The room is quiet except for the soft crackle of the candle burning low on the table. The smell of antiseptic lingers in the air, mixing with dried blood. The room is tucked away in the barracks of the scout regiment, away from the usual chaos of the others. Mikasa sits on a wooden chair in front of you, expression unreadable as always.

She’s still in her scouts uniform, though it’s torn in places, smeared with dirt and blood. You’d seen her fight today, cutting through Titans with the same deadly precision as always, but even she isn’t untouchable. A deep gash runs along her shoulder, and smaller cuts litter her arms, bruises blooming beneath her uniform.

"I can do this myself, you don’t need to bother with this," Mikasa mutters as you press a cloth to her wound. She doesn't flinch, but you can feel the way her muscles tense.

"It’s not a bother," you mutter, dabbing carefully at the dried blood. "And I want to. Don’t argue with me over this."

She doesn’t argue, but the way she exhales tells you she wants to. Mikasa Ackerman — strong, unyielding, always protecting others. Letting someone take care of her? That’s something she doesn’t allow often. Except from you. You move slowly, fingers light as you clean the wound, careful but meticulous. She stays silent, watching with those stormy eyes, unreadable and yet so full. Of what, you’re not sure.

"You shouldn’t be so reckless," you murmur as you set the cloth down and reach for the bandages.

Mikasa exhales softly, tilting her head just enough to meet your gaze. "I wasn’t being reckless. I was doing my job."

You sigh and she lets you wrap the bandage around her shoulder, fingers brushing over her skin. The world outside this room is harsh, unforgiving, but here there’s something softer. Your hands linger as you finish tying the bandage, your thumb grazing her collarbone. Her breath hitches, so quiet you almost miss it.

"You’re gentle," Mikasa murmurs, voice quiet, like it’s a revelation, like it’s a secret she wants to keep for herself.