Blurring Lines
The rest of the week passed in a blur. You couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift between you and Hange, the small interactions that lingered just a little too long, the quiet moments where their eyes would catch yours before they quickly looked away, pretending it never happened. You told yourself it was nothing—just a result of your overactive imagination—but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was changing.
On one particularly long day, you found yourself in the lecture hall, waiting for Hange to finish up some post-class business. Everyone else had already left, but you hung back as if you were waiting for something.
Maybe you were waiting for them.
You’d just decided to pack your things and leave when you heard the familiar shuffle of footsteps. Hange appeared in the doorway, looking slightly disheveled, their usual confident smile replaced with a sheepish expression.
“Oh, hey!” they called out, a little too loudly, their voice bouncing off the walls. “You’re still here? I actually had something I wanted to ask you about.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Something about the class?”
Hange scratched the back of their head, looking as if they were trying to come up with something that sounded plausible. "Well, no... Actually, I was wondering if you could—um, help me move a stack of papers into the staff room."
You blinked, confused by the request. “Move papers?” you repeated, a little unsure. "Isn't that something the staff assistants usually do?"
Hange’s eyes darted around for a moment, clearly scrambling for an excuse. “Uh... yeah, I mean, it’s just... they’ve been swamped with other things, and, uh... I really need to get them in there before the end of the day!” They gave you a bright, too-sweet smile that was a little too forced. “It’ll be super quick, I promise. Just a few minutes.”
You stared at them, your brow furrowed in confusion, but something in their tone made you hesitant to question it too much. They looked like they were about to burst into laughter, and it was hard to ignore the odd energy in the air between you two.
“Okay, I guess...” you said slowly, still unsure. “But this better not turn into a whole thing, Professor.”
“Oh, it definitely won’t!” Hange grinned widely, already moving toward the pile of papers they had conveniently stacked in the corner, clearly relieved to have gotten you to agree. “I swear, it’ll be quick. A couple of papers and we’re done.”
You followed them down the hallway, the strange buzz in your chest refusing to settle. You couldn’t figure out if it was the oddity of the situation or something else entirely.
As you approached the staff room, you noticed Jean heading in the opposite direction. He caught your eye and slowed his pace, raising an eyebrow.
“Hey, wait up,” Jean called as he caught up with you. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
You nodded, surprised to see him linger around after class. “Sure. What’s up?”
Jean scratched his head, glancing briefly at Hange before turning back to you. “I don’t know... I just... feel like you’ve been distant lately. Everything okay?”
Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t realized you’d been acting differently, but the way Jean looked at you made you realize how obvious it might have been. “I’m fine,” you said quickly. “Just busy, you know?”
Jean gave you a thoughtful look, as if trying to decide whether to press you further, but eventually just nodded. “Okay, well... if you ever need to talk, you know where I am.”
“Thanks, Jean,” you replied, a bit flustered by the sudden openness. Jean gave you a smile before walking off, leaving you alone with Hange once more.
The silence between you and Hange was almost immediate. You both stood awkwardly by the staff room door for a moment, neither of you knowing how to break it.
“So, uh...” Hange started, voice much softer than usual. “Ready to move those papers?”
You nodded, and as the two of you stepped into the staff room, the quiet tension grew. Hange seemed to be avoiding your gaze, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of Jean’s interruption or something else. You weren’t sure if you were more nervous about the situation or the odd energy lingering between you and Hange.
“Just... over here,” Hange gestured awkwardly to a desk in the corner, their fingers brushing against yours as they passed the pile of papers to you.
You both immediately stiffened at the contact, a brief moment of electricity passing between you. You quickly focused on the stack of papers, willing your heartbeat to steady.
“So, um,” Hange began again, their voice suddenly unsure, “how’s... how’s the class going for you? You keeping up with everything?”
You tried to keep your composure, though your thoughts were swirling. "Yeah, it’s fine. It’s challenging, but I’m managing."
Hange gave a small nod, but their eyes flicked nervously to the papers on the desk, then back to you. “Good. Good to hear.”
The conversation seemed to die in the air between you two, both of you feeling the strange charge, the tension that wasn’t quite flirtation, but not entirely innocent either. Neither of you could really seem to form coherent sentences, both of you so caught up in the awkwardness of the moment.
You were about to speak up, but then Hange suddenly sighed, their shoulders dropping in frustration. "I—uh, I didn’t think this through."
You blinked. "What do you mean?"
Hange rubbed the back of their neck, suddenly looking so much more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them. “I just wanted to... you know, hang out with you or talk or—well, maybe not in this way. But now it’s... I don’t know. I’m making it weird, aren’t I?”
The self-deprecating tone in their voice caught you off guard. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to laugh or say something comforting. Instead, you just found yourself frozen, trying to process their words, unsure of what to say.
Hange, clearly flustered now, looked down at the papers as if they could will them to offer some form of escape. "Okay, maybe... this was a dumb idea," they muttered. "You probably just want to get back to studying and—"
“No,” you blurted, surprising both of you. “It’s not dumb.”
Hange raised their head, looking surprised. "It’s not?"
You shook your head. “No. I just... I don’t know what’s going on either, okay?” You swallowed hard. “But I don’t mind being here. With you.”
For a moment, there was a strange silence, the air thick with unspoken things, before Hange finally gave a soft, almost relieved laugh.
"Well, that makes two of us," they murmured.
And just like that, you both stood there, the strange tension lingering, but without the pressure to resolve it just yet. It was almost comfortable, in its own way.
Hange’s POV
“But I don’t mind being here. With you.”
The dim glow of the desk lamp flickered intermittently, casting long shadows across Hange’s cluttered desk. Piles of papers were scattered around, some marked, others untouched. The faint rustling of pages was the only sound breaking the quiet in the room. Hange had been sitting there for what felt like hours, grading assignments that were increasingly difficult to focus on. The words blurred together on the pages in front of them, their mind far from the content of the essays.
The sudden image of your smile flashed in their mind, the warmth in your voice echoing back to them.
"But I don’t mind being here. With you."
The words lingered, soft yet heavy, in the silence of the room. Hange let out a frustrated sigh, their grip tightening around the pen in their hand, the ink staining the paper where they hadn't meant to mark it. They tried to focus—tried to drown out the thought of you—but the pull of your words was like a tide, pushing against them, impossible to ignore.
Hange leaned back in their chair, rubbing a hand over their face, trying to clear the haze of frustration that clouded their thoughts. Their mind kept returning to that moment, the softness in your eyes as you spoke. The casual way you’d let your guard down. It was just a few words, but they had stuck to Hange’s thoughts like a persistent melody, replaying over and over. And it was driving them mad.
Why was it so difficult to focus? Their body was tired, but the exhaustion wasn’t physical. It was emotional, a strain they couldn’t seem to shake. Every time they tried to concentrate on something else, on the students’ papers or the material in front of them, the thought of you would creep back into their mind, refusing to leave.
Stop thinking about it, Hange mentally scolded themselves, but the thought didn’t dissipate. They could still hear your voice, soft, sincere. It felt… almost too intimate, too real. And then the guilt would follow—guilt that came crashing in, making them feel foolish for letting these thoughts invade their professional life.
They were the professor. They should be setting an example. And yet here they were, unable to control the inappropriate desires that fluttered beneath the surface. A student.
It was wrong. They knew it was wrong. But their mind, their body, seemed to defy that logic.
The pressure in their chest was mounting, the familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter with each passing minute. It felt like a storm was raging just under their skin, something deep and powerful, and Hange couldn’t push it away. They stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the pile of papers beside them, and walked toward the window. The night was still and silent, the moonlight barely breaking through the blinds.
Hange stared at the darkness outside for a few long seconds, searching for something that would pull them away from the whirlpool of emotions inside. There was nothing.
Turning away from the window, they walked towards the living room, hands shaking slightly as they ran a hand through their disheveled hair. The quiet of the room was deafening, and the weight of their thoughts was crushing. They needed a release.
Grabbing their gym bag from the corner of the room, they changed into something more comfortable, the fabric feeling like a second skin. Physical exertion—that’s what they needed. Something to burn off this tension that was making their head spin.
The apartment was small, the space functional but minimalistic—nothing to distract from the deep knot of frustration that had taken hold of them. Hange stood there for a moment, staring at treadmill in the corner, and took a deep breath. Focus, just focus on this, they thought.
Hange stepped on the treadmill and started jogging, accelerating to a full sped running as they groaned under their panting breath, trying to use the physical strain to exhaust the mental one. The muscles in their legs burned as they moved, but the release felt hollow. Every movement seemed to magnify the fact that they couldn’t escape their thoughts.
No matter how hard they tried to push it away, your voice echoed in their mind. "With you."
With a grunt, they finally stop their run, frustration spilling out in a sharp exhale. They were so damn tired. Tired of thinking, tired of fighting it. But they couldn’t stop themselves. Not now. Not when every part of them was drawn to you.
Hange’s chest heaved as they tried to steady their breath, the ache in their body starting to settle, but it was still there—deep inside. The weight of something they couldn't control.
They let themselves collapse onto the couch, breathing heavily, mind still spinning, trying to escape the internal storm. But there was no escape. The tension was always there, pressing in from all sides, until it felt like it might swallow them whole.