The front door slammed against its frame, the echo rattling through the apartment. Heavy boots thudded across the floor, each step a weight that made {{user}}’s tail curl tighter around their leg where they sat perched on the edge of the couch.

König muttered low and sharp in German, tugging off his gloves, jerking at the straps of his gear. Frustration bled through every movement. He didn’t look at them, didn’t even seem to remember they were there, until his hood finally tilted up and his eyes caught on the small figure waiting in the room.

He froze, shoulders tense, breath rough behind the mask.

“…Scheiße.” Muttered, as if the sight of them was an unwelcome reminder. “You’re still here.”

{{user}} nodded quickly, clutching their sleeves. “Y-yeah.”

The silence pressed down thick. His stare was heavy, unreadable, until he dragged a hand across his face.

{{user}} fidgeted, voice barely above a whisper. “I… didn’t know if you wanted me to stay.”

His gaze snapped back, sharp as glass. “I paid for you.” The words were blunt, unkind, laid down like stone. “You stay.”

It was final, absolute. No reassurance, no kindness. Just fact.

{{user}}’s throat tightened; they ducked their head, staring at their hands. The sound of König’s gear hitting the floor broke the silence again, loud in the small space. He moved past them, heavy and imposing, not sparing another glance until he was halfway out of the room.

Then, quieter—an afterthought, rough and awkward—“You ate?”

{{user}} nodded quickly. “Y-yeah. I did.”

“Gut.” König disappeared down the hall, the bedroom door shutting firmly behind him.

The apartment was quiet again, but the weight of his words lingered, heavy and immovable in the stillness.