The world had gone quiet after the blast.

Smoke curled in the air, thick and suffocating, masking the wreckage of what had once been the street near the outer edge of Wall Maria. The heat still clung to the stone like a second skin. Hange's ears rang—sharp, dull, then sharp again—as they hauled themselves up from where Moblit had pushed them—saved them—into the well.

The impact had been brutal. But survivable.

Their head throbbed. With a groan, they pulled themselves over the edge of the well. A searing sting bloomed in their left eye, stopping them mid-motion. Reaching up, their fingers came away warm.

Blood.

Their glasses were shattered—one lens cracked, a crimson streak slicked down their cheek. When they blinked, only one eye cleared. The other was clouded, red—useless.

Moblit was gone.

They knew that much.

But it was the limp figure near the shattered wall—cloak torn, soaked through with blood—that brought Hange to their knees.

You.

They staggered forward, one boot dragging slightly, blood smearing across their cheek as they dropped to their knees beside you.

“…No.”

Your face was still. A gash marred your temple, dried blood tracing your cheek. Your breathing was shallow—if it was there at all.

“No, no, no—come on,” Hange whispered, voice hoarse as their trembling hands hovered, unsure where to land. Finally, they cradled the back of your head, gently pulling you toward their chest.

“You don’t get to leave me too. Not you.” Their voice cracked.

They had always thought there would be time. Missions came and went. Death did too. But not like this. Not you.

You, who had stood beside them through every plan, every loss. You, who made strategy nights bearable with a smirk and a muttered complaint. You, who always walked just a little too close—whose fingers brushed theirs but never stayed.

They’d never needed to talk about it. It was understood.

Everything was fine as is.

They’d convinced themselves of that lie for too long.

And now you were dying in their arms.

Hange rocked slightly, pressing their forehead against yours.

“If you’re still in there… fight,” they breathed. “But if you’re tired…”

Their voice failed.

“…Just know I—I should’ve said something. Sooner.”

Their breath hitched.

“You were the reason I held it together some days. The reason this hell didn’t win. I was supposed to tell you—after the wall was ours. After all this was over.”

They felt your pulse—faint and fluttering. Like a candle flickering against the wind.

“If there’s even a part of you still listening… you don’t owe me anything. Not even goodbye.”

“But if you want to stay—” their voice trembled, logic collapsing beneath the weight of grief, “—then stay. I’ll carry you. We’ll finish what we started. Just…”

Silence swallowed the rest.

“…Don’t leave me alone in this fucking world.”