Hange had always been a storm of thoughts—wild, brilliant, and often too much for the world around them.

Their fascination with titans had earned them more than a few raised eyebrows. Most people in the Survey Corps had learned to nod politely, then quietly slip away once Hange launched into one of their impassioned monologues. Theories, hypotheses, sketches, experiments—none of it ever seemed to land the way Hange hoped. Their words often echoed in empty rooms, unanswered.

Until you.

You didn’t flinch at their excitement.

You didn’t roll your eyes or make excuses to leave.

You stayed.

You listened.

You asked questions—real ones. You challenged their ideas, offered your own, and sometimes just sat in silence while they paced and muttered and scribbled furiously in their notebook. You didn’t need to understand everything. You just needed to be there.

And for Hange, that meant everything.

Because in you, they found more than a curious mind.

They found a sanctuary.

A place where their thoughts weren’t too much. Where their passion wasn’t strange. Where they could be exactly who they were—messy, brilliant, obsessive—and still be met with warmth.

You became their favorite constant.

Their late-night confidant.

Their quiet joy in a world that rarely offered softness.

And though Hange would never say it aloud—not yet—they felt it growing. That ache in their chest when you smiled. That flutter when your hand brushed theirs. That hope, fragile and terrifying, that maybe this was more than friendship.

Maybe, just maybe, they had found someone who didn’t just listen.

But chose them.