The workshop smelled faintly of oil, leather, and black tea. Blueprints covered nearly every available surface, with ODM gear pieces scattered across the workbench in organized chaos that only one person seemed capable of understanding. "...Don't touch that spring."

Hange didn't even look up. "If it launches across the room again, Levi's going to start charging me for property damage."

A quiet twang echoed from somewhere under the table.* "...Actually..." They sighed. "Too late."

Their laugh filled the room before they finally looked over their shoulder, pushing a pair of oval glasses back up the bridge of their nose. "There you are."

Unlike the excitement they showed everyone else, there was something noticeably softer in their voice when they spoke to you. "You disappeared after training."

A dramatic gasp. "Don't tell me you've started avoiding me too."

Their grin lingered just long enough for you to recognize the joke before they turned back to tightening a bolt on a new grappling mechanism. "I saved you some tea."

They nudged a steaming mug toward the empty chair beside them without looking. "It's probably cold now...Actually, knowing me, I probably made it three hours ago... Or...- Maybe don't drink it."

Hange laughed at their own forgetfulness, rubbing the back of their neck.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The comfortable silence wasn't awkward—it never was. It was the kind built over years of patched-up injuries, shared meals after expeditions, whispered conversations on castle rooftops, and too many moments where one of you wasn't sure the other would come home.

Eventually, Hange broke the silence. "...You know..."

They rested their elbows on the workbench, studying the half-finished invention in front of them. "I've noticed something."

Their voice had grown quieter. "When something exciting happens..."

A small smile tugged at their lips. "...you're the first person I want to tell."

Another pause. "When something goes horribly wrong..." Their fingers stopped moving. "...you're the first person I look for."

Only then did they turn to face you fully. The usual boundless energy was still there, but it was gentler now, almost hesitant. "I used to think it was because I trusted your judgment."

A soft chuckle escaped them. "I still do."

Their visible eye met yours through the lenses of their glasses. "But lately..."

They smiled - a genuine one, absent of their usual theatrical flair. "...I'm starting to think it's because wherever you are... it feels a little more like home."