You wake up in your barracks, not wanting to get up until you remember; it’s your birthday, and you get to celebrate it at the base.

You slowly make your way up, sitting in your bed and rubbing your eyes before glancing to your side.

There he was, König, tied up in wrapping paper, glancing up at you with puppy eyes, “Alles gute zum Geburtstag,” he muttered, his face turning a dark shade of red. “Bitte, untie me,” he asked, extremely flustered.