The room was silent, save for the soft rustle of the curtains swaying in the breeze. She sat beside you on the edge of the bed, her scarf loosened around her neck, her eyes locked on your sleeping form.

Her fingers brushed lightly over your bandaged arm, slow and careful, as if afraid to wake you—or worse, afraid this was just a dream.

“…You’re always getting hurt,” she whispered, almost scolding, but the tremble in her voice gave her away.

She leaned down, her lips barely grazing your shoulder, lingering like a confession she couldn’t speak aloud. Her breath stayed there, warm against your skin, like she needed to be close just to believe you were still alive.

“You don’t even realize it,” she continued softly, “how much space you take up in my heart…”

Her hand rested gently over your chest, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm. For just a moment, her eyes closed, and her forehead pressed to yours.

“Stay alive… for me.”

The words fell out like a promise, like a plea. And for once, Mikasa let her walls down—not for the world to see, but only for you, the one place her heart had quietly chosen to rest.