[ He lets out a breath he may have been holding, feeling something like relief wash over him even though he hadn't properly registered the anxiety clenching his windpipe until then. He swallows. Nods. Alright. They're good. ]
[ Oh, but it seems that Hange has a request for him in return. ]
[ And he really wants to say, "When have I ever died on you?" But then he realizes that it must have felt just like it for them when they found him on that riverbank. He would have died there if it wasn't for Hange, he's sure of it, they gripped him tight and raised him from perdition clawed both of their way out of death. ]
[ He also thinks of that time they don't know about, hours before he was blown up to near extinction, when he closed his eyes and entertained the thought of dying in the hands (and mouths) of his former squad, wondering if it would finally make the sacrifices stop, make the pain stop, but he wasn't free to go just yet, and so he didn't. ]
[ He thinks about all of that and he knows he owes them the same thing. ]
...I won't get myself killed. [ He repeats the words to them, promising, his voice just a hint raspier than usual as if he'd just woken up, or been through an emotional wringer of some sort. He has things to live for again, here, and that's not even counting what he still had back home, too -- the debt to their fallen friends to live the world they didn't get to see. He wonders if Hange knows that, if they can read it from his expression the way they effortlessly do so often he's starting to suspect they can read his mind, sometimes. ] Not if I can help it.
coming at me personally again i see
[ Oh, but it seems that Hange has a request for him in return. ]
[ And he really wants to say, "When have I ever died on you?" But then he realizes that it must have felt just like it for them when they found him on that riverbank. He would have died there if it wasn't for Hange, he's sure of it, they gripped him tight and
raised him from perditionclawed both of their way out of death. ][ He also thinks of that time they don't know about, hours before he was blown up to near extinction, when he closed his eyes and entertained the thought of dying in the hands (and mouths) of his former squad, wondering if it would finally make the sacrifices stop, make the pain stop, but he wasn't free to go just yet, and so he didn't. ]
[ He thinks about all of that and he knows he owes them the same thing. ]
...I won't get myself killed. [ He repeats the words to them, promising, his voice just a hint raspier than usual as if he'd just woken up, or been through an emotional wringer of some sort. He has things to live for again, here, and that's not even counting what he still had back home, too -- the debt to their fallen friends to live the world they didn't get to see. He wonders if Hange knows that, if they can read it from his expression the way they effortlessly do so often he's starting to suspect they can read his mind, sometimes. ] Not if I can help it.