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The evening air in Trost was cool and alive with the hum of taverns, the scent of roasted meat drifting out of open doorways. The cobblestone streets still held the day’s warmth, but a gentle breeze carried the promise of autumn, ruffling cloaks and hair as it passed. Overhead, the moon hung high and bright—just past full—casting a pale silver glow that softened the sharp lines of rooftops and made the lanternlight in shop windows flicker like gold against shadow. A few clouds drifted lazily across the sky, but the night was calm, hushed in a way that made the laughter spilling from nearby taverns feel warmer, more alive. Hange adjusted their glasses, catching a glint of moonlight on the lenses, and looked between Erwin and Levi, who were walking steadily and quietly on either side of them.
“You know,” Hange said, voice bright with barely-contained laughter, “if you two dragged me out here for some top-secret meeting, I’ll be very disappointed. Today should be for fun.”
Erwin gave the faintest of smiles. “Rest assured, Hange. This isn’t work. It’s your birthday—we thought you deserved a proper night off.”
Levi snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And don’t make me regret it by getting sloppy drunk and singing about Titans in the street.”
“That only happened once!” Hange protested, nearly tripping over their own boots in animated defence. “And it was a very good song, might I add.”
The three ducked into a quiet little tavern tucked between the weathered stone buildings, its wooden sign creaking faintly in the night breeze. A lantern above the door swayed gently, spilling a pool of amber light onto the cobblestones outside, a stark contrast to the silvery moonlight that blanketed the street. Inside, the bar was warm and welcoming, the air carrying the mingled scents of spiced wine, roasted meat, and old oak. Lanterns hung low from iron hooks, their flames steady and soft, casting golden halos across the polished wood tables and highlighting the grain like liquid fire. The chatter of the rowdy crowd was kept to the far side of the room, leaving this corner quieter, more intimate. The owner, recognising Erwin instantly, offered a respectful nod and gestured toward a booth tucked against the wall, where the shadows gathered just enough to make the space feel hidden away, like a pocket of peace reserved for them alone.
Hange plopped down, grinning. “I feel spoiled. Two commanders and little ol’ me. People are going to think I’m special.”
“You are special,” Erwin said simply, raising an eyebrow when the barkeep set down a round of drinks.
Hange blinked, caught off guard, then quickly raised their mug high. “Well, in that case—cheers to surviving another year!”
Levi reluctantly clinked mugs with them, muttering, “Barely.” But the corners of his mouth twitched just enough for Hange to notice.
As the night went on, the pub’s bustle mellowed into a comfortable background hum. The lantern on their table flickered gently, casting a soft glow over the three of them as the mugs emptied and laughter replaced the usual weight of strategy and silence. At one point, Hange found their gaze drifting toward the small flame. It swayed inside its glass cage, bending and leaping with every faint draft, alive in a way that felt almost otherworldly. The light shimmered across their lenses, caught in the amber of their drink, danced along the curve of Levi’s teacup. Hange tilted their head, mesmerized.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Something so small, and yet it brightens the whole room.” Their voice carried a rare softness, thoughtful in a way that made the other two glance at them.
For a heartbeat, Hange’s grin gentled into something more tender—then they shook themselves and added with a laugh, “Not that I’d ever trust myself near an open flame. You remember the gunpowder incident.”
Levi ignored Hange's odd comments, dismissing them as drunken murmurs and instead focused on Erwin, who leaned back against the booth, his deep voice carrying a steady rhythm as he recounted an old cadet story. “You should’ve seen it—half the squad tangled up in their manoeuvre gear because someone misfired the gas at the wrong time. We looked like flies caught in a web.”
Hange slapped the table, seemingly having returned to this world, glasses sliding down their nose as they broke into delighted laughter. “Wait, wait—did you all just hang there, flailing? Tell me someone fell on their head!”
“Not someone,” Erwin admitted, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Me.”
Hange howled, pounding the wood hard enough to slosh their drink. “Commander Erwin Smith! Top of his class, fearless leader of humanity—taken down by faulty gas pressure!” They threw in a dramatic sound effect, complete with exaggerated arm-flailing.
Levi took a sip of his drink, unamused on the surface, but his eyes glinted. “Figures. Even back then, you were full of hot air.”
Hange nearly spit their drink, snorting so loudly a patron at the next table glanced over. “Oh, that was good. You’ve been sitting on that one, haven’t you?”
“Didn’t need to,” Levi replied flatly. “You hand me material every five seconds.”
The stories spun on, weaving small, ordinary threads of their lives into something warm. Levi muttered about the time a stablehand gave him a baffled look for polishing his teacup in the stables—“I don’t see what’s so strange about not wanting horse dust in your drink”—while Erwin nearly choked laughing at the image.
And when Hange animatedly re-enacted their near-disastrous experiment with gunpowder in the mess hall—arms flapping, sound effects loud enough to draw more glances from nearby tables—Levi cut in dryly with, “You forgot the part where you almost singed your eyebrows off.”
“Almost!” Hange protested, holding up both hands triumphantly. “See? Both still intact. That’s what counts.”
Erwin’s chuckle rumbled low in his chest as he lifted his mug again. “Only you, Hange.”
The three of them leaned closer over the table, shoulders brushing now and then, the outside world fading to nothing more than moonlight through the windows and the steady clink of mugs. No missions. No plans. Just them, laughter spilling as freely as the drinks, like they were ordinary people in an ordinary world, if only for a night.
At one point, Hange leaned back against the booth, mug in hand, and sighed happily. “You know what? This is nice. Titans, battles, strategy—they all fade away for a moment, and it’s just… us.”
Levi glanced at them, then at Erwin, before giving a small nod. “Don’t get used to it.”
But his tone wasn’t sharp—it was the closest thing to fondness he ever let slip, at least in front of them.
Erwin raised his glass one final time. “To Hange. May you keep your spirit, your brilliance, and your laughter. We need it more than you know.”
The warmth of the tavern seemed to deepen at his words. Hange’s grin softened, their eyes shimmering a little in the lantern light.
“To me, huh? Guess I’ll allow it.” They tapped their mug against both of theirs, voice bubbling with joy. “Here’s to all of us. The strange little family no one asked for—but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
For one night, the burdens they carried were set aside. Just three friends, shoulders brushing in a quiet corner of the world, reminding each other that even here, even now, there could be laughter.