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The click of the lock must wake Hange, because when Pieck nudges the door open with her elbow, the first thing she sees is their head peeking out from under the covers, hair a chaotic mess from sleep. The morning light barely filters in through the half-drawn curtains, golden rays creeping up the bedsheets, yet Hange still squints at her like she’s dragged in the entire Roman sun with her.
"Welcome back," they mumble, voice thick with sleep.
They must have rolled over at some point, probably trying to escape the light Pieck had let in before leaving. Now, their eyes flicker between her and the window, bleary, unfocused. Then, their gaze drops to what she's holding.
"Is that—"
"Breakfast? Yes." Pieck moves smoothly, placing the takeout tray onto the TV console in a single fluid motion as she removes her sunglasses. The moment she does, she can feel their gaze settle on her—soft yet laced with quiet judgment.
"We did miss the hotel breakfast downstairs."
Hange makes a low, thoughtful noise, but they’re still caught in that sluggish state between waking and sleeping. They blink slowly, deliberately, like their body is still making the conscious effort to rejoin the world of the living.
"What time is it?" they finally ask.
"Ten in the morning," Pieck chirps, reaching for her own coffee from the tray. She hears the rustle of covers and expects them to reach for their glasses, maybe sit up and groan about how it’s too early for anything other than espresso. But when she turns, she finds them rolling over instead, tugging the entire duvet up and over their head with an exaggerated wiggle.
Pieck huffs out a soft laugh, amused despite herself. It’s adorable. She only half-means it when she draws out her words in a sing-song whine, "Hange, I said it’s ten in the morning."
A muffled noise comes from under the covers—something between a groan and a protest. Then, barely audible, “You said I could catch up on sleep today…” Another mumble follows, but it gets swallowed by the fabric, rendering it indecipherable. "You said I could have a day."
If it were up to Pieck, Hange could have everything.
They had spent the past few days on their feet, weaving through Florence’s winding streets, lingering in front of art so stunning it felt unreal, tasting wines that left their lips stained and smiles loose. And now, here they were in Rome, the next chapter of their trip—and yet, Pieck already knew that if left to their own devices, Hange would throw themself into yet another packed itinerary, mind spinning, always wanting to absorb more, to know more.
Pieck had learned something about Hange over time: for all their endless energy, their bouts of exhaustion had little to do with actual sleep deprivation. Their mind was always running—analyzing, planning, reaching into the world and trying to grasp all of it at once. Sometimes, it caught up to them, drained them in ways they wouldn’t admit.
And yet, miraculously, Pieck doesn’t point any of this out.
Instead, she simply smiles, placing her coffee down untouched before walking over to where they’re curled up. Carefully, she adjusts the duvet around them, tucking it in so they can cocoon themself properly.
But then she makes a fatal mistake—one she should have known better than to make.
Hange in the morning is impossibly warm, impossibly soft. They smell familiar, like sleep and lingering hints of yesterday’s perfume. It’s too tempting.
So Pieck flops onto them without hesitation.
"Hange," she says again, pressing into their warmth.
A vibration rumbles through the duvet—Hange hums, but Pieck feels it more than she hears it. Slowly, they peek out, meeting her gaze with lidded eyes.
"You were wearing shades," Hange murmurs, their voice still dipped in sleep, yet carrying that ever-present teasing edge. A small, lazy smile tugs at their lips.
Pieck hums right back. "Rome is terrifyingly sunny today, my love."
Hange laughs softly at that. It’s a lovely sound—one of Pieck’s favorites, though she would never say it out loud. "Even more reason to stay in bed longer, then."
Pieck props herself up on one arm, watching them. "You do realize the whole point of this is to actually go out and sightsee, right?"
Hange hums again, this time more thoughtful. They roll over slightly, closing the distance between them. When they reach out, Pieck doesn’t move—doesn’t even breathe— as they brush a stray lock of hair from her eyes, fingertips barely grazing her skin.
Then, with an infuriatingly knowing smile, Hange says, “I thought the point of a honeymoon was to celebrate our newfound intimacy. Preferably indoors and away from the sun."
It’s Pieck’s turn to laugh, breathy and quiet, catching their hand before they can pull away. She presses a slow kiss to their palm, feels the way Hange exhales at the touch—almost unconsciously, like they weren’t expecting the gesture to affect them so much.
"That, too," Pieck concedes, softer now. "But it is not very newfound for us, is it?"
She almost regrets saying it—because in some ways, this is new.
This softness, this easy comfort. The way Hange sighs when she lets go of their hand, only to pull them closer instead. The way it doesn’t even cross her mind to hesitate, to analyze, to question what she feels. It’s new, to want something so simple. To be satisfied by something so small.
For so much of her life, love had been an abstract thing. Something she understood as a concept, not a reality. Warriors did not have the luxury of love, not in the way others did. For twelve years, she had lived with a purpose that was not her own, existed within a system that had no room for things like forever.
And yet—
And yet, here she was, reaching inside herself and finding nothing but love there.
Not duty. Not sacrifice. Just love. A yearning for life, for her life, one that stretched far beyond the battlefield, beyond the expectations that had been placed on her.
The ring on her finger still felt like a wonder. Hange’s ring even more so—every time she caught a glimpse of it, even now, it sent a rush of emotion through her so dizzying that it almost scared her. Almost.
"Pieck?"
She blinks, only now realizing that she had been staring.
"Yes?"
Hange’s lips curve into a knowing smirk. "Does this mean we can stay here a bit longer?"
They widen their eyes slightly, the picture of innocence—and oh, that’s deliberate. Pieck knows it is. She knows exactly what they’re doing, playing her weaknesses like a carefully studied map.
She smiles despite herself, pulling the covers up and slipping beneath them fully. The moment she does, Hange immediately presses closer, seeking warmth, melting into her like they belong there.
(They do belong there.)
Pieck exhales, already knowing she has no defense against this. New or not, she knows one thing:
It will be the end of forever before she could ever say no to this.
"Of course."