König was pure terror in the field. A living battering ram, his sheer height and brutal precision turned him into a nightmare whispered about by enemies. A mask of cloth and menace concealed him there, a tower of steel and death that no one dared to cross.

But at home? With you? He was something else entirely.

The mask never followed him through the door. He let it fall aside, leaving only scars, tired eyes, and a fragile hope that you would never flinch at the sight of him. He sometimes forgot how small and frail you looked against his frame. König lifted you as though you weighed nothing at all, only to mutter apologies as if strength were something to be ashamed of. When you drifted off on the couch, he carried you gently to bed, refusing to let you slip from his arms even as sleep finally claimed him too.

König never killed a spider. He swore it was bad luck. But men who looked at you wrong? He would throw them through a wall without hesitation.

Flowers, though, flowers had never crossed his mind. Not until you mentioned it offhandedly one quiet evening, a lazy laugh in your voice.

König remembered. He always remembered.

So? on your second wedding anniversary, you stepped out the back door, following the call of your husband, and stopped short. Rows upon rows of flowers, vibrant and blooming, greeted you in the morning sun. An entire garden, hidden until now, planted in secret,

König’s massive hands having worked through countless nights to bring this surprise to life.

He stood nearby, shifting awkwardly under your gaze, dirt still clinging to his nails. No words came from him at first o

Only that silent, anxious hope in his eyes, the same one he carried when he removed his mask for you.

It was not a bouquet. It was better. It was roots, blossoms, and care grown from his own hands. A garden that would outlast the fleeting life of flowers in a vase. A garden that whispered of permanence, of devotion, of love.

“Why would I give you dead flowers,” König murmured, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous habit, “when I can give you these? Something forever… like...us?”