It wasn't too long after they returned to their squad that Futoshi insisted Mitsuru ride with Kokoro in battle. Though they were both understandably confused, they were willing to try switching partners if it was for the good of the squad. So, Kokoro was paired with Mitsuru and given Genista to pilot. After all, they had apparently piloted together before and done well enough, according to their teammates. Though, no matter how hard either of them wracked their brains, they couldn't remember it.

After the decision was made, Mitsuru and Kokoro were asked to test their connection with Genista. During the trial run, they had easily surpassed the minimum requirement to connect. They ran a few tests, checking their controls, battle skills, and cohesiveness. Everything went fine and they were given the green light to pilot together in the next battle.

Now, side by side, Mitsuru and Kokoro were making their way through the quiet halls. The silence that hung heavily between them was somewhat tense, both parties on edge. Even though they got along fine, there always seemed to be a weight on Kokoro's shoulders when they interacted. She couldn't shake away the feeling that she was disappointing everyone when she was around Mitsuru. Supposedly, they were very close and really cared for each other, but Kokoro just couldn't remember him. She knew it bothered everyone, that they wanted her to remember for her own sake, but she just couldn't. She wasn't accustomed to the helplessness she felt when she looked at Mitsuru.

Trying to shake away the oppressive heaviness in her heart, Kokoro pulled in a deep breath, the lingering scent of disinfectant filling her lungs. The harsh scent bothered her and it seemed to cling to the walls and floor here, unlike Mistilteinn. There, a pleasant freshness was swept in by the wind, the trees and plants that lined their home plantation giving off a nice, earthy scent. The thought made her a little homesick, but she knew her old plantation wouldn't last long. It was breaking down and the water was souring. Everything that had happened really was for the best. Or, at least, that was what she liked to tell herself.

Mitsuru turned down another empty hall, Kokoro just a step behind. The parasite housing was on the opposite side of the facility from where the Franxx were kept, so it made for a long, lonely walk through many desert halls where adults worked behind locked doors or rooms sat vacant and untouched. Even with Mitsuru at her side, Kokoro thought that she might as well be alone. They didn't talk much and his company always seemed a bit cold. The only comfort was another set of footsteps sounding through the open corridors.

As they grew nearer to the parasite quarters, the stinging scent of disinfectant grew stronger. Kokoro thought they might have just finished cleaning, but it didn't matter much to her. Her thoughts were preoccupied with the way it made her stomach roll. For about two weeks, she'd been hit with bouts of nausea, either triggered by food or completely unprompted. The other girls knew, but she kept quiet about it around the adults. She didn't want them knowing anything might be wrong with her. But, now, she was having a hard time hiding it.

Her steps faltered slightly and she swore she could feel the color draining from her face. Swallowing at the sour taste in her mouth, Kokoro silently willed it to pass, or at least hold off until she could get to the bathroom. Still, her stomach heaved and bile rose up in her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth, choking down the foul fluid and dashing through the first open doorway she could find. Ducking around the corner, she was relieved to find a small waste bin sitting beside an empty desk. Kokoro sunk down to her knees beside the bin, closing her eyes tight and trying to push back the nasty wave of nausea.

Her efforts didn't have much affect, though. Kokoro's stomach heaved stubbornly, forcing acrid liquid up her throat. It wasn't long before she was coughing and gagging, emptying the contents of her stomach into the waste bin. It was a miserable feeling, and sweat was starting to dampen her collar and bead up on her forehead.

Cool fingers at her neck, though, caught her by surprise. They swept back her hair, pulling it away from her face and getting it up off her neck. Silently grateful for whoever it was, Kokoro sat slumped over the bin until she was confident there was nothing left in her stomach to come up. After a moment of consideration, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, resolving to go clean up in the bathrooms later. Leaning back some, Kokoro caught a glimpse of scruffy brown hair and worried green eyes peering over her shoulder.

Mitsuru.

While she felt awful about the judgement now, Kokoro assumed he would have just kept walking, heading back alone and leaving her behind. She hadn't pegged him as one to follow her, one to check on her, one to take care of her. Still, he had, and he was watching her with his clear green eyes, something akin to concern wrinkling his typically aloof mask. Kokoro held his gaze for a moment before her stomach turned and she ducked her head, lips turned down in a grimace.

"Are you okay?" Mitsuru asked, his voice quiet and even. While he still seemed polished and guarded, Kokoro appreciated the warmth in his tone, replacing the usual indifferent iciness. It made her feel a little bit better.

Letting out a breath, Kokoro nodded softly. "Yeah, I just need a minute," she replied, hoping her stomach would settle some. Though she felt better now, nausea still washed over her, keeping her on her knees.

Mitsuru hummed an acknowledgement in return, keeping her hair pulled back. Only when Kokoro shifted back to sit more comfortably on the floor, gingerly pushing the waste basket away from them, did he decide to let her hair down again. Her thick curls fell to frame her face, cascading past her shoulders and down her back.

A little unsure, Mitsuru took a seat beside her, offset so he still hung back a bit behind her. As they sat, Kokoro focused on the rhythmic sounds of their breathing, trying to slow her own breaths to match Mitsuru's. It was steady and calming and gave her something to focus on other than the unpleasant taste in her mouth.

Then, Mitsuru did something that caught her totally off guard. He slipped an arm around her middle, gently pressing his hand to her abdomen. It felt so thoughtless, almost like a reflex, but for Kokoro, the effect was immediate. The sore and tense muscles there relaxed beneath the warm pressure of his hand, some of the ache fading. The churning discomfort and nausea was starting to soothe at his touch as well. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over her, calm contentment blooming somewhere deep in her chest.

Letting out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding, Kokoro relaxed into the contact. After a beat, the realization hit her hard that, even if their minds had forgotten each other, their bodies still remembered. Mitsuru knew how to make her feel better, how to soothe her pain and take care of her. Despite his distance from her, and the fact that they only remembered knowing each other for a few weeks, he helped her in a way she was sure he wouldn't do for anyone else. And her body knew the analgesic quality of his hands. In that moment, she knew instinctively to trust that he wouldn't hurt her and that the tender intimacy she would normally shy away from was exactly what she needed.

Kokoro couldn't help but wonder how close they truly must have been for her body to respond so well and so quickly to just a simple touch from him. With a heavy longing settling deep in her bones, Kokoro realized she desperately wanted to remember him. She wanted to remember the things they had done together, the secrets they had shared, the struggles they helped each other overcome. How much of her life had just disappeared? How much of her heart had been ripped away?

Before Kokoro even realized it, her eyes were starting to burn, tears welling up and waiting to spill. And, though the nausea that had hit her earlier was finally dissipating, she still felt sick. It wasn't fair that she was forced to forget someone so important to her. Balling the fabric of her skirt in her hands, Kokoro sniffled and tried to blink back the tears pooling beneath her blue irises. Though, as soon as Mitsuru heard her sniffle, felt her breaths coming shorter and faster, he pulled his hand away like he'd been burned. He could tell she was about to cry.

"Sorry, I'm not sure what came over me," Mitsuru apologized, uncomfortably clearing his throat. He moved to stand, to give Kokoro some space, thinking he might have hurt her. Before he could, Kokoro hurriedly caught his wrist, throwing her gaze over her shoulder to meet his eyes.

"It's not you," Kokoro managed to choke out, her voice thick with emotion. She held his gaze, willing him to believe her. "I'm not crying because of you," Kokoro explained shakily, her free hand wiping the moisture from her eyes.

His squared shoulders dipping some, Mitsuru let out a quiet breath. Though he still looked a little uncomfortable, his guard up, he relaxed a bit. And when Kokoro shyly released her hold on his arm, he didn't leave. For a long, quiet moment, they just watched each other, forgotten emotions flitting just out of reach. Though, when a door beeped down the hall, its locks engaging, their concentration broke and the moment was gone.

Having composed herself, Kokoro got somewhat unsteadily back to her feet, feeling a little shaky. She wasn't sure if it was from the rush of emotion or dehydration, but regardless, she felt better now than she had before. Offering a sheepish nod in thanks to Mitsuru, she tried to duck out the door. The faster she could get away from him and all the messy feelings he brought, the quicker she hoped she'd feel back to normal. Mitsuru was an inevitable issue and she knew she'd have to face the feelings she had for him, but she needed some time to clear her head.

But, before she could escape, it was Mitsuru's turn to catch her wrist and pull her back into the sleek office. While his expression was set in his typical cool, professional mask, there was a flicker of concern in his brilliant green eyes. "Are you sure you're alright?" Mitsuru asked, brows pulling together ever so slightly.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Kokoro ducked her head, trying to hide her expression. She wasn't good at keeping up a mask like Mitsuru. She was sure that if he could see her face, he would see the exhaustion written across her expression, the hurt and confusion in her eyes. He would know she wasn't alright. Things had been rough ever since she and Mitsuru had returned to the squad, especially with the nausea that now seemed to hang in her shadow, cropping up at the worst times.

Trying her best to fix a gentle smile to her lips and brighten her expression, Kokoro looked back up to meet Mitsuru's serious gaze. "I'll be okay," she answered, hoping it really was the truth, hoping that everything really would work out for the best.

The answer seemed to satisfy Mitsuru enough, though there was still something off in his demeanor, something softer and warmer about the way he carried himself. Then, in the blink of an eye, he dropped Kokoro's wrist and straightened up, his cold mask back in place. He let her leave, his footsteps sounding a few feet behind her.

Taking in a deep breath, Kokoro clasped her hands in front of her. Soon, she would be back with the other girls in the squad, smiling like nothing happened and pretending that everything was alright. She'd be subdued but happy that the test ride with Mitsuru went well. The girls would be glad and relieved and probably fawn over her the same way they always did.

Sighing tiredly at the thought, Kokoro let her eyes fall shut for a moment, pacing down the long, stark hall. She would do her best to play her part, but she would be lying if she said she didn't wonder how long she could keep going. She didn't know where the periodic nausea was coming from, or why her emotions were running so high, but it was exhausting.

Though, she'd felt a spark of something different, something better with Mitsuru. When he touched her, so natural and comfortable, she was happy. The hope that one day she could be close to him again, with or without her prior memories, gave her motivation to keep moving. Things could change. Things could get better. And, with any luck, everything really would turn out alright.