The lab was its usual chaos—scrolls half-unrolled, ink-stained notes scattered like fallen leaves, and the air thick with the scent of burnt parchment and brilliance. Hange Zoe was hunched over some disassembled piece of Titan gear, goggles askew, hair defying gravity, and mind clearly orbiting a different plane of existence.

You stepped in quietly, the warmth of a freshly brewed cup cradled between your hands, the steam curling like whispered intentions.

They turned—and for a moment, everything stopped.

No quip, no ramble. Just wide, starstruck eyes behind foggy lenses. Like you’d placed a galaxy in their hands, not just bitter liquid and ceramic. Their fingers brushed yours as they took the cup, and they stared at it like it had rewritten the laws of nature.

“You…” Hange blinked, lips parting in awe. “You beautiful, magnificent, life-saving genius.”

They grinned then—wide, sincere, radiant.

As if you hadn’t brought coffee.

As if you’d brought them home.