The apartment was quiet, save for the faint rustling of cardboard boxes and the occasional creak of the wooden floor as you moved around, unpacking the last of your things.

Sunlight streamed through the large window, filling the room with a soft, warm glow. The space still felt new—bare walls, scattered furniture, and a few mismatched piles of belongings waiting to be placed.

Hange sat on the floor, legs crossed in a relaxed posture, staring thoughtfully at the blank walls around them. A pencil spun absently in their hand, while a piece of paper lay near their foot, filled with half-drawn sketches of what the apartment might look like. They looked lost in thought, their usual excitement tempered by a rare moment of quiet contemplation.

You glanced over while pulling another book from a box, your voice casual as yiou asked what Hange thought about the place.

Hange blinked, as if returning from another world, their amber eyes focusing on you with a spark of enthusiasm.

“I’m not sure yet,” they admitted, their voice light, “but I think this place could really become something.”