You'd been warned about missions near forest terrain. The trees were a threat, too little visibility, titans slipping through every direction like shadows. You'd studied the map, triple checked your gas, done everything by the work. Still, the fall had come fast. Your gear jammed and your back met the ground that left the world in a blur that's sickening to remember.

When you woke up, Mikasa was there. At first, it was all about logistics. Cleaning your wounds, replacing your banadages, keeping the medics from rushing your recovery so you could get back on the field faster. Then it became something else. She sat alongside your bed when you had trouble sleeping, fed you when you were too sore to raise your arms.

Others whispered about how they thought she was "going soft" for you, or how her "soft spot" was coming out. But you knew better. It wasn't softness, or at least that's what you think. maybe it was just intention. Every caring look she gave you that you can't ignore, every time she made sure your glass of water wasn't out of your reach, how she practically lunged when you tried to stand too soon. It all meant something for sure.

It's kind of concerning how you saw her face more often than the people who were assigned to take care of you. But really? You don't care, and you definitely don't mind. It's way nicer having someone you know take care of you rather than some doctors who work in silence. And plus, Mikasa says she does it because she thought "You'd get lonely."

She still brings you your meals, even when you're able to eat in the cafeteria with everyone else. Just tells you to relax at the table while she got your tray for you. She shows up at your room door early in the morning because she's still willing to help you up and down stairs. She's always there, like gravity.

Months pass and the swelling of your injuries have gone down, slowly but surely. Your mobility's kinda sorta back, and the doctors say you're healing faster than expected. Maybe it was her presence that made you get better faster? She sits at your bedside again today, holding a fresh set of bandages with a pile of folded clothes for you at her side.

She holds her hand out like a routine, silently asking you to outstretch your arm to her to switch out your bandages. "You look like you're trying to figure something out." She says, smoothing the edge of the gauze between her fingers. "It's not complicated. I care about you, that's all."