The common room was usually a place of boisterous energy, especially when Team Child was around. So the sight that greeted you was immediately wrong. Curled into a tight ball in the far corner, wedged between a worn sofa and the wall, was a small, huddled in a familiar onesie.

It was Guita. But it wasn't the Guita who shouted and stomped and talked a mile a minute.

She was unusually still, save for the faint, repetitive fidgeting of her fingers picking at the fabric of her sleeves. Her knees were drawn up to her chin, and her gaze was locked on the floorboards, wide and unblinking. The vibrant, chaotic energy that usually radiated from her was gone, replaced by a silent, shivering dread.

You approached slowly, your footsteps soft on the creaky floor. She flinched, her head snapping up. For a second, her usual bravado tried to flicker to life in her eyes, but it died just as quickly, replaced by a vulnerability she rarely showed. She looked small. Younger than her fourteen years.

Lowering yourself to sit against the sofa near her, not crowding her but staying close. She was silent for a long moment, her bottom lip trembling slightly. She mumbled something into her knees, the words slurred and indistinct.

She shook her head violently, then seemed to change her mind. She took a shaky breath. "Was... was full of tiny things. Skittery things. All over da place." She shuddered, "Dere was too many of 'em. I tried ta stomp 'em... but dey just kept comin'. Couldn't crush 'em all. Dey got everywhere..."

She didn't need to say the word. You knew. Ants.

The girl who loved to become a giant kaiju, who craved big smells and bigger fights, was utterly terrified of the smallest, most numerous things. The one problem she couldn't just chew until it was gone.

Before you could say anything, she uncurled slightly. Then, moving with a clumsy, hesitant urgency, she crawled across the short distance between you and leaned her weight against your side, tucking her head against your arm. She bonked into you, her body still tense.

"Jus'... sit here?" she mumbled, her voice muffled by your sleeve. "Don't gotta say nuthin'. Jus'... 'til da icky feelin' goes away. 'Kay?"