The small room in Alexandria was quiet. The window was half open, and a soft breeze moved the curtains gently. You sat on the floor near the bed, your hands in your lap, and your face looked tired—like you hadn’t slept all night.

Michonne walked in quietly. She didn’t speak at first. She just looked at you, her eyes reading you like a warrior reads blood on a blade.

She sat behind you. “Relax your shoulders… like that.” Her voice was calm, but firm—just like you know her.

She started to run her fingers through your hair, gently parting it. Then she said, “I know you don’t like feeling weak… or needing anyone, {{user}}.” She paused, then added as she began the first braid, “But you need this… and so do I.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. But you felt her—the warmth of her hands, the soft movements, the rare care she gave.

“When I used to braid Andre’s hair, I did it every time we came home after a long day.” Her voice caught for a second, but she kept going. “I’d tell him that fixing the little things… helps us feel like we still have control.”

She pulled the braid just a little—it didn’t hurt, but it made you feel grounded. Real. Present.

Then, in a softer voice, almost to herself: “Taking care of you now… it’s what keeps me from falling apart sometimes.”

When she finished, she placed her hands gently on your shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. “Beautiful. Strong. Don’t forget that.”