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You didn’t make a habit of noticing nobodies. Not when everyone else in school noticed you.
You were the girl with the expensive perfume, the popular friend group, the walk that made heads turn. People said your name like it mattered. And it did. You had your pick of the best parties, the best seats, the best people.
So no one would ever guess that the person who caught your attention sat in the back of science class, muttering to themselves about entropy and excited states, hair always falling into their eyes, shoelaces always undone.
Hange Zoë was quiet. Awkward. Hopelessly nerdy. But you had been watching them for a while.
The way they pushed up their glasses with those long, veiny fingers. The way their shirt sleeves were always too big, swallowing their wrists, making you imagine what was underneath. The way they didn’t flinch when someone shoved their books out of their hands, just picked them up and carried on. The way freckles dotted their cheekbones like constellations. The way they talked about science like it was magic.
There was something magnetic about them—something that made you curious.
So when your teacher assigned partners for the big semester project and read your name followed by theirs, you only raised an eyebrow. Acted unbothered. But your heart fluttered in your chest like a secret.
This was your chance to finally get close to them.
You had expected their house to be modest, and you were right. The smell of jasmine tea greeted you at the door, followed by Hange’s nervous voice: “Sorry it’s... not much.”
You stepped into their room, wearing your shortest skirt and a bralette under your open jacket and grinned. “It’s adorable.”
The space was exactly what you hoped it would be. Posters of solar systems and anime characters lined the walls. Figurines stood in orderly rows on shelves. Books were stacked everywhere. A laptop was open on the bed next to a heap of sticky notes and mechanical pencils.
“I, uh, thought the bed might be easier to work on,” they said, rubbing the back of their neck. “Desk’s kind of a mess.”
You shrugged off your jacket. The bralette is tight across your chest, and the skirt does nothing to hide how bare you are underneath. You dropped your bag, sitting right in the middle of their comforter, legs crossed. “I like messy.”
Their eyes dipped briefly to the bare skin of your thigh, and you smirked to yourself.
You did study—at least for a while.
Hange was focused once they got into it, talking faster as their excitement built, tracing diagrams with the tip of their pen, rambling about currents and capacitors. You leaned in beside them, your perfume clouding the space between you, your shoulder brushing theirs.
When they looked up to check something on your screen, you let your lollipop slide slowly past your lips.
They paused mid-sentence.
“You okay?” you asked, feigning innocence as you turned to them, wide-eyed.
Their voice cracked. “Y-yeah. Just—yeah.”
You giggled and let your hand rest casually on their knee.
“Keep talking. I like listening to you.”
They looked like they were going to combust.
The project progressed, but your teasing did too.
Every time Hange turned their head, you’d let your skirt ride up a little further. You “accidentally” stretched just enough to pull your top tighter over your chest. You praised their handwriting a little too enthusiastically. You complimented their hands.
“You have really pretty fingers,” you said, twirling your lollipop. “Like… delicate. But strong.”
They blinked at you like you’d just spoken in tongues.
You tilted your head, feigning a thoughtful frown. “You’ve never had anyone suck on them, have you?”
They choked.
“N-no! I mean—no, I haven’t—why would anyone—?”
You crawled closer, slow and smooth like a cat stretching toward sunlight.
“I would,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over theirs. “If you wanted.”
They swallowed hard. “My mom’s, um. She’s home. Downstairs.”
You smiled, brushing a curl from their face. “Then we’ll just have to be really quiet.”
You grabbed their hand, intertwining it with yours first. You awed at the way their hand engulfed yours. "Pretty."
They made a choking noise at that. You laugh as you look at them, eyes never leaving theirs as you slowly took it to your mouth, slid one long, veiny finger into your mouth. Slowly. Let your tongue swirl around it, sucking like it was something else.
Their jaw dropped.
“Oh shit—”
“Shh,” you warned, pulling off with a pop. “You said we had to be quiet, baby.”
Their thighs tensed under you.
You took their hand again and sucked two fingers this time, watching their face twist with the effort of staying silent. Their eyes rolled a little when you sucked hard—sloppy and slow—letting spit trail between your lips and their knuckles.
“I-I don't know what to do—” they whimpered.
“It's okay,” you whispered, smiling. “I'll take care of you.”
“Take your pants off,” you whispered. “Keep the sweatshirt.”
They obeyed, shy and clumsy, leaving them in nothing but their hoodie and a thick blush.
You straddled their lap, lips brushing their ear.
"You're beautiful. Relax, baby."
You stripped, slow, giving them a full view of your body—confident, needy, aching for it. You pulled your strap from your bag. Sleek. Familiar. Then pulled out the second one—a harness you’d picked just for them.
Their eyes widened. “I… I’ve never—”
You leaned in, nose brushing theirs.
“We'll go slow. I'll make sure you love it.”
They were shaking when you helped them into the harness, trembling as you kissed down their chest, guiding them gently onto their back. Their fake cock stood proud, untouched, throbbing against their belly as you straddled their lap again, yours aligned with theirs.
You ground down first—low, torturous, letting the silicone glide slick between your folds. Both of you moaning in sync, breath hitching.
And then you reached between you and angled their tip just right.
They gasped when they slid inside you.
So shy. So gentle. Like they thought they might break you.
"Feel good, baby?"
They grunt as an answer, eyes rolling back. You can see how flushed they were, sweat dripping from the side of their face. God, they looked so hot right now.
You rode them—slow at first, then harder. Hands on their chest. Their name falling from your lips like a spell. Their eyes fluttered. Their hands scrambled for something to grip. You let them hold your waist, your thighs, your ass—but you set the pace. You fucked them until their hips bucked helplessly up into you, until their cheeks were wet with silent tears, overwhelmed and overstimulated.
“Still with me?” you whispered, brushing their hair back. “You crying, baby?”
They nodded, eyes dazed. “Feels too good—”
You leaned down and kissed their wet cheek. “That's good, baby. Just feel it. Cry for me, god, you look so hot like that.”
They whimpered when you slipped a hand between their legs, rubbing gentle circles against their clit even as you rode them. Their whole body trembled, twitching under you.
“Shh. Remember? Gotta be quiet .”
They nodded desperately, biting down on their own wrist to muffle the sounds. You saw their orgasm hit in waves—shuddering, crying, thighs clenching.
And you didn’t stop.
You kept going. Kept grinding. Kept riding.
“P-please,” they whispered. “I-I can’t—”
“You can do it, baby,” you said, voice honey-slick and cruel. “You're doing so fucking good, you're taking it so well for me.”
They gave you two more orgasms in thirty minutes. You licked their tears and kissed their chest, took everything they had until their legs were shaking and the strap glistened with slick and sweat. You finally pulled off, soaked and smug. Satisfied .
Hange lay there, wrecked. Sweaty, trembling, flushed to the ears, chest heaving, their glasses lopsided on the bed.
You crawled up and pecked their lips, brushing off the hair sticking to their forehead.
“Still want to study, nerd?”
They laughed. Tired. Broken. Happy.
“…Maybe later."
The room was quiet after that except for the soft whirl of Hange’s old desktop fan and the hum of the lava lamp bubbling like some kind of glowing science fair project in the corner. You were sprawled across Hange’s chest, catching your breath while their fingers rested limp but affectionate against your hip.
Hange looked like they’d been hit by a truck. A very affectionate, slutty, popular-girl-shaped truck.
Their glasses were on the floor, and their shirt was halfway across the room, flung somewhere near a stack of manga volumes that had definitely seen better days.
You traced slow circles on their chest. “You okay?”
They gave a weak thumbs-up. “Yeah. I think I just astral projected for a minute.”
You laughed and kissed their shoulder. “I don't know what that means but I think it means good, right?”
They flushed instantly, face going pink to the tips of their ears. “Y—yeah, definitely good. I mean, I just kinda followed your lead. Like—I don’t know. Instinct?”
“Oh yeah?” you grinned, poking their cheek. “Well, your instincts are terrifying. In the best way.”
There was a beat of silence, comfortable and warm.
Then, Hange blinked, lifting their head slightly. “Do you… wanna play Valorant?”
You blinked back. “What the hell is a Valorant?”
They stared at you. “It’s a game. A tactical shooter. Online. Five versus five. You have agents with abilities and you plant or defuse the spike—”
You sat up slowly, still naked and very much glowing with post-sex smugness. “Wait. Wait. You wanna play gun games after I just rearranged your soul?”
They looked sheepish, smiling crookedly. “I mean… I just got my ass handed to me in real life, I need to restore my dignity in-game.”
You snorted so hard you almost fell off the bed. “You’re unreal.”
“C’mon,” they mumbled, grinning now. “I’ll let you pick a skin. I have the RGX.”
“I don’t know what the hell that means, but I feel like you’re trying to seduce me again.”
They leaned up slightly, squinting at you like you were the weird one. “So that’s a no?”
You flopped back beside them with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But only if I can wear one of your shirts. And if I suck at it, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”
“Deal,” Hange said, immediately rolling off the bed, wincing slightly, then scrambling to their desk like a kid on Christmas morning.
You watched them boot up their PC with more excitement than they’d shown during the entirety of your project meeting earlier.
“I cannot believe I just had the best sex of your life and now you’re dragging me into Fortnite with superpowers.”
“Valorant,” they corrected, not even looking back.
You grinned, shaking your head fondly. “Unbelievable. My nerd is insane.”
Hange beamed. “Damn right I am.”
It turned out that playing Valorant with Hange was less about shooting people and more about listening to a very passionate nerd yell things like “WATCH FLANK, WATCH FLANK!” while your confused little agent spun in circles and got shot in the face repeatedly.
“I think I’m the reason we’re losing,” you said after your third death in under a minute.
“You are,” Hange replied, chipper as ever. “But in your defense, you’re doing it really hot.”
You groaned, flopping sideways onto their bed, controller still in hand. “You’re the worst.”
Hange grinned and leaned back in their chair, stretching—every inch of their lean, still-slightly-wrecked form smug and comfortable in their little gaming throne. They were wearing a hoodie now, and you were swimming in one of their massive button-ups that smelled like their cologne and had tiny embroidered atoms stitched into the cuffs. Nerdcore couture.
Your legs were crossed, bare, save for the emergency shorts you’d packed in your tote bag “just in case”—and clearly, just in case had come true.
“You’re not even trying to hide how smug you are,” you accused.
“I’m just happy,” they said, turning in their chair to look at you. Their voice softened. “Like really happy.”
And yeah. Your heart did that stupid flip thing again.
But before you could say something snarky to cover the way you were lowkey melting, a knock rapped on the door.
“Sweetie?” a warm voice called out. “Dinner’s ready!”
You froze. Hange lit up. “Coming!”
You turned to them, eyes wide. “I can’t go down there.”
Hange blinked. “Why not?”
You flailed. “Because! I just—your mom is right there! And I look like I raided your closet after defiling you!”
They squinted at you. “You’re wearing shorts.”
“I’m wearing your shirt,” you hissed. “It’s practically a dress. I look like a girl who spent the whole day railing her nerdy classmate and then raided their wardrobe in a post-coital haze.”
“Well,” they said, cheeky, “that is exactly what happened.”
You threw a pillow at them.
Hange caught it and stood, walking over and grabbing your hand gently. “You look fine. She’ll love you. You’re polite, and you helped me with the project. She won’t even question it.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re sure?”
They smiled. “Totally. Worst case scenario, she just thinks you’re here for a long study session. Best case—she assumes we’re in love and you’re moving in.”
“Okay, calm down, cowboy.”
Hange leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Come on. I promise dinner won’t be half as chaotic as Valorant.”
“Unless your mom’s cooking is also out to get me.”
“No promises.”
Still mildly panicking, you followed them downstairs, your legs cold, your pride flustered, and your heart—well—fully gone for this chaos gremlin of a nerd.
Hange led the way downstairs, casually tugging you along like they hadn’t been sobbing into a pillow just a few hours ago. You, on the other hand, descended the staircase like it was the last runway before judgment day.
Their house smelled like something comforting—maybe soy sauce and garlic and something frying in sesame oil—and honestly, the warmth of it only made your guilt spiral more intense.
You could see her in the kitchen: Hange’s mom, hair tied back in a bun, setting out bowls of what looked like stir-fried noodles, rice, and some kind of veggie dish that made your stomach growl and your anxiety spike. She turned around, smiling when she saw you.
“You must be their partner for the project! Hi, sweetie!” she said brightly, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
You, very formally, bowed slightly. “Good evening, ma’am. Thank you for having me. I’m really excited to be here. And also very appreciative. And also sorry—if I look like I—like this wasn’t planned—”
Hange, behind you, visibly winced.
Their mom tilted her head kindly. “Oh honey, don’t worry! You’re welcome anytime. Sit, sit. I made enough for three.”
You nodded too fast, scurried to your seat like a guilty little gremlin, and nearly knocked over your water glass trying to cross your legs politely.
Hange sat across from you, clearly enjoying your descent into panic. You shot them a death glare.
They mouthed, you’re doing great, sweetie, flashing you two thumbs up like the nerd they are.
You mouthed back, I will kill you.
Dinner was…surprisingly smooth. Hange’s mom asked a few polite questions—how you two were managing the project, if you liked science (you lied and said yes), and whether you had any siblings. You said no. She said, Ah, then you and Hange must have the same “only child energy.”
You weren’t sure if that was good or bad.
Hange, of course, stuffed their mouth with noodles and hummed through the whole conversation like none of it was awkward. You wanted to throttle them and also hold their hand under the table. So you did neither and focused on not spilling soy sauce on their shirt that was already barely clinging to your shoulders.
“So,” their mom said casually, “you two are in the same grade?”
“Yep,” you said, too quickly. “Same class. Great partners. Real chemistry.”
Hange choked on a piece of tofu.
You immediately blushed. “I mean for the project—the science thing. Chemistry—like the class! Not, like—metaphorical. Not—like—romantic—”
“Oh sweetie,” their mom said, smiling knowingly. “I’m not judging.”
You looked down at your rice like it might save you from the floor swallowing you whole. Hange bit their lip and gave you the softest look from across the table. A little teasing, a little touched, and very, very smug.
After dinner, Hange helped clean up while you awkwardly stood by and offered to dry things like a weird 1950s housewife. Their mom kissed Hange on the head and said, “Don’t stay up too late, alright?”
Once she was gone, you leaned against the kitchen counter and muttered, “I am never eating again.”
Hange smirked, tossing a dish towel into the sink. “She likes you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She called you ‘sweetie.’ That’s her final boss-level approval.”
You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I literally said ‘chemistry.’ Like we’re in some Disney Channel episode.”
Hange walked over, arms slipping around your waist from behind. “Hey, it’s cute. You’re cute.”
You turned your head to glare. “I am literally never showing my face in this house again.”
“Too late. She’s already planning your seat for Thanksgiving.”
You shoved them away playfully, trying not to smile as they laughed and chased after you back upstairs.
Maybe you looked like a mess. Maybe you sounded like a sitcom. But as you sat cross-legged on their bed again, wearing their nerdy shirt and watching them boot up yet another round of Valorant, you couldn’t help but feel like—maybe—this chaos was exactly where you wanted to be.
After dinner, you both returned to Hange’s room, full and slightly dazed from the unexpectedly good curry their mom made. You were quiet, not out of discomfort but because the surreal intimacy of it all was finally catching up. Being in Hange’s house. Wearing their shirt. Laughing with their mom like you weren’t the school’s most notorious hot girl sneaking around with the nerd you used to ogle from across the lab.
“Uh…” Hange rubbed the back of their neck as you stretched across their bed again, legs dangling off the edge. “We, um, probably still smell like—well—each other. If you want, you could take a shower. My bathroom’s down the hall. I can lend you stuff.”
You propped yourself up on your elbows and smirked. “You saying I stink?”
“No! I mean—yes! No! Not like that! I mean like in a post-blissful-carnal-sin kinda way.”
You rolled your eyes and stood, ruffling their hair on the way out. “Relax, nerd. I’ll shower. Try not to combust while I’m gone.”
Hange tried very hard not to combust.
They succeeded… barely.
But what they weren’t prepared for was the moment you came back into their room—hair still wet, dripping slightly onto the oversized hoodie they’d given you. The sleeves swallowed your hands. You weren’t wearing makeup anymore, and your face looked soft in the dim glow of the desk lamp. You were pulling at the hem of the plaid pajama pants like they didn’t quite fit, but still made it work in a way that made Hange feel like they’d forgotten how to breathe.
“...You okay?” you asked, noticing them frozen mid-frame on the anime they were watching.
They blinked. “Huh?”
“You’re staring.”
“I am absolutely staring.” They covered their mouth like they were afraid something inappropriate might slip out, even though at this point, the worst had already been enthusiastically done. “You just—look—different. But, like. In a good way. Like… really good. Like painfully attractive good.”
You arched an eyebrow. “You're just saying that, I'm not even wearing makeup.”
“I like you however you want to look,” they blurted, eyes wide with honesty. “But yeah. This—this is new. It's kind of illegal how cute you are in my clothes.”
You walked over slowly, mock-threatening. “Illegal, huh?”
“I might call the cops,” they whispered.
You leaned down, kissed them on the cheek, then stole one of the pillows and shoved it playfully against their face. “Shut up and scoot over.”
“Y-yes, ma’am.”
You both climbed into bed—your hair still slightly damp, their arm awkwardly draped around you, unsure where to land without being weird. But then you grabbed their hand, laced your fingers with theirs, and Hange melted. For a moment, silence settled between you—not awkward, but full of unspoken things.
Then Hange whispered, “So… uh. What does this mean? Us. After all this.”
You looked at them, eyes soft but confident. “Honestly? I don’t know exactly. I don't want to rush you into anything. Maybe we should... take it slow and figure it out as we go.”
Hange’s smile grew shy but real. “I like that. I’m not great with people stuff, but… I want to try. With you.”
You squeezed their hand. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”
“Don't I get a say in it?” They pretended to be horrified.
"No, you nerd.” you confirmed with a grin.
They laughed softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Guess I’m the luckiest nerd alive.”
You leaned in for another kiss, feeling like maybe this was just the beginning.
The laptop kept playing the anime. You dozed off somewhere between episode two and three. And Hange? Hange stayed awake a little longer, watching you breathe evenly beside them, hoodie collar loose around your neck.
They’d been touched and wrecked and overstimulated by you, but somehow, this part? This was what undid them.
You were here. With them. In their bed. No makeup. No bravado.
Just you.
And somehow, that was the hottest thing of all.
The second you both stepped through the school gates, it felt like someone had hit the slow-motion button on the entire building. You were used to eyes following you when you walked the halls—being popular came with that particular price tag—but today it was different.
Today, you weren’t alone.
You walked in holding hands with the school’s most infamous nerd, Hange Zoë: quiet, awkward, painfully brilliant, and now, evidently, yours.
They fidgeted beside you, their palm clammy against yours. They’d tried to dress a little better this morning—maybe even combed their hair for once—but their shirt was still half-wrinkled under the weight of their backpack, and their shoelace had already come undone twice.
You, in contrast, were put together like it was picture day. Skirt pressed, lashes curled, a gloss of confidence on your lips that made Hange feel like they were dreaming. It was like someone had dropped a varsity goddess into a Dungeons & Dragons campaign.
“You sure about this?” Hange murmured as the whispers began.
“I’m not hiding,” you replied, eyes ahead. “If people have a problem with me holding hands with the hottest nerd in the school, they can die mad about it.”
Hange made a noise that could’ve been a laugh or a squeak—you weren’t sure—but they squeezed your hand tighter and kept walking. You could feel how stiff their posture was, like they were trying to be invisible despite walking beside the human equivalent of a spotlight.
You didn’t let go.
By the time the lunch bell rang, the gossip had reached critical mass. You led Hange to your usual table—normally reserved for the social elite—and plopped down with them like it was no big deal. Your friends stared. Hange looked like they were calculating the velocity required to escape out the window behind them.
You took a bite of your sandwich, completely unbothered.
“Is it always this... bright here?” Hange whispered, eyes darting at your friend group, who were all openly gawking.
“They’re just shocked I brought someone smarter than them to the table,” you replied casually. “Relax.”
“I feel like a bug under a microscope,” they muttered.
“That’s ironic, coming from you.”
You leaned in and stole a fry from their tray, chewing slowly while watching their ears turn pink. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Nobody’s allowed to roast my nerd but me.”
Despite themselves, Hange smiled. “I can handle it. Maybe. If I survive.”
“So… are we gonna talk about it,” Levi asked flatly as Hange plopped down at the lunch table, still pink-faced and weirdly quiet.
Your friends had decided to go out for a smoke and you offered to stay, but Hange assures you it was fine and pointed at the table near the corner of the cafeteria. You giggled at the sight of their friend group staring at the two of you, obviously waiting for Hange to return to their table like sharks who smelled blood in the water.
Levi’s eyes, sharp as ever, flicked toward the door. “Or are we just pretending you didn’t come back here from the popular kids’ table where you spent thirty minutes flirting with the Y/N L/N?”
Moblit leaned forward, barely containing his grin. “It was like watching someone get proposed to during spirit week. Hange, are you dating the hottest girl in school?”
Nanaba smirked over the rim of her water bottle. “I didn’t even know you two knew each other. Did she get lost on her way to the cool kids’ table or what?”
Hange groaned and dropped their head onto the table. “Can we not do this here? Please?”
“Nope,” Petra said brightly, pulling her chair closer with a knowing look. “You let the whole school see. We’re gonna talk about it. She had her legs over your thighs, Hange. And she was doing those weird eyes at you.”
“She kissed your cheek ,” Moblit added. “That wasn’t a casual ‘hey buddy’ kiss. That was a ‘this is mine now’ kiss.”
Nanaba leaned in conspiratorially. “You have lipstick on your collar.”
Hange squeaked and immediately started patting their neck like they’d just been told they had a spider on it. “Oh my god—where?!”
Petra just laughed. “You are so whipped already. Admit it.”
Levi, who had remained surprisingly quiet through the teasing, finally spoke again. “It’s like watching a rerun,” he muttered into his coffee.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hange frowned.
Petra raised her eyebrows. “He means you’re pulling a Levi . First he starts dating the student council president, and now you’re getting pinned to lockers by Queen Bee herself. What’s next? Matching keychains?”
Levi rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
Moblit’s jaw dropped. “Wait—you’re saying Hange and Y/N are a thing now?”
Hange raised their hands defensively. “We’re not a ‘thing’ thing. We’re just… hanging out. You know. Doing science. Casual hypothesis testing.”
“You are so not hypothesis testing ,” Petra snorted.
Nanaba leaned back and smirked. “Does that include being called ‘cutie’ while getting cornered in a hallway? Or is that a new lab technique?”
Hange buried their face in their hoodie. “Okay, fine. Maybe something… happened. But it’s new, okay? And complicated. And none of your business.”
Moblit grinned. “Oh, so something did happen.”
Petra’s eyes lit up. “You really are following in Levi’s footsteps.”
Levi grunted. “My footsteps involve fewer public displays of affection.”
“You literally held Erwin’s hand in front of the entire library during midterms,” Petra shot back.
“That was to calm him down. He was stressed,” Levi muttered.
“Sure,” Nanaba said with a grin. “And I’m sure Y/N was just soothing Hange’s anxiety by grabbing their jaw and whispering something scandalous.”
“Okay!” Hange practically shouted. “That’s enough!”
They were blushing furiously now, stealing a glance toward the door of the cafeteria where you left minutes ago.
Petra nudged Hange with a grin. “She was looking at you like you’re dessert.”
Moblit let out a low whistle. “Damn. Who knew nerd supremacy was real?”
Levi finally cracked a ghost of a smirk. “Guess being weird paid off.”
Hange sighed, smile pulling at their lips as they turned back to their tray. “Yeah. I guess it did.”
Later, the hallway buzzed between classes as students rushed to their lockers. You spotted Hange standing by theirs—head ducked, rearranging their books like it was the most important puzzle on Earth—and you made your way over with a smirk on your face and a plan in your head.
“Hey, Zoë,” you purred, leaning a little too close against the locker next to theirs, like some jock with a weird attempt at flirting a random girl. “Nice hands. You using those for anything later, or…?”
They nearly dropped their calculator. “W-What?”
“I mean, you do have those long, veiny fingers,” you teased, dragging your eyes deliberately to their hands. “Be a shame if no one appreciated them.”
“Wha—? I—I use them for playing games…and—” they stammered, then paused, realizing your grin. “You’re teasing me.”
“Am I?” You tilted your head innocently. “Could’ve sworn I was just admiring my partner’s natural assets.”
They blinked at you, completely fried. “You can’t just say things like that in the hallway.”
“Why not? You’re cute. I like your fingers. Deal with it.”
At that, Hange turned so red you thought steam might rise from their scalp. A few students slowed as they passed, gawking again, whispering. You didn’t care. You reached out, tucked a wild strand of their hair behind their ear, and kissed their cheek right there by the lockers.
“I’ll see you in biology, baby.” you whispered.
You left them speechless, standing there with their locker open, hands still holding a physics textbook like it might shield them from the chaos that was you.
Biology had always been a safe haven for Hange—until today.
Because today, when they walked into class clutching their binder like a life raft, you were already sitting in the seat next to theirs. Legs crossed, chewing gum lazily, the picture of calm confidence. You glanced up as they entered, grinned, and patted the empty chair beside you.
“Saved you a seat, lab partner.”
Hange felt approximately 200 degrees too warm. They cleared their throat. “Right. Totally normal of you to be early to biology .”
You leaned in as they sat, stage-whispering, “Maybe I just missed you.”
Hange would’ve snorted at that if you were alone, but the fact that you weren’t took out a strange strangled sound out of their throat as they nearly dropped their notebook for the nth time that day.
They weren’t exactly used to attention like this—definitely not the kind where the school’s undisputed It Girl was whispering sweet nothings in their ear at 8:15 in the morning. And definitely not while wearing their hoodie. Their hoodie. The one they’d lent you the night before that you insisted on keeping “for vibes.”
It swallowed you whole. And somehow, you made it look like high fashion.
As class started, Hange tried desperately to focus on mitosis. But you weren’t helping. Your hand found their thigh under the table. Your pinky casually hooked theirs on top of it. At one point, you leaned over to look at their notes, hair brushing their shoulder, whispering, “Wow, your handwriting is hot. Is that weird to say?”
Hange choked on air.
Half the class was staring by now, pretending not to. A few phones were definitely out. A couple of bold ones near the back didn’t even pretend they weren’t watching.
The teacher—Mr. Langley, a tired man with a ponytail and no will to live—did not give a single fuck. He was too busy explaining chromosomes to care about teenage heart palpitations.
You kept your hand on Hange’s thigh the entire class.
By the end of the hour, Hange had learned nothing about cellular division, had broken the lead of their mechanical pencil twice from nervous fidgeting, and had been smirked at by at least five different people inside the classroom.
When the bell rang, you stood first and stretched with a yawn. “Walk me to next period, baby?”
“O-okay, s-sure.” Hange stammered.
You gave them a once-over. “Why are you so nervous?” you teased, then turned on your heel, expecting them to follow.
They did, of course—because they were weak. And because watching you walk ahead in their hoodie like that was doing things to their heart that couldn’t be explained by science.
In the hallway, Petra, Moblit, Nanaba, and Levi were waiting near the lockers.
You passed by without a glance at them, too busy linking your arm through Hange’s and leaning into their side as you whispered something that made them nearly combust.
Levi took a sip of coffee and muttered, “Disgusting.”
Petra beamed. “Adorable.”
Moblit just shook his head. “God help us all.”
Nanaba pulled out her phone. “I give it three days before someone catches them making out behind the gym.”
“Too late,” Petra muttered, already opening the group chat. “I think Y/N is trying to speedrun this relationship.”
Hange didn’t hear any of it, though.
The final bell rang and students spilled out of classrooms like ants from a kicked mound. Backpacks slammed shut, sneakers squeaked down linoleum hallways, and laughter echoed as groups splintered off toward buses or parking lots.
Hange slung their bag over one shoulder, already lost in thoughts about the physics quiz and whether their take-home chem assignment needed a full graph analysis—until they heard it:
“Hey, babe.”
You were leaning against their locker, grinning like you owned the school. Which, to be fair, you kind of did in spirit.
Hange blinked. “You always greet people like a delinquent in a teen drama or am I just special?”
By fourth period, Hange had finally learned to adjust to everything, although reluctantly. The stares, whispers, you clinging to them like a koala, and your flirting that always made their brain short-circuit.
You tilted your head, amused. “You are special. Especially with how you melted when I kissed you by your locker like some Victorian maiden.”
“I did not melt,” Hange deadpanned, flicking your forehead.
“Ow! You did so. You blinked at least three times per second.”
“That’s called processing.”
“Sure, professor.” You reached up and tugged at their collar lightly. “So. You walking or am I kidnapping you for fries and milkshakes?”
Hange raised a brow. “You know I have a metabolism faster than light speed. Fries won’t do the job.”
“Then we’ll get you a burger. Or two.” You started walking backward, beckoning them with two fingers. “C’mon. You’re my post-school reward.”
They chuckled and fell into step beside you. “This still feels illegal. Like—me being with you. I think I’m breaking some kind of unspoken hallway law.”
You smirked. “Relax. I’ve already set the precedent. Besides, we’re not the first. Erwin’s dating your little friend, remember?”
“Levi’s the vice president, he’s not just a random nerd like me. You think he cares about hallway laws?”
“Exactly. Now you’re thinking like a popular kid.”
Hange pretended to gasp. “God forbid. What next? Matching outfits?”
You hummed thoughtfully. “Tempting. You’d look hot in my crop tops.”
“I am already wearing your scrunchie.”
“And you wore it with such dignity,” you teased, nudging their side.
As you both stepped out into the afternoon sun, Hange paused, eyeing you curiously. “So are we… like, a thing now?”
You stopped walking. Turned to face them fully.
“I know we said we’d take it slow but…I did kiss you in front of the student body already. And I let you mess up my lipstick. You think I do that for lab partners?”
“…No, but I don’t want to assume. You’re kind of a heartbreaker, y’know.”
You grinned, almost smug. “Nah. Not anymore.”
“Oh? Retired?”
“Taken,” you said simply.
Hange flushed at that, pushing their glasses up with a little huff. “Damn. Guess I better start stepping up my game as a trophy nerd.”
You looped your arm around theirs. “You’re already perfect at it.”
They smiled, quieter now, more genuine. “Thanks. For today.”
You glanced at them. “You mean the emotional rollercoaster that was ‘Dating You 101’?”
“No, I mean… thanks for not hiding it.”
You squeezed their arm. “I wanted everyone to see. You think I’m just handing out hallway kisses like candy?”
“I don’t know your past. You might’ve been the Halloween queen.”
You snorted. “Shut up and let me buy you a burger.”
“Deal. But I’m picking the music.”
“You’ll have to fight me for the aux.”
“Oh, I will. And I’ve got playlists for every occasion.”
“You’re such a nerd.”
“You like it.”
“…Yeah. I really do.”
The local diner was the kind of place that hadn’t changed its wallpaper since the ‘80s, with red vinyl booths, a jukebox that only worked when it felt like it, and a counter full of pastries behind slightly foggy glass. You liked it ironically. Hange liked it because the grilled cheese was $3.50 and massive.
You slid into a booth first, throwing your bag beside you, then gestured grandly. “Your throne, O king of glycolysis.”
Hange rolled their eyes but sat beside you instead of across, which made your heart skip just a little. You could smell the faint hint of their cologne now—something woodsy and a bit spicy that didn’t quite match the Pokémon keychain on their bag.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” you said, leaning your chin in your palm.
“Notice what?”
“That you chose next to me instead of across.”
“I’m a nerd, not a coward.”
You smirked. “Cute distinction.”
A server dropped off menus—mostly unnecessary since you both had favorites—and you watched Hange squint at the milkshake list with the kind of intensity usually reserved for molecular structure charts.
“Chocolate malted?” they offered.
You raised a brow. “Planning to share?”
“I’m not made of money. And you look like you’d sip the whipped cream and abandon the rest.”
“I would do that,” you agreed shamelessly. “Fine. I’ll let you feed me like a doting boyfriend.”
The look they gave you was brief but soft—so quick you nearly missed it. “Cool,” they said, a little quieter. “I could be that.”
The words stuck to the inside of your chest.
Later, when the milkshake came in one tall glass with two straws like some cliché romance film, you didn’t hesitate to lean over and take the first sip. You made eye contact while doing it, of course—because you had zero chill and even less shame.
“Is this a date?” Hange asked, quirking a brow.
“Mmm. If it is, you should be holding my hand.”
They reached under the table and tangled their fingers with yours. Just like that. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You took another sip of milkshake. “You’re catching on quick.”
“I read ahead.”
That made you laugh, and they watched you with the same look you sometimes caught on their face in class—like you were a formula they hadn’t quite solved yet but enjoyed trying.
After a bit of silence, Hange glanced at the window. “Think people from school saw us?”
You shrugged. “Probably.”
“And you don’t care?”
You licked whipped cream off your straw and leaned against them. “Let ‘em stare. I got the smartest person in our class holding my hand and buying me dairy. I win.”
They squeezed your hand, a quiet grin tugging at their lips.
Outside, the sky had turned dusky pink. Inside the diner, laughter and clinking glasses made the world feel warm and weirdly safe.
“You know,” you said after a moment, resting your head on their shoulder, “this is the most normal I’ve felt in weeks.”
Hange tilted their head. “And here I thought you were too cool to feel normal.”
“I fake a lot of things.” You paused. “But not this.”
They turned slightly, lips brushing your temple. “Good. Because I’m not faking it either.”
You both sat in silence after that, sharing the rest of the milkshake one straw at a time, pinkies linked under the table, and hearts—maybe stupidly, maybe perfectly—racing in sync.
It started with sticky notes.
Bright yellow ones hidden in Hange’s pencil case, scrawled in your handwriting:
“Don’t make plans on Saturday. I have schemes.”
At the same time, tucked into your locker behind a suspiciously folded science worksheet:
“Clear your calendar Saturday. Wear something nice. Not ‘detention-chic.’”
Neither of you said anything, of course. You were both far too committed to the surprise game.
Saturday arrived, and you were at Hange’s door by 9 a.m., holding a tote bag full of snacks, a printed-out itinerary, and a pair of matching socks with frogs on them.
Hange opened the door looking… startled.
“Why are you dressed like a Pinterest board?” they asked, staring at the little hair clips you wore to match the socks.
“Because it’s your birthday, dumbass.”
Their eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“I noticed you wrote it on your science notebook in tiny handwriting and then scribbled it out. You’re not stealthy.”
Hange flushed. “Okay. Well. That’s… really cute of you. And extremely annoying. Because I planned something for you.”
You blinked. “Me?”
“You’re literally getting that award at the school assembly next week and haven’t told anyone. You weren’t gonna celebrate it?”
You shrugged. “It’s not that big a—”
“I already made a reservation. Don’t try to downplay your achievements, I will physically fight you,” they deadpanned.
You snorted. “Okay, fine. But we’re doing my plans too.”
Hange looked at you, arms crossed, determined expression. “We’re gonna need a spreadsheet.”
You burst out laughing at that.
11:00 a.m. – Froggy Picnic in the Park (Your Plan)
You laid out a green gingham blanket, unpacked an absurdly aesthetic picnic basket, and even brought those Pinterest-looking glass bottles with lemonade.
Hange was completely overwhelmed by the effort. “Did you pack us themed sandwiches?”
“Yes,” you said proudly. “They’re frog-shaped. One is avocado, the other is turkey. I gave him a little cap made of seaweed.”
They bit into one and groaned. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna cry.”
“Good. I’m aiming for tears.”
1:00 p.m. – Science Museum Tour (Hange’s Plan)
Hange dragged you to the museum with a glint in their eye and a printed map they’d highlighted with all their favorite exhibits.
They insisted on narrating the entire experience like a documentary host. “Here we observe the wild reader in their natural habitat—pretending to care about Newtonian mechanics just to impress their nerd partner.”
You elbowed them. “Shut up. I do care. A little. You’re cute when you get all enthusiastic and push your glasses up like you’re solving the world’s equations.”
“You’re so full of it.”
“Why wouldn't I be? I've been dating the hottest nerd in school for weeks now.”
4:00 p.m. – Surprise Gifts (Mutual Chaos)
You handed Hange a handmade scrapbook full of photos, doodles, and messages from their friends. They teared up at Moblit’s drawing and Nanaba’s aggressively sweet handwriting.
Hange, on the other hand, gave you a custom hoodie with your name embroidered next to a tiny embroidered microscope.
“I know it’s dorky, but—”
“I’m wearing this forever.” You were already pulling it on.
6:00 p.m. – Dinner Reservation (Hange’s Plan)
They’d booked a tiny family-owned Italian place where the candles were real and the waitress clearly thought you were the cutest couple ever.
“I can’t believe you planned this,” you said, beaming at them over fettuccine.
“You planned a whole frog-themed romantic day. I had to keep up.”
You held their hand under the table. “I’d marry you over frog sandwiches.”
“I’d say yes in the museum planetarium.”
7:30 p.m. – Ice Cream Shop (Your Plan)
You pulled them down the street at near-sprint. “We have to make it to the frog-themed ice cream parlor before it closes or the day’s entire thematic structure falls apart!”
Hange was breathless but laughing. “You are way too committed to this amphibian aesthetic.”
They got mint chocolate chip. You got matcha. You sat outside on the curb, ankles touching, watching the streetlights blink on.
“You know,” Hange said between licks, “this should’ve been a disaster.”
“It really should’ve.”
“And yet…”
You leaned against them. “Somehow, we’re perfect at this.”
“You mean mutual sabotage and parallel surprise scheduling?”
“Exactly that.”
They laughed and rested their head on yours. “Next time, let’s plan together.”
You grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”
The door clicked shut behind them with a quiet thunk, muffled by the soft hum of the air conditioner and the sleepy stillness of the house. Hange’s room looked exactly like it had that morning—cluttered, cozy, a shrine to all things nerdy—but now, with the warm lamplight and the smell of shared memories lingering in the air, it felt like something else. A safe haven.
You kicked off your shoes with a dramatic sigh, dropping the frog-themed ice cream keychain you won at the claw machine earlier onto Hange’s cluttered desk.
“I think my legs are dead,” you mumbled, flopping face-first onto their bed.
Hange laughed softly. “I told you the museum alone was a full-body workout. You insisted on layering it with high-level romantic cardio.”
You turned your head to look at them, grinning. “And it was worth it. Best birthday-slash-secret-academic-achievement date ever.”
They were already tugging off their hoodie, revealing the t-shirt underneath, and tossing it aside before sitting beside you. “Agreed. You want to shower first?”
You rolled onto your back. “Only if you join me.”
Their face flushed immediately. “You—! That’s not—! I meant like—! One at a time—!”
You giggled, sitting up. “Relax, nerd. I was kidding. Kinda. Mostly.”
Hange shoved your shoulder lightly, eyes twinkling. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet,” you said, standing and grabbing your little overnight bag, “you’re still in love with me.”
They opened their mouth to protest, then stopped, blinking. “…Yeah. I think I am.”
You paused. Turned. Met their eyes.
“…Really?”
Hange scratched the back of their neck, glancing away. “I mean—not to make it weird—but yeah. I do. Or I’m getting there. Rapidly. With no brakes.”
You stepped closer and kissed them. No rush, no heat. Just steady pressure, the kind that speaks before words get the chance.
“I’m getting there too,” you whispered when you pulled back.
Later, freshly showered and tucked beneath Hange’s ridiculously soft blanket, you curled into them, your wet hair leaving little marks on their oversized shirt—their shirt, now hanging off your frame like you’d always meant to live in it.
“I love you like this…” they trailed off, hugging you from behind, their big hands resting at your waist. “You look and feel different without the eyeliner and the ‘I’ll kill you’ face.”
You snorted, leaning back into them. “Thanks?”
“I mean—good different. Like, I always thought you were out of my league, but now you just look like… mine.”
You laughed softly, nose nudging theirs. “I am yours. Nerd theory proved.”
They grinned. “Ever heard of the girlfriend hypothesis?”
“Hit me.”
“It states that if I fall asleep next to you right now, I get to kiss you again in the morning.”
You leaned in. “I accept your science.”
They kissed you, soft and slow, one hand tangled in your damp hair, the other holding you like they still couldn’t believe you were real.
You take their hand and lead them to the bed. This time, you laid down first, flipping your hair to one side and looking up at them with a gentle smile.
You grab the back of their head and pull them down, just enough to whisper in their ear.
“I want you to lead me this time.” you whisper sultrily, biting their earlobe before laying back down.
Hange paused for a second, brain short-circuiting as they looked down at you with wide eyes.
“W-wait, babe, I’ve never—”
“I know, baby, it’s okay. I’ll help you.”
Their weight hovered delicately, supported by their trembling arms, as if lowering themselves fully might crush the moment.
Your hand didn’t leave the back of their head, fingers threading deeper into their still-damp hair. You pulled them down just enough to press your lips to their temple—slow, lingering.
“It’s okay,” you murmured again, voice low and steady, a tether in the storm. “I’ve got you.”
You grasp the hem of your shirt and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulled it up to your head. Next was your shorts.
Your eyes never left theirs as you strip in front of them. Everything down to your bra, but you left your lower undergarment on.
“I want you to remove this for me.”
They nodded slowly, a soundless breath falling from their parted lips. You could feel the pulse in their neck, fast and erratic under your touch as they slowly lowered themself down, still not breaking eye contact.
You expected them to just pull it with their hands but they stopped at your stomach, leaving kisses all over the skin. Goosebumps decorated your skin and you let out a shaky breath.
“Baby, what are you doing?” you moan again, combing your fingers through their brown locks.
Hange didn’t answer, just hummed while they kissed lower and lower until their lips stopped at the waistband of your underwear. Your breath hitched when their teeth came in contact with your skin, sucking and licking.
“Oh fuck, baby…”
Satisfied with the sound that came out of you, they gently bite the waistband and starts pulling it down. All while their eyes are still on you—submissive, asking for praise.
“Hans, that feels good.”
You see them smile at the nickname. You remembered how they reacted when you first called them that while they screamed in your ear during another session of Valorant—frozen, flushed down to their neck, grinning from ear to ear. Since then, you only use that nickname when you know it would catch them off-guard. Like right now, where they were taking your panties off for you with their teeth.
Once it was finally off, they went back up, nuzzling and sucking on your jaw, your neck, behind your ear. The gentleness in their actions turned you on more, soft moans and ragged breath.
When they finally settled above you, knees framing your hips, fingertips ghosting over your collarbones like they were trying to map every inch of you with reverence alone.
“I don’t want to mess it up,” they whispered, almost to themselves. Their voice cracked at the end.
“You won’t,” you said immediately, your voice the kind of calm that disarmed, that softened their nerves like heat soaking into glass. “You’re doing so great already. I’ll follow your rhythm.”
Their gaze flicked to yours, and god, you’d never seen anything so earnest—so open. It broke you a little, in the best way.
Hange leaned down, kissing you with a slow, trembling hunger that deepened with every breath. It wasn’t perfect—nothing choreographed or confident—but there was something more intoxicating in how much they felt, how raw and real every movement was. You guided them without dominance this time, just presence—sliding your hands along their back, whispering quiet reassurances as their body began to find its own language.
They gasped once, a sharp intake of breath as your thigh brushed up between their legs. Their hips jolted, entirely involuntary, and they pulled away from your lips, burying their face in your neck.
“Oh my god,” they whimpered, muffled. “I’m gonna lose it—”
“No,” you breathed, threading your fingers under the hem of their shirt. “You’re doing perfect. You’re allowed to feel everything.”
They whimpered again, almost a sob this time, and their hips rolled instinctively, shy but desperate. You stayed grounded beneath them, one hand guiding their rhythm, the other spread warm and open across the small of their back.
Your name slipped out in a broken whine, clutched in their throat like a prayer.
Their breath hitched as the waves built again, overstimulation curling like fire through their limbs. They tried to pull back, overwhelmed—but you didn’t let them. You caught their face in your hands and made them look at you.
“Stay with me,” you whispered. “You’re safe.”
Their eyes shimmered, wide and glassy. “I-I can’t— I feel too much—”
“I know, baby,” you said gently, brushing your thumb beneath their eye where the first tear broke free. “I want all of it. Give it to me.”
The dam broke.
Their body trembled, overwhelmed by the intensity of being wanted like that. Of being safe, held, led gently through something so utterly consuming. You held them through their climax, grounding them with every stroke, every word, every kiss to their cheek, their jaw, their fluttering eyelids.
You feel them shift and when you pull back just enough to look at their face, you were met with the prettiest sight: face marked with tears, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open.
That pushes you to your own climax—your body convulsing as you squirted hard, and they kiss you through it. They whispered praises to you, ones you didn’t even know they still had the energy for. You could feel them still grinding, chasing that last orgasm.
You reached down and let your fingers rub their clit in a slow agonizing way that pushed them to the edge. They groan at the crook of your neck, body shaking as they came again on top of you. You moan at the feeling of both your cum trailing down your thighs.
Afterward, they collapsed onto you with a choked sound, their entire body flushed, damp, and shaking slightly as they clung to you like you were the only thing keeping them tethered to the earth. You kissed their head and wrapped them up without hesitation, pulling the blanket around your entwined bodies, letting the quiet take over.
Minutes passed in silence. Their breathing slowed. You kissed their knuckles, their forehead, their lashes.
“Was that okay, baby?” you asked, whisper-light.
They nodded against your chest, still a little dazed. “You’re unreal,” they murmured. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
You smiled, stroking their back. “You did that, Hange. You. Not me.”
They sniffled, letting out a breathless laugh. “I’m gonna have to write a paper about this.”
You grinned. “Peer reviewed?”
“I’ll need several replicates,” they mumbled, nuzzling closer. “Strictly for science.”
You let out a soft chuckle and tightened your arms around them.
“I love you,” you said against their hair.
“I love you more than every successful experiment I’ve ever run,” they whispered.
You blinked. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” they nodded, yawning. “Even the ones with fire. Especially the ones with fire.”
And when you both drifted off, tangled up in each other and the remains of the perfect day, everything felt… right.
The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, pale and diffused, brushing over the rumpled sheets and the quiet mess of last night’s clothes. You woke slowly, blinking into the hush of a new day. The room smelled faintly of rain and skin and something herbal that clung to the pillows—familiar now, like home after only a few nights.
Hange was curled into your side, completely tangled in you, their glasses abandoned on the nightstand and their face tucked into the crook of your neck. You could feel the warmth of their breath, even, steady. One arm was flung over your stomach, their body slack and trusting in sleep.
They’d told you—half-laughing, half-yawning as they collapsed into you last night—that they wanted to skip school. “Just this once,” they mumbled. “Screw that presentation, Petra can handle that.”
So you slipped out of their embrace gently, slowly easing their arm off your waist and kissing the tip of their nose. They didn’t stir, only let out a soft sigh and burrowed deeper into the blankets like a cat.
You pulled on the nearest clothes—your shirt from the day before and a pair of Hange’s sweatpants, worn and slouchy—and padded barefoot into the hallway. The wood creaked underfoot, the silence of the house broken only by the distant hum of the fridge and the soft clink of porcelain somewhere below.
Downstairs, you moved through the kitchen with care, reaching for a glass from the drying rack. You turned to the sink, yawning, when a low, unfamiliar voice cut into the quiet.
“Who are you?”
You froze mid-step, turning slowly.
There, standing by the dining table in crisp slacks and a white button-down, was a man. Tall. Sharp-featured. His posture was military-straight, his sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows, a coffee mug in one hand and a paper folded under the other. His face was unreadable, save for the faint narrowing of his eyes as he took you in—rumpled clothes, bare feet, and sleep-tousled hair.
“…Good morning,” you said after a beat, clearing your throat. “I’m—uh—I’m Hange’s girlfriend.”
His brow lifted, just slightly. “Girlfriend.”
You nodded, offering your hand. “Yes, sir. I’m the first. I mean—first girlfriend.”
He eyed your hand, then shook it. Brief, firm. No nonsense.
“I see,” he said. “I wasn’t aware Hange was seeing anyone.”
“They didn’t expect you to be back this weekend.”
He hummed, setting his cup down. “Plans changed.”
You nodded again, trying to read him. His face gave nothing away. You reached for the water pitcher and poured yourself a glass, moving carefully, respectfully—like walking on ice.
“I’m sorry if it’s awkward,” you said after a moment. “They just wanted to rest today. I didn’t mean to… intrude.”
He regarded you for a long, weighty moment, then spoke again.
“You’re the first person they’ve brought home. Ever.”
You blinked. “Oh.”
“That’s not nothing,” he added. “You understand?”
You set the glass down, facing him fully. “I do.”
“And yet here you are,” he said, folding the paper slowly. “Wearing their sweatpants, drinking from our kitchen.”
You didn’t flinch. “I care about them, sir. A lot.”
He exhaled, long and low, as if weighing that answer like an equation. “They’re reckless with their heart. Not because they’re careless—because they feel everything too deeply. Even when they pretend they don’t.”
You nodded. “I’ve seen that.”
“They love science. Curiosity. Chaos. But when it comes to people?” He looked you in the eye. “They’re terrified.”
Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten.
“I’m not here to rush them,” you said, voice steady. “They know I’m not going anywhere. That’s enough for now.”
He studied you again. This time, something softened—barely. A flicker of something in his eyes.
“You don’t seem like the kind they usually fall for,” he said.
“I don’t think they’ve ever fallen before,” you replied gently.
That pulled a slight smile from him—brief, but real.
“I’m Mr. Zoë.”
You straightened. “It’s good to meet you, sir.”
He nodded once, returning to his seat. “They’re lucky,” he said. “But if you ever hurt them, even once—”
“You won’t have to warn me twice,” you said. “I’d never forgive myself before you ever had the chance.”
Silence followed, but not the tense kind. You stood there for a second longer, then took a cautious sip of water.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs. You glanced toward the hall as Hange’s unmistakable voice—still thick with sleep—called out:
“Babe? Did you—”
They entered the kitchen and stopped dead, mouth mid-sentence, eyes wide behind their askew glasses.
They looked from you—standing in their sweatpants, glass in hand—to their father seated at the table.
“Oh my god.”
You held up the water like a peace offering. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
wreck, shirt stretched and twisted from sleep, and expression a perfect storm of panic and disbelief.
“You two met already?” they asked, voice already teetering toward overwhelmed.
You looked up from your glass of water, smiling with a quiet kind of triumph. “Mm-hmm. Lovely conversation. Great lighting. Excellent tension.”
Their dad sipped his coffee. “She said she boxes.”
“You what?” Hange squawked, stepping further in, nearly tripping over their own slippers.
“I said I box sometimes,” you clarified, tilting your head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “He asked how we met. I figured honesty was better than letting him imagine worse.”
“He’s already imagining worse,” Hange muttered, running a hand down their face. “Dad, this is—uh—this is my girlfriend.”
“She said that too,” he replied flatly, setting his cup down with a precise clink. “Also that she’s the first.”
You looked at Hange gently as they came to stand beside you, and you reached to pull them by the hip, anchoring them close. They let you, head lowered, cheeks already burning.
Just then, footsteps padded down from the stairs—lighter, more familiar.
“Oh! You’re up already,” said a voice, warm with surprise.
Hange’s mom entered, tying her cardigan at the waist, still in her sleepwear but moving like it was just another early morning in a well-loved kitchen. She blinked when she saw Hange, then smiled at the sight of you at the counter.
“You look like you live here already,” she said, eyes twinkling.
“I think your sweatpants helped,” you joked, tugging at the waistband slightly.
She laughed, breezing past both of you to open the fridge. “I hope you like eggs. You’re not getting out of this house without breakfast, especially after spending the night.”
“Mom, please,” Hange groaned.
“What? It’s sweet. She even remembered to rinse her glass.”
“She also got grilled by Dad at six in the morning!”
“And she passed,” their mom said lightly. “Didn’t she, honey?”
Their dad gave you a look that was long and unreadable. Then, after a sip of coffee, “Still deciding.”
You smiled, relaxed and sure. “Take your time.”
Hange looked like they wanted to melt into the kitchen tile.
“Honestly, Hange,” their mom said, cracking eggs into a pan, “you should’ve warned us. You’ve never brought anyone home. Not even your science fair partners.”
“I didn’t plan for this!” they defended, voice rising an octave. “We were gonna skip school and sleep in, not walk into a full interrogation! I thought you were supposed to be out of town!”
“We were,” their dad replied. “Plans change. Especially when you don’t check your messages.”
“I was busy! You don’t understand—”
You squeezed their hand under the table. They fell silent, looking at you like you were the only person still keeping them tethered to earth.
Their father’s eyes lingered on that gesture—quiet, natural. He folded the newspaper in half with a precise flick of the wrist.
“You serious about my kid?” he asked.
Hange nearly choked.
You didn’t even flinch. “Yes, sir. Completely.”
Their mom glanced over from the stove, a soft little smile pulling at her lips.
Their dad didn’t say anything right away. He just watched you for a moment—measured, cautious, but no longer hard-edged. Then, quietly:
“Alright.”
It was simple. A single word. But the weight of it landed like a verdict.
You nodded once. “Thank you.”
Across from you, Hange looked like they might actually cry from relief. Their hand clung tighter to yours under the table, and their knee bumped yours with the tiniest tremor of nervous energy.
Eggs sizzled. Toast popped. Their mom hummed as she moved around the kitchen with an ease born of long, sleepy mornings like this one. You helped set the table when she handed you plates, not needing to ask where anything was anymore.
When breakfast was finally served, Hange’s dad passed the butter toward you without a word. Hange caught the exchange, blinked, and stared between you both in disbelief.
“I leave you alone for ten minutes and now you’re friends?”
“I wouldn’t say friends,” their dad said.
You smiled. “I think we’re getting there.”
Hange groaned. Their mom laughed.
And when the four of you sat down to eat, the sun spilling slowly across the kitchen tiles, Hange looked at you with the kind of soft awe that said: thank you for being real. thank you for staying.
You nudged their foot gently under the table, and they blinked at you, biting back a shy smile.
“Still wanna skip school?” you murmured.
“More than ever,” they whispered.
After breakfast, the plates were left to soak in the sink, and Hange’s mom declared—without negotiation—that no one would be doing dishes “until everyone sits down and digests like civilized people.” You didn’t protest.
The living room, much like the rest of the house, had that warm, lived-in feel—mismatched throw pillows, a crocheted blanket draped crookedly over the back of the couch, books stacked haphazardly on every available surface. It smelled faintly of wood polish and whatever floral scent their mom must’ve used to line the drawers.
You and Hange settled onto the left side of the long couch, and they practically collapsed into your chest with a drawn-out sigh, burying their face beneath your jaw. Their body curled into yours without hesitation, like muscle memory, like they’d done it a thousand times before even if this was only the first. You tugged the blanket down around their shoulders and pulled them closer until one of your legs fit naturally between theirs. They exhaled again, slower this time.
Across the couch, their parents mirrored you. Hange’s mom rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, her cardigan sleeves pulled over her hands, one foot tucked under her. His arm rested along the back of the couch, thumb brushing slowly across her shoulder. Neither of them spoke much. They didn’t have to.
Hange peeked up at you from beneath the edge of the blanket, a tiny, shy smile tugging at their lips. Their cheeks were still a little pink from everything—sleep, nerves, you—but their expression was open, vulnerable in that rare way you’d only seen when they were too tired or too full of trust to hide.
You smoothed a hand over their wild hair, combing it gently back from their face. “You okay?”
They nodded slowly. “I think I like seeing you here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It makes everything feel less… theoretical.”
You chuckled, thumbing a strand of hair behind their ear. “Can’t believe you just said that.”
“I’m overwhelmed. Let me be weird,” they mumbled, curling in tighter.
You let them. You kissed the top of their head and held them steady. Your heart felt slow and quiet in your chest, not pounding—not like last night. This was something else. Like still water in a deep place. Like safety.
From the other end of the couch, you heard the low hum of Hange’s mom starting to drift off. She’d pulled the crocheted blanket across both of their laps and was already halfway into a nap, if the way her breathing had evened out was anything to go by.
Their dad looked over, just once, you met his gaze and he nodded almost imperceptibly before turning back to the muted television. A nature show flickered on the screen, the sound low enough that it was just background noise—the kind that didn’t demand attention, didn’t try to outshine the peace that had settled in the room like sunlight across old furniture.
Hange sighed into your collarbone. “You’re too good at this.”
“At what?”
“This. People. Parents. Affection. I’m being destroyed in real time.”
You chuckled, adjusting your grip on them. “You’re doing fine.”
“I almost choked on a mushroom at breakfast.”
“And your dad liked me anyway. That’s a win.”
They were quiet for a beat. Then, “Yeah. It is.”
You felt their fingers trail softly over your side beneath the blanket, tentative and slow. Like they were still confirming you were here. Still real.
You turned your head and pressed a gentle kiss to their temple.
And across the couch, their mom stirred, cracking one eye open with a faint smile. “You two are nauseating,” she murmured sleepily, and their dad just snorted.
You laughed into Hange’s hair. They buried their face in your shoulder again, whispering, “She likes you.”
You whispered back, “You make it easy.”
Outside, the sun kept rising. The room stayed still. Time, for once, didn’t feel like it was running away.
It felt like it was waiting—for you both.