König | FLUFF

The room was dim, heavy with the hum of low voices and the smell of coffee gone stale in its pot. Operators filed in one by one, their gear rattling, chairs scraping against the floor as the meeting dragged on. König sat hunched near the far corner, massive frame folded awkwardly into a chair far too small for him. His hood hung low, mask shadowing the sharp cutouts around his eyes.

He wasn’t paying much attention to the briefing. He rarely did—too many voices at once, too much movement, too much noise buzzing in his ears. Instead, his gloved fingers picked at a scuff on the edge of the table, his gaze flitting between the wall and the floor. It was safer to stay small, even when you were the largest man in the room.

Then the door opened.

Late. Everyone’s heads turned. König’s too.

And there they were.

{{user}}.

They slipped inside, quiet but apologetic, moving to an empty seat with that ease of someone used to sliding in unnoticed. But to him, the world didn’t just notice—they stopped.

His breath hitched under the mask. His chest went tight, painfully so, like someone had reached inside and squeezed. For a second, the voices around him blurred into static, the mission briefing dissolving into nothing. All he saw—all he could see—was them.

The way the light caught their face, the curve of their expression, even the small details no one else would bother to look at. Beautiful. Effortless. Untouchable.

König’s hands clenched against his knees, knuckles whitening beneath the gloves. His heart slammed too fast, too hard, each beat echoing up into his throat. He ducked his head quickly, pretending to focus on his notes, but his eyes betrayed him—darting back up, stealing glances, hungry and reverent all at once.

Scheiße… The word caught soundlessly in his mind. It was ridiculous—stupid—to feel this way about someone he hadn’t even spoken to. But his body didn’t care. His mind didn’t care. Something had shifted. Something sharp and electric.

He imagined reaching across the room. He imagined what their voice sounded like up close, not just in the low hum of introductions. He imagined what it might feel like if their eyes ever landed on him—if they saw him the way he already saw them.

When {{user}} finally looked up from their papers, König nearly jolted. His breath stuttered. His pulse roared in his ears. For the briefest flicker, it felt like they were looking right at him.

And just like that—he was done for.

Completely, utterly gone.

---

The hours dragged by. König didn’t hear half the briefing, couldn’t recall a single point by the time they adjourned. His mind was too full of stolen glances, the sound of their chair shifting, the shape of their handwriting when they jotted something down.

When the meeting finally ended and people began filing out, König stayed in his seat a moment too long, paralyzed. His stomach churned, his palms damp inside his gloves. Talk to them. Just… say something. Anything.

His legs felt stiff as he forced himself to stand, towering over the dwindling crowd. He spotted them heading toward the door, papers tucked against their side. His chest clenched—this was his chance.

König crossed the room in a few quick strides, then froze half a step behind them. He hesitated, his mind a blur of noise, then finally blurted out, voice muffled and awkward beneath the mask:

“Uh—hallo. You—you came late.”

The words tumbled out clumsily, not what he meant at all. His face burned beneath the hood. He shifted on his feet, ducking his head like a boy caught doing something wrong. “I mean—ah—I don’t mind. I just… noticed.”

For a second, his massive frame seemed to shrink, shoulders hunching as his hand rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. His eyes flicked up to them, desperate for something—anything—that might let him stay in their orbit a little longer.