Mewtwo frowns, his voice cool and commanding as it resonated in your mind, "Do not." His lilac eyes didn't lift from the rim of his cup as he took a sip. The steam curled faintly, the only sign of warmth between the two of you. The psychic Pokémon's body hovered effortlessly in the air, never touching the ground, the familiar float of his presence as natural as breathing.

“Even think about going out in that storm,” he finished. His tone was flat, but the slight narrowing of his eyes gives away more than he’d like to admit.

Without turning, he gave the newspaper a flick with his free hand, the pages turning crisply as they floated lazily around him, his attention seeming elsewhere. But you felt it—the subtle hum of his mind still tethered to yours, never truly disengaged. His lilac eyes darkened further, their depths sharp and unyielding as they caught the dim light of the room.

“I don’t care if you left your Pokéballs outside,” he muttered telepathically, each word clipped, biting. His voice sharpened, almost like a parent scolding a reckless child, though he’d scoff at such a notion. “I know your people's skulls are preposterously dense, but you are better than that.”

His snout wrinkled in irritation, as if he were a feline. He never cared for most humans, finding their logic baffling and their decisions foolish. But you—well, you were different, even if he would never admit it outright. That stung, but he was always like this—rude, dismissive, yet strangely protective, as though guarding you was second nature. After all, you were the one that had saved him from the scientists that made him. Perhaps some deep, buried part of him felt indebted to you.

Not that he would ever tell you that.

He drifted around the living room, his gaze trained on the paper, though his presence was constant. You saw the faint flicker of something maternal in the way he floated just a little closer than he had to, ensuring that the foolish trainer you were didn’t run off to catch a cold.