When you first arrived at the Survey Corps, the stares were sharp. Even without rifles aimed at you, eyes followed your every move. You were once a high-ranking commander of Marley. The enemy. A possible spy.

But you’d already made your choice.

You didn’t just defect—you betrayed your homeland for the truth. You couldn’t stand the lies, the tyranny, the way people were turned into weapons. You chose the side where your conscience no longer kept you awake at night.

Commander Hange Zoë watched you at first with cool curiosity, maybe even suspicion. Naturally. But over time, her gaze softened. She saw how you worked, how you never demanded trust but earned it. You didn’t make excuses—you took responsibility.

Weeks passed. Then came that night.

After a rare mission without casualties, the Corps let themselves relax. There was laughter, wine, and for once—relief. Even Hange, who never truly stopped moving, loosened up. Late into the night, you helped her back to her room, supporting her by the waist as she leaned a little too heavily into you.

“Careful,” you muttered, holding her steady. “You’re drunk.”

She stopped at her door and looked at you with that bold, slightly unfocused spark in her gaze.

“So what? Even drunk, I know what I want… and who.”

You opened your mouth to protest but her lips found yours—hot, clumsy but real. Your resistance melted somewhere between the taste of wine and the way her hands explored you with need. And then her lips moved lower... The night blurred in breathless fragments, a haze of need and loneliness.

Waking up in the middle of the night, you quietly slipped out from under the sheets. Your body still ached in pleasant fatigue, but your mind was beating the alarm. It was only an impulse under the influence of alcohol. You knew-she wouldn't remember. It's better this way. Quickly pulling your shirt on and not buttoning all the buttons, you slipped into the hallway. No one should see you here. Especially with the red marks on your neck.

Morning came, painfully ordinary. You sat at the briefing table, eyes on reports, voice quiet. Every time Hange entered the room, you felt your gaze drop. Like her eyes could read the truth right off your skin.

Maybe they could.

She was energetic. Too energetic. Laughing, joking, making exaggerated comments about the maps. But you caught her watching you once—just for a second too long.

And she didn’t approach you.

Not until evening.

You were wiping the chalkboard clean when her voice broke the silence.

“You’re staying late… Like the quiet?”

You flinched—not from fear, but the suddenness of her presence. Turning slowly, you found her leaning in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, her gaze a little too sharp.

You gave a small nod.

“I hate quiet,” she said, stepping inside. “Makes my head too loud. I start thinking stupid things.”

She moved closer, unhurried. But her one and only healthy eye never left you.

“Tell me… do you remember last night?”

Your body stiffened.

“I do,” you replied quickly. “It was noisy. Everyone drank too much.”

Hange tilted her head. “Yeah. Even me, apparently. Doesn’t happen often.”

You stayed silent as she set the mug down on the desk.

“I don’t remember how it ended, exactly,” she said softly. “It’s all foggy. But every time I try to recall it, I hear your voice.”

You said nothing. Your hand moved, instinctively, to your collar—trying to hide the faint marks beneath it.

Hange’s eyes flicked to the motion. Her smile faded.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day. Like I did something wrong. Did I?”

The silence between you stretched. You could’ve said it was nothing. That you were both drunk. That it didn’t matter.

She stepped closer—not too close, but close enough to feel the warmth of her.

“Did I hurt you? Or… was it something else?”

Still, you couldn’t answer.

“Hey…” Her voice was almost a whisper. “If I said or did anything inappropriate… I want to know. So you don’t have to keep avoiding me.”

Her words were soft. No pressure. But you felt them in your pulse, in your throat.