A/N: written as part of jeankasa week.
Jean's footfalls fell loudly on the spiral staircase. He knew that she would probably hear him—which wasn't good because she would probably try to run away, seeing as she had been avoiding everyone for the past week—but what else could he do?
He reached the top of the stairs and opened the door at the top of the stairwell. Sunlight hit his eyes and he had to blink several times to adjust to the light. Once he stepped onto the flat roof, he saw her. She was standing far enough from the edge that she was in no danger of falling by accident, but still he worried; it was a long way down to the ground from this tower and no one—even Mikasa—could survive it without the maneuvering gear.
"Mikasa," he called walking towards her.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked, quietly.
He ignored her. He didn't want to tell her that, ever since Eren's death, he'd been watching her like a hawk, afraid of what she might do. "We missed you at lunch."
"I wasn't hungry."
"You're never hungry, not anymore."
She turned away from the edge, towards him. He swallowed. Her eyes looked as dead as Corporal Levi's.
"Look, Mikasa. No one's expecting you to get back to speed immediately. No one's expecting you to beat the Corporal in practice, or to kill all the titans, or to do…whatever. But you have to eat. You have to keep on taking care of yourself. Or let your friends take care of you anyway." He pulled out a bundle of cloth from his pocket and, upon unfolding it, revealed two dinner rolls. He held them out to Mikasa, holding his arm out painfully stiff. "You don't know how much trouble I had keeping Sasha away from these."
She didn't smile at his weak attempt of a joke. In fact, she didn't even look at the rolls; instead, she stared blankly at him. "I'm not hungry." She started to turn away.
"Mikasa!" His free hand grabbed her shoulder and forced her to stay still. He expected her to fight back, but when she didn't protest, he dropped the hand from her shoulder, letting it hang by his side. "I don't know how Eren comforted you when you lost your family, when you lost your friends. And it probably wouldn't be the same anyway. But I'm trying my best, goddamnit! I know what it's like to lose people. I lost Marco, didn't I? And even though he hadn't been my brother since I was nine, he had been my brother for the past two years!" Briefly, Jean imagined what Marco would say if could see him doing this. He would be proud, but unsurprised; Marco had always known Jean was a good person, even if it was an idea Jean still struggled with.
Jean gasped. Without any warning, Mikasa had hugged him, burying her face in the juncture between his shoulder and his neck. After a moment of hesitation, he embraced her too, pushing her closer to him while one hand gently stroked her head. She was quiet for the most part, although once or twice she broke into dry sobs, the sound painful enough to break Jean's heart had he not been so grateful that she was finally letting someone in.
When she looked up, her eyes and nose were red and she swiped her face against her shoulder. "I think…I think I'd like those rolls now, Jean, if that's okay?"
"Yeah," his voice cracked, "of-of coursre." Awkwardly, he let go of her and shuffled out of her embrace. Then he held out the rolls again.
She took them, but then, unexpectedly, passes one of them back to him. After taking a bite out of her own roll, she said, "You need to take care of yourself too."
He smiled and, even though he had only eaten lunch an hour ago and wasn't hungry at all, he took the roll back from her—possibly letting their hands touch slightly longer than he had ever dared before—and bit into it.