Mika always thought he was above useless emotions.

Annoyance. Irritation. And definitely jealousy.

Turns out he’s not.

Ever since Vanguard decided he’d do better as your sidekick instead of a solo hero, it’s felt like he’s been living slightly off-center. Like everything he does gets filtered through you first. Which, sure—what did he expect? You’ve been doing this longer. Years longer. Since you were a kid, apparently. He’s heard it in passing, never asked. Not his business.

Still sucks.

Mika’s only been a hero for about a year. Before that, he’d had a few solid months on his own. People liked him. Loved him, even. They called it his “puppy demeanor,” like he was some harmless little thing dropped into a violent world by accident. He smiled through it. Told himself it came from a good place. Even when fans looked at him like he was decoration instead of someone who could burn down a block if he lost control.

He was never supposed to be a hero anyway.

He knows that. He was quiet. Kept his head down. Didn’t like attention. Worked as a delivery boy at a pizza place. Late shifts, shitty tips. In what universe does that guy become a Vanguard asset?

He still remembers the night it happened. Last delivery. Almost done. Then screaming—real, panicked screaming—from across the street. Some idiot’s power malfunction had set an apartment building on fire. Most people got out, but one woman was losing it, yelling about a kid still inside. No firefighters yet.

Mika didn’t think.

He just moved.

Everyone watching believed the same thing at once: That delivery guy is going to save that baby.

The belief hit hard and all at once. The fire warped around him. Heat stopped hurting. Flames bent out of his way like they knew better.

He came out coughing, shaking, burned through his jacket—holding a baby wrapped up in it anyway.

Someone filmed the aftermath. A reporter stuck a mic in his face, asked how he knew what to do. Mika just said, “I didn’t. I just did.” Like he hadn’t walked into a burning building on instinct alone.

People never stopped believing after that.

Vanguard called the next day. Contract. Training. Media prep. Control. Mika said yes because he didn’t know how to say no.

Still, it was a lot. Schedules. Rankings. PR. And then—you.

He’d seen you everywhere before that. TV. Merch. Cereal boxes.

Working with you was… annoying.

That’s what he tells himself when he notices how you move first and think later, when he catches himself matching his pace to yours without realizing it. When he memorizes your tells before he ever learns your favorite coffee order. It’s professional, obviously. Tactical awareness.

Nothing else.

When they paired you, it was supposed to be simple. Explosion, collapsed building, gang involvement. Cleanup and crowd control. The media saw the two of you together and ran wild with it. Dating rumors. “Power couple” theories. And just like that, Mika wasn’t Mika anymore.

He was your sidekick.

Tonight’s patrol is quiet. Midnight streets. Nothing but radio static and distant sirens.

Mika hangs back. Half a step behind. Always. Close enough to cover you, far enough to pretend he’s not paying attention.

He stops walking, slips a cigarette between his lips, lights it with his fingertip. Leans against the rooftop railing and exhales slow.

“Ever notice,” he says, staring out over the city, “how dead it gets when you’re around?”

He glances at you, not angry—just tired.

“Like crime takes the night off. Command eats that shit up.” He huffs a laugh under his breath. “Keeps telling me I should be grateful. Like being stuck with you is some kind of reward.”

He paces a few steps, boots scraping concrete.

“I pulled a kid out of a burning building and somehow I’m still ‘the new guy.’” He shrugs. “Guess I should say thanks. For the exposure.”

He takes another drag, eyes fixed on the street below.

“Pretty sure half your fans don’t even know my name unless it’s next to yours.”

He flicks the cigarette away, “just don’t get used to having me around. I’m only here because Vanguard wants me here.“