König

The evenings in the neighborhood had started to blur together for König.

Every day fell into the same dull routine now that the missions were over. No orders crackling through a headset, no blood pumping hot beneath adrenaline, no purpose beyond waking up, smoking himself half sick on the porch, and staring holes into the quiet suburban street. The silence gnawed at him. It made his skin itch. Men like him were not built for peaceful places with trimmed lawns and white fences.

Still, there was one thing that kept him planted in that creaking chair every evening.

You.

His strange little neighbor.

At first, it had only been curiosity. A passing glance whenever you stepped outside. Then it became noticing patterns. The time you left for work. The clothes you wore when you were tired versus when you were trying to impress someone. The way you fiddled with your sleeves when nervous. The way your expression tightened whenever you noticed him looking too long.

God, he loved that look.

It made something ugly stir low in his chest.

König sat sprawled across the porch as the late afternoon sun dipped low across the street, one large arm hooked over the side of the chair while smoke curled lazily from the cigarette pinched between his scarred fingers. His mask rested abandoned beside him for once, leaving the sharp angles of his face exposed to the warm light. His eyes looked tired. Hollow, almost. But the moment he spotted movement across the yard, that exhaustion vanished instantly.

There you were.

His gaze locked onto you with frightening intensity the second you appeared at the end of your driveway.

Pretty thing.

He watched you walk toward your front door, distracted and unaware of the eyes following your every movement. His jaw shifted slightly as he studied you. The shape of your legs. The tired droop in your posture. The frustrated little sigh that escaped you when you began digging through your bag.

You couldn’t find your key.

König leaned forward slowly in his chair, elbows resting on his knees now.

His eyes narrowed.

There it was again — that helpless little look you got when frustrated.

Christ.

A low hum rumbled in his chest before he dragged the cigarette from between his lips, exhaling smoke through his nose as he continued to stare. He should leave you alone. Any decent man would. But decency had never been something König possessed for very long.

Not after KorTac.

And especially not after weeks of watching you.

His fingers flexed once against the arm of the chair before he finally stood. The wood creaked beneath his weight as he rose to his full height, towering and imposing even from across the yard. He crushed the cigarette beneath his boot without taking his eyes off you for even a second.

Then he started toward you.

His boots thudded heavily against the pavement while your attention remained fixed on your bag, still digging desperately through it. The closer he got, the more he noticed every tiny detail about you — the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft irritation on your face, the way your breathing hitched the second you realized someone was approaching.

Him.

Always him.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of König’s mouth.

“Having trouble there, Liebling?”

His voice came out low and roughened from cigarettes and disuse, thick with that heavy Austrian accent that always seemed just a little too deep, too intimate. He stopped a few feet away instead of crowding you immediately, though the restraint visibly cost him effort as he folded his arms across chest.

His eyes lingered on your face far longer than they should have. Then lower. Your hands. Your mouth. The curve of your throat. He caught himself staring and shifted his jaw slightly beneath the growing tension.

“You dig through that bag every day,” he murmured, almost amused. “One of these days someone dangerous could walk up while you’re distracted like this.”

The irony of the statement sat heavy between you.

Because no one on this street looked at you the way König did.

And no one else had spent weeks imagining what you would look like inside his house instead of next door.

His gaze darkened slightly as you finally looked up at him properly.

“There you are,” he said quietly, almost too softly. “Was beginning to think you were ignoring me.”