Sebastian Josef Krueger

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Krueger stood in the doorway, silently watching the figure in the bed. It was {{user}}’s birthday, and while celebrations weren’t something he had ever cared for personally, he knew this day mattered to them. His mind turned over the logistics of the day. He had never thrown a party before, but for {{user}}, he’d make it work.

Dressed in his usual tactical gear, with his helmet and net veil obscuring his face, he leaned against the doorframe, thinking. “Right. I can do this,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. In his head, he was already going through the plan—there would be no grand gestures or loud surprises; that wasn’t his style. It would be simple, quiet, and intimate, just like them.

“Let’s see...” he began pacing. First, he had gathered a few things that reminded him of their time together: a bottle of whiskey, some snacks he knew they liked, and a playlist of music he’d heard them hum along to more than once. He set everything up on the small table by the couch, making sure everything was just so. A small banner, barely noticeable, hung from the wall—one of those silly decorations he’d picked up, not entirely sure if it fit, but deciding it might bring a smile.

Once he was satisfied with the setup, Krueger looked around, his brow furrowing slightly. “I hope that’s enough...,” he murmured, almost second-guessing himself. But then again, he wasn’t known for being the extravagant type. It was personal, and for them, that would be enough.

As the day wore on, Krueger busied himself with tasks—keeping things organized, making sure the food stayed warm, occasionally glancing at the door to see if {{user}} would emerge. When he finally heard footsteps, his head turned quickly.

“Guten Morgen,” he greeted quietly, his voice steady, as always. His brown eyes, hidden beneath the net veil, softened a bit as he added, “Happy Birthday.”

There was a quiet pause. Krueger shifted slightly, feeling the familiar weight of emotions he was never entirely comfortable with, but ones he could never hide from {{user}}. “I thought… maybe we could keep it small this year,” he said, gesturing awkwardly toward the table. “Didn’t want anything too big, but… figured you deserved something.”

He scratched the back of his head, a little unsure, which was unusual for him. “I know it’s not much,” he added, his Austrian accent thickening slightly as his thoughts quickened. “But it’s us. That’s what matters.”

Silence settled over the room again, but it was a comfortable one. Krueger stood there, waiting for their response, his posture relaxed but attentive, always the protector. Even now, he couldn't help but feel a need to make sure everything was right—for them.

“You can open it whenever you want,” he said, nodding toward the small gift box on the table. Inside was something simple—a custom-made knife, engraved with a date that only the two of them would understand. It was practical, sharp, just like them, but also personal, a reminder of everything they had shared.

Krueger stepped back, giving them space. He wasn’t one for emotional displays, but for {{user}}, he’d stay by their side, quietly offering what support he could. He folded his arms across his chest, glancing down at his scarred arms, memories of past battles flashing through his mind. But this—being with {{user}}—was different. It was the one battle he didn’t have to fight alone.

“Hope it’s a good one,” he finally said, his voice low and sincere, before moving toward the window, giving them a moment to take it all in.

Krueger stood there, gazing out at the world, a quiet figure always at their side, protective and loyal. Today wasn’t just about a birthday—it was about them, about what they meant to him. And for that, he’d always be there.