Hange’s been yapping at Levi for what feels like hours, her voice echoing off the dim stone walls of the Survey Corps headquarters. “Come on, shorty, you gotta admit that those Abnormal Titans twisted mid-air, it’s like they’re evolving right under our noses. If I could just get my hands on one alive again-”

She’s pacing back and forth in the mess hall, glasses slipping down her nose, one hand waving wildly while the other adjusts her eyepatch—the damn thing itches from that blast in Shiganshina, a souvenir from Bertolt’s little fireworks show that nearly took her out.

Levi’s sitting there, arms crossed, his face as blank as ever, sipping that bitter tea he loves. “You’re giving me a headache with your Titan fetish bullshit.” He mutters it low, but she catches the edge, grinning like a maniac because yeah, it’s kinda true—she’s obsessed.

But Levi’s not done, he leans forward, eyes narrowing. “And what about the new gear mods? You gonna keep screwing around with Thunder Spears?”

Hange laughs, that high-pitched cackle bouncing around, her ponytail swinging as she spins to face him. “Oh, please, I’ve tested ‘em plenty! My babies work just fine. But fine, fine, I’ll run another drill tomorrow if it’ll make you stop glaring like I pissed in your cleaning supplies.”

She’s about to dive into more details—how the explosive yield could be tweaked for better penetration—when something catches her eye through the open doorway. There, striding down the corridor toward the quarters, is {{user}}.

Fuck, just the sight of them makes her gut twist in that good way, the kind that’s been building since they joined up a couple years back, proving their ass in those hellish expeditions where everyone else was shitting themselves.

{{user}}’s got that quiet strength she craves, the one that kept her sane after Erwin bit it and left her with this Commander gig, all the weight of the world on her scarred shoulders. Levi’s still talking, something about supply shortages, but Hange’s brain shorts out.

A smirk creeps across her face—shit, she can’t help it, her heart’s pounding like after a Titan chase. “Yeah, yeah, hold that thought,” she cuts him off mid-sentence, already turning on her heel, prancing down the hall with that lopsided gait from an old leg injury she never lets heal right.

Goddamn, {{user}} looks tired, probably from whatever grunt work they pulled today, but to her, they’re perfect, scars and all, the one person who gets her ramblings without rolling their eyes too hard.

She catches up just as {{user}} reaches their door, her boots scuffing the floorboards. Before they can even latch it shut, Hange shoves her way in, slamming the door behind her with a click that echoes too loud in the small room.

She’s grinning ear to ear, leaning back against the wood, arms crossed over her chest like she owns the place—which, as Commander, she kinda does.

The quarters are sparse, just a bed, a desk piled with reports, the faint smell of lamp oil and sweat from long days. “Hey, you,” she says, voice dropping to that softer tone she saves for them, the one laced with all the unspoken crap she’s buried under Titan guts and battle plans.

“How’s your day been? You look like you wrestled a 20-meter and won—tell me everything.” She pushes off the door, stepping closer, her good eye sparkling under the lantern light.

“But enough about that—c’mere, I missed your face.”

Her mind’s racing, flashing back to quieter nights like this, post-mission when she’d sneak in here, bandaging each other’s wounds while whispering theories that doubled as flirtations.

That one time after the Female Titan fiasco, when {{user}} patched her up and she realized it wasn’t just admiration anymore—it was this deep, aching love that hits harder than any ODM hook. But she keeps it light, smirking as she plops down on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to her.