for a good minute or two," Peni added.
You took a look at Peni's face. She looked so tired.
Nothing like the angel you met years ago.
She had heavy eyebags, and her eyes were less relaxed.
However, she looked less miserable than she used to, a year or two ago.
You remember checking up on her semi-regularly and bringing her foods you baked and cooked after her canon events had taken a toll on her.
You remember her red, puffy eyes.
Her matted black hair, you brushed out and braided to prevent further matting.
Her messy bed—she refused to leave. How she kept insisting on pushing everyone away despite how you all wouldn't budge. You were so proud of her and how she seemed to be healing.
Of course, she has her moments, but you all do. As exhausted as she looked, you were glad she was healing from the events.
"Hello...? Earth to y/n?" Gwen questioned, trying to get you to stop spacing out.
"Oh, uh, sorry," you apologized, uncharacteristically quiet.
"y/n? Are you alright? You only really get like this when you're not feeling good," Pav asks, picking at his fingernails.
"Or when she's high," Miles adds, getting a light slap on his arm from Gwen.
"No, uh, sorry, this might be a dumb question." You looked down at your hands, feeling like a burden for even asking for your friends to come over.
Noir raises a finger into the air. "There's no such thing as a dumb question."
You took a deep breath and spoke. "Have you guys noticed anything in your universe that may be connected to the spot?"
The others gave you a look you couldn't decipher.
They knew how the spot was a sensitive topic for everyone.
Miles almost lost his parents.
Gwen almost lost miles.
You almost lost Miguel.
Peni cleared his throat a bit shyly. "I noticed some technology basically vanish from my earth. not sure if it could be connected, though."
You nodded, taking a mental note.
Pavitr cleared his throat. "Is this because of the message we got earlier?"
You quickly looked through your pockets in your pants, your friend's eyes suddenly widening at how many items you took out while trying to get the photos out.
"How does all that fit in your pockets?" Miles asked, puzzled.
"Hammerspace is a wonderful thing," Ham said, earning a chuckle from Peni.
After a good moment or two, you pulled out a bag full of photographs.
You blinked, and suddenly everyone got closer to you to see the photos and started passing them around amongst themselves.
"I noticed how there are more spots near places Joker was spotted." You said, "This might be a stretch, but I feel like they're both planning something."
You tried to ignore how your heart dropped every time you thought of either the Joker or the Spot. They both caused events in your life; you almost lost someone you loved.
You rarely ever hated anyone; however, they were both people whom you hated.
"Why don't you tell Miguel?" Miles asked, sitting on your bed.
"I don't want to make him more stressed out. You know how he gets when he's stressed."
"Angry?" Peni asks.
"A tightwad?" Noir spoke, playing around with a fidget toy that you got years ago.
Gwen scoffs, lacking any irritation. "Destructive?"
"A tosser," Hobie says, suddenly hanging off of a coat hanger.
"Violent?" Miles adds, pointing to a scar of his that hasn't faded.
"I was going to say cold, but that works too." You let out a slight chuckle.
You slump down on your bed. It's kind of dumb. I don't want to disappoint him."
"Booshwash," Noir said.
Gwen put her hand on your shoulder. "You won't. You're his favorite."
"It's like you're the one person who won't get in trouble," Pavitr said, putting the pictures that were left scattered around into a pile.
"I think the last time he was upset with you was when you got shot that one time," Miles said.
"Even then he wasn't even mad; he was just worried. Peni added.
"You guys are low-key right. I might tell him." You guys fell into more conversation, calming your nerves slightly.
After what felt like minutes (but was truly hours), it was getting dark out.
Collectively, you all looked toward the door as your spider senses went off.
You immediately prepared yourself in an offensive position, only to see Dick walk in.
"Hey, birdie, you skipped breakfast, and lunch passed already; we're getting worried—" He paused when he noticed the group of people in your room.
"You didn't eat breakfast or lunch?" Ham asks, concern tainting his voice. "I did; I got breakfast from a stand outside," you defended yourself.
"Well always," Dick continued, "are they allowed to be here?"
You shrugged, holding the case of markers Miles let you borrow.
Dick left shortly after, letting you enjoy yourself a bit longer.
He wanted to snitch to Bruce or Alfred and get your friends kicked out, but seeing you look so happy with your friends made him change his mind quickly.
As you and your friends continued to eat snacks and hang out, it got darker. "Hey guys," you say, putting away your pack of cookies, which is now empty. "I'm low-key still hungry."
"We should go to a restaurant!" Peni said, playing with some slime you guys made.
You guys all snuck out your window and went swinging around until you found a diner.
Unfortunately for you, while swinging, you all saw Batman and Robin.
Man, you were in so much trouble.
______
Once you guys came back to the manor, you knew it was only a matter of time before someone told your friends to leave.
And before you got grounded.
While you and your friends talked about some gossip going around in HQ, Alfred walked in.
Your eyes widened, and you internally started preparing yourself to be scolded.
"It's one in the morning. You all have to leave."
"One already?" you said, shocked time had gone by so fast.
One by one, your friends left, leaving you and Alfred alone.
You slowly turned around to look at him.
He cleared his throat. "Are you aware there will be a punishment for this, Mistress Y/N?"
"Yes, sir..."
He left the room, and you let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding.
You got ready for bed, but you remembered to call Miguel.
You hoped he would pick up.
Ring... ring… ring…
The longer he took to pick up, the stronger the urge you had to collapse into bed got. Just as you were about to, he picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, uhm, Dad, do you think I could come tomorrow to show you something I think might be related to Spot?"
"You don't even have to ask. But mija, please go to bed. It's two in the morning for you."
"Okay, goodnight, Dad."
"Goodnight."
As soon as he hung up, you fell asleep.
___
Once morning hit, you decided to eat breakfast and then immediately leave to tell Miguel about the information you had.
You headed downstairs to see everyone at the dinner table yet again.
Weird.
You quickly grabbed yourself a Pop-Tart and tried to leave.
"Where do you think you're going?" you heard Bruce say.
"Out," you responded, not bothering to turn around and look at him.
"To where?"
"Miguel."
"No, you're not; you're grounded."
"It's an emergency—"
"No, it's not; you're going to see your friends."
"I'm literally not—"
"Well, I don't believe you."
"Fine. Don't believe me then."
As soon as you opened a portal, Bruce stepped forward to grab your wrist.
"I'm coming with you."
"Fine. Just don't blame me if you get hurt.
Before you knew it, your whole family (besides Alfred, thankfully) had come with you.
In those ridiculous costumes.
You sighed as Dick raved about how big HQ was and how many spider people there were.
You ignored Tim's questions and Jason's complaining.
You never thought you'd say this, but you were grateful for how silent Bruce was.
You spaced back into your family, showing a familiar glitch.
You sighed and threw them the 24-hour bracelets.
"Here. They're day passes. Use them."
They put them on without resistance.
You started growing more irritated with their antics.
Luckily for you, you guys were right outside Miguel's office.
You entered, immediately swinging toward Miguel and ignoring his dramatic entrance.
"Dad, I'm here."
Before he could reply, you shoved the pictures into his hands.
Usually, he would lightly scold you.
However, looking at you, you looked unusually disheveled.
You both got down to a lower level and called Jess to come along.
The longer you looked at the pictures, the more anxious you got.
"I'm here," Jess said, getting closer to you both.
As you all discussed what this could mean, your family stood awkwardly apart from you.
Tim was the only one who didn't, choosing to investigate technology.
"I'm not waiting around." Damian started walking closer to you and the others, growing impatient.
The others made no effort to stop him, instead using this as an excuse to get closer to you yet again.
The closer they got to you, the more they could hear your conversation.
"I just don't understand what the Joker wants with him!" you said while picking at your nails anxiously.
"We need to stop him before he tries anything."
"How can we stop him if we don't know where he is?"
"I don't know."
You felt Dick grab you in a hug, which annoyed you even further.
"Let go of me!" you kicked harder and harder.
It wasn't until Bruce told him to let go that he did.
"I thought it'd make you feel better."
"Well, you thought wrong!" You relocated your dislocated shoulder and put it back into place.
"How are these bracelets made?" Tim asked both Miguel and you as you both ignored him.
You proceeded to try and block out everyone's noises.
Jess and Miguel are trying to pinpoint the spot.
Tim is asking questions.
Dick is trying to calm you down.
Jason and Bruce are arguing. Damian asking if you all could leave.
"Y/n," Miguel said. You looked at him, his face full of worry. "We think the spot is trying to team up with the Joker."
You could practically feel your heart beating out of your chest.
And you hated how due to Jess's and Miguel's super hearing, they could tell you were freaking out.
"Hey, hey, Mija—Pavitr was waiting for you in the training room with the others. How about you go join them?"
"I don't want to," the truth is, you did. You always did.
You didn't want your friends to worry about this.
Jess practically read your mind. "Yes, you do. Peni was on her way to get you some food."
Despite your reluctance, you got up and started making your way out the door. Before you were even halfway through the door, you realized you were being followed.
You paused, which caused the others to stop closely behind you.
You look back to see that most of your family has started following you, with the exception of Bruce, who, despite his stone-cold face and stupid mask, you could tell was dumbfounded.
"Can you guys—" Exasperated, you pushed the one closest to you, which happened to be Tim. "—leave me alone?!" By pushing Tim, you ended up pushing the others along with him.
Suddenly your siblings were on the floor, surprised at your strength.
You turned around, ready to swing away angrily and possibly leave the society and teleport to a random universe just to get away from everyone.
Before you could do anything but turn away, however, you felt a calloused hand firmly grab your wrist.
You turned around, expecting it to be Jason.
What you did not expect was for the hand to be Bruce's. He spoke up, his voice cold and uncomforting.
"You just demonstrated to everyone you cannot be trusted to be alone. Your behavior is unacceptable. Control yourself."
'Control yourself?'
'Control yourself?!'
You yanked away from his hold and stared at his eyes in a way that reminded Bruce of Dick when he was younger.
As he glared at you, you thought about how years ago, had you been in this exact position, you would've given in to Bruce's silent demand to calm down.
However, you weren't afraid anymore.
You pointed a finger at his chest. "How are you going to tell me what to do? You barge into my space and have the audacity to tell me what to do?"
"Your space?" Dick spoke up, amused.
"Yes, my space, the same space I took comfort in after you all had forgotten about me." The angrier you got, the louder your voice got. "You guys weren't even invited! Gosh, you're so inconsiderate—"
You felt a pair of gentle hands get yours out of your scalp, which you hadn't realized were pulling your hair.
You look up and see Miguel towering over you, a familiar gentle look on his face making you quiet down.
"Go to the training room."
You didn't argue against Miguel's words and made your way out, but not before stopping the others from coming with you. "Don't follow me."
Before any of them could object, Jess defended you. "You should walk by yourself anyway; take a break."
You smiled weakly at her and made your way out.
As you made your way out, you could hear Jess scolding someone, presumably your family.
You angrily huffed your way towards the training room, ignoring the concerned stares from others.
You passed by the medbay and the therapist's office and wished they had a better one you could talk to and finally made it to the training room.
You didn't bother to knock.
Gwen was sparring with Miles.
Pavitr was practicing his swinging using the gymnastics area.
Hobie was having a smoke break near a window.
They looked your way as you angrily ripped off your mask and threw it onto the ground.
You ignored your friends looking at you and went straight to the punching bags.
After around a minute or two, Pavitr came up to you.
"Hey, uh– y/n?" You heard the hesitation in his voice.
You let out an unusually irritated sigh. "What?"
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." He reached out to you. "Listen, don't be afraid to ask for help. –"
"I don't need your help." You punched the bag harder with every word.
"I don't need anyone's help. I'm fine on my own."
Before he could talk, you continued. "I don't need your help," you repeated. "I don't need anyone's help! And I certainly don't need help from Bruce or his stupid sons!"
You blew through the punching bag, leaving half of it still hanging and the other half on the floor.
"Are you sure? You just broke five punching bags in like 8 minutes—" Miles nervously added.
"I'm fine," you said through gritted teeth.
As you started storming off, you felt a hand hold your wrist.
Man, what's with you and people grabbing onto you?
You whipped your head around to see it was Gwen.
The others also started surrounding you, pissing you off even more.
As soon as you were going to pull away and leave, Gwen beat you to it and pulled you onto the ground and into a hug.
You started tearing up; you couldn't tell if it was from relief or frustration.
"I'm sorry for snapping, Pav. I've been so overwhelmed."
"I might forgive you if you bake me some of those cupcakes you made me a while ago," Pavitr playfully said.
You let out a wet chuckle yet stayed hugging Gwen. "You mean the ones I made Gayatri and you ate?"
"They were delicious and insisted I eat them; she was sick!"
You tried explaining your frustration, only to hiccup and stumble over your word vomit. You decided to stay quiet and try and calm down. You didn't explain what happened and why you had walked in so upset.
They understood anyway.
__________
It wasn't very hard for Damian to find you.
It was easy for anyone in your family to disappear from a crowd.
So it isn't very surprising Damian managed to escape Miguel's grasp.
The problem was finding you in an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar faces.
He went around walking, ignoring how people looked at him like he didn't belong. It looked like how he looked at you years ago.
As he went looking for you, he saw a familiar shade of raven hair.
Peni.
He made his way toward her, ignoring the people in his way.
Sensing him, Peni turned around.
"Parker," Damian said.
"Oh, hey, Damian," Peni said casually before looking up again in surprise.
"Wait, Damian? Why are you here?" Peni said, continuing to walk.
"I'm looking for my sister." Damian started walking alongside Peni.
"Oh, come with me. I'm on my way to get her some food, actually," Peni said, holding a white takeout bag.
"Hn," Damian acknowledged.
"But why are you in headquarters right now?" She held his wrist and lifted it up slightly, showing his day pass. "How did you even get a day pass?"
Damian quickly pulled his wrist away. "None of your business, Parker."
"Whatever," Peni said, standing outside a large door. "We're here."
Damian masked his confusion and watched as Peni entered a room. Damian followed behind, looking at the room.
The room looked a lot more comfortable than the one at the manor.
It also had a lot more resources somehow.
It had a gymnastics area like the one Dick used.
"Hey, Y/n! I've got your food!" Peni yelled out toward you.
You were sparring with your friends. Sweet, thanks, Peni! Come up with us!" you called to her.
"Can't. Don't have my robot," Peni said, disappointed.
Before she could think, you swooped her up with you and swung with both Damian and Peni with the others.
"Who's this little guy?" Gwen said, pointing to Damian.
"Oh, I don't think Damian has met you guys. Damian's my little brother."
Damian noticed how you no longer had any hesitation in your tone.
As your friends all got to know Damian, you and Pavitr continued practicing gymnastics.
It was mostly you two fooling around.
It surprised you when you saw the rest of your family walk in.
"Birdie!" You let out a groan when you heard Dick.
You swung down to them, your annoyance apparent on your face.
"Why are you here?" you asked, crossing your arms.
"I didn't know you did gymnastics!" He held both your shoulders, ignoring your question.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Can't we visit our baby sister?" You let out a gag at his words, which made his smile falter slightly.
You turned around to see your family interacting with your friends.
Hobie and Jason were being amicable. You knew that if you hadn't told Hobie about your home life, they would've gotten along great.
Tim was trying to talk to Gwen and Miles.
Damian stayed around Peni, who was still being stuck on a high-up balance beam.
Bruce was standing near the door menacingly.
Before you could tell them all to leave, you and your friends got a live message from Miguel.
"Come to my office. It's urgent."
fuuuccckkk.
As you all started rushing out, Peni's voice called out.
"Hello? "A little help here?"
"Sorry, Peni!" You quickly scooped both her and Damian up and left.
____
this took too long happy ficaversaryi dont have much of an excuse for not posting besides life and i coyldve died oops
anyqays my phone is going to die no charger
crawling back to you ☆ jungwon yang
☆ spiderman! jungwon x fem! reader ☆ summary: spider-man was the city's strongest hero: a crime-fighter, a man of the people, and... a loverboy? it's been months since jungwon, the identity behind the powerful spider-man persona, broke up with you. somehow, even with the entire city's fate resting on his shoulders, his biggest concern still remains whether or not he will ever get to see you again. ☆ genre: spider-man! au, exes to lovers, JUNGWON YEARNINGGG, slooooow burn, college! au, jealousy, angst, pining, SEXUAL TENSION & YEARNING ☆ word count: 24.4k words ☆ my long awaited... im sorry guys i was genuinely going through hell and back when i was writing this but its okay papa vanya pulled through, for my dearest @ashtxrie
Jungwon's chest heaved up and down, bated breaths tearing from his lips.
Not again, he thought to himself, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He could feel his loose t-shirt sticking to his skin, the heat from under his blanket too sweltering to endure that he had to throw it off of him. His cat-like eyes flickered to the window beside his bed. The moon gleamed so charmingly, streaming bright slivers of light through his window. And yet, all Jungwon could do is shiver into his hot skin.
It’s been almost 6 months since Jungwon broke up with you. 6 months since he’s been genuinely happy.
And for the past 6 months, Jungwon has been having the same nightmare every night. The nightmare that ended the same way no matter what Jungwon’s brain wired itself to conjure up: with you dying in his arms.
Jungwon shuddered. It was the middle of summer. Even when it was late in the depths of night, beads of cold sweat managed to find their way back onto Jungwon’s neck. Sitting up on his bed, his knees pressed against his chest, Jungwon’s heart pounded in his ribcage, so loud that he could hear it in his ears, yet his fear was so quiet in his heart.
His eyes flickered around his dark bedroom. He needed to call you, he thought. Images of your dying face, choked sobs, and teary voice flooded his memory. It made Jungwon’s eyes line with hot tears, as they always did whenever this nightmare returned to him. He needed to call you, to make sure that you were okay, that his greatest fears hadn’t come true.
Jungwon's hand, still trembling, reached out for his bedside table. If he ignored the empty coffee cups cluttered on it, or the way he had hundreds of ignored messages and call notifications, he would have slowed down. And just as he searched up your name in his contacts, his shaking fingers about to call you, he stopped.
Oh right. He’s not with you anymore.
6 months is a long time. Apparently not long enough for Jungwon to forget his feelings for you.
If his chest wasn’t already aching, it was now. It was him that broke up with you. It was him that chose to break your heart. It was him that chose to leave you crumbling to your knees, tears spilling from your eyes as you silently begged him to stay.
And maybe that was his biggest regret.
Jungwon stared at his hands. He gazed each callous on his palm, every single scar and scratch still evident on his skin. His eyes glazed over the black spider-like veins on his wrists.
No, there was no time to mull over you. Not when there was an imminent threat in this city. Slapping his cheeks awake, Jungwon huffed before climbing out of bed. There was no way he would be able to fall asleep anyway. He might as well distract himself with something productive. Start early.
His eyes fluttered back to his moonlit window. Ah, fuck it.
Jungwon had a secret.
A secret that he kept guarded day in and day out, like his life depended on it. And the truth was, his life did depend on it.
Ignoring the way the red and blue spandex felt particularly uncomfortable as it stuck to his still-sweaty skin, Jungwon shot a sticky white web at a building. He gazed at the web that had ejected from his wrist, before peering over the ledge. In this busy city, it seemed like no road was ever going to be completely empty, not even in the depths of night. There were still people roaming the streets, noisy cars honking at one another with their tires screeching.
You hated heights, was the resounding thought that clouded his head as he looked down to the city below him. Once again, Jungwon's heart tightened in his chest, and he shook his head.
He needed to stop thinking about you. You probably already stopped caring about him anyway. You're a pretty girl, even before you and him broke up there was already a line of guys waiting for you to be single. Jungwon wouldn't be surprised if a girl like you already found someone else.
Someone better. Someone that wasn't a damn coward like Jungwon was.
Jungwon let his eyes fall shut, relishing in the way that the cool summer night air brushed against him. It's hard. To let you go, to accept that what once was his could be someone else's.
He looked back down to his gloved hands, the same hands that have been fighting crime for the past 6 months, the same hands that were responsible for the safety of this city, the same hands that touched your pretty face, the same hands that have brought criminals to justice.
It was all blurring together. Jungwon dug his teeth into his bottom lip. He needed to let you go, before his mind devoured him. He needed to let you go, before his identity as Spider-Man, the number one crime-fighter in this city, gets inevitably revealed, and he has to witness you die for the hundredth time. But for real this time.
"Damn, you look like shit."
Jungwon rolled his eyes at his friend's comment, sighing loudly as he flipped through the pages of his textbook. "Didn't get much sleep last night."
Look, Jungwon is a college student. Although his Spider-Man gig was pretty good at paying him, he wanted to contribute to his community in another way. Like through tutoring the local kids.
"Why are you even studying basic elementary algebra?— you're a film major!" Jungwon's good friend Sunghoon Park was a great guy. A little rambunctious, but still a good friend. But not right now.
Jungwon had agreed to have a quote un-quote "study date" with Sunghoon at the coffee shop below Jungwon's apartment complex. Jungwon was a little proud that his friend suddenly wanted to study with him (such intellectual vitality!), but seeing as all Sunghoon has been doing for the past 30 minutes is scrolling on his phone and looking around conspicuously tells Jungwon otherwise. Sunghoon didn't even order a coffee or soak in the scent of warm coffee beans in the coffee shop. He just sat there.
Jungwon shot a look at Sunghoon. "This kid that I'm tutoring, apparently he's not very good at math."
Sunghoon nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as his thick brows quivered.
"Okay..." he said slowly, his vowels drawing out. "But why do you need to study for it? Don't you like—" the man made a face— "Already know how to do basic math?"
Jungwon opened his mouth to explain that he's not necessarily trying to review elementary math, but moreso trying to figure how to teach it, but he was cut off by Sunghoon's continued rambling.
"—Like shouldn't you know how to add apples? Like if Sally has 2 apples and she gets 3 more, how many does she..." Sunghoon trailed off when he saw Jungwon's completely vacant, unamused expression. Jungwon clicked his tongue, going back to his very informative reading. However, he could practically feel Sunghoon staring at him, to the point that it felt like he was burning holes into Jungwon's person.
Jungwon let out another annoyed sigh. When he looked up to Sunghoon very obviously staring at him, his friend comically looked away. As if Sunghoon was fooling anyone.
"Do I have three heads?" Jungwon asked bluntly.
"What?"
Jungwon huffed, leaning back in his seat. "You keep looking at me. What is it?"
Sunghoon blinked. Jungwon watched as his older friend's Adam's apple bobbed. The once relaxed, though awkward, expression on Sunghoon's face wiped almost immediately, being replaced with a deeply uncomfortable and uneasy one. He squirmed in his seat, his dark eyes darting around the coffee shop in silence.
"Are you okay?"
But instead of answering, Sunghoon just shoved his face into his hands, muttering something under his breath that Jungwon couldn't make out.
Finally, Sunghoon finished his mini-mental breakdown and looked at Jungwon. Somehow, in the span of a few minutes Sunghoon went from looking perfectly fine to looking like he just went through hell.
"Jungwon." Sunghoon finally said, his voice solemn. Which was weird, because when is Sunghoon ever serious? To add to Jungwon's bewilderment, Sunghoon reached across the table, taking hold of Jungwon's hands. His expression was so comically somber that Jungwon thought he was joking. "I have something to tell you."
Jungwon rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips lifting. "Yeah, yeah, get on with your little bit—"
"I"m serious." Sunghoon looked around again, as if he was making sure that no one was listening. He leaned in closer to Jungwon, his voice dropping to as low as a whisper. "It's serious."
Jungwon's brows knitted together, his expression pinching in pure confusion. "What are you talking abou—"
Sunghoon squeezed Jungwon's hand from across the table. His friend took a deep breath, before earnestly facing Jungwon. "What I'm about to tell you, you didn't hear it from me."
"Just—" Jungwon's scowl deepened. "Just tell me already, dude!"
Usually Sunghoon would react, but he just shook his head solemnly. Sunghoon took another deep breath, before he opened his mouth and let words tumble out: "She has a blind date. This weekend."
Jungwon blinked slowly. "Um. Who?"
Sunghoon looked like he was going to shit himself. "You know...."
Jungwon didn't know. Jungwon literally does not talk to anyone except a select few of his friends. And none of them are girls. "I don't, though...?"
Sunghoon sucked in another sharp breath, his tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. "Your... Your girl."
Oh. Jungwon's heart sank to his stomach. That's not... what he expected. Not in the slightest. And the way that Sunghoon physically flinched as he revealed such information didn't make Jungwon feel any better.
"Who... told you that?"
Sunghoon pressed his lips together, forming a line as thin as paper. "You know my coworker? Wonyoung? She's [Name]'s good friend and she's been boasting how she hooked her up to this guy."
But Jungwon tuned Sunghoon out after that. Maybe if Jungwon had a better grip he would have calmly explained that you were not his anymore. It’s not like your breakup was a secret, and if there was anyone who had to bear witness to Jungwon's abject gloominess, it would be Sunghoon. Jungwon couldn't understand why his friends still referred to you as his, even when they were well-aware of the fact that you two were separated.
"C'mon, man, we all know you still want her," was a sentiment echoed by all of his friends.
And they were right. As if they could see through Jungwon's quiet exterior, his robotic composure so keen on hiding his true feelings.
Sunghoon's words fell upon deaf ears. If he did listen, he would hear Sunghoon pleading Jungwon to let go of this act, to stop putting up walls, to finally admit that he was wrecking himself from the inside out by continuing to act like he no longer cared for you.
Jungwon stared blankly at the coffee shop table. The pain in his chest no longer felt new. It felt more like a constant.
In his pencil case he still had the expensive mechanical pencil that you gifted him. Its silver ridges were practically molded to the curves of his fingers. The capsule of lead that came with the pencil only had a few pieces left. When he studied he still listened to the same songs that you introduced to him, the same songs that you and him kissed to as the two of you laid in his bed, and—
Jungwon thought he was okay. And for the first few weeks, he really was just fine. After all, he'd convinced himself that it was all for the better. But Jungwon knew that he'd break sooner or later. And it would be now.
It seemed like in every waking moment, you still managed to consume his thoughts.
All roads led back to you.
As Jungwon swung from building to building, he tried his best to clear his mind. As he always did.
After his little coffee chat (disaster?) with Sunghoon, Jungwon had excused himself to go to some "work." When really, he was just reporting for duty as Spider-Man. Feeling the wind against him as he swung around the city, the thrill of nearly flying through the air, was always useful whenever Jungwon had a lot on his mind. Like always, Jungwon checked his usual stops: banks, daycares, financial and business centers, just to make sure that no one was rumpling with civilians' safety.
Lately, it hasn't really been working. But what did he expect?
The bright summer sun, blaring its orange-yellow light, was now dipping into the horizon. The air smelled like gasoline and peaches, and yet, Jungwon couldn't even relish in the tranquility. Jungwon didn't know why he kept thinking about you. The thought of you going on a date at all with someone else made him feel sick to his stomach. His gut twisted as images of you laughing and smiling flashed through his mind. It hurt so bad, so damn bad.
A few more times of helping kids cross the road, or giving an elderly person some directions, and Jungwon felt like his legs were going to give out. Which was strange.
As Spider-Man, Jungwon was cursed with enhanced senses and incredible regeneration abilities. Ever since he got bitten by that spider, Jungwon never had to experience feeling physically worn out.
Not until right now. Jungwon slumped against the wall in the back alley, the cool stone pressing against his cheek. He looked down at his hands— was he sick? Losing his abilities? Seriously, what was wrong with him? His body was feeling uncharacteristically warm, like he was burning up from the inside. His eyelids felt heavy, while his legs felt like jelly.
And maybe Jungwon would have passed out in that alleyway if it weren't for the god-awful sound of his cellphone ringing.
Kriiiing! Kriiiing! Mindlessly, he picked up the call. "Hello?" Jungwon breathed, pushing nearly all of his body weight against the cold wall for support. He laid his head back, exhausted in ways that he couldn't explain.
A familiar voice greeted his ears. "Hey, it's Sunghoon."
Jungwon gritted his teeth. Not again. "I'm not interested—"
"Listen." Sunghoon said, his voice earnest. "I'm sorry about what I said today, but—"
Jungwon's lips pressed together. How shameful. It must be so shameful, the fact that everyone knew that Jungwon was suffering so much, that it was so obvious.
"—Me and the guys are going out this weekend," Sunghoon's gravelly voice said over the phone. "And we thought that you should really come with us."
Without even realizing it, Jungwon's breath got caught in his throat. He swallowed the lump, his voice coming out so much weaker than he wanted it to, "Like I said, I'm not interested—"
"Jungwon," Sunghoon pleaded. "You... You haven't been yourself lately. We know that you're struggling right now—we're worried about you. Please, just let us be there for you."
Jungwon felt so humiliated. Ashamed even, at the way Sunghoon's voice was filled with so much sympathy. So much pity.
Jungwon wanted to scream. He wanted to shout at Sunghoon and all of his friends for not minding their damn business, for treating him like he was some charity case.
But as Jungwon's eyes traced his shadow on the road, his phone to his ear, Jungwon wanted to shout at himself, for being so weak, for being a coward, for pushing people away, for having an ego so fragile that he felt threatened by his own friend caring about him.
How pathetic. And Jungwon has the gall to call himself a hero?
Jungwon clicked his tongue. "Okay, I'll be. there."
Jungwon wasn't stupid.
He knew exactly why his friends called him out tonight. It was to distract him from the fact that on this same night, you'd be going on your date.
The plan was to all meet up at Jake's apartment, and then go to the club from there. The moment that he arrived at Jake's apartment, he scurried to the bathroom.
Jungwon stared into Jake's bathroom mirror. The entire cramped bathroom smelled like strong fumes of manly cologne and hair spray. From inside, he could hear the muffled bantering of his friends, probably arguing about who would be driving.
His eyes glazed over the tight black compression shirt that clung to his chest, the dark-washed ripped jeans hanging from his hips. It's been a while since Jungwon utilized his pierced ears, and he figured that he'd put in some simple flat black studs before the piercings inevitably closed up. On his wrist, Jungwon had mindlessly slipped on the braided tassel bracelet that you made him; it was still hanging around his room, and he had forgotten that it was from you. Despite that, he didn't have the heart to take it off and shove into his pocket.
Jungwon couldn't recognize himself. It wasn't just the breakup that ruined him.
Sure, losing you was probably one of the greatest losses in his entire life, he was sure of that. But since then, Jungwon has also purposely distanced himself from his friends. He stopped responding to their messages and going to big group outings.
He could hear Jay's howling laughter and Jake's shouting, all sounds that should be completely familiar to him. And yet, there he was, feeling awkward.
He felt like staying in this bathroom until someone noticed that he was absent.
Click! But that wasn't what Spider-Man's do.
Jungwon cracked the bathroom door open, and the moment that he stepped into the hallway, revealing his blank expression, all of his friends whipped their heads. Jungwon could feel their eyes on him, staring at him like he was some anomaly, and for a second, he regretted even agreeing to hang out with them.
He hadn't seen these guys all together in so long. In fact, Jungwon hadn't been in a personal group setting for months now. He wasn't going to lie and say that showing his face to the friends that he strayed away from made him feel uneasy.
But almost immediately, his friends' faces cracked with large grins, whooping his name.
"Jungwon!" Jake delighted as Heeseung threw an arm around Jungwon's shoulder, pulling him snugly to the side of him.
Jay's sharp features morphed into a big, boyish smile, his lips forming a curve. Jay brought up a hand to dap Jungwon up, and Jungwon received it. "Hey, man."
Sunghoon followed behind him, his sharp canine teeth revealing as he chuckled. "Glad you could make it, Jungwon."
Jungwon felt unnatural. Out of place, like a fish out of water. When was the last time he was around people that enjoyed his presence? Other than the group of middle schoolers that cheered him on when he dashed through the air, or the middle aged women at the local library club that doted on him, Jungwon couldn't remember clearly.
For all the months that Jungwon tore himself away from his friends, he didn't know what was more surprising, that his friends still wanted something to do with him, or that nothing had changed while he was gone.
Sunoo's eyes still pressed into thin crescents as he threw his head back, laughing at something stupid Riki said. Heeseung still pulled Jungwon into a headlock, aggressively scruffling his head and ruining his hair despite Jungwon's complaints. Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon still liked to argue loudly, their voices reaching volumes so high that Jungwon was sure they'd get a noise complaint before even leaving.
And as Jay and Sunghoon wrestled, falling onto Jake's couch, the room erupted with the same familiar howling laughter and quips that Jungwon had forgotten how much he loved.
As Riki jumped in to join in the pseudo-wrestling match, Sunoo chanting "fight, fight, fight!," and Heeseung and Jake acting as refs, Jungwon gaped at the scene.
The boys that he's grown up with, the boys that had seen him grow from a wimpy little middle schooler into a strong adult, the boys that never failed to make him laugh— have stayed the exact same.
And for the first time in a while, Jungwon felt his lips lift up, soft giggles erupting from his chest as his eyes squeezed shut. It was such a foreign feeling, and an even more foreign sound.
His friends seemed to think the same. In an instant, the room fell silent. Once again, Jungwon felt all eyes on him.
But before Jungwon's mind could play tricks on him, Riki dashed over to him, throwing the older boy over his shoulder and throwing him on the couch.
"You son of bitch, Jungwon!" Riki laughed affectionately, beginning a tickling assault on him.
Once again, Jake's apartment was engulfed in chaos and laughter.
Well, after being tickled so hard that he almost started crying, as well as a well-deserved noise complaint from Jake's neighbors, Jungwon and his friends finally decided to go to the club. Which was their plan all along, but it wasn't any of their faults that messing around in Jake's home was more fun. And plus, Jungwon accidentally used too much of his spider abilities and body slammed Riki so hard that they all needed a momentary time-out to get Riki an ice pack for his head ("How the hell did you get so strong?!" was what Riki was more concerned about than the giant red mark on his forehead).
Bright strobing lights, the smell of sweaty bodies and alcohol, and the sound of techno music filled all of Jungwon's senses.
And with the encouragement of his rowdy, unruly friends, Jungwon sucked in sharp breath.
Fuck it.
Whatever worries he had now, or whoever was breaking his heart, he was going to forget it. He was going to pretend that it never existed, that it never hurt him, that he was okay.
Just for tonight, just for his friends.
"C'mon!" Jake pulled Jungwon by his arm to the bar. The older boy ordered the two of them a few shots. As they waited for the bartender to prepare their drinks, Jake and Jungwon sat on the barstools. In the corner of Jungwon's eyes, he could see his other friends fucking around like they always did.
"Would it hurt them to have some class?" Jungwon muttered playfully, unable to hide his amusement when Heeseung slipped and fell on the dance floor.
"Nah, class is a foreign concept to them." Jake let a bashful smile spread on his face, his gelled hair falling over his eyes. The older man tapped his fingers on the bar counter to the electric music loudly blasting.
Jungwon grinned, and the two sat in a comfortable silence, before Jake opened his mouth again.
"We missed having you around, you know."
Jungwon whipped his head over to his friend. He quirked a brow. "Really?"
Jake put a hand on the back of his neck, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. "Yup." Jungwon followed his eyes, back to their friends that were now teasing Jay for his wild dance moves. "I think you're the smartest out of all of us."
"That's not true."
Jake shook his head. "Nah, you should have seen us. Me and Sunoo were trying to figure out how to do taxes. Never again."
As the bartender served up their drinks, Jungwon turned back to Jake, who continued, "I know you're having a hard time, but just know that we're here for you."
Jake raised the shot glass filled with a golden brown liquid— "Cheers."
Jungwon smiled.
Clink! Their shot glasses collided.
"Cheers." And with that, Jungwon threw the shot back, the bitter taste on his tastebuds burning so hard that it reached his nose. Almost immediately, Jungwon's expression turned sour, his nose scrunching at the taste. "Blegh— How do you drink this?!"
Jake shrugged. "You'll get used to it if you drink enough."
Jungwon hunched over the bar counter, his elbows on the counter as he held his hands in his head. He shook his head. "Never again. That's nasty."
A few moments of silence pass. Jungwon slid his empty shot glass over. "Give me another shot."
Despite being an adult, Jungwon had forgotten what it felt like to party.
The thrumming of the techno music that filled the club felt like it was stringing directly through Jungwon, droning through his head. After a few shots and buzzed laughs with Jake, Jungwon was tipsy enough that his body felt weightless. Weightless enough to find himself on the dance floor.
As his strong body moved to the music, Jungwon felt the rhythm of the music. His mind was hazy, nebulous as the alcohol in his system began to take over. Jungwon's head felt warm, and his vision despite his spider senses was more blurry than usual. But that didn't matter.
Blood was rushing all over Jungwon's body. His cheeks felt warm, and he couldn't tell if it was his enhanced spidey-senses or if the music was just that loud that he could physically feel the hum in his chest.
Then, the music switched from an upbeat electronic sound, to a slower, more melodic one. Jungwon swore he recognized the song, but he couldn't name it. Jungwon felt the multiple bodies of the room brush against him, before he felt one directly press up against him.
It was clearly a woman. Jungwon let his eyes shut as he let his body take reign.
Swaying to the gradual beat, Jungwon found his hands on this new woman's body. As his chest pulsed to the song, he took in her scent, he could smell sweet, floral nodes. He could barely feel his feet below him, and for a few moments, he felt like he was going to float off of the ground. And just as Jungwon thought he was going to ascend, he felt two manicured hands on his chest. His hands slid down to her hips, squeezing them, which earned him a sultry giggle.
If Jungwon weren't drunk, he may have jumped away the moment he realized that a woman was practically grinding on him. But the alcohol was too deep in his system, and he was too far gone. Even with his eyes closed, Jungwon could feel everything so intensely. He felt fingers reach for his belt loops, pulling him along.
As the music slowed to a stop, momentarily invading the usually bumping club in a hushed silence, Jungwon felt the woman lean into his ear.
"So handsome," she rasped, her warm breath brushing against his skin.
And as the chills trickled down his spine, the music finally came back on. And strangely enough, even though they were, in fact, inside a partying club, the music that blasted from the speakers was the complete opposite.
A slow piano, rich and deep vocals, and a romantic cadence.
Even in his drunken state, Jungwon immediately recognized this song at the first lyrics. Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis Preseley. Without a doubt, it was this song.
How did Jungwon know? Because this was the song that you and him loved to slow dance to on your kitchen floor. And just like that, Jungwon's mind drifted into the deepest pits of his mind, the parts that he'd locked away.
In his mind, he saw you and him swaying to this song. You and him both wearing matching aprons, giggling as you attempted to slow dance. He saw the way you'd look at him, with those beautiful eyes that he could never refuse. He saw the way you said his name with a smile that he could never forget, not even in a million lifetimes.
Then, he saw flickering images of you and him: you and him holding each other in the winter to keep each other warm, you and him crying into each other's arms, you and him arguing over something so silly that you just ended up bursting out laughing.
And for a moment, it felt like you were there. Another body up against his, dancing so rhythmically that for a split second, Jungwon could pretend that it was you.
And in the depths of his heart, he prayed that it was you.
He hoped that when he opened his eyes, this nightmare would end, and he would get to see you. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, he would see you, staring up at him with those same beautiful, glossy eyes. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, this song would end, and he could scoop you up and bring you home, to show you all the love that he desperately wanted to give you.
But as Elvis Preseley's resonant voice sang earnestly, Jungwon's eyes slowly peeled open to not see you, but another woman.
A woman that was not you.
"N-Not her," Jungwon's lips quivered, his body instantly pulling away. His feet stumbled, in an attempt to tear away from her grasp. Jungwon ignored the way the woman attempted to pull him back, calling out to him.
In his intoxicated state, Jungwon felt hot tears line his eyes as he staggered away.
Not you. She wasn't you. It didn't matter, in fact. No one was you.
It didn't matter what Jungwon tried to do, his heart kept going back to you.
His head was spinning. Jungwon could barely control his body as he bursted out of the doors of the club, and even less, he couldn't control the tears that were now staining his cheeks. The expensive bottle of water that the club had at the entrance was completely chugged down in a single swish, minus Jungwon's struggles to manage his soft sobbing.
Even with water in his system, Jungwon's head was still spinning. His vision was swirling. Finally, after faltering for a few moments, Jungwon found himself sitting on the stairs at the entrance of the club.
As his vision cleared up, the alcohol in his system slowly washing away, Jungwon brought his hand to his mouth, to muffle the sounds of his crying.
Maybe he was just drunk, but the tears were just not stopping. Jungwon's chest heaved up and down, labored and stammering breaths rising from his chest. His hot tears were beginning to burn his eyes.
Even from outside, he could still hear Elvis Preseley's vocalization.
Damn it, did he have to ruin tonight? Jungwon pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face into his knees. His jeans were getting wet with his tears, and the late-night breeze was getting chilly.
In fact, everything was hurting.
Why couldn't he just forget you? Why couldn't he just let you go? Why did he still yearn for you?
Jungwon lifted his head. He could see his hunched figure in his shadow on the ground. How pathetic of him. He hasn't cried in a long time. It felt weird. It didn't feel like him.
Jungwon looked at the spider-like black veins on his wrist. Why was he cursed? Why did it have to be him? He wasn't worthy, he would never be worthy of being Spider-Man. Jungwon didn't ask to be bitten. He didn't ask for that stupidly rich and ignorant scientist to come to him and urge him to use his powers for good. He didn't ask for this responsibility. He didn't ask for anything, except you.
"With great power comes great responsibility," was what he was told the moment the scientists found him. And Jungwon really believed in it. He used his strength to help the weak, he gave others the power that they couldn't have, he protected the love that others cherished.
But couldn't keep any for himself.
After Jungwon's initial honeymoon phase with his newfound spider abilities, he realized something that changed his entire life forever. That he was no longer safe, and even more, everyone that he loved was no longer safe. And Jungwon thought he was strong enough; he thought that he could let you and all of his friends go slowly to protect you all. But he simply wasn't.
And Jungwon felt so damn selfish. He felt like a greedy bastard, someone who couldn't sacrifice himself for the good of others. Why was he even crying? There were people in danger right now, and here he was crying because he missed the girl of his dreams? How pathetic.
But he wanted you so bad.
Jungwon never wanted anything in life. All his life, he was obedient like a dog. He did everything that others asked of him. He always tried his best, always valued his righteousness, always did what was right.
But now, all he wanted was you.
He's never wanted anything, but the moment that he wants you, he couldn't have you.
Here he was, crying like some idiot all alone while you were probably still on that date. God, he wished Sunghoon never told him. He tried his best for the past few days to just not think about it, but now Jungwon had to truly face the fact that you've already moved on. His chest felt like it was going to burst.
Jungwon sunk his teeth into his fist to muffle his sobs even more. Maybe he should just go home. It's cold, it's uncomfortable, it's unsanitary, and most of all, Jungwon felt like shit.
As Jungwon stumbled to his feet, he sucked in one more breath. It still smelled like alcohol, with a scent of cigarettes. Then, he looked at the bustling road across the street. Somewhere out there, you were laughing with another man. Probably kissing him, calling him the same names that you'd call Jungwon.
God, it made him physically ill. Jungwon brought the back of his hand to wipe his nose one more time. He was going to go home. He'll leave a call for Heeseung or something later.
But before he could even take another step—
Boom!
Jungwon looked up at the sky. Even when it was dark, he could see a large cloud of black smoke. And now, he heard police sirens in the distance and the screaming of civilians.
Shit.
You fiddled with your fingers, bouncing your knee in anticipation to the beat of the 2010's pop song that your taxi driver chose.
Damn it, Wonyoung, you thought. You glanced down at the dress that your best friend chose for you. In the reflection of the backseat car window you caught your made up face. The blush on your cheeks, your curled lashes, the lip gloss. You thought you looked pretty.
Your eyes fluttered to your phone resting in your lap. The latest notification was from Wonyoung, telling you good luck and that you looked pretty. You couldn't help but smile.
It's been 6 months since your boyfriend Jungwon broke up with you. And frankly, it's probably been the worst 6 months of your life.
Words could not describe the types of pain and downright suffering that you went through. You cried for weeks straight, and up until recently, you hadn't had the motivation to really do anything.
The breakup was so unexpected, too. One day you and Jungwon were laughing, the next he left you. You couldn't understand why, and it wasn't like Jungwon gave you a succinct reason either. All he had said was that he was sorry, and that he had no other choice.
And the worst part was, you still weren't over your ex.
All that pain for nothing, you thought as your eyes followed the cars that passed your taxi. Your best friend, Wonyoung, on the other hand, had had enough.
"I don't like seeing you like this," Wonyoung had told you one night, as you cried into her shoulder. Despite what she showed others with her bubbly personality, her voice was stern. "It's not fair to you."
And you knew she was right. Which was why you let her set you up on a date with one of her colleagues. You figured that it was time that you stopped mulling over a man that couldn't stay anyway.
It's been so long in general since you even considered looking at someone else that wasn't Jungwon. And for a reason that you couldn't explain, it didn't feel right. And yet, you pushed it to the back of your head as you stepped out of the taxi.
The restaurant that your date, a guy named Haruto Watanabe, chose was a semi-formal one, called Bisco's Palace. You thought that name was a little bit corny, but you brushed it off. Thick stone walls, yellow-orange moody lighting, and an elegant grassy hedge at the entrance. It looked like a fairytale, and because of the beautiful dress that Wonyoung made you wear, you felt like you were in a fairytale.
When you arrived, you were met with a tall man with sharp features.
"Haruto?" you asked. He turned to look at you. You watched as his eyes widened, before he gave you a once-over.
"[N-Name]?" he spluttered. You recognized the look on his face. It was the look on a man's face whenever he found a woman attractive, and unfortunately, you were no stranger to it. "You look— You look beautiful."
If you were someone else, maybe you'd feel flattered. It's not every day that a good-looking man calls you beautiful. But all you felt was a sense of unease. Not that it was his fault; there was nothing intrinsically wrong with him. You just didn't know why you felt so uncomfortable.
You fought back the urge to make a face, and you instead forced a tight-lipped smile.
"Thank you." Now it was your turn to look him over. He was wearing a crisp button-up with slacks. He looked well put-together. "You look great too."
Haruto visibly turned pink, and he muttered something under his breath as he averted his gaze. Finally, he cleared his throat, extending his hand out to you. "Shall we go in?"
You narrowed your eyes at him, before you took his hand curtly. "Of course."
The two of you were quickly seated, and after being greeted by a cheery waitress that was clearly still in high school, your food was ordered and served in a timely manner. If you were to be honest, you weren't exactly too invested in tonight's date. Even if you agreed to it to get over Jungwon, you knew that your heart wasn't there yet.
Not to say that Haruto wasn't a sweetheart. He was polite, had very good manners, and was very respectful toward you. He tried his best to keep a flowing conversation with you, and in recognizing his efforts, you simply just went along with him. He was handsome and a well-natured guy. And, the food was great. Everything was to your taste, from the appetizers to the drinks to the dessert. The wait staff were also on top of it. As a whole, the restaurant was just perfect. The lights, the music, even how cushioned the chairs were.
Like a fairy tale. Everything was perfect. Perfect man, perfect food, perfect night. But it just wasn't good enough.
You felt nothing for Haruto, not even an ounce of interest. And as much as you didn't want to admit it, you knew why you were like this: Because he wasn't Jungwon.
There was nothing "Jungwon" about this date. Haruto certainly wasn't Jungwon, but everything about this date was nothing like how you liked to be treated. You liked to laugh and to get into dynamic discussions about silly topics, ones that didn't even matter. Haruto was so sweet, but he couldn't match your level of wit. While the food was tasty, you didn't want something so stringent and formal. You'd rather do something together with your date, to get to know each other better rather than sitting at a candle-lit restaurant.
Who would have known all of this? Who would have allowed you to do all of these things regardless of the environment? Who did your heart still stubbornly belong to?
Jungwon.
You let out a forced laugh at one of Haruto's jokes before excusing yourself to the washroom.
Shhhhh! As the sink water ran, you stared at your reflection. Even your makeup was done in a way that you knew Jungwon liked. The lipgloss in your purse was the same one that he bought you all those months ago. You didn't even know if you had the heart to use it up.
You thought that you were doing better. But it seemed like time and space only made your heart grow fonder.
It was getting later into the night now. And against your better judgment, you wondered what Jungwon was doing. Maybe he's playing video games. Or reading all of the superhero comics that he loved to collect.
Then, your mind wandered. What if he was with another girl? Your chest overwhelmed itself with unimaginable hurt. He never gave you a real explanation as to why he wanted to end things, and seemingly, his closest friends couldn't either. You'd be lying if you said that your mind didn't betray you, wandering to all of the darkest places.
Your eyes traced your own face in the mirror. Would Jungwon do that to you? Was he really the type to be unfaithful?
You knew the answer: no. Never. Jungwon was many things, and a cold-hearted unscrupulous cheater was not one of them. But then again, you thought you knew him to be the type to never spring a breakup on you. But he did. Maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought he did.
You took a deep breath. Not right now, you thought. You were on a date with another guy. It would be disrespectful to think about your ex, wouldn't it? Even if Haruto was most definitely not the one for you, you should have some courtesy.
You quickly rinsed your hands, dried them, and reapplied your lipgloss. And as you were ready to step back out, prepared to brave your tight-lipped smile and kind words, a large crashing sound pierced your ears.
Boom!
In the blink of an eye, the tiled bathroom floor below you rumbled, low growls rolling from under your feet. You froze. Your hand jerked out to grab the counter, the wall, the bathroom door handle— anything— to keep you stable.
"W-What the—"
Another deafening roar thundered through the air, enough to make your ears ring. At that instance, the floor below you ripped open.
What the hell was going on? Was it an earthquake? That would explain why the ground tore open. And yet, in the distance, you could hear booming thumping sounds.
Almost like the footsteps of a humongous being. Almost like the footsteps of a supervillain. Shit.
You're well aware of the state of your city. In the past few years, there has been a strange phenomenon of evildoers and mutants alike, appearing throughout your city to wreak havoc and torment civilians. And with that came the rise of even more bold crimes. Bank robberies, arson, kidnappings, pretty much everything.
Luckily, in the past 6 months, a new hero has appeared. The red and blue masked hero; the friendly neighborhood superhero himself; Spider-Man.
Your apartment, located near the center of the city, was awfully close to all of the commotion, nearly all the time. Which was why you couldn't help but admit that Spider-Man was quite the gem, for taking out all of these ne'er-do-wells and eccentric supervillains. And yet, here you were, probably in the middle of a supervillain attack.
All of the past villains have been eccentric but petty. But as the tiles below your feet literally cracked with each booming thrum, you were sure that this new villain, whoever it was, was worse.
Much worse. Probably worse than you could ever imagine.
And before you could react to the way that you tumbled to the ground, the cold floor hitting your knees so achingly, you heard a shriek from outside the bathroom.
"It's Baron von Fizzlebang!"
.... Who?
Baron von Fizzlebang?
What kind of shitty villain name is that—
Boom!
The smell of smoke filled your nostrils. You didn't know where it came from, but from the way that civilians screeched and screamed outside, you figured that it couldn't be far from you.
Boom!
Okay, this is urgent, you needed to get out!
Your heart rate picking up, you breathed slowly to keep yourself calm. You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the way your soon-to-be bruised knees ached. As you reached for the bathroom door handle, the lights flickered, followed by the sound of explosions. Even though you were definitively inside the bathroom, with all sides of the room still intact, the dust seeped through the cracks, filling your lungs. With a strained gasp for air, you clamped a hand over your nose, squinting.
You pressed your ear against the bathroom door. Now the entire restaurant blared with fire alarms and smoke detectors. Police sirens also sounded. The large footstep-like thudding in the distance came closer and closer. You had no choice but get out of this damn bathroom and book it.
Your heart was now pounding so quickly that it felt like it would fall out. Your legs felt so weak, your head feeling too heavy. Who the hell is Baron von Fizzlebang? And more importantly, why did it have to be tonight? Without even realizing it, your palms had become sweaty, and with all the blood rushing to your head, you were mere seconds away from sweating.
You shook your head. Focus! You squeezed your eyes shut, your hand wrapped tightly on that bathroom door handle. On a count of three, you were going to open that door and run for your life.
One. Why did some good-for-nothing supervillain have to ruin your already-mediocre night?
Two. You needed to relax. There's no time to sit around and think and languish. Just do it!
Three. You pushed the heavy bathroom door open, and you bursted through the doorway.
And much to your relief, the dark hallway that led to the restaurant's bathroom was hidden away in a little nook; at the end of the hallway was the entrance to the main room of the restaurant.
Slowly creeping down the hallway, you could see the destruction that was wreaked on Bisco's poor, fancy restaurant. Chairs and tables were knocked over, with broken glass and porcelain scattering the red-carpeted floor. From the looks of it, it seemed like all of the restaurant's patrons were either huddled up in another section of the restaurant, or they had escaped.
Great. Now, all you had to do was get out. Thankfully, at the other end of this hallway, there was a backdoor exit. So all you had to do was turn around and—
There standing at the end of the hallway, in front of your exit, was a tall and slender man.
He wore a fitted tailored suit, yet it was bright purple, with a giant bow tie. He had a monocle over his eye.
Like some type of costumed noble. Like a baron.
"That's right," he said, a devious grin spreading across his face, in a way that almost made him look like a carnival clown. Your pulse froze, mid-beat. Theatrically, he gave you a bow, before he reached a hand out to you. " 'Tis I, Baron von Fizzlebang."
Your gut twisted. And when you stared at him with shaky eyes, your entire body frozen in time, the supervillain let out a cackle.
"Oh dear," Baron von Fizzlebang put his hand to his chest, feigning offense. He slyly eyed you, and at once, you could see a lightbulb seemingly pop from his head. "You don't mind being a hostage, right?"
Before you could even open your mouth, Baron von Fizzlebang shot you with finger-guns. And before you knew it, you fell to your knees, your vision became hazy. The last thing that you heard as you lost consciousness was the supervillain's laughter, police sirens, and shouting for a particular red and blue masked superhero.
Jungwon swore that he had a special sense for you.
Jungwon arrived at the scene barely even 5 minutes after he heard the initial explosion. The big fancy restaurant at the end of Mainstreet was the scene.
Really? Jungwon thought. Bisco's Palace? That pretentious place?
The thing was, Jungwon wasn't really nervous. One time, he had to fight an entire group of 20 thugs with guns barely 5 minutes after he was rudely awoken. Jungwon could probably fight people in his sleep. His body and physicality, although he resented it half the time, was perfectly attuned to everything that he needed.
Even now, as he was barely sober and emotionally wrecked, he could see clearly. When he arrived at the scene, half of Bisco's Palace was completely destroyed. Mini fires spotted the scene, with pods of smoke bursting in the night air. Terrified civilians cried that they heard earsplitting thumping in the distance, like footsteps. Others claimed that an eccentric villain called "Baron von something-something" was the cause of this all.
Jungwon huffed. Another crazy supervillain? Seemingly there was another crazy supervillain appearing everyday! What, was there some kind of factory pumping them out? From the looks of it, it seemed like most of the civilians had escaped relatively unscathed.
Good. Jungwon readied himself to launch into that burning restaurant. He had a simple action plan: Rescue the remaining civilians, beat that Baron von something-something's ass, and go home.
The moment that Jungwon's striking red and blue figure launched across the sky, Jungwon could hear the gasps of civilians, police officers, and on-site journalists alike. Jungwon landed easily into what was left of that restaurant building.
And when he entered, it was quiet. Eerily quiet.
Jungwon had to be careful.
Jungwon creeped slowly, closer to the main dining room. He kept his breathing as quiet as a whisper. And when he peeked his head through the grand, arched door-frame that led into the dining room, there, he saw a group of civilians, huddled among the flickering fires Men, women, children— there they were, shaking in fear, and coughing as the. Fire smoke filled their lungs. With his enhanced senses, he could hear mothers hushing their wailing babies and children asking their fathers if they were going to die tonight.
Not on my watch, Jungwon mentally answered their questions.
Jungwon shot a web at the ceiling, and in one fell swoop, he gathered enough momentum to swing across the restaurant, landing where the civilians were.
"Spider-Man!" they cried.
Jungwon crouched down toward them, putting his hands on his knees.
"Listen," he began, his voice stern. "I am going to help you guys escape." Jungwon grimaced at their amazed gazes. "But I need you guys to listen to me carefully."
Jungwon's eyes glazed over the group of civilians. There were up to 15 of them. He didn't have time to carry each and every one of them out. The entrance was burning, and there weren't any other ways to get out. Jungwon wanted to conserve his time as much as possible. To prevent that bastard of a villain Baron von something-something from doing any more damage.
And now that he took a better look at these civilians, they looked tired and worn out. Their cheeks were covered in soot, sweaty faces from the fire that was surrounding them.
Jungwon's eyes darted around the restaurant. There had to be another exit. Then, his eyes fell upon the tall window that stretched from the ceiling down to the floor.
Bingo.
"Mama, it's too hot," Jungwon could hear a toddler babble. Other people seemed to join in on agreement, and yet, they could barely speak coherently. With sweat-stained shirts and cheeks, Jungwon cursed under his breath.
Damn it, the fire was physically weakening these people. Jungwon's plan was nothing short of easy: he was going to break the hell out that window and get these people to escape that way. Yet, the problem was, the windows were bound to shatter and create dangerous shards. Jungwon was going to instruct them to be careful, but judging from the way that these civilians flinched at even the slightest flutter of fire while barely even having the strength to stand up, there was no way that they could have the alertness and mental precision to actually avoid the shards.
Think, think! Jungwon squeezed his eyes shut. What should he do? In the palace that was his mind, Jungwon ran through every possibility. These fires were big. They looked much smaller outside, but now that he was in the restaurant itself, these tongues of fires were massive. Not only were these fires scalding, but the smoke was painful for these civilians.
Come to think of it, shouldn't every building in this city have a robust mechanism for when fire breaks out? And yet, the walls, floor, and remaining civilians in this restaurant were dry. Which means that the sprinklers haven't gone off yet.
This was why public establishments needed health inspections... Jungwon shook his head. He didn't have time to criticize the efficacy of his government.
At once, Jungwon shot webs at whatever hard object he could find— fallen plates, bundles of metal utensils, even pieces of debris— before slinging them into the ceiling, directly toward all of the sprinkler bulbs that dotted the tall ceiling.
I'm sorry about your ceiling, but you'll thank me later, Jungwon thought, before slinging thick wads of webs toward every vent.
As each sprinkler bulb shattered, flared streams of water bursted from the ceiling. And as each vent of this flaming restaurant were webbed over, Jungwon prayed to whichever god he could think of that his physics professor was right about buoyancy. Hopefully, if he was right, by webbing over the vents, new smoke would not be able to enter the room, and thus reduce the amount of smoke that the civilians were breathing in.
As cold water droplets pittered and pattered over Jungwon's suit, he watched as the remaining civilians cheered and cooled off under the sprinkler. And with his physics-accurate ventilation blockage, they'd now be much more compliant.
Jungwon latched onto a larger piece of debris and slung it at the closest and safest window.
"Okay," he began instructing, creating a temporary web to shield the civilians from the fractured pieces of the window. "
You—" he pointed at a man—"Take that kid. And you two—" he pointed at two teenagers—"Stick together."
Jungwon organized the people. "Be careful, and step around the shards!"
The civilians were already on it. Jungwon watched as they carried their young and old, fleeing as fast as they came, all of them murmuring a "thank you, Spider-Man," as they pushed out through the window.
And with that, Jungwon was left all alone. The fire had died down just a little bit, by virtue of the sprinklers. For safe measure, Jungwon configured a few webs to create a few fire barriers to slow those damned flames down.
Now where was that Baron von something-something?
Jungwon scanned the restaurant. He looked everywhere. In the foyer, at the entrance, in the kitchen, even under the tables.
But he couldn't find anyone.
Except, there was one place that he didn't check: the dark hallway in the corner of the restaurant.
Jungwon inched toward it, slowly. He took small, spider-like steps.
"Oh, would you just hurry it up already?!" a loud voice boomed through the air.
Emerging from the hallway was a tall man.
Baron von something-something.
"Look at you, Spider-Man!" he cried, mockingly batting his eyelashes and clasping his hands together. "So brave! So strong! You helped those poor, poor civilians escape!"
Jungwon narrowed his eyes. Who the hell was this maniac? Jungwon's fingers twitched.
"But it looks like you forgot one." A sinister smile spread across his face. "Oh come out, dear!"
There was nothing that could have possibly prepared Jungwon for what he saw next. His heart plummeted to his stomach, because from the dark hallway emerged you.
Your face was dazed, your eyes cloudy, and your movements so sluggish. As if you were unconscious, and your mind was being controlled.
"Dontcha think she's pretty?" the villain continued, eccentrically throwing his arms around you. He laughed. "They don't call me Baron von Fizzlebang for no reason! With a single gunshot from my fingers, I can take anyone under my control!"
Jungwon tuned everything out.
He felt a flood of emotions.
Fear.
You, the person that's been haunting him. You, who has been consuming his thoughts and life. There you were, in front of him, after all of this time. Even when you weren't really there, Jungwon couldn't bear to look you in the eyes.
And yet, it meant nothing. His fear meant absolutely nothing. Not when there was another emotion taking hold: anger.
So much anger, that his blood felt hot. Jungwon dug his fingernails into his gloved palms, enough that his knuckles were beginning to ache. How dare this villain take advantage of you? Your safety was in jeopardy. It made Jungwon's stomach boil with a rage that he couldn't comprehend, the way that you were quite literally not in control of your body. That in the time that Jungwon wasn't there, unspeakable things could have been done to you. To think that your own autonomy was torn from your hands, to think that your own dignity was desecrated in the name of some supervillain's sick power game— that conjured a feeling that Jungwon couldn't even describe. Disgust, horror, wrath; he felt it all.
Jungwon now looked upon the villain with eyes full of wrath.
Baron von Fizzlebang continued to rave on and on about how great he was, and how this was just all part of his master plan to subjugate this city. But it didn't mean anything.
To the entire world, Spider-Man was a hero. And in most ways, he was one. Jungwon saved people daily, he prevented the city around him from crumbling to the ground like it was easy. He was a man of the people, the beacon of hope for all city residents.
The symbol of law and order, the righteous hero of the city, Spider-Man.
And yet, as Jungwon's eyes couldn't bear to tear away from your dazed face, he felt his resolve slip away.
The obligation to protect others, defend freedom, and uphold justice, like a vessel from a dock, sailed away into the horizon, into the unknown. Right now, Jungwon was not Spider-Man protecting a civilian. He was not the Spider-Man that had no other duty than to ensure the safety of his fellow citizens. He was not the Spider-Man whose every action reflected his moral purity.
No, Jungwon was a man that was so ashamed of his own fears, that he never even dared to speak of them. He was the man that pushed everyone away, frightened by what would happen if he continued to associate with them. And worst of all, Jungwon was the man that still continued to yearn you, longing for your touch one last time before he would consign his love to oblivion.
Which was why all Jungwon saw was red.
Maybe if he was actually listening to Baron von Fizzlebang's monologue he would have heard how his abilities worked, but Jungwon didn't care. He'll probably figure it out later when this lunatic gets thrown into jail.
Jungwon couldn't control his body, or his mind at that matter. All Jungwon could remember doing was shooting a web at the ceiling to gain a higher vantage point, before (with all of the maximum, inhuman speed that his body was capable of) swinging down to land a kick flat onto Baron von Fizzlebang's cheek, effectively knocking the man down to the floor.
Before the villain could even react, Jungwon couldn't stop himself; he pinned the villain down to the floor using all of his body weight, before he let nothing but his sheer anger reign. All of his pent up emotions— anger, fear, shame, guilt— spilled out. No longer was Jungwon the pure hero.
With his bare hands, he landed punches to Baron von Fizzlebang's abdomen. Over and over and over.
Spider-Man used spider webs and crafty tricks to defeat his enemies. But Jungwon? He used his bare hands. With gritted teeth, and blood boiling hotter than lava, Jungwon punched, and punched, and punched. Even when he could feel his knuckles beginning to bruise, he punched. He ignored every cry and groan of pain coming from the villain, for there was only one thing on his mind: your dignity.
Jungwon wouldn't have stopped, not even if his arm gave out (because he would just switch to his other arm), not even if this maniacal supervillain was out for good.
The only thing that pulled Jungwon into his blind rage was the sound of you collapsing to the ground, with a thump!
Instantly, Jungwon snapped out of his fury, his head whipping over to you. Seemingly, with Baron von Fizzlebang knocked out, you were released from his control.
Immediately, Jungwon rushed over to you, leaving Baron von Fizzlebang's unconscious body.
"[Name]!" he cried, scooping your limp body up into his arms. You no longer looked dazed, so at least Baron von Fizzlebang's control of you wore off for good. And yet, your expression looked exhausted. Your eyes were half-lidded, labored breaths and soft whimpering pushing from your lips. "[Name], can you hear me? Are you okay?—"
Overhead, Jungwon could hear helicopters and the shouting of police officers and firemen from outside. They must have figured that Jungwon defeated Baron von Fizzlebang, and now they were sending re-enforcements. But all of Jungwon's focus was still on you.
"Spider-Man...?" you mumbled weakly, your voice hoarse and quivering. Now that he got a better look, your eyes were bloodshot, and your cheeks were tear-stained. Jungwon's heart clenched in his chest. He couldn't understand why he felt such an overwhelming urge to pull you into his embrace, to hold you close as if you would disappear. "Spider-Man, I—"
"Don't speak," Jungwon's voice came out as a whisper. And maybe it was now that Jungwon realized that his eyes were welled up with tears. It's been so long since he's been able to see you, and yet ironically, the only reason that he could was because your life was in danger. Jungwon let out a choked sob. "Don't say anything, [Name]."
"But I—I wanted to thank you—"
"Shhhh."
You looked so tired. He couldn't imagine how you felt, being under the control of a supervillain that has malicious intentions. But here you were, still taking it upon yourself to thank him. He couldn't even fathom what type of pain (emotional? physical? mental? you definitely weren't going to be okay after this, he knew you that well) you were going through.
Hug her, was the resounding thought that filled Jungwon's head. He almost cursed himself for thinking such a thing. After all, he wasn't yours anymore. But as he watched your worn face, he thought again. When you were still his, you always felt soothed when you were under intense stress if he hugged you tightly, the way that you always liked it.
Holding his breath, Jungwon gently lifted your head and chest, before pulling you into his arms. Almost instantly, you relaxed into his body, pushing your face into the crook of his neck. Like how you used to. You murmured something under your breath, but Jungwon was too distracted by the tears that were now definitely streaming down his face. He hadn't felt your touch in so long. He's been dreaming of getting to hold you one last time for months now.
Your eyelids began to fall, your head yielding to his shoulder, which was a tell-tale sign that you've fallen unconscious.
In the restaurant of ruin and rubble, Jungwon sat there on the debris-ridden floor, with you in his arms. Before he finally decided to get back up and take the two of you out of this place, he gave you one more tight squeeze.
"I love you," he whispered into your ear. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but he hoped that somewhere in dreamland, you heard him.
Jungwon stared out of his apartment window. It's been a few days since the Baron von Fizzlebang-Bisco's Palace incident. Baron von Fizzlebang was taken into police custody and his trial awaited him. Meanwhile, the city was still cleaning up the aftermath, with an entire block of the city being taped off.
But the city wasn't the only thing that had to be repaired.
Namely, Jungwon hadn't recovered yet. His fists still had red-purple marks on them. Even with his superhuman regenerative abilities, he had pushed himself to the extreme when he was beating up Baron von Fizzlebang the other day. But that wasn't the issue.
Ever since that day, Jungwon hadn't stopped thinking about you. Well, to be sure, he never stopped thinking about you, but he was thinking about you extra now.
He wondered how you were doing. You were a strong girl. You could withstand pretty much everything, because it was in your nature. But after an incident like this one, he was sure that you were going through a lot.
Jungwon felt selfish. He wanted to check up on you. He wanted to ask one of his friends to ask your friends how you were doing, or maybe go to your apartment as Spider-Man to check up on you himself.
But that's a purely selfish desire.
Jungwon couldn't do that to you. He broke up with you for a reason: to protect you. He'd never want to do anything to put you in danger, and by even opening an avenue of communication between him (in both his hero and civilian form) and you was dangerous in and of itself.
It scared him so deeply, the thought of losing you. But still, Jungwon wanted to be selfish. He wanted to love you greedily, to have you all to himself.
He looked out his window again, then he looked down at his wrists: the black spider-like veins looked darker today. Maybe in another lifetime, because in this lifetime, he had a duty as Spider-Man.
Speaking of which, there were few actual benefits of being Spider-Man. One of them was that Jungwon got to directly impact other people's lives. Which was why every week, the municipal government would send him all of the fan-mail that civilians had for him.
Jungwon shook the thought of you away, pushing it to the back of his mind as he. grabbed his keys, slipped on some slippers, and ventured down to his apartment complex's mailroom.
As always, his mailbox was filled to the brim with mail. From letters to postcards to care packages, Jungwon looked like a madman as he struggled to carry all of his fan=mail back up to his apartment. It sucked that he couldn't use his spider abilities to help him in broad daylight.
In fact, there was so much mail that as Jungwon traversed the hallway back to his apartment, stumbling over himself, one stray letter fell from the stack of letters that he had atop all of the packages.
He cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes. He watched as that one stray letter seemingly flew off of the stack, gracefully floating in the air for a few seconds before landing before his feet.
Jungwon huffed again. He quickly made his way back to his apartment, set down all of his fan-mail, before running back out into the hallway to pick up that pesky envelope that decided to fly away.
But as Jungwon marched down that hallway, crouching down to pick up the letter that had fallen out of his grasp, his eyes fell upon that name on that envelope.
It was your name. Jungwon snatched it up.
You wrote him fan-mail. Jungwon couldn't help but smile.
It has been about two weeks since the incident, and frankly, you're only halfway over it. You could tell that you were getting better compared to how you were in the immediate aftermath. But you still couldn't sleep at night, and you needed lots of mental preparation to go anywhere outside.
But today, you decided that you were going to put on a brave face, and stand up against your fears.
Pushing what fears you had to the back of your mind, you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom. It was late into the morning, and yet, you were wearing makeup.
Wonyoung (that smart girl, always with tricks up her sleeve), feeling apologetic about what had happened at that disaster of a date last week, begged to take you out on a girl's date today. After being cooped up in your room everyday for the past few days, you couldn't say no to her offer.
You felt a little nervous, though. The last time you went out, you got taken control of by that supervillain. But Wonyoung had been there for you the entire way, talking you through it every night. You trusted her, and you appreciated how she didn't treat you like a victim; Wonyoung wasn't babying your every step, but instead just treating you like a normal person.
And plus, it was summer. You wanted to have fun and to live your young adult life. Your eyes fluttered over to your window. Streams of yellow sunlight peeked through. Today was too beautiful. You could remember Wonyoung's excited voice over the phone a few nights ago.
"We should go take pictures!" she has squealed over the phone. "You just look toooooo pretty and we need to post something on your Instagram— to show all the guys what they're missing out on!"
You giggled. You still couldn't get used to being treated like you were single. There were indeed a few cool freedoms that came with being single. But in your mind, you still belonged to someone.
You looked at your phone. Wonyoung talked about posting pictures to make guys feel like bums for not getting on their knees and worshipping you (her words, not yours!). But when you thought about posting pictures, all you thought about was whether or not Jungwon would see them.
You squeezed your eyes shut. You needed to stop thinking about him. It wasn't healthy. But you still wondered if he thought about you, the same way you thought about him. You sat up from your bed, before you glanced into the mirror near the foot of your bed.
You hoped that he thought about you, too.
Ding dong! Oh! A ring from the front door! It must be Wonyoung! You happily promenaded to your apartment door, excited to greet your best friend with a big hug, and—
"J-Jungwon?!"
Instead of seeing your pink-wearing scheming best friend, you're greeted with your ex-boyfriend. However, for some reason, he looked more surprised than you!
"[N-Name]?!" he spluttered, his cat-like eyes as wide as saucers with his jaw falling open.
The two of you stare at each other like that for what felt like an eternity.
Your eyes fell over his features. His hair had grown a little bit longer since the last time you saw him (granted, that was half a year ago). His face looked slimmer, like he had lost weight. As you glazed over his figure, he had a backpack on his shoulders as always, but you eyed the way his biceps looked. He looked like he had put on more muscle, and before you could start ogling at him, you stopped yourself.
This was the guy that broke your heart. This was the guy that left you with no words. And now he was at your door?
"What the fuck do you want?" you spat at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Your brows crashed together, your expression turning sour. When he didn't respond, because you could tell by his expression that he was too busy checking you out, you began to close the door in his face.
"W-Wait!" he put his hands in front of him, flailing them panicked. You shot him a questioning look. "I think— I think I'm at the wrong apartment..."
You scoffed. "Oh, bullshit. What do you actually want?"
"I-I promise that I'm serious," Jungwon breathed out, and for a second you felt the walls you built for yourself threatening to crash down. He looked like a sad cat. Frantically, he shoved his hands into his pockets, searching for his phone that was squashed somewhere in them. When he finally found his phone, he fumbled with it, before showing you his screen. "I'm tutoring... a kid on your floor, I think."
You took a good look at his phone screen, and he was telling the truth.
You sighed, pinching your nose-bridge.
"Do you..." he began, his eyes refusing to look at yours. "Do you know how to get to room 1214?"
You let out another sigh, this time louder. Jungwon stumbled, stammering to explain himself again, but you put a hand up, effectively silencing him.
"Keep going down the hallway, make a left turn, and you'll find room 1214 on your right," you said simply.
"Thank you," Jungwon said, as he nodded slowly, and you hummed.
Another long moment of silence engulfed the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick that you swore you could cut it with a butter knife. You watched the way Jungwon's fingers fidgeted, a habit that he's never lost. He did this whenever he felt nervous or shy. It was a habit that you had grown to be fond of. You thought it was sweet that he was so fidgety. You tore your eyes away from him.
Was this the guy that wordlessly broke your heart?
"I'm gonna—" Jungwon started, breaking the silence. "I'm gonna go now."
He locked eyes with you, but just as he tried to break eye contact, you sent him a warning look. He didn't look away.
"Okay," you said simply. "Me too."
"Yeah."
And yet, the two of you still stood there, staring at each other. You've spent so many nights crying over him. You've never felt so much pain in your life before. There was so much anger and resentment that you had built up for him. There were a million words that you wanted to say to him, to tell him how much he hurt you.
But right now, you couldn't think of anything.
"Take care," you said.
"You too."
And with that, you slowly closed your door on him, while he slowly walked away from your door. But you swore that he kept looking back at you.
The moment that your front door clicked shut, you pressed your back up against it, before sliding down and holding your knees to your chest. You couldn't get over him when he clearly still wasn't over you. Why was he playing with you like this? Why did it have to be you, and more importantly, why did it have to be him?
Surely in time, Wonyoung showed up, and the two of you went on your little girl's day.
You huffed as you stumbled through your apartment doorway, struggling to take off your shoes amidst all of the shopping bags hanging on your arm. That Wonyoung, so eager to treat you to a nice day out. She bought you everything that you remotely showed interest in.
The moment that you arrived home, you shed all of your outdoor clothes, retreating to the comfort that was your bedroom. By now, it was dark out, and despite having a long and fun day with Wonyoung, you didn't feel tired. Unlike most days like this one that would follow a logical sequence, you still felt restless, as if your day had not been complete.
You were plagued with a weird gnawing feeling inside you. This happened a lot lately, probably just your anxiety from the past few weeks' incident.
And when you finally realized that laying in bed for hours scrolling on your phone was barely productive for an adult like you, you sighed, before sitting up from your bed.
Maybe you should write to him.
Ever since the incident at Bisco's Palace, you've found yourself especially restless. It's hard to tell if you're just paranoid, but on nights like this, you found yourself doing the same thing: writing to Spider-Man.
You used to be indifferent to the buzz around the masked hero, but now you understood it. You didn't know the reason why, but you found yourself finding comfort in simply writing to Spider-Man. It's simple things like thanking him for his service, and telling him about your day.
You glanced at the disorderly pile on your desk, of folded letters and envelopes. You never sent your letters. You've only ever sent him one letter.
The rest of your letters, which were structured more like long streams of consciousness vomited on a piece of paper, were left unsent.
You sighed. It wasn't like Spider-Man was really going to read your letters. You were just writing your thoughts out. You sat at your desk, scrolling through your Spotify Playlists to first choose the perfect moody music to get you writing. Your finger scrolled around your screen, glazing over the icons for each of your playlists.
You stopped when you saw a familiar, yet long-forgotten one.
It was a playlist that was created an entire year ago, with a simple title: love. Its icon was none other than a picture of you and Jungwon, with your cheeks smooshed up against each other. Smiling. In love.
Your finger hovered over its icon for a few moments. You haven't listened to this playlist in months. It's practically been collecting cobwebs in your Spotify account. If you listened to it now, you'd probably lose your mind. And yet you felt drawn to it.
You closed your eyes, rubbing your temples. In times in stress, we as humans seek familiarity. It's not crazy for you, who just experienced something traumatizing, to seek the solace of an old playlist reminiscent of a happier time. Right?
Play, you clicked.
Immediately, songs that you haven't heard in a long time filled your ears, the familiar tunes and melodies that you've grown to love hanging in the air.
You grabbed a pen, and began jotting down your thoughts.
'Dear Spider-Man,' you started off your letter. Below your desk, your knees bounced to the rhythm of each song— each song chosen by Jungwon, reminding you of all of his laughs and soft kisses as you and him shared earbuds on the city's underground subway.
As the black ink of your pen smudged against the side of your palm, you hummed along to the music that emitted from your phone. For a second, you could pretend that it was last summer, when you still had a boy to call yours.
You bit your lip, staring at the words scribbled on the paper.
It wasn't like Spider-Man would ever read these letters. He was a hypothetical addressee in your letters, so to speak. You took a deep breath.
'I miss him,' you wrote next, wincing as you gazed at your handwriting. How embarrassing, that you're confiding in the hypothetical version of a superhero in your head about your boy troubles. Whatever. You continued, 'I don't think I'll be able to move on from him, not any time soon.'
You stared at your words again. Oh, isn't this just pathetic?
You groaned, exasperated. You seriously just needed to get a life, or something. Just as you were about to throw yourself into your bed and scream into your pillows, leaving an unfinished letter open on your desk—
Crash!
You whipped your head toward the source of the sound: your bedroom balcony.
For a moment, your shoulders tensed. The last time a loud sound filled your ears, you got your mind controlled. And plus, it wasn't safe being a woman that lived alone, especially in a city notorious for its crime.
With trembling eyes, you stared out your glass balcony doors. It was completely dark out, save for the streams of light staining your balcony from your room. There's loud sounds all the time, but this time, you were 100% certain that the sound was on your balcony.
Should you go check it out? Or should you just turn off all your lights and jump into bed?
But before you could scare yourself even more, a strong figure slowly rose from the darkness. Hunched over, as if he was in pain, emerged a familiar red and blue hero.
"S-Spider-Man?!" you gaped to yourself. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
And despite the darkness, you and him seem to lock eyes. Spider-Man, although it was him that was intruding on your property, seemed even more surprised by your presence, physically jolting away as if he was really that taken aback by you. And unfortunately for him, just as he was about to scurry away, you bursted through your balcony doors.
"Spider-Man!" you called out, as the cool night air kissed your face. You could feel goosebumps rise on your skin, as your thin pajamas did you no justice against the night coolness.
Although he was masked, you swore that Spider-Man was looking at you like you were some kind of freak of nature. But you ignored his gaze, noticing the way his clothed thigh had a massive dark-red splotch on it.
"I-Is that blood?" you peeped, pointing to his thigh. That would explain why Spider-Man had such an unceremonious crash landing into your apartment balcony; he was injured. You looked back up at the hero's masked face. "Spider-Man, are you okay—"
"I-I'm fine!" Spider-Man blurted, his voice shaky and almost uncertain. The hero staggered, stumbling to his feet. You could tell that he was in pain, but was trying to hide it. "I'm okay."
You watched as Spider-Man limped, quietly wincing in pain to the railing of your balcony, gripping it tightly to support himself.
He looked over his shoulder. Even when his face wasn't visible, it was like he was sheepish. Timid, even.
"I'm...." Spider-Man began. You could see his toned back tense. "I'm sorry."
You blinked. "For what?"
The hero hesitated. Why was Spider-Man being so... shy? And unassuming? Wasn't he this grand and powerful hero?
"For...." he drew out his syllables, as if he was grasping for thoughts in his head. "For abruptly— um— crashing. Into... your apartment."
A curve formed on your lips. "No, no. no!" you waved your hands in front of yourself. "Don't worry at all!"
You glanced at the wound on his thigh. Blood ran down his thigh, seeping through his costume. "Are you sure you're—"
Spider-Man interrupted you with a loud groan of pain, as he attempted to take a step forward. He crumbled to his knees, choked cries of pain falling from his lips.
The hero cursed under his breath, muttering about some "bastard" stabbing him.
You rushed to his side, your arms wrapping around his torso to pull him back to his feet. Despite being in pain from his injury, he seemed even more baffled by your touch, flinching away.
"S-Sorry," he apologized again.
"It's okay," you shot him a small smile. "Why don't you come inside?"
Jungwon wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
After his tutoring session with one of your neighbors, Jungwon went home and decided to take a long nap. After all, running into you, his ex, was definitely not something that he intended to do. He needed a nap to clear his mind.
Except, that was not what Jungwon got. Instead, he got another dream of you dying. Combined with seeing you getting controlled by that supervillain, Jungwon was not in the right headspace when he awoke.
Once again, with goosebumps littering his arms, cold sweat rolling down his temples, Jungwon's first instinct, as always, was to jump out of that damn window and take a lap around the city. By the time he finished a lap, it was already dark, and yet neither his mind nor body had the sharp precision that he needed to fight criminals.
Which was why when fighting a group of bandits, Jungwon dishonorably got stabbed in the thigh (though, of course, he kicked their asses to the moon).
And after he tried to swing away via his webs, his painful wound in the thigh made him miscalculate and web, and he tumbled down from the sky.
And that's how Jungwon found himself sitting on your bed.
This time, instead of breaking up with you, he was clad in his spandex suit, waiting for you as you rummaged through your bathroom cabinet.
Jungwon looked around your room. Everything was the same.
You had the same plushies on your bed, with the scent of your perfume still strong in the air. Your desk is still cluttered with the same papers and pens.
Everything, and really everything, was the same. Like one of those unfortunate true-crime cases, where someone dies under mysterious circumstances, and yet their home is completely untouched, with no signs of disturbance. As if nothing had changed at all, save for the absence of life.
It was a strange stillness, and yet, Jungwon shook his head. He was in no position to judge. Though, Jungwon's eyes did catch something interesting.On your desk lay a messy stack of envelopes and papers, some crumpled up and others pristinely folded. Like letters.
And maybe Jungwon was paranoid, or heartbroken, but his mind wandered to the worst places. Were you seeing another guy? Maybe the guy that you went on that date with. Was that why you were probably writing love notes?
Have you moved on that quickly? Was it that easy to forget him? Jungwon's heart ached, and against his better judgement, he rose to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his thigh. He creeped up to your desk, limping with each step. With each inch closer, he could feel the world shattering around him.
And when he realized that there was an unfinished letter already in the works, freely laying on your desk, his heart dropped.
Jungwon gazed at the stack of letters, then back at the half-written letter played on your desk. But his eyes caught the heading of the letter: 'Dear Spider-Man.'
And it was now that Jungwon realized another crucial detail: your phone, also laying on your desk, was playing music. Playing music from the playlist that you and him made together.
"Spider-Man?"
Jungwon whipped his head around as your voice pulled him out of thought. And before he could even question why you would be writing to him of all people, you were already throwing all of your bandages onto your bed, rushing profusely to him as you cried, "Don't look at those!"
You tugged on Jungwon's arm, pulling him and gently pushing him onto your bed. Your bottom lip jutted out into a small pout, your face painted with an embarrassed expression.
"You were not supposed to see that," you murmured with your brows knitted together, standing in front of the now sitting hero. When Jungwon didn't respond, you continued, your voice breathy. "Just— Just forget you saw anything."
Jungwon nodded slowly. Under the mask, he glanced back to your desk. Were all of those letters addressed to him? As in, Spider-Man? And why were you still listening to that playlist?
"It's okay," he said reassuringly, even though he was extremely uncertain himself. "I didn't see anything."
You visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh. "I-It's just embarrassing."
Your eyes fluttered up to Jungwon's masked face. You opened your mouth to speak, but Jungwon could tell by the way your lips trembled ever-so-slightly and your brows crashed together that you felt uncomfortable.
You made that face when you felt like you needed to talk. Jungwon swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, his arms opening up and his palms opening. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"But—"
Jungwon hoped that you could see his earnest smile from behind his mask. "I mean it. Don't worry about it."
Your eyes narrowed, as if you were studying his face. You sighed again. "Okay, sorry."
A silence engulfed the two of you, as you reached for the bandages and first-aid supplies that you had so abruptly thrown onto your bed earlier, completely unaware of the way Jungwon watched you so intently. He hadn't been so close to you in so long. With every flicker of your eyes and twitch of your face, Jungwon admired you closely.
What he would do to reach out and cup your cheek again, to feel your living and breathing self against his hands. To verify that you hadn't died. To confirm that you were safe and sound, alive and well.
"Can I—" you started, breaking the silence— "Can I help with your wound?"
Jungwon blinked. He had high levels of regeneration, so in a few hours, the wound on his thigh would be completely gone. It would be better to not waste both of your time.
But how you looked at him with wide, innocuous eyes, filled with worry and your characteristic kindness, Jungwon's greed clouded his mind.
"I would love that," Jungwon replied, his voice a near whisper.
How shameful of him, to sit here and selfishly bask in your presence as if he hadn't broken your heart.
You smiled, taking your rubbing alcohol and coming to Jungwon's side. Quickly, you started at your ministrations. Jungwon hissed at the burning sensation of the rubbing alcohol on his open wound (he had forgotten what it felt like), whispering apologies with each squeak of pain that fell from his lips. You hummed to yourself, your delicate face so focused.
"You know, Spider-Man," you began as you continued treating his wound, your voice soft, "I always wonder if you remember me."
Jungwon scoffed, his lips moving faster than his brain. Breathy, but eager, words came out, in a tone that Jungwon had always reserved for you. "How could I ever forget you, [Name]?"
You let out a peep, your face slowly morphing into a flustered expression. "W-What are you talking about?"
Shit. "I-I mean—"
Jungwon's ears burned, the apples of his cheeks prickling with warmth. This is not what he meant to do! Jungwon cleared his throat, sucking in a sharp breath to recompose himself.
"W-What I meant was that I—" Jungwon narrowed his eyes, thinking of an explanation— "I could never forget what happened at Bisco's."
You blinked at him a few times, your face breaking out into a frown. "Oh."
Jungwon sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. Did that make you upset?
"I always remember the people that I save," he continued, observing your facial expressions carefully. "I could never forget the impact I made on others, and that includes you, [Name]."
You shook your head understanding, but Jungwon could still see the frown on your face. "You're right," you said. Your eyes met with his. "You really have made an impact on me, Spider-Man."
You reached for the bandages, beginning to slowly wrap them around his wounded thigh.
"You know..." you started slowly. A bashful curve formed on your lips, nearly forming one of those cute grins that you always did whenever you felt particularly happy or appreciative. "I think about you quite a bit."
Jungwon cocked a brow.
"The truth is," you continued, the bashful expression on your face growing, "I write letters to you whenever I feel like shit."
"Why?" Jungwon blurted. He knew he probably shouldn't ask. It would make him spiral even harder, but his curiosity got the better of him.
You let out a chuckle, closing your eyes and shaking your head in embarrassment. "Because you saved me. And because you're a pretty universal symbol of strength and reliability."
You looked up at him again, flexing your arms with a goofy grin. "You're this city's number one defender. I write to you because I feel like even if I can't send you anything, I could rely on you, y'know?"
"Yeah," Jungwon breathed. He hadn't seen you smile like that in a while, and your reasoning was un-surprisingly sweet. Because you were that type of person. He couldn't help the way his lips pulled up into a small smile. "That makes sense."
"How about you, Spider-Man?" you asked.
"What about me?"
"What do you do when you feel like shit?" you cocked your head, blinking owlishly. "You must go through a lot as a hero. What makes you feel like you should keep going?"
You, he thought. You were what made him want to keep being a good person. All his deep fears of failure and imperfection were intrinsically rooted in his desires to make himself worthy for you. It was all you.
"You," Jungwon said. But he couldn't have you. "... And other people that I've saved. Knowing that I have helped others is enough to keep me going."
You nodded your head, understanding, your lips forming an 'oh' shape. You continued wrapping his thigh with bandages. "Do you ever check up on the people that you save?"
"I wish I could," Jungwon responded. "I would love to check up on everyone."
"So why don't you?"
You were always so curious. Jungwon pursed his lips. "Because there's too many people that I've saved. I don't know all of them by name. I don't know how to find them."
You hummed. You finished wrapping Jungwon's leg with bandages, using scissors to cut the cloth bandages and securing them. You patted your hands off, sending the hero another smile. "Aaaand you're all done."
"Thank you," Jungwon held a fixed gaze on you again. It took all of his self-control to not throw his arms around you and embrace you. "I don't know how I can repay you—"
You waved your hands in front of you profusely. "No, no! I'm repaying you for saving me—"
Jungwon shook his head. "If it wasn't for your balcony, I would have probably died."
You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating, before a lightbulb seemingly popped above your head. You swiftly took Jungwon's hands, squeezing them tightly.
"Come visit me."
Jungwon spluttered. "W-What?"
"You said that you didn't know how to repay me, and that you didn't check up on people you saved because you didn't know how to find them," you gushed eagerly. "You found me. You can repay me by visiting me ever so often."
"But— But why?"
You shrugged. "It gets lonely sometimes," was all you said, but your wide and glassy eyes staring up at him so pleadingly made it hard to say no. "Please?"
"I'll try."
You didn't catch it at first. "What?"
"I'll try," Jungwon murmured. "To come back. If I can."
You chuckled. "Good enough for me."
Jungwon wasn't sure if he made a promise that he could keep.
"Good morning! Welcome to Maeum's Coffee Shop, what can I get you— Damn it, [Name], did you have a rough night again?"
You winced at Wonyoung's words. Wonyoung worked at a local coffee shop, and as a good friend, you always came in to support her.
It's been a few days since you found Spider-Man on your balcony, and you would be lying if you said that you weren't excited. You stayed up a few nights waiting for Spider-Man to crash-land on you again. It wasn't anything romantic for sure, you were just interested in talking to him. The truth was, you stayed up most nights anyway. You stayed up most nights thinking about everything, unable to truly rest. If you were going to be restless, you might as well think about your new friend Spider-Man.
"The usual," you murmured to your friend, who hummed understandingly, despite you completely ignoring her question. You rubbed your eyes. "I'm so tired, Wonyoung."
Wonyoung's bright eyes ran over your figure: you were wearing sweats with a hoodie draped over your shoulders, as if you just woke up. She chuckled at you, before ringing you up. "We could go to the beach after my shift, if you want."
You groaned as you swiped your card. You didn't feel like doing anything, but when it was Wonyoung, it was hard to say no. "Fine."
You grinned lazily as she cheered, before you took a seat in the coffee shop, slumping over yourself as you waited for your coffee. You could hear some light jazz playing, but especially the laughter of Wonyoung as she charmed customers, and most importantly, the flagrant whispers of her coworkers.
There was always one downside of visiting Wonyoung while she worked: her coworkers, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jake, who just so happened to be your ex-boyfriend's best friends. And now as you tried to fight your tiredness, all you could hear now was their whispers. Their frantic whispers.
If you weren't literally about to fall asleep, pulling your hood over your head, you would have shot them a glare, maybe even text Wonyoung to tell them to shut up.
"....that's definitely his..." you could hear Jake whisper-yell.
"...ngwon's gonna blow his shit..... Hurry, call him!"
"—Shit, he's on his way already!"
Ding! The doorbell of the coffee shop rang, making everyone in the shop (including yourself) turn their heads. And lo and behold, standing at the doorway was none other than your ex-boyfriend.
You couldn't even bring yourself to care. You could hear his friends practically shouting in the back while your phone pinged a billion messages from Wonyoung, but you just continued to push your face into your arms, taking comfort in the hoodie that you had thrown on this morning.
You hoped that Jungwon didn't notice that you were here. Maybe that would be better for your mental stability.
"[N-Name]?" Sunoo's shaky voice called out from the counter, where Sunoo, Sunghoon, and Jake liked to hang around. Your drink was ready. Finally.
Lifting yourself off of the cafe table, you trudged over to the counter, only a few feet away from the cash register. Where Jungwon was standing, getting ready to order. Which meant that he 100% saw you, and now he 100% knows that you're here.
Damn it. You really couldn't take seeing his face today. You fiddled with your hood, pulling it closer to you to hide your face.
"Here's your.... drink," Sunoo said, slowly and awkwardly, as if you were some alien. You rolled your eyes, fighting the horrible feeling of Jungwon's eyes boring into the back of your head, as you took your coffee from the counter.
As you read over the labeling and Sharpie'd name on your cup, you verified that this drink was indeed yours. And just as you were about to turn on your heel and get the fuck out of there (away from Jungwon, who was now 100000% staring at you), Jake just had to open his mouth.
"I-Isn't that Jungwon's hoodie?" Jake blurted, throwing an accusatory finger at the hoodie draped over your shoulders.
You didn't know what came first: Wonyoung's gasp from the cash register, you choking on your spit, or Jungwon spluttering from where he was. Sunoo and Sunghoon whacked Jake in the head, but the damage was already done.
Once again, for no apparent reason, you and Jungwon found each other. You couldn't fight the urge to turn over your shoulder and spot Jungwon, who was staring at you with big, shivering eyes, his ears red and his lips agape. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. Your emotions were so erratic. Sometimes when you saw pictures of Jungwon you felt nothing, but now that he was in front of you, face to face, you wanted to scream and cry.
You looked down at the hoodie that enveloped you. Now that Jake mentioned it, yes, this hoodie was Jungwon's. In fact, you could remember how you acquired such a thing. One time, it was raining so Jungwon let you wear his hoodie, and you never gave it back. What once belonged to Jungwon was now yours, and you've made it such a normal part of your life that you forgot that it had ever been his.
This hoodie, having lived in your closet for months and months, smelled like your own laundry detergent. And as you brusquely walked past Jungwon, blinking back the tears that you hadn't even noticed were collecting in your eyes, you wished for something abnormal: you wished that this hoodie still smelled like Jungwon, even after all this time.
So that you could have something to remember him by.
Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath. Temptation was a work of sin, and unfortunately, it was not his fault that the devil was stronger than a man.
There were many reasons that Jungwon was so committed to keeping a distance from you. He wanted to respect your space, and he was dedicated to protecting you. But even more, there was an intimacy that was never speaking to you again. In his last act of love for you, Jungwon would grant you the peace that his presence could never give you. He hoped that his absence spoke of the words that he could never have said. And yet, as Jungwon sat on the ledge of some building, he watched the cars pass wistfully a few hundred meters below his feet.
In the daytime, he felt like he could deal with the guilt and loneliness. But at night, it was nearly impossible. It's been another week since Jungwon had uneventfully landed on your balcony, and you had requested that he, as Spider-Man, visit you.
And frankly, Jungwon wasn't going to visit you. Even if he promised you, he was so sure that he couldn't keep it. After all, he had a commitment. But when the summer air is so warm yet so unforgiving, sending hot beads of sweat running down Jungwon's face, the frustration and guilt festered, devouring Jungwon from the inside out. That was how Jungwon found himself only a few buildings away from your apartment. He teetered on the ledge. Half of him wanted so desperately to just swing onto your balcony again, to just see you again. But the other half of him couldn't stand putting you in harm's way any longer.
So imagine Jungwon's shame as he picked up his feet and swung by your apartment. All he wanted to do was check on you. He had good eyes, so hopefully he'd be able to catch a glimpse of you through your windows as he briefly came by. And yet, instead of finding you safe and sound through your bedroom window, what Jungwon saw from a distance was you, on your balcony, looking sad. Wistful, even. You had your arms over the railings, and even when he was afar, Jungwon could recognize any of your expressions, and this one, he could tell that you were crying.
His body moved faster than his mind, with zero hesitation, zooming right onto your balcony. Jungwon's mind was still racing, questions blurring through his mind, hesitating about what he should do. Why were you crying? Was it someone that made you feel this way? But his body knew his intentions better. His body knew the sorts of yearning that he had no chance of resisting. And just as swift as he came, Jungwon found himself breathing heavily as he landed back on the railing of your balcony.
"S-Spider-man?!" you sniffled. Under the dark sky, he could see the way your eyes lined with tears, your tearful eyes puffy and bloodshot. You quickly hid your face in your sleeve, turning your face away from him. "Wh—What are you doing here?"
"I..." Jungwon's mouth ran dry. He didn't have an answer for you. Seeing you like this made him feel on-edge, nervous even. He didn't know why he was here with you. He didn't know why his body forced him to keep crawling back to you. He didn't want to be here, it went against all instinct. He stared at the back of your head. "I'm— Um—"
You let out a loud, high-pitched sob, before you threw your arms around Jungwon's shoulders, burying yourself into his chest. Jungwon stiffened under your touch. It felt weird. He hadn't been close to really anyone at all, at least not physically. If it wasn't you that he was physically intimate with, he'd rather not have it at all. But even when it was you, intimacy felt so foreign, so lost. But as your choked sobs rung through the air, your arms holding onto him like he'd save you, Jungwon relaxed. Mixed in with the smell of the night air, you smelled like your usual peachy perfume. Your touch, just like he had remembered it, was soft. Kind.
Jungwon brought a hesitant hand up to the small of your back, in an attempt to quell your distress. Yet, he felt such a weird warmth as you clung onto him.
"I h—hate him, Spider-Man!" you cried, your hand gripping his forearm. "I hate him— so much."
And maybe if Jungwon was stronger than he was now, he would have just listened to you silently without any questions, patting your back and lending you a shoulder to cry on. But he wasn't.
"Who?" he breathed into your ear, his brows knitted together. That horrible gnawing feeling filled his stomach once again. He didn't want to know what your answer was, but that sickening curiosity was burning from the inside out. "Who do you hate?—Did you— Did you get hurt?"
You shook your head, looking up at the hero. The moonlight reflected off your eyes. You looked so pretty, even when you were crying. Jungwon's heart ached at the sight of your pained face. My baby, he thought. After all this time, you could commit all the grievances in the world, and if you just looked at him with your big, teary eyes, he would acquit you of all your crimes.
You tugged on his arm, your glossy eyes staring at him like he was some god, pulling him back into your room. And against all resolutions that Jungwon tried to make to himself, he followed you in anyway.
As your balcony door clicked shut, Jungwon watched as you pulled him onto your bed with you, pulling him as close as you could as you continued to cry, murmuring about how much you hated "him."
This time, Jungwon just let his eyes fall shut. He hadn't laid down in your bed in a while, and frankly, he thought your bed was more comfortable than his. With you so close to him, and his arms wrapped around you, for a split second, it felt like he was back together with you. It felt like another one of those nights where you'd cry into his arms about how stressed you were, and all he could offer up was his presence to console you.
"I know, I know," he gently whispered into your ears. You always loved it when he reassured you like that. He rubbed slow circles on your back, continuing to whisper soft reassurances into your ear, even if he knew that you couldn't hear him. "I know, love."
"I c-cant get over him," you lamented. At this point, Jungwon's chest was wet. "I don't know why I c-can't. I h-hate him so much."
Jungwon gulped as his gut twisted.
"Tell me," he rasped. He knew what your words meant. He knew better than anyone that you were talking about him, that it was him that you hated. But he needed to hear it from your lips first, to get real confirmation. Despite the weak feeling in his knees and the pang in his chest, he wanted to listen to you.
After all, he'd do anything to make you feel better, even if you didn't know it was him. And he knew how to do that exactly.
You lifted your head to look at him in the eyes, shaking your head profusely. "But i-it's pa—pathetic," you stammered, but when you could feel Jungwon's unwavering gaze on you, you gave in. Resting your cheek on the hero's shoulder, you spoke in a low, shaky voice. You told him everything— every thought and emotion that's been swirling your mind. You told him of how you still constantly thought about Jungwon, how you felt like in every crevice of your life he was there, how you've done everything you could to get over him with fruitless results. You cried and cried and cried. You detailed to him what types of restless nights you had, what kinds of thoughts swirled through your head whenever you thought about your ex.
"I miss him," you ended your tear-filled rant with. "I mi-miss him s-so much and I feel so—so d-dumb."
And if you weren't so caught up in your feelings, you would have noticed how the hero's body tensed with each word that fell from your lips.
A silence fell over you and Spider-Man, as you rested your cheek on his shoulder, letting your bated breaths calm down with each hiccup. You let your heart rate slow down, as your eyes— sore from crying— rested. Against you, the hero was so... still. He was definitely breathing, but it was slow and tranquil. If you listened hard enough, you could hear his heart beat; weirdly enough, it was erratic and loud.
That's what Jungwon's heartbeat sounds like when he's excited, you thought, before shaking your head and pushing that thought into the back of your mind. The mere thought of Jungwon made your stomach churn. You didn't want to even entertain that thought.
"Spider-Man...." you began in a soft voice, your finger coming up to poke his masked face. No response. "Spider-Man, are you asleep—"
Suddenly, Jungwon jolted up from the bed, his voice ripping through the air: "Boo!"
You let out a loud shriek, jumping away from him, surprised. You stared at him for a few moments, before Jungwon bursted out into giggles. On your bed, you watched as the red-and-blue masked hero who had just tried to startle you attempted to conceal his giggles, clamping a hand over his mouth.
"S-Sorry—" his voice was shaky, trying so goddamn hard not to laugh. Airy laughs escaped his lips, filling the air with something that felt all too familiar.
Despite having just cried for what seemed like forever, you slapped his chest, your lips pulling up into a wobbly smile. Spider-Man's laughter was contagious, and even as you continued to lightly punch him, you couldn't help but let giggles fall from your own mouth.
"Sh-Shut up!" you said between laughs. Having enough, you reached for a stray pillow and threw it at him. "You're so annoying!"
You couldn't remember the last time you laughed like this with someone. In fact, perhaps if you weren't so busy beating Spider-Man up like your life depended on it, you would have noticed the way your beloved hero was watching you closely. Jungwon knew exactly how to get you to loosen up; and in this case, it was to do something so stupid and dorky that you had no choice but to laugh.
"Ow! Ow!" Jungwon squirmed like a spider that had just gotten hit by bug spray. He let you win, as now he was pinned down on the bed, with you smothering him with your pillows. "White flag—Ack!"
Your laughter rang through the room. You weren't even that strong, but Jungwon did not dare to use his own strength on you. That wouldn't be fair.
That's right, he thought. Forget about me. Forget about the pain, forget about everything that I've done to you. Your eyes crinkled and your nose scrunched and your lips parted when you threw your head back and laughed. If he could preserve that laughter for the rest of his life, he would. Forget about me, baby.
"Jesus Christ, Spider-Man!" you snickered, as you held him down with a hand on his hard chest. "I thought you were stronger than this."
Jungwon's strong hand slid to wrap around your wrist. "You really wanna see strength?"
A weak yet sly grin spread across your face. You leaned down to him, so close that your noses touched. Almost purring,"Try me— Eek!"
That was all the confirmation he needed. In an instant, Jungwon flipped the two of you over, crashing into the soft plushness of your bed. This time, he was the one pinning you down. And while airy laughter fell from your lips, the surprise of Jungwon's outburst reducing you to giggles, Jungwon was distracted. You're just so pretty, so strikingly beautiful that he had no choice but to admire you.
And if Jungwon wasn't so distracted, he would have noticed the way that you stared at him owlishly, with a type of hunger and curiosity that was all too familiar. As if a lightbulb had switched on, your arms slithered up from under him to wrap around his neck. With glassy eyes and a girlish giggle, you gently pulled him toward your face.
Jungwon's body froze up as you plant a soft, tender kiss on his masked cheek, a spluttering sound coming from his mouth.
"Relax, silly," you rasped into his ear with a chuckle. Even with the mask, your fingers found their way to the crook between Jungwon's ear and jaw, delicately running your fingers over that spot and mindlessly caressing it— something that always made shivers roll down Jungwon's back. "You can save lives but you can't handle a girl kissing you?"
Jungwon's face felt hot. "Shut— Shut up!" That night, you eventually laughed yourself to sleep, and after tucking you in, Jungwon left with a bittersweet feeling in his chest. He hoped that he'd given you any type of emotional refuge, so that you would eventually forget the hurt and pain that he had caused you.
To be a girl, after a long week of stress, unloading your worries and the like in a nice steamy bath— Oh, that is the best thing any person could experience.
You relished in the warm solitude of your bathtub. You hummed along to the quiet music you liked to play when you bathed, the peachy bubbles and scent of your soap filling your senses. You relaxed with an "ahh" into the water. Tonight was going to be perfect. After this bath, you were going to do your skincare routine and lather yourself with your new yummy lotion. Then you'd go make yourself a late night snack. Then maybe you'd spend the night reading some manga, or watching some shows, or anything you wanted frankly.
You had worries: finding an internship, employment, boy troubles. But this was no time to care about them. You let your eyelids gently fall shut... and maybe if you weren't careful, you might... just... drift... off...
"Eep!" You're startled back into reality by the sound of a distant crash! You glance around your bathroom, clutching yourself. It didn't sound nearby, so you had nothing to worry about. You sunk into the water again, letting your tense muscles relax into the warmth. Your tired eyes fell closed again. And maybe this time.... you'd be permitted the peace... to just... drift... off...
Crash! You jolted up, your eyes shooting open. This time, this crashing sound was much louder, and appeared to be much closer. Following that outburst was the sound of rustling and scrambling, which (in your already paranoid state) confirmed your fears that whatever the cause was, it was too close to you.
Emboldened, you stepped out of your bathtub, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your body tightly, before slipping your shower slippers on.
And maybe you're dumb. Really dumb. But you peaked your head out your bathroom door, eyes glazing over the hallway between your bathroom and kitchen. Everything seemed fine. You crept out of the bathroom. Your entire apartment was quiet, maybe a little too quiet. Slowly, you made your way into your bedroom. It looked normal, not a single hair out of place. Nothing was wrong then.
Since you were already out of the bathroom, you should probably start dressing anyway. You loosened your grip around the towel, and just as the fabric fell from your chest—
"[N-Name]?!"
There had to be something psychological about the way bright red and blue were incredible at camouflaging, because you had not noticed the red and blue superhero perched at your window. And it seemed like he didn't notice you either, until now.
"Spider-Man?!" you cried. But it was too late. There you were, naked in all your glory and exposed entirely to the spider hero himself. You didn't know what was worse. The feeling of the cool air hitting your skin, sending goosebumps on your arms, or the feeling of Spider-Man practically ogling at you. It didn't seem to matter because the two of you stood like that: in silence, in complete and utter horror.
"I-I'm..." You've never seen Spider-Man more flustered, but if you weren't too busy trying to cover yourself up, scrambling for your fallen towel, you would have noticed the way the hero's hand shot up to clutch his face in embarrassment. A habit that you loved to see in your ex-boyfriend. "S... Sorr—"
"Get out!" you cried, clutching your towel so tightly as you began reaching for all of the pillows and plushes on your bed, hurling at the hero at full-force. Your face burned with embarrassment as you heaved. "Out! N-Now!"
Spider-Man simply stood there, stunned, which was weird considering that he should have a fast enough reaction time to stop you. Frustrated, you threw yourself on your bed, throwing the blanket over your naked body and pushing your face into the mattress, humiliated and flustered beyond belief.
"Get out!" you cried again, your eyes almost welling up with tears with how embarrassed you were. You felt so hot all over that you could probably melt. You hadn't felt this way— this flustered and embarrassed— in so long. You murmured, "What are you even doing here?!"
Finally breaking from his stupor, Spider-Man spluttered, "I-I just wanted to check up... on you."
You groaned from under the blanket, muffled, and that seemed to egg the hero on with a squeak. Words tumbling from his mouth like water, he squeals, "It seems like you're doing well! Youlookgoodasever—I mean— In all the years I've known you, you always look amazing— Like— Uhm— I— You're always—" he sucked in a deep breath, and you could hear how red his face was under the mask— "Beautiful."
There's a long silence, before Spider-Man nearly shouts, "Okay bye!"
And with that, he climbed out your balcony, and swung away. You stay where you are under the blanket all huddled up for a few moments, before you let out a giddy little chuckle. You flipped over to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, before it hit you.
"Years?" you said aloud. Spider-Man said that you've been beautiful in all the "years" that he's known you.
You sat up. But you swore you only knew him for a few months.
Hm. Interesting.
Jungwon cursed under his breath. Fuck. He was in a pickle. After a few weeks in hiding, archvillain Baron von Fizzlebang was back for more, this time with more to show. It seemed like every time, he was getting progressively worse and worse. New gadgets, new costumes, new methods of entrancing people. First, Baron von Fizzlebang entranced a mob to rob a bank. Then, he controlled some elementary schoolers and tried to get them to walk into oncoming traffic (really evil of him). Most recently, the supervillain tried to possess the entire fire department and make them commit arson in an ironic turn of events. If it weren't for Jungwon's restless fighting, the entire city might have gone up in flames already.
Simultaneously, against his own better judgement, yet in alignment with his heart, Jungwon found himself intentionally coming to see you more. It's shameful that despite cutting you out of his life he still tried to keep you at an arm's reach. But oh, Jungwon was so greedy. Each time your face lit up when he appeared on your balcony left him eager for more. Every smile and little touch had him hungry. Hungry for more of you, hungry to keep you for himself, hungry to hide you from the world and selfishly have you all to himself. And the worst part was, your grief and sadness over civilian-Jungwon was slowly dissipating with time: you were reverting back to the you that he knew, not the sad, crestfallen version of you.
But, he had no time to think of that. Right now, Jungwon was beaten up pretty badly, resting atop the roof of a building and leaning against some structure there.
It's not easy to fight one Baron von Fizzlebang, when he's able to manipulate up to a hundred people to do his own bidding. Jungwon doesn't want to hurt the civilians under Baron von Fizzlebang's control, but how is he supposed to win at all if these civilians are being used to attack him?
One eye was incapacitated, with blood dripping down Jungwon's forehead and his lip bleeding. Even in the darkening night sky, Jungwon could tell that there were a few tears here and there on his hero costume, but the worst part was that Jungwon's right shoulder was most definitely out of commission.
Luckily, Jungwon got the victimized civilians to safety. Unluckily, Baron von Fizzlebang was still on the loose, pretty much unscathed. Jungwon could work under severe pressure, with great injuries too. But for some reason, he absolutely couldn't think straight as he stumbled to his feet, clutching his injured shoulder. He blinked his one working eye slowly, trying to see clearly, but there was too much blood coming from his head after getting slammed against a brick wall for him to get a clear view.
At the very least, Jungwon needed to locate where the villain went—
"Yoo-hoo!" a sing-songy voice boomed, and Jungwon whipped his pounding head around. "Spidey-Spidey!~"
Lo and behold, Baron von Fizzlebang was (for some reason) suspended in the air, completely uninjured, a stark difference from Jungwon's hunched-over, painful form. With his extravagant costume, he waved mockingly at Jungwon, a cackle spilling from him. "I'm back for more, Spidey. Are you?"
Jungwon's eyes narrowed, a pained grunt escaping his lips before he limped toward the villain. He sucked in a sharp breath. The blood from his bleeding lip tasted metallic on his tongue, but his physical pain mattered not— not when the livelihood and safety of the city was on the line because of this maniac.
"Yeah," Jungwon responded breathily, stumbling. "Come get me."
Much to Jungwon's chagrin, from Baron von Fizzlebang came some strange metal contraption. With big and long metal tentacle arms with grabby hands at the ends, Baron von Fizzlebang laughed maniacally as his new gargantuan device conjured a physical reaction out of Jungwon. Faster than Jungwon could move, the villain's metal arms snatched him up.
"Let me go—Ack!" Jungwon squirmed in the contraption's grasp.
"No," Baron von Fizzlebang said simply. "All you do is ruin my plans to take over this city!"
Jungwon cried in pain as the metal hands squeezed him tighter. The villain laughed again. "Have you ever had to experience someone try to ruin something you care about, Spider-Man?" Jungwon opened his mouth to choke a retort, but the Baron continued. "Or in your case, someone that you care about?"
Jungwon continued to squirm in the metal hands' grasp, the villain taking it as a sign to continue his villainous monologue.
"You don't think that I don't know you have a secret little girlfriend, right? She's the same one I claimed that one night at Bisco's." At the sound of that, Jungwon tensed up even more. No.... Don't tell me.."Maybe I should let this little spider go. To make you really feel my pain, why don't I go pay your little girlfriend a visit again."
"No!—" tore from Jungwon's throat, but it was too late. With panic filling his body, Baron von Fizzlebang's metal tentacles hurled him through the sky before the villain took off. Presumably to find you. And even though Jungwon was falling through the sky with an incapacitated eye and shoulder, all he could think about was you.
Every single fear and made-up scenario of you getting hurt or even worse, dying, as a result of Jungwon ran through his head in the milliseconds that he was in the air.
Just as Jungwon was about to slam against a sky-scraper, he shot a web to catch himself. His hands shook as he stabilized himself against another wall.
Dammit, dammit, dammit— I'm so fucking stupid— She's in danger now— Everything that he had feared was coming true, and it was all a result of Jungwon's selfishness and negligence and— Jungwon took a deep breath, not noticing that he had neglected to breathe as he spiraled. He shoved his face in his hands. Think, think, think. He had to do something.
He looked at his hands. He had to go find you, and warn you. Move you to safety, make sure you're somewhere safe where that maniac couldn't find you.
Even with all his injuries, nothing stopped Jungwon as he shot webs across the sky. With all the remaining strength in his body, and with all the power he could muster up, Jungwon flew across the sky to where he knew you'd be: in your apartment.
And just as he expected, you were in your room, peacefully listening to music and painting your nails. Usually, he'd be courteous and wait for you to welcome him in. But Jungwon had no time to waste: he crashed onto your balcony, practically busting into your room through the doors.
"Spider-Man?!" you cried, startled by his sudden entrance.
"You have to leave," Jungwon breathed with labored huffs. He clamored toward you, grabbing you by your shoulders. "I-I don't have time to explain—"
"What— What are you talking about?—"
Jungwon gripped your shoulders, the vehemence in his voice resounding as he desperately repeated, "You have to leave. It-It's not safe for you— I need you to leave and go somewhere sa—"
"Spider-Man," you said firmly. Jungwon breathed shakily, swallowing down hard. He shook his head. It felt like the world had fallen into his shoulders.
"Please, [Name]," he pleaded. Even with a mask, you can hear his sheer desperation. "Please listen to me this time."
You stared at him, with a curious yet concerned look, like you were studying him. “Please,” Jungwon said again, his voice high-pitched and cracking. His grip on you loosened, but his head hung low.“Please.”
You kept your eyes stuck on him, but Jungwon couldn’t focus. All he could think about was how you could die. Everything hurt, and yet nothing did at the same time. The mere thought of something even worse happening to you made Jungwon’s gut twist, the oncoming fear so great that it effectively numbed everything in him.
“I can’t— I can’t lose you—“
There was something unsettling about you that Jungwon never figured out. You’re sensitive and soft, but strong-willed and stern. But you’re also a level of smart that Jungwon couldn’t understand.
Which was why he couldn’t possibly understand why you grabbed him by his shoulders, pulled him into you, and slammed your lips against his. You let your lips stay on his for a little bit, but before you could pull away, all the hunger and fear consumed Jungwon whole. His large hands grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush against him. Greedily, like a starved man, Jungwon hungrily kissed you back, holding you tightly as his breathing picked up.
Maybe it was all the adrenaline, or the pain and delirium, or just Jungwon’s fear, but he didn’t even think about what he was doing. Your lips against his, your body pressed against him, and your scent overtaking his mind— it all made it impossible for him to stop.
He muttered your name against your lips, grasping you like you’d disappear any minute. Your soft body on him felt heavenly, as he drank you in. Everything felt hot and everything ached, but even with his mask on, it felt so delicious. He heaved as your lips moved against his. A choked breath and whimper escaped his lips as you slid tongue into his mouth, your hands slithering up his chest and wrapping around his neck, the way that he always liked it. Almost like you knew how to make him feel good.
The kiss halted to a slow stop, with the two of you gently pulling away. And Jungwon, too dazed, didn’t know what to expect next— and he definitely didn’t expect the next words that came out of your mouth.
"Jungwon," you hummed against his lips, looking at him with an expression that he couldn't read. Jungwon's heart plummeted to his stomach, shaky eyes widening.
"Wh-What—" he began, but you brought a finger up to his lip, hushing him. No way. There's no way that you knew it was him all along—
"You need to calm down, Jungwon," you said as you pulled away from him, eyes glued to his masked face. You took his hand, rubbing circles on the back of his hand slowly, the way that always helped calm him down. "I know you. You're spiraling. We can't do anything if you're panicking. Deep breaths."
"I don't— I don't understand," Jungwon whispered, his strong body still. Had you known it was him all along? And if you did, why didn't you say or do anything? Did you find him pathetic? "How did you know?"
You blinked at him slowly, before a bashful grin pulled onto your face. You reached your hand out to him, your palm finding itself on his cheek. In a moment of instinct, Jungwon leaned into your touch.
"That's how I knew," you breathed. Your lithe fingertips then prodded at the crook between his jaw and his ear, the sensitive spot, and just as you expected, Jungwon shuddered. Your fingers traced down his jaw to his neck, pressing on the tender spot in the middle of his neck. Much to Jungwon's personal mortification, he let out a gasp, and when you leaned closer to his neck— so close that he could feel your breath on him— Jungwon let out a soft sound and shivered. Your lip grazed against the covered skin of his neck, watching him intently as you earn a sensitive whimper from him.
"What— What are you doing—" Jungwon was cut off again by your lip pressing against his jugular, at the spot that never failed to make him cry out in pleasure. Jungwon's ears burned, but the blood rushing through his body made him feel hot all over. He leaned his head back, eyes falling shut.
"I know you, Jungwon." Your voice was low, almost like a purr. Your hands continued to run over his jaw and neck, hooking onto the edge of his mask and uncovering the honey tan skin of his neck. You pressed your lips against his exposed skin, another gasp falling from his lips. "You're not good at hiding anything. And you're not a convincing liar."
You pulled his mask up, exposing his lower jaw and lips. When he muttered your name startled, you pulled the entire mask off.
Lo and behold, just as you had expected, it was Jungwon Yang. You had your suspicions, and when you made them known to him you were certain that you were right. And yet, you're still taken aback when it's really Jungwon behind the mask. His overgrown blonde hair falling over his eyes, his cat-like eyes staring at you with a mix of fear, shame, and desire, his jaw that had gotten stronger— you drank in every last bit of it.
"Son of a bitch," you murmured under your breath.
Jungwon hadn't noticed the way his chest pounded and how his breathing became erratic, nor did he notice that he was now blinking back tears, his chest heaving. "I—I'm sorry—" he struggled to get out, his voice getting caught in his throat. "Oh— I'm so— I"m sorry—"
He couldn't tell if you were angry, or disgusted, or both... because despite the unreadable look on your face, you still grabbed his face, slamming your lips against his once more.
Your fingers brusquely grab at his hair, tangling themselves in his grown-out blonde locks. This time, you're the hungry one. Your hands slid down his chest again, grasping onto his strong, toned arms, and running your hands all over him. Your lips moved surly against his, as if you hadn't been fed in days.
"You're a jackass," you rasped against him, and yet you kept kissing him like he'd disappear. "Fucking jackass." Jungwon tried to murmur apologies, but you kept kissing him, shutting him up. You pushed him against your bed slowly as your lips moved, so that he had no choice but to fall back onto it.
With Jungwon's back now pressed up against your bed, you were on top of him. Your hands roamed his body, and Jungwon couldn't help but let his eyes fall shut.
"I-I'm sorry," he rumbled, but with you on top of him, lips all over him, he couldn't do much but gasp and squirm under your touch. "I-I didn't mean to—"
Boom! In the distance, a massive explosion sound careened through the air. You and Jungwon, both alarmed, froze in your position. Even with you filling his senses, Jungwon's immediate thought is simple: he is Spider-Man.
Jungwon felt your body tense against his, with fear painted on your face. His body felt hot all over, the excitement still pulsing through his veins and desperate need for you still clouding his mind. But a trembling, paralyzed you was enough to pull him away from himself, and force him to focus.
In one fell swoop, Jungwon pulls the two of you to your feet, his arms wrapping around your waist firmly, yet gently. Ignoring your questions, he felt around for his discarded mask, before shooting a web from his fingers and pulling it to him.
"You have to go," he said to you, his hands tightening around your waist. Jungwon watched as your brows crashed together, your expression morphing from bewilderment to hurt, and then anger.
"What are you— Jungwon—" Jungwon ignored you, quickly searching around your room. He took a jacket from your closet (which was definitely his), before draping it around your shoulders.
"I'm serious," he said, his voice cracking with earnestness. "I mean it, [Name]. You have to go."
It was your turn to splutter, scoffing in disbelief. "Where would I even go? I don't know why you're saying this—"
Jungwon chewed on his bottom lip for a few moments, before he huffed. "Go to Jake's."
You're about to scoff again, but Jungwon— the most tender person you've ever met— sent you a stern look that shuts you up.
"Tell him that I sent you," Jungwon instructed. "Tell him to keep you safe. And text me when you're there...." the boy trails off, awkwardly scratching his head, "If I'm not blocked, y'know.... Or just have Jake text me."
You stared at him in silence, blinking slowly, in an attempt to assess his face. Finally, you sigh, your face looking sad. "Okay."
Jungwon helped you collect your things, the two of you engulfed in a silence, with nothing filling your apartment but the ambient sound of your footsteps and breaths. That is, until it was time for you to go.
"I-I think I should go now," you said shakily, your back turned to Jungwon as you reached for your front door. Jungwon solemnly nodded, wistfully staring at you as he fiddled with his mask; his face was still uncovered, making it difficult to hide his concern, yet he didn't have the courage to put his mask back on. Not when you were here. And Jungwon would have let you go like that, alone into the night, if it weren't for the sound of your sniffles.
"Hey, hey," he called out to you, reaching out to you and taking hold of your shoulder. His brows furrowed. "[Name], what is it?"
You sniffled, your breath getting caught in your throat, and it was clear now that you were crying. However, you just shook your head, your back still turned to him.
"Baby," Jungwon said again. "Baby, please tell me. What is it? Why are you crying?"
The sound of Jungwon's voice made you tense up again. You let out a choked sob, before you sucked in a sharp breath. "Th-That."
Jungwon reached for your face, tilting your chin so that you would face him, but you wouldn't budge. "Talk to me. Please."
"That!" you cried. You sucked in another sharp breath as you threw your face into your palms. "You— You l-left me the first time... and— and now you're leaving a-again."
Jungwon's chest ached, and in a moment of remorse and desire, he slid his hands around your waist, pulling you into an embrace with you pressed against his chest. The way you always liked it. He pressed his cheek against your head, his own tears welling up in his eyes as you sniffled and cried.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes squeezing shut. He knew he hurt you, it was nothing new to him. But just knowing that never made the regret feel any better. He kissed your head. "I'm so sorry."
There's another explosion in the distance, and Jungwon's hold on you tightened. "Please. I'll make it up to you. Please just go this time."
You shook your head. "I—I don't get it. J-Jungwon, I don't g-get it—"
In your state, there was no way you'd make it to safety in time. And Jungwon was a fool for thinking that you could, not after opening up the wounds you were trying to heal from. Jungwon pressed one more kiss on your head. He hauled you into his arms, ignoring your protests, only saying, "Wrap your arms around me."
Jungwon wished he had more time. He wished he could sit you down and explain everything. But there was no time, and he had to make sure you were safe first: he'd like to do it himself. All the injuries from earlier had been healed for the most part, just enough that he had strength.
"Hold on tight, baby," he said in your ear before putting his mask on, and shooting a web out your window. Jungwon figured it was your first time soaring with Spider-Man, because you let out a squeal, hiding your face in his neck.
"Jungwon!" you cried, your eyes still lined with tears. "P-Please, I'm scared—"
Jungwon chuckled, but complied with your request, taking less risky swings. And when he arrived at Jake's apartment, he simply forced his friend's window open. Much to his luck, Jake was already there.
"S-Spider-Man?!" Jake gawked. It wasn't every day that the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man showed up at your window. Then, his eyes fell on you. "[N-Name]?!"
Gently, Jungwon set you down. "Jungwon's request: Keep her safe."
Jake, utterly baffled, opened his mouth to speak. But like a little boy (quite literally) seeing his favorite super-hero for the first time, Jake nodded dutifully, his eyes comically filling with stars. "Yes sir!"
Jungwon nodded satisfied. He knew he could count on Jake. As Jungwon readied himself to jump out the window, he's stopped by your soft voice.
"G-Good luck..." you murmured, fiddling with your fingers. "Don't die... please."
Jungwon couldn't help but grin. "Of course."
And with that, he swung away, ready to kick ass.
You're already asleep when Jungwon finds you back at Jake's house. He felt a little bad about placing the burden of you on Jake, but Jungwon couldn't care more about that when your life was on the line. Jungwon, in his hero form of course, left a note for Jake on the kitchen counter, as he slowly wrapped his arms around your sleeping figure.
You're left sleeping on Jake's couch, with a throw blanket awkwardly draped over you. He appreciated Jake's efforts, grinning softly as the way you stirred in your sleep. It's near dawn, and Jungwon couldn't ignore the ache in his body. But even so, the way your eyes were puffy, your cheeks stained lightly with tears made his chest ache more than his body did.
As quietly as he could, Jungwon took you in his arms, and took you back to his apartment (he didn't have the keys to your apartment, and he didn't want to make you angrier by breaking in). Helicopters were still flying overhead, the sound of police sirens below filling the air. Jungwon's eyes twitched with tiredness, his straining muscles nearly giving out. The city was asleep, and yet it was still functionally cleaning up the mess from earlier.
Speaking of, that son of a bitch Baron von Fizzle-dick or whatever was now in police custody. Jungwon was too exhausted to remember the details, but it was a long and tiring fight. One that was painful.
As he swung through the sky, Jungwon couldn't forget the fight. He was hit pretty badly, almost nearly stabbed in the chest. His entire body was in pain, and if it weren't for the precious you in his arms, Jungwon thought he would collapse mid-air. The feeling of the insurmountable physical agony that that villain inflicted on him was definitely one for the books. Jungwon could still feel the blood dripping down his back. But what was even worse were the things Baron von Fizzlebang had said. The threats he made, the words he said: the villain, and apparently, all the villains in the city, via their underground network, seemed to know you by name. They knew you because you were a soft spot for Spider-Man. It terrified him that now you had a target on your back. He cursed himself for letting himself get comfortable, for endangering you in the process. Even if he won the fight now, Jungwon couldn't forget the fear.
As he landed on his window, Jungwon slowly cracked it open, supporting both you and himself as he brought the two of you into his apartment. He placed you down on his bed, pulling his comforter over you. He watched as you snuggled into his bed, a satisfied murmur falling from your lips. You looked so peaceful, and for a moment, Jungwon could forget all the pain he felt.
Jungwon looked down at his hands. Ripped gloves, blood-stained palms... will it ever go away?
He pulled away from you, about to make his way to his bathroom. He ought to wash the blood off his hands. The night was at its peak, the dreariest that it had ever been. He didn't know what time it was— he lost track of that a long time ago— but all he knew was that it was dark outside. He better get some sleep too. But as he pulled away from you, he felt a few fingers weakly grip his arm. He froze.
"Jung... won..." you murmured. Your eyes were shut, and your voice sounded dreamy.
"I'm here," Jungwon breathed. He hadn't realized it, but his voice broke. Really, all he felt like doing was crying.
"Don't leave," you mumbled. Your fingers tightened around his arm. "I'll do.... do anything..." you drew on. "Just... don't go."
"Oh, baby—" And with that Jungwon broke, the hot tears he hadn't even realized he were holding in spilling. He pulled on his mask. He dropped to his knees, resting his head on the bed beside you. "I... I never meant to. I never wanted to leave you—"
You hummed, murmuring something incoherent. "Stay."
Jungwon let out a shaky breath. "I will— I really want to— Please, let me—"
"Jungwon," you said, rather firmly. You still had your eyes shut.
"I'm here, baby." Jungwon sniffled, swiping the back of his ragged hand to wipe his nose. "I'm not gonna go— I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so—"
"In the... morning," you whispered. Before Jungwon could ask, you continued. "Talk in the morning."
Jungwon's voice broke again. "W-What?"
Your hand reached out for him again, this time falling onto his disheveled head. Jungwon nearly flinched at the feeling of your hand running through his hair, but instinctively he leaned into your touch. For a few moments, your fingers ran through his blonde locks, such a foreign feeling and yet a welcome one. Jungwon let his eyes shut, and they burned as his lids fell shut.
Your voice is quiet, and Jungwon is almost certain you're awake now. "Jake told me some things. I put two and two together."
"Really?" Jungwon, too tired to be mad. "Was it bad?"
You only hummed, giving him a classic nonresponse. Your fingers continued through his hair. "Go to sleep now."
"But—"
You hushed him, petting his head slowly and affectionately. "I love you."
Jungwon was stunned, but it felt so natural as, "I love you, too," tumbled from his lips.
There's a warmth that spreads across his chest, reassuring and comforting. But yet, so deeply harrowing, and so deeply frightening. He's a man of a thousand words and complex ideas, and you knew it, so you hushed Jungwon before he could continue, petting his head slowly and affectionately. "We'll talk in the morning."
Jungwon opened his mouth to protest. But as your fingers ran through his hair, he couldn't help the satisfying chills that ran down his spine. And everything hurt, and it hurt so bad that it was unbearable and Jungwon felt like he couldn't take it.
But your touch was so soft and familiar, Jungwon felt like.... for a second... he could maybe... fall into your touch... and just... take... it... easy...
"Pro...tect you..." Jungwon murmured. "I'll protect... you."
You chuckled softly. "You're not alone. I'll carry your burden with you."
It's his turn to hum, nearly satisfied. As he drifted off into a deep slumber, his troubles melting away into the palms of your hands, there's only one last thought in Jungwon's head.
Maybe there will be a new day tomorrow, and hopefully, he won't be alone when the day breaks.
An Actual Character Analysis (+ Defensive Post) of Megumi Fushiguro
(Because as someone who went through depression, I genuinely love his character)
I know the main “critique” of Megumi’s character, if I’m being generous enough to call it that, is the perceived failure of Megumi to reach is true potential, hence the potential man meme, or the fact he lost the will to live while possessed by Sukuna and indirectly hindered Yuji and Yuta’s plan. But, I genuinely think a lot of people don’t appreciate the writing of these aspects of his character and how they genuinely make him a better character than they’re willing to acknowledge. It’s also highly disingenuous to actively ignore the context of those situations, and much they reflect the core themes of Jujutsu Kaisen as a whole.
⚠️⚠️⚠️ TW(s): Discussion of depression, suicide, and mental illness, Manga spoilers for Anime-onlys ⚠️⚠️⚠️
To begin, I’m going to preface this with the fact that Megumi isn’t a failure. Yeah, that’s what I said. He isn’t a fraud, or a bum, or potential man. Because, you can’t truly fail at something you were never interesting in succeeding at. Megumi has never once truly cared about being the strongest. He never cared about being as strong as Gojo, or reaching that full potential he was said to have. Sure, he might’ve put in the effort to become strong enough, but that’s exactly it—Strong enough. Not the strongest. Why? Because the only thing he ever cared about was to give his sister a happy life. That’s it. At best, to him, jujutsu was nothing more than a tool to get closer to that goal. He only ever cared about what it would do for Tsumiki, not what it would do for himself.
Hence why Gojo said he couldn’t bring out his best because he doesn’t know how too, because he isn’t selfish enough to. He doesn’t want, he isn’t greedy. He’s perpetually selfless, for his whole motive for doing anything at all is tied to someone else. Because he’s never been bought up to want anything. He grew up poor without parents to care for him, naturally his resources were limited. In an environment like that, you can’t really develop an innate instinct to be greedy or selfish, not when having the bare minimum itself is a blessing to you. He never got a chance to actually experience genuine, real, selfish want. Even his want for Tsumiki to have a better life is rooted in her specifically, not himself. He can’t envision himself in the perfect life for Tsumiki, excuse he genuinely doesn’t think he deserves it. And, the reason why is because of his own self perception being so skewed.
Because arguably the most interesting aspect of his character is the fact he perceives himself so poorly and actively treats himself as if he’s the worst when his actions imply otherwise. He’s always believed himself to be selfish and genuinely treats that as a moral failure on his part. He thinks he’s selfish for solely having a set of principles that he refuses to deviate from. He wants to save the good, worthy people. The people like Tsumiki. It’d what influenced his decision to save Yuji to begin with and why he cherished his life so deeply. Because he’s good the same way Tsumiki was.
But, there’s also that interesting thing, that question; Why does he think like this?
Well, let’s put it into perspective; Imagine you’re a child, not even a year old yet, and your mother passes away, leaving you and your father. Now, imagine said father remarried and finds a new family for the both of you, and you get a step sibling. Then both your father and stepmother disappear without a trace, leaving you and your sibling to raise yourselves. Your older sibling, not even much older than you, defiantly not old enough to look after themselves even, is placed with the burden of having to take care of you while your own parents just discarded you like a coat you can hang up in a closet.
With that kind of upbringing, that kind of experience from his own parents, the people supposed to love and cherish him, protect him; look after him, it was only natural he’d develop such a strong viewpoint on people and morality. In life itself. That life itself is so painfully unfair and that’s the only fair thing about it. His parents ran off with so little of a goodbye and left his sister, a child herself, to raise both of them. And, she actively chose to do it. She chose to do it despite the circumstances or sacrifices she’d have to make. That’s why he sees in such a benevolent light, because she valued him and made him feel like he was someone worthy of it, unwarranted, when his own parents didn’t do that very thing. That’s why he wants her, and good people like her to have a fair chance at life because they choose to be good when life is unfair to them. He hates that good people forgive bad people because it’s unfair for them to give grace to people who don’t deserve it.
And it’s why he became a sorcerer to save Tsumiki after she was cursed and put in a coma. Because she’s a good person, who deserves a fair life. But, his lack of self interest and high prioritization of others before himself was what was actively hindering him. When he was concerned about why he couldn’t get strong as quickly as Yuji did, it was because of the fact that Megumi doesn’t want anything for himself. He does what’s expected of him and that’s it. It’s why he doesn’t try to win, it’s why he tries to summon Mahoraga when he believes he can’t defeat an enemy. He’s not willing to win for himself but he’s willing to give others the opportunity to do so. Because he doesn’t himself as someone who deserves to win. Because only those good people do.
When he first developed a sense of selfishness, he managed to side a domain expansion. And it was incomplete, because his self actualization was. Because he can’t imagine a future where he’s the strongest because it’s never an interest of his, even now. Even when he’s being selfish, glory was never his top priority. It was just doing things in accordance to his principles, and for the sake of his sister. Hell, even his domain expansion is symbolic of it as well. He can extend his shadow and actively sink and submerge people in it. He extends the darkness within him…The despair, grief, trauma and weaponizes it against his enemy, and actively drowns them in it. Just as he does with himself.
The thing is that Megumi’s been constantly drifting in his life when it came to his own self interest. Constantly lacking in any selfish motivation, which, believe it or not, is just as fundamental as selfless motivation. Truthfully, the fact he places all his worth in what he could do for Tsumiki is an indicator of his mental health itself. The only thing keeping him going is the fact he wants to make it up to his sister and all she’s done for him, after everything, despite how selfish of a person he believes himself to be. Ironically, he believes himself to be selfish, when he’s one of the most unselfish people ever. He just won’t let himself see that, because he thinks of himself so lowly.
But, when he only ever let himself be selfish, even then, it was paradoxically unselfish. Because the most selfish he’s ever allowed himself to be was during the Culling Games, which was when he was at his most powerful and focused state, becuase he had a motivation; To save his sister. And that was the most adamant he had been about staying alive. It’s why he was so willing to do whatever he had to do to survive when old Megumi probably wouldn’t have cared. Because now, he had something he actually had to live for and it was right at his fingertips, so he actively fought for it. Yet, it was snatched away from him right when he came so close, and everything he fought for had all been for nothing.
So, what was the point of doing anything if he failed at his only purpose? His soul was submerged into despair by Sukuna and the very livelihood in his soul in general was extinguished. He wasn’t even there; stuck in his own guilt, withering away in it. When he was found by Yuji, he was practically begging to be discarded and killed. He didn’t want to be saved, he wasn’t worth it and he definitely didn’t want any more to die over him by that point. But, Yuji wasn’t willing to let Megumi die. Because it’s not fair for him to let him die when he’s never even truly lived yet.
Yuji doesn’t necessarily save Megumi in the end. He plays a part in it, yes, but ultimately, Megumi chooses to save himself. Because he finally gained some semblance of selfish want that was actually selfish. To live…just because he can. To live for himself. The most selfish thing he ever did was simply choose life after every thing he’s dedicated his life to was taken from him. He let himself be selfish for once, and that’s ultimately what saved him. And, that’s crucial. It’s not about him winning through force or perseverance but just…choice. Agency. After everything’s been so unfair him from the start, after he’s spent his life fighting for some sense of fairness for his sister because she deserves it because she was good, he’s choosing to live life, not because he’s good, or because he’s strong, just because he’s a person.
He didn’t fail anything. He never failed to reach his true potential because it was never a goal of his to begin with. He’s mot a fraud because he never claimed to be the strongest and he didn’t want to be. He’s not a bum because he’s actually made many accomplishments despite what the audience is willing to acknowledge. Despite his lack of interest in sorcery, he managed to be the first of the first years to create a domain expansion, despite being critically injured and near death while also having CE burnout, and killed a special grade curse in that domain. He managed to unlock seven of his shikigami, and would’ve done more had he either had the time or been interested. He managed to strategically apply his domain’s limitations in order to beat Reggie. Those aren’t his only feats, but they’re the ones at the top of my head. And, yes, we never saw him reach his full potential, but…the thing is we saw him progressively improve and get stronger in the story. And there’s a consistent pattern of him never showing any satisfaction or pride in it. We see characters like Yuji being happy of getting strong or we see that with Yuta, but not Megumi. Because he doesn’t care about it, because he’s never been satisfied with anything because he’s never actively been ambitious for it. The only thing he would’ve been proud about is if he managed to save Tsumiki and give her the life she wanted. And even then, probably not, becuase he doesn’t see it as an achievement as much as he sees it as a paying off a debt.
But that very thing that makes him an anomaly among jujutsu sorcerers. He’s not in it for the glory or the heroics of it, or the power. He’s doing it for the last bit of family whe has left, the person who matters most to him. It’s what separates him from characters like Sukuna. Yeah, the perception is that Sukuna used Megumi’s technique better than Megumi himself, but I don’t think that’s the case. I think it’s more of Sukuna used Megumi’s technique with more ambition or strive than Megumi does. Because Megumi used his technique in creative and intelligent ways. He’s a calculating and intellectual combatant after all, and he’s not some sort of slouch when it comes to his technique. Any perceived “weakness” with his technique was just him not caring enough too. Sukuna’s different. Sukuna wants to dominate; he wants the power, the superiority, so he seeks it out. Because Sukuna’s motivation is simply to be the strongest. He doesn’t have anyone he holds close who matters most, because he sees them as nothing but inferior objects to toy with. Megumi’s the opposite because he values those close to him more than he does power or strength. The only reason he cared about getting stronger at all was to increase his odds of being able to save Tsumiki. He didn’t plan on becoming the strongest or the strongest version of himself. That’s an important distinction to make. He didn’t want to become the strongest, just stronger, because at the beginning, even then he didn’t think he was strong enough to accomplish that goal and he realized that through seeing how quickly Yuji progressed so naturally. He tried to work harder, and he DID get stronger. People fail to realize that, but he did exactly what he said he would do. He got stronger. He literally went up in rank from Grade 2 to a Grade 1 sorcerer. He did get stronger. In fact, out of the trio of first years, Megumi was the most powerful one for most of the story, he just didn’t have the raw strength Yuji had, but in terms of actual power with Cursed Technique, Megumi was far stronger. It’s simply the fact Yuji had raw strength, but Megumi had raw power. There’s a distinct difference between the two. It’s why his accomplishments with his technique are different. Yeah, he doesn’t hit a black flash, but he’s had a domain since season one, that he created on a whim while in critical condition and managed to kill a special grade curse in. He’s not the best close range combatant in the series but he’s capable of keeping up with Yuji, even if he thought it was difficult, he still did it, and it didn’t appear to be much of a struggle (which is again, an indicator that he thinks of himself poorly that he actually doesn’t see just how proficient he actually is with his accomplishments), and he’s a rare case of a shikigami user who can use both close and long range combat in general. He can’t fight against Sukuna’s control like Yuji can and force himself back into his body, because nobody else can do that other than Yuji’s who was born to be a vessel. Yuji’s the exception, not the rule. But Megumi was capable of limiting a majority of Sukuna’s cursed energy output to a point he had resort to actively destroying Megumi’s soul in every way he could to prevent him from fighting back any further. The only reason Megumi couldn’t fight back or regain the will to life by that point was because Sukuna made it heavily impossible for him to do so. And in the end, he STILL came back and took back agency and resisted the Sukuna the second he was given the motivation to do so. That’s not something a weak character does.
Megumi can’t even be considered a fraud because the presumed failures of his aren’t even actual fails for him. The only thing that’s fraudulent of him is the fan’s own misguided expectations of him, rather than what the narrative itself does, because even the story doesn’t imply he’d actually become the strongest. It simply says he could, that’s the only concept it introduces. It introduces the concept that he has the assets to do it. But it doesn’t really imply he’d be a successor or anything like that. It’s not like with Yuta, whose character was quite literally established to be the most likely successor to Gojo. Megumi was never going to be the next Gojo, and the narrative itself doesn’t imply that. It just implies that Ten Shadows Technique is a powerful technique that could do a lot. It’s just a matter of motivation. But, that’s not necessarily the imagined future for Megumi himself, nor is it set up by the narrative of him being the next Gojo. Hence the; “That doesn’t mean I could become as strong of a sorcerer as you.” Because, again, it’s not a priority to a future Megumi imagined for himself. He wasn’t even that hyped up by the story as the fandom would make it out to be, since that wasn’t ever a defining part of his character as much as his sister was.
And, Sukuna taking interest in him because of the technique is more of a reflection of his character than it is Megumi’s. It’s not because he was expecting Megumi to become the strongest, it was him acknowledging that he’d be a useful tool, or asset. That’s what it was more than anything. And even then, Megumi was already proficient with his technique. And Sukuna took advantage of it the moment he for the actual opportunity to. Megumi’s not a fraud, because he failed to meet expectations that fandom fabricated rather than the narrative implying it itself. Nor is he a bum or “potential man.” His limit was that he was selfish enough and he actually did surpass that limit given we only see him get more powerful as the story progresses. It’s simply the fact that he lacks self actualization; which was never going to be resolved until he either 1. Successfully saved Tsumiki (which is debatable) or 2. Gained a sense of want for himself.
The truth is Megumi’s core character has been someone who’s actively a passenger in their own life because they lack any sense of self love or value in themself to actually just want something for himself. He exists as a shadow for everyone else but never his own person. And that’s the point. His own life was planned out ahead of him and was actively doomed from the start. That’s the irony of his name meaning “blessing” when his life is so perpetually cursed. With loss, death, grief, guilt and burdens he didn’t ask for or want. Which is accurate as a representation depression, even prior to his breakdown in Shinjuku, because even before that, it’s not like he genuinely had any desire to live. That’s why he was so willing to throw his life away when it came down to it. He didn’t actively throw himself into death at any given opportunity but whenever it came close, he didn’t fight against it. Because, he doesn’t have a drive for it. As someone who experienced depression myself, I can say that in my own personal experience with it, that’s quite literally how it wound start. It wasn’t active suicidal tendencies on my part before it was just…not being there. Sure, I cared about my family and stuff like that, but that feeling of perpetual indifference and lack of ambition is the first thing I remember from it. I wasn’t actively plotting my own death or hoping for it, but I wasn’t really trying to live my life either. I was just there. And that was it. So, it’s not even as if Megumi wasn’t written to be representation of depression because it isn’t just all out misery and a death wish. It’s the detachment that comes first, and from the very start, that was established about Megumi. His loss of his will to live wasn’t out of nowhere or out of character, but something that was not only a better writing choice given the narrative and characterization implications, but also delivering on something fundamentally foreshadowed or built up to.
From the start, when his self destructive and suicidal tendencies were acknowledged and shown, it was clear the final point in Megumi’s arc would be about him learning to live and value his life the way he does others. Not to become the strongest, but to learn to live. Had it not been for the power debates that came to exist, and the obsessions with scaling, that wouldn’t have been overlooked or dismissed as easily as it was now. He’s never valued his own life or anything like that outside of Tsumiki, because he’s never been treated as if he had anything else. He was never just a person. He was the heir to the Zen’in clan, Gojo’s student, or a sorcerer who could be one of the strongest. But, not just…a kid. That was the thing. He never saw himself as anything other than someone who could help others in some way, so that’s all he cared about compared to actually caring for himself. And in the end, he learned to actually value himself as a person and live, presently, because he’s important to others, like Yuji and Nobara, as a friend. Not a classmate or teammate, but just a friend. And, if he were to be gone, they’d miss him, and they’d be lonely without him.
For someone who’s been abandoned constantly and only ever seen for what he could do and how he’d serve others, who’s taken responsibility on himself from such a young age and carried guilt in a way nobody else should, who’s been so willing to die since the beginning because he’s never been willing to live, to hear that there’s people who’d actually value your presence, just you being there, as a person, for existing as yourself, being told that you’d be missed and your death would genuinely affect them? That would be revitalizing in way you couldn’t even fathom. The thought of being of value to someone when you can’t see it yourself is such a healing thing to hear when you’ve lost all sense of yourself. And it makes sense why it revitalized his own will to live. It wasn’t just so Yuji wouldn’t be lonely, though that was part of it, but because he was reminded—told that he was a person who could live. That he actually existed as a person in someone else’s life. He wasn’t just…there. He was a person to others just as Tsumiki was to him. I interpret it as him realizing that he was of the same significance to others that Tsumiki had been in his life after he believed otherwise for most of his life that he’d never be as perfect as she was. He was understanding of loneliness that he felt when Tsumiki was cursed, the loneliness he felt his whole life as a child who was just abandoned, that Tsumiki inconvenienced and burdened herself taking care of. But here, he’s being told by someone directly that he matters to them, and that was enough. And because of that, accompanied by how deeply he cares for Yuji, he’d actually learned to fight to live, because he doesn’t want Yuji to be alone or abandoned the same way he’s been for most of his life.
His arc isn’t about becoming the strongest, and it was never going be. Megumi was never going be the strongest. And that wasn’t what he needed. His arc was always going to be about presence. Becoming present after the world’s pushed you into absence from both others and yourself. It’s about taking back your life after the world stole it from you and regaining a sense of agency. It’s about actually just standing in the light as yourself instead of burying yourself in the shadows. It’s about humanizing yourself, and actually letting yourself be selfish and want, because you’re human, and humans are allowed to want.
Because that was the potential Megumi needed to reach. Not his cursed technique or his power, but just his ability to exist and live, as a person.
Megumi Fushiguro didn’t need to learn to be stronger. He needed to learn to live.
❛ who do you think you are ? ❜
synopsis : some random dude commented "can your boyfriend fight?" under your newest instagram post ! how will your partner react ?
— genre/tags : mentions of murder <3 , this is some random guy btw , lowk crack because they're angwryyyy BAHAHAHA , fluff . . . i think ? , possessive undertones but you're just as bad me thinks . NOT PROOFREAD !!
— contains : wriothesley , neuvillette , arlecchino , lyney , lynette , freminet , escoffier , furina , chiori , navia ( soo basically fontaine cast :D )
a/n : what do we think of me adding WOMEN this time ? first time . . . do you guys want more of this content or should i stick to the men haha , lowk more fun than i expected , especially lynette and escoffier !
— inspired by @/nanaslutt
"Coca-Cola made an AI ad!"
"McDonald's releases AI Christmas commercial!!"
Don't care didn't ask plus here's a beautifully animated ad for a French supermarket that was made by actual artists
