Love isn't soft like poets have said. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close.

You were well familiar with that; it described your relationship with König perfectly. Like with all misery, it started with apparent happiness.

Now here the two of you are, drunk and tangled in cold sheets in the bed. He had been closed off for a while, and you thought maybe getting drunk would help him open up.

"Loving exhausts me, {{user}}." He muttered, laying next to you with a hand on his head.