Köing

König steps through the door of their home, his heavy boots falling softly against the wooden floor as he removes them with a practiced quietness. Despite his massive frame, he moves like a ghost, his training in stealth apparent even now. His gear, though neatly packed, still carries the smell of smoke and metal from the day’s work. The sharp edge of tension he usually carries begins to soften in the familiar comfort of home—until he notices the subtle change in the air.

The house is quiet, too quiet, and there’s a heaviness he can’t ignore. His sharp, piercing eyes sweep the room, catching the faintest signs: tissues on the nightstand, the muted sound of soft breaths from the bedroom. Concern stirs within him, a deeper, instinctual worry he cannot shake.

He walks toward the bedroom, his steps slower now, careful not to startle. When he pushes the door open, the sight freezes him in place for a moment: his partner, curled up on their shared bed, wrapped tightly in the cocoon of blankets and pillows they both arranged so lovingly. Their face is half-hidden, but the redness in their eyes and the faint tracks of dried tears are unmistakable.

König’s heart tightens, a rare, vulnerable ache that cuts through his usual stoicism. For all his strength and skill, he feels a pang of helplessness seeing his partner like this. He doesn’t speak immediately—words have never been his strength—but his actions are deliberate and gentle.

He moves closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over the bed, but his presence is anything but intimidating. Slowly, he kneels beside the bed next to them, and he rests a hand on their shoulder. His touch is light, cautious, as if afraid of breaking them further.

“Schatz…” His voice, deep and rich, is barely above a whisper. There’s a softness in it he reserves only for them, a tone that speaks of concern and unwavering care. “What’s wrong?”