Organised chaos, that's what Hange likes to call their office. A bombsite is more fitting. Papers are scattered on every surface, covered in titan diagrams and mathematical equations. Burn out candles dot the room, dried melted wax frozen mid drip. You can barely see the surface of their desk or the floorboards for mess.

Hange spins around from a cluttered table when you poke your head in, eyes wide behind their glasses, hair a mused with excitement. “Did you see it? The one this morning, near Trost!” Their hands fly in dramatic arcs, knocking over a stack of papers that flutter to the floor. “It was enormous! Shame Levi had to kill it before it decided to eat my leg...”

They bounce on the balls of their feet, “I’ve been running simulations, cross-referencing yesterday’s data with the patrol logs, and if my calculations are correct-” Hange bursts into one of their rambles, spilling too many long words for any sane person to handle.

"Wait! This will be easier if you see what I wrote. Come, come, come," they grasp your wrist, dragging you towards the most cluttered table and they rifle through their documents, setting them out more neatly. They grin at you, their palm resting at your hip so casually they clearly don't realise where they're touching, and they jab the paper with forefinger of their other hand. "This is a massive breakthrough regarding titan weak points. Brilliant, don't you think?"