Erwin Smith and Hanji Zoe

It had been a simple gesture, one that had left Hanji laughing while he had just smiled in amusement. It had started out as a simple accident, and Erwin had learned that day to never walk with a cup of tea when it was possible for a frantic Hanji to bump into him. He had not been fazed when the tea had splashed on his white shirt, but Hanji's startled shriek as she tried to gather her flying papers had caught him by surprise.

"Here," she said with a smirk, handing him a handkerchief to try and help him with the mess on his shirt. "You better wipe that up. We can't have the commander looking like a total slob."

He grinned, accepting her handkerchief as he tried to wipe the stain off of his white shirt. "You are the reason that I look like a slob." He frowned when he realized that there was no saving his shirt. "I will have to change," he muttered. There was way he could show up to a meeting looking like this.

Hanji frowned. "Do you want me to stall the meeting for you?"

He looked up at her in confusion. "How?" he asked. And why? That was the silent question that he did not ask out loud.

She just smiled, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. "Oh, leave it to me, Commander. I am already forming a story that I am quite eager to share!"

He knew she could handle it. Hanji Zoe was more than capable when it came to thinking on her feet. It was one of the many traits he admired about her.

As her comrade, he found himself reminding himself about that everyday. He admired the traits that made Hanji who she was as a close friend would. It was a logic that made sense. He admired her just as a friend, there was nothing more to it.

He had rushed back, already flinging his coat off and unbuttoning his shirt before he was even in his office. He always kept spare uniforms in his office, so it was not hard to find a clean shirt.

With a clean shirt, he had composed himself on the hallway of the meeting room, taking a deep breath and fixing his jacket before approaching the doorway. He paused when he heard Hanji's voice carrying inside the room.

"-And like the good man he is, he chased after it," Hanji explained. "After all, that is what gentlemen do for women, right?" Hanji stopped speaking when she noticed him, and she turned to look at him with a smile. "Ah, Commander! Were you successful in retrieving my handkerchief?"

He blinked. "I am sorry, what?"

"My handkerchief," she explained. "I was just informing everyone the reason for your late absence was because my handkerchief blew in the wind, and how you ran to retrieve it for me."

His stoic and calm mask slid on his face, and he reached into his pocket to pull out the white handkerchief she had given him earlier.

"Here you are," he said, handing the handkerchief to her, his eyes twinkling in amusement, a look only she could identify. "Just as I promised."

She grinned coyly, taking the handkerchief back. "Like a true gentleman."

To be honest, he could not recall what the meeting had been about at the end of the day. Yet he had been unable to stop the small grin on his face, even as he finally walked out of the meeting room.

Someone grabbed his arm, catching his attention. He turned to see Hanji grinning up at him. She reached up and adjusted the collar of his shirt, humming to herself as she did so.

"It wasn't tucked in," she explained, meeting his gaze.

His eyes widened. "Was it like that throughout the meeting?" he demanded.

She laughed. "Only I would pay attention to such a frivolous detail." She pulled out her handkerchief, the same one he had given back to her. "Here," she said. "Keep it for future spills." She winked. "I've got plenty already."

He fingered the cloth with a small grin as he watched her walk away. No doubt she was off to go over the notes she had gathered on the Titans. It was her passion, and Hanji devoted her time to the things that grabbed her attention.

He may be the Commander of many brave men and women in the Survey Corps. Yet he somehow doubted that he was truly in command of his heart's desires.

He pocketed the handkerchief, returning once more to his duties.

Levi Ackerman and Petra Ral

Levi entered the room, his back straight as he carried himself forward and into the dark room. The blood and dirt that stained his equipment and cape was everywhere, and he shuddered at the very thought of being dirtied for so long.

He found the equipment room empty, which is how he normally liked it. He did not have to deal with the pointless chatter and constant inquiries that would deter him from his work.

His work, which now involved cleaning.

He sat down on a small stool, gathering the necessary cleaning supplies. He liked cleaning his ODM gear as he knew what needed to be cleaned and how he liked it. Others rushed through their cleaning, forgetting or not caring about the hard spots that needed the most care.

Cleaning was a privilege that these people, who had grown up above ground, did not understand. Growing up in the slums taught you how to appreciate the better things of life above ground, even if there was a constant threat of being eaten by a Titan.

But, living in the slums of the Underground District had taught him to appreciate many things.

One of them was a clean living.

One of the downsides of being alone though was that the silence allowed his thoughts to wander. Keeping his depressing thoughts at bay was always such a challenge, even when he tried to distract himself with cleaning.

He rubbed harder on a stubborn stain before discarding the dirtied rag and reaching for a new one.

"Captain?" a voice asked, causing him to look up.

Petra Ral stood in the doorway with her own equipment in hand, a curious frown on her face as she tilted her head, her auburn locks lightly brushing against her shoulders.

He straightened up. "What is it?" he inquired.

She smiled as she approached him. "Am I interrupting anything?"

He glanced around the empty room with a shrug. "No." He smirked lightly. "Just my concentration." He wondered if his attempt at a casual joke came across as what he hoped she would receive it as.

A joke, and not an insult.

She did and she grinned as she pulled up a small stool right next to his. She set out her ODM gear, which was also in need of cleaning. "You work fast," she noted, nodding towards his equipment.

He shrugged, not sure how else to respond to her. "I can assist you with your cleaning, as I am finished with mine."

She shook her head. "That is alright captain, I've got it."

"Here," he said. "I'll show you how to do it properly."

She frowned as he pulled his seat closer to hers so he could handle her ODM gear. In that moment, he became obsessed with that one stain on her gear "But I do know how to handle it properly," she protested.

"The gears under here would need to be cleaned," he noted. "They are often neglected because no one bothers to look. But the blood can leak in and damage the equipment if not properly seen to." During his time explaining, he had avoided her gaze. The one thing he realized was that with Petra's presence, his dark thoughts were kept at bay.

Petra Ral, a sweet woman who was a young motherly figure of the group.

Petra Ral, a dangerous soldier when given any weapon, and a formidable fighter.

She was all those things, and many others that he could not name.

When he had first caught sight of her, he was struck by how young and innocent she looked. She did not look like one who would belong on a battlefield. She did not look like a killer. She did not look like someone who would survive her first battle.

To be honest, he was surprised she had lasted this long.

But he was glad she had. He was glad she was still here.

He was grateful, and felt like something was going right for him. Maybe someone was watching out for him after all.

"One must respect cleanliness above all else," he stated gruffly. "It is what separates us from the animals."

She laughed suddenly, causing him to look at her with a raised eyebrow, hoping the confusion would not show on his face. "You're one to talk," she chortled, pulling something out of her pocket as she leaned in closer. He froze, not wanting to move and not knowing how to respond to her sudden close proximity.

With her handkerchief in hand, she gently wiped at his cheek, causing him to blink in shock. "Captain," she said, amusement dancing in her colorful eyes. "If we are to practice cleanliness so as to remain separated from animals, then how is it that you cover yourself in dirt and grime?"

He blinked as she wiped at a speck of dirt on his cheek, eyes flickering to study her and note how close she was. He was aware that there was probably more than a speck of dirt on him, maybe even sweat and traces of blood, yet Petra did not flinch at his state. In fact, she leaned in a bit closer, finally meeting his stare and causing him to go still. He dared not move, not even wanting to.

"We can't have that now, can we?" she said with a smirk, pulling away, and he found that his heart returned to a steady beat. She looked down, passing the handkerchief to him. He finally looked at it, noticing the initials. "P.R?" he asked, gently touching the threaded letters.

"My father gave it to me," she said. "Most likely he was hoping that I would abandon the Scouts and stay as his little girl." She shrugged. "But you would have more use for it then I ever will." Here, she nodded at the pile of dirty rags he had used before.

He fingered the soft cloth, her initials staring back at him. In response, he pocketed the little gift, not knowing why he decided not to use it.

But he did know one thing: he was not going to let Petra Ral's gift touch the foul Titan blood.

Mike Zacharias and Nanaba

The first time she had given him something that was hers, it was when he was sick. She had smiled and reached into her pocket to withdraw a handkerchief for his running nose. His brain had been muddled at that time, and he had not even given her a proper 'thank you.'

But, a week later, he fully remembered her gift as he stared at the simple handkerchief in his hands. It was used, but he had cleaned it, yet he was unsure if that was enough.

He had reflected before whether or not he should give the handkerchief back. If he did, would she be offended and think he did not appreciate her act of kindness in his moment of weakness?

Or worse, would she think he was withholding something that was hers if he kept it?

He was going in circles with this, and he had yet to settle on an answer.

He frowned, fingering the soft fabric that was worn with use. It was that small detail that led him to believe that if it was soft with use, then it must mean she was using it often.

And if she used it, she might want it back.

The handkerchief still smelled like Nanaba: a fruity smell. He was unsure how and why she smelled like that, but it was her scent, and he knew whenever she was in the room with her very unique, natural fragrance.

He was debating on whether or not how to clean it once again. He wanted to clean it once more before giving it back, as he had been sick when he had used it and he did not want her to catch his disgusting germs.

His cleaning did not go well, as the amount of bleach he had used rendered it to a tattered yellow mess. He stared at the handkerchief in anguish, frustrated with his inability to perform such a simple task.

"I thought bleach was supposed to whiten things out," he grumbled, staring at the ugly yellow mess he had made.

That was how he had found himself in a simple store, observing different handkerchiefs. He held the tattered one in his hand to compare it to the others, not wanting to get anything too different from the original one.

He sighed in frustration, not knowing what to do.

"Why reinvent the wheel?" he muttered to himself, settling on a simple white one. But he was still not satisfied with his choice. It seemed to simple, like he had not put much effort into her gift.

As he walked towards the desk to make his lamentable purchase, his eye caught sight of a shelf of handkerchiefs, all different because of the unique needlework done on them.

His eyes widened as an idea suddenly came to mind.

The next day, he approached Nanaba who was sitting at a table with a paper in her hand. She looked up when he approached her, a small frown of curiosity on her face.

He gestured to the seat. "May I?" he asked.

She blinked. "Oh, yes," she said, watching as he sat down. "What is it, Mike?" she asked.

He cleared his throat, pulling out the handkerchief he had purchased. He had debated on whether or not to wrap it, but he had decided against it, figuring it would be too formal. "I wanted to return something," he said. "The handkerchief you had given me."

She blinked, accepting the handkerchief and examining the small, professional work of threaded needle work. Mike had to admit, he was proud in his decision to have the store clerk design a small pineapple on the edge of the handkerchief.

"I ruined the one you originally gave me," he said quickly as an explanation. "Sorry."

She blinked again before chuckling. "Mike, I would hardly have known if this was my handkerchief or not. The one I gave you was old anyway."

"I hope it was not a sentimental object," he stated.

Her eyes widened. "Sentimental? Good Heavens, no! You didn't have to get me a new handkerchief."

"You gave me yours," he stated.

"Well, yes, because you needed it," she stated. "To be honest, handkerchiefs are for lady's, not soldiers." She swallowed when he looked away. "But I like this one! I think the little pineapple is sweet."

"It is because of your scent," he said, causing her to look back at him. "You have a fruity smell," he clarified.

Her face softened. "Really?" She looked back at the handkerchief. "Thank you," she said. "For the handkerchief."

He had completely forgotten to give her back the tattered, ruined handkerchief. But as he stared at the tattered yellow thing, Nanaba's fruity fragrance still lingering on it, he decided to keep it rather than throw it out.

It was, after all, a gift.

The Ladies

Hanji leaned back in her seat with a smile on her face as she made herself comfortable at the table. The room was empty, save for a few lingering soldiers, including the three women sharing the table with Hanji. "Boy, are we lucky," she commented.

Petra looked up at Hanji in confusion, while Nanaba, who was seated right across from the other woman, frowned. "Why is that?" Petra asked.

Hanji shrugged, still smiling. "Just something I read. There were a lot more restrictions when it came to women and men."

Petra cocked her head thoughtfully. "How so?"

Hanji's smile grew wider as a certain memory involving a commander came to mind. "Oh, like flirting. Women were not allowed to flirt in public, so they developed certain codes to let men know how they felt." She laughed. "Using a handkerchief was one of them." She folded her hands on her lap. "Handkerchiefs were said to be the messengers of Cupid, the god of love."

Nanaba blinked. "What?"

Hanji smirked. "A handkerchief was said to be a declaration of love between a man and a woman. It was a silent code, a confession."

Nanaba blinked, before a small smile came across her face as she looked back down at her drink. Patra just looked innocent, as if she already knew what Hanji had just told her all along. She calmly sipped her tea, her eyes mischievous.

"So ladies," Hanji said, leaning forward with a twinkle in her eye. "Who did you declare your love to?"