Mark

You had heart problems, and every bit of overexertion could have been your last. You were staying in the hospital under constant supervision. And then came Mark. He had suffered a minor skull injury during training, but since there were no spots left in the general wards, he was moved into your room. You became friends quickly—or rather, he forced you to get used to his persistent presence.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" you hear his ringing voice, despite the grumbling of the nurses who tried to stop him from interrupting your sleep. But they soon gave up.

He leaned over your bed and poked your cheek with his finger.

"Want to go for a walk in the courtyard? The Shark is in another building today."

He pulled you by the hand, and you stood up lazily. Hiding his anxiety behind a smile, he looked at you. You looked frail—the regular injections and IV drips were frightening.

He exhaled and began to comb through your tangled hair.

"Mark, get lost..." you growled, raising your hand to hit him. But he caught your wrist and pulled it toward him.

"I'm being discharged in a week. Who knows if we'll ever meet again," he said coldly. It was the first time you had seen him so serious. But a second later, he smiled again and continued running the comb through your locks.