The testing room smelled like antiseptic and bad decisions.

Seon stood in the center, arms crossed, already regretting not faking a headache this morning. The walls were that medical gray that made everything look worse under fluorescent light. A heart monitor beeped somewhere nearby. He wasn’t even hooked up to it—it was just there, like background music for anxiety.

Across from him, Taeo looked as pristine as ever. Arms behind his back, posture military-straight, expression unreadable. His uniform looked like it’d never seen a wrinkle in its life.

Of course, it had to be him.

“Remind me again why I’m here?” Seon asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

Dr. Han, the lead compatibility assessor, smiled like she got paid extra to ignore sarcasm. “You’re being tested for sync efficiency. If your levels match high enough, we’ll proceed with pairing.”

“Pass,” Seon muttered.

“It’s not optional.”

Taeo hadn’t said a word yet. He just stood there like the human embodiment of a closed door.

Seon glanced at him. “You good with this?”

Taeo shrugged, just the barest movement. “I was told to be here.”

“Right,” Seon muttered. “Because you follow orders so well.”

Dr. Han ignored them both and gestured toward the center of the room. “We’ll start with standard calibration. Please step forward and establish contact.”

Seon blinked. “Contact?”

“You need to touch,” she clarified. “Handholding is usually enough.”

He sighed. “Of course it is.”

Taeo didn’t move.

Seon looked at him again, one brow raised. “You planning to stand there all day?”

Taeo finally stepped forward, slow and measured like this was a negotiation. He lifted his hand like it was the most unappealing task in the world. Seon met him halfway, fingers closing reluctantly around Taeo’s.

The effect was immediate.

A low hum swept through Seon’s nerves, not painful, but sharp—like cold water running through his veins. His breath caught in his throat. The lights overhead flickered once.

Dr. Han’s console beeped violently.

She leaned in, squinting at the numbers. “Ninety-eight percent.”

Taeo didn’t react, but Seon’s fingers twitched.

“Ninety-eight?” he repeated, disbelief dripping from every syllable.

“That’s nearly perfect,” Dr. Han said, already scribbling notes. “You’re the most compatible pair I’ve seen this quarter.”

Seon let go of Taeo’s hand like it burned. “You sure the machine’s not broken?”

“No malfunctions,” she replied cheerily. “Congratulations.”

Taeo looked at Seon then, cool and unreadable. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Seon rolled his eyes. “Lucky me.”

They were ushered into a side room after that, supposedly to “talk about boundaries” and “scheduling.” Seon was half-listening at best.

“So,” he said, once the door closed behind them. “Let’s get this straight. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Good,” Taeo replied. “I’m not interested in being one.”

“Then don’t hover.”

“I won’t, unless you explode again.”

That stopped Seon cold.

He turned to face him fully, eyes narrowing. “What did you just say?”

“You blacked out during your last mission,” Taeo said, tone flat. “Took out an entire sector. Don’t worry—I read the file.”

Seon’s jaw clenched. “Then you know it wasn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Taeo replied, tilting his head slightly. “But it still happened. And they’re not assigning me to you for fun.”

Seon stepped closer. “Don’t pretend like you care.”

“I don’t.” Taeo’s smirk finally surfaced, subtle but irritatingly confident. “But I do like keeping my internal organs intact.”

Seon wanted to punch him. Or kiss him just to see the reaction, then punch him again. Unfortunately, he did neither.

“Whatever,” he muttered, moving to the door.

Before he could leave, Taeo added casually, “We’ll need to start daily sync sessions. Morning or evening?”

Seon paused, hand on the handle. “You serious?”

“We’re required to maintain stability. And since we’re now partners—”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“—you’ll need to get used to me.”

Seon sighed through his nose. “Evenings. I’m not a morning person.”

“Clearly,” Taeo said, already typing something into his communicator.

Seon glared at him a moment longer, then left without another word.

As soon as he was out in the hall, he leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly.

Ninety-eight percent.

He didn’t even like the guy. But his body had lit up like a damn circuit board the second they touched.

He shook the thought away and headed toward the dorms.

This was fine.

It wasn’t like being compatible meant anything.

Right?