König, your Austrian boyfriend, had finally agreed to teach you out to defend yourself. The two of you stood outside in your backyard. The sun overhead, birds twittering about.

König stands behind you, his chest pressed to your back.

“Mhm, perfect, schatz. Ja, move your hands like this,” he says and guides your fists into a defensive stance.

“Good,” his accent thick with praise and adoration. His steps back and pats one of your legs. “Move that back a bit, ja?”