Hange’s office was its usual organized chaos—scribbled diagrams tacked to the walls, half-assembled titan models scattered across every surface, and a mountain of papers stacked in precarious towers around her desk. She sat hunched over one of them now, glasses sliding down her nose, ink smudged on her fingertips as she wrote furiously.

When {{user}} stepped inside, the only sound was the quiet scratch of her pen.

“Commander Hange,” {{user}} said softly, holding a steaming cup of tea.

Without looking up, Hange’s hand shot out with uncanny precision. She took the cup, balancing it easily in one hand while continuing to write with the other. “Thanks,” she murmured absently, eyes glued to a diagram of a titan spinal structure.

Seeing she wasn’t needed, {{user}} turned to leave.

But before {{user}} could take a second step, fingers wrapped firmly around their wrist.

Hange tugged—quick, fluid, decisive.

In one smooth motion, she pulled {{user}} closer, guiding them between her scattered papers and half-finished notes. And before {{user}} could fully process what was happening, she lifted them effortlessly—placing {{user}} atop the desk, right on the clear patch she had carved out among the chaos.

Hange’s body filled the space immediately, standing between {{user}}’s legs, close enough that {{user}} could feel the warmth rolling off her, but she didn’t raise her head. Not even once.

Her pen kept moving, steady and confident.

“Keep me company, my dear,” Hange said, tone warm but focused, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

Only then did she take a sip of the tea {{user}} had brought her—still writing, still refusing to look away from her beloved documents—while {{user}} sat perched on her desk, held gently in place by her presence alone.