Wavering Proximity
It had been a strange morning, to say the least. The usual routine of sitting in class and listening to Hange’s lectures had been interrupted by an unexpected silence. When you arrived for class, you were met with an empty room and no sign of your professor. Minutes passed, and the anxious flutter in your stomach grew heavier as the clock ticked away.
You tried sending a quick message, but there was no response. No one had heard from them. Not even the department secretary knew where Hange had gone. So, when your math professor, Levi Ackerman, walked past, seemingly as indifferent as ever, you saw your chance.
You had to know what was going on, and since Levi was the only one left in the hallway, you approached him.
“Professor Ackerman! Do you know where Hange is? They haven’t shown up for class.”
Levi didn’t even look at you when he spoke, his expression as deadpan as always. “Tch, you didn’t hear? They’re sick. Speaking of that four eyes, here–” he held out a stack of papers toward you, eyes lazily turned elsewhere, “you should go get those documents to them. Now.”
You blinked, confused. “What do you mean, go to their house? How do you know where—”
Levi gave you a quick glance, his face a perfect blend of impatience and indifference. “I don’t have time to do it myself, so I’ll leave you to it. Here.” He handed you a folded piece of paper. “Address is on there. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Don’t waste time asking stupid questions, brat.”
The suddenness of it left you speechless. Hange’s house? You’d never been there before, and while the thought of seeing them outside the classroom made your heart race, the idea of showing up unannounced, unprepared, made you nervous.
You barely had time to react before Levi walked off, muttering under his breath about how four eyes is being such a bother and Erwin is no help at all, leaving you holding the piece of paper and a growing sense of unease.
With a deep breath, you glanced at the address written in Levi’s precise handwriting. It wasn’t far. But still—Hange was sick, and you couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of discomfort. You weren’t sure if you were concerned for them or if you were simply nervous to be in their personal space.
It wasn’t long before you found yourself standing outside a modest apartment building, looking up at the address you’d been given. The unfamiliarity of it all made your palms sweat as you tried to shake off the anxiety that settled in your chest. The last time you had seen Hange, they’d been brimming with energy, engaging the class with their usual fervor. It was hard to picture them as anything less than the chaotic, charismatic professor they always were.
Still, you knew you couldn’t leave the documents behind. You had a task to complete, and it wasn’t like you could just ignore the fact that your professor was likely sick in bed. With the envelope of papers held in one hand, a basket of fruit that you had bought on the other, you struggle to free one of them to lift it towards the door.
With one last deep breath, you rang the doorbell.
The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and for a long moment, nothing happened. Your heart beat wildly in your chest as you anxiously shuffled on your feet. What if they were too sick to open the door? What if they weren’t even home?
Just as you were about to give up, the door creaked open, and you froze.
There, in all their glory, was Hange.
You feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you take in their appearance. Messy hair, a black tank top that showcased their wide shoulders and lean biceps, and–oh god–a pair of gray boxers that left little to your imagination. You couldn't help but stare at their lean and strong legs, and the tan line that stopped just a little under the area where the boxers ended.
“Y/N?”
Their deep and husky voice broke the silence, and you realized that you were just standing there—shamelessly staring at your professor’s body.
“Professor Zoë!” Face flushed, you feel the sweat forming on your forehead as you force your eyes to dart anywhere else but the person in front of you. “I-I’m here on P-Professor Ackerman’s o-orders… H-he told me to give these papers to you.”
You held the envelope out to them, and when you felt it being taken from her hold, you couldn't help looking up. Your eyes met with theirs, and an unfamiliar emotion was displayed so obviously in them, as though they put no effort in trying to hide them.
There was a moment of silence. Neither of you backing down from the intense staring contest that had started. Only when you saw their eyes momentarily flicker downward—where your lips quivered slightly—did you get snapped back to reality. The reality that you were there, in front of your professor, started to dawn in you like a landslide of mud.
“That damn shorty…” they muttered under their breath, running a hand through their already tousled hair, clearly too exhausted to be fully annoyed, but not enough to let it slide.
You weren’t sure whether to laugh or shrink into yourself. The sight of Hange, disheveled and looking completely unlike their usual composed self, made something shift in your chest. You had always seen them behind a desk or a podium, sharp-tongued and unreadable. But here, in their dimly lit apartment, in nothing but a tank top and boxers, they were… human.
Too human, maybe.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” Hange said after a moment, rubbing the back of their neck. Their voice was still scratchy, but softer now. Almost apologetic. “Levi probably didn’t give you a choice, though, huh?”
You nodded stiffly, your voice still not cooperating with you. “He gave me the address. I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t expect you to answer the door like that.”
Hange raised an eyebrow, then looked down at themselves. “Oh. Shit.”
They laughed—dry and tired, but genuine. “Guess I forgot I was still dressed like a corpse on vacation.”
Despite yourself, a laugh escaped your lips, and the sound seemed to surprise them. For a moment, the tension in the room shifted, not completely gone but replaced by something gentler. Still charged. Still teetering between too close and not close enough.
“You, uh… want some tea or something?” Hange asked, stepping aside. “I’ll make myself decent. Or—decent enough not to traumatize you.”
You hesitated in the doorway for a beat too long before finally stepping inside. The scent of old books, eucalyptus, and something uniquely them filled your senses, grounding you even as your heart continued its erratic rhythm.
“Sure,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “Tea would be nice.”
Hange gestured lazily for you to sit on the couch before padding further into the apartment, muttering something about “real pants” as they disappeared down the hall. You took a moment to look around—books stacked precariously on shelves, papers in every corner, plants that looked like they were somehow thriving under minimal care. It was chaotic, but not messy. Lived-in. Warm.
Their home.
You sat stiffly, trying not to touch anything. Not because the place looked dirty—it didn’t—but because everything in this apartment was so them, and you were hyper-aware that you didn’t belong here. This wasn’t a classroom. There were no desks, no titles, no excuses to hide behind.
You jumped slightly at the sound of feet padding back in.
Hange had thrown on a faded gray hoodie and a pair of loose sweats. Their hair was tied into a loose bun, some strands falling in front of their glasses. Still effortlessly attractive, in a way that made your throat dry.
They moved into the small kitchen and started fumbling with the kettle, keeping their back turned as they spoke.
“So… how are classes?”
It was a question meant to ease the awkwardness, but you could hear the strain in their voice. Like even that was difficult to say without making it sound too personal.
“They’re… fine,” you replied, voice quiet, but not unsure. “Though yours has been harder without you around.”
A pause.
Then, a soft laugh. “You say that like I’ve been gone for a year. It’s just been one day.”
You shrugged, watching their back carefully. “Still.”
Another silence followed, but this one wasn’t suffocating. It was softer now, more thoughtful. You could hear the faint bubbling of the water and the gentle clinking of a mug being set down.
When they finally turned back around, they were holding two mismatched mugs, one of which had a chip on the rim.
They handed you the unchipped one without a word and sat across from you, curling one leg beneath them on the couch.
Their eyes met yours again—and this time, there was no dramatic pause, no intense stare down. Just… quiet. A gaze that lingered too long to be innocent, but not long enough to be obvious.
“You looked nervous at the door,” Hange said finally, resting their cheek on their fist. “Thought I was going to bite you?”
You let out a soft laugh, sipping the tea. It was bitter and a little too strong.
“No. I just… didn’t expect to see you like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like this,” you gestured vaguely, hoping they’d understand. “Human.”
Hange blinked. Then smiled. Slowly. Almost bashfully.
“Don’t let the lab coat fool you,” they murmured. “I’m painfully human.”
And for the first time since you’d arrived, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—that wasn’t such a bad thing.
You didn’t know how long you’d been sitting there, tea long forgotten in your hands, eyes drifting toward the subtle curve of Hange’s smile as they rambled about some theory they were reading before getting sick. You tried to follow, really, but your mind felt like it was wrapped in gauze—hazy and warm.
Then your phone buzzed on your lap.
You looked down, blinking as your mom’s name lit up the screen.
“Sorry,” you muttered, standing quickly. “I need to take this.”
Hange nodded, expression unreadable again. You stepped to the side, barely out of the living room, pressing the phone to your ear.
“Hi, Mom?”
There was a pause, and with an utter of your name, the frail and soft voice on the other line of the call spoke with hesitation, “Are you… busy?”
“No, no. What’s up?”
She hesitated. That alone was enough to set off alarm bells.
“I didn’t want to call, but the electric bill came in today and… it’s higher than usual. And your aunt’s been asking if we can help with the medicine for your grandma and—well, I was wondering if… you had a little extra from your allowance?”
You could hear the shame buried under every word. It made your throat ache.
“Of course, Mom. It’s okay. I’ll send what I can later.”
“Thank you, honey. I’m sorry—I hate asking, I just—”
“Don’t say sorry,” you cut her off gently. “I’ll take care of it, promise.”
You hung up with a soft goodbye and stood still for a moment, staring at the floor. You didn’t notice how tightly your hand was clenched around your phone until Hange’s voice broke the silence behind you.
“Everything okay?”
You turned slightly, blinking back the emotion building behind your eyes. “Yeah. Just—family stuff.”
They didn’t ask more. They just looked at you for a long, quiet moment. Then they stepped closer.
“Sit.”
You didn’t argue when Hange told you to sit again. You just sank back into the worn couch, the warm mug still resting in your palms like an anchor, even though it had long since gone cold.
There was a heavy kind of quiet between you—thick with things neither of you were willing to say. You stared at your hands, but you could feel their eyes on you. Watching. Waiting.
“I’m sorry about what you heard,” you mumbled eventually. “About the call.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
You laughed—soft, tired. “Everyone keeps saying that.”
Another silence. Then the couch dipped beside you, and Hange was suddenly close—closer than before. Their thigh just barely brushing against yours, their voice softer now.
“You work hard,” they said. “Harder than most of the students I’ve ever had. That’s not something people should have to do just to get by.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know what to say at all.
Then, before you could think to stop it, the emotion crept into your voice. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it.”
Hange turned, eyes wide. “Hey—don’t say that.”
“It’s all worth it. You’re worth it.”
Their hand reached out, fingertips brushing your cheek like a whisper—hesitant at first. Testing the boundary.
Then they leaned in.
Not a kiss, not really. Their lips landed just beneath your eye, a featherlight press to your cheekbone. Barely a second. But it was soft. Intimate. And much too warm.
Your breath hitched.
The space between you felt like it vanished.
The feeling of their lips on your skin was like a touch of ice. You could feel the way it was slightly chapped, feeling their breath on your face, and the hand holding your cheek so gently like you were made out of glass.
Then they pulled back—sharply. Too sharply. And when you looked at them, their face had gone pale, expression unreadable.
“You should probably go,” Hange said, voice suddenly rough. “That… that shouldn’t have happened, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that.”
You opened your mouth, but no words came. Not even a nod. Just the sound of your heart beating too fast in your chest. The familiar feeling of anxiety creeping from your feet up to the rest of your body, slowly inching to get to your head.
You stood, legs trembling just slightly, and picked up your bag.
You didn’t look back. And the moment you reached the door, you walked out of there without uttering a single word or making a sound. Only when you heard the door shut behind you, did you break into a run.
You ran, as fast as you could, you ran as far as your feet would take you from that place.
The voices in your head whispered like a mad crowd of protesters, scolding you for your every decision—your every action.
Hange- No, Professor Zoë was right. That should not have happened.
Not between a student and their professor. Not when it could lead to the student being kicked out of the school—and the professor losing their job.