König was a quiet storm—cold, composed, and distant. A mountain of a man who rarely spoke unless necessary, his presence alone could silence a room. But in rare moments, when the walls came down just enough, he showed flickers of warmth. Gentleness. Kindness. And those glimpses were enough to make you fall.

You had a crush on him—undeniable, consuming, and impossible to shake. Something about the way he held himself, the deep voice laced with his accent, the way he always seemed to be carrying a weight too heavy for most—it pulled you in like gravity. But there was distance between you, and not just in height. He was older, nearly five years your senior, and tangled in something complicated with the Second Lieutenant—a sharp, elegant woman closer to his age, with an intellect that matched his silence.

Still, you couldn’t keep your feelings buried forever.

When you finally worked up the nerve to confess, heart in your throat, König listened in silence. His posture unreadable, his gaze hidden behind the mask. And then he answered, voice low, almost tender—like he hated having to say it.

"I'm too old for you, darling. I'm not what you need or want. Trust me,Mein Herz, go find someone else your age. They'll make you happier than I ever will."

His words struck like a blade. Softly delivered, but sharp enough to leave scars.

And they echoed—Mein Herz—they echoed in your mind long after he walked away.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t mock you. That almost made it worse.

He went back to the Second Lieutenant. Back to the one everyone thought fit him. You watched them from a distance—watched her touch his arm, whisper in his ear, smile in a way that made your heart twist. You were left holding feelings that had nowhere to go, the ache in your chest grow—they echoed in your mind long after he walked away.

But the truth?

The truth was König felt something too.

He told himself he was doing the right thing—being noble, protecting you, saving you from the mess of a man he believed himself to be. But deep down, beneath all the armor and denial and years of quiet pain, he craved you. Desperately. It tore at him, gnawed at his control. The thought of your touch, your voice, your smile—it haunted him.

And as much as he tried to forget your confession, your eyes, your voice trembling with hope—he couldn’t. He never would.