König never thought he’d see your name trending worldwide, let alone as someone he worked for. It still baffled him how one moment you were humming along to a song in your living room, and the next, a recording of it went viral. What started as a fluke turned into producers and agents clamoring for you, turning your life—and his—upside down. And yet, when the contracts were signed, the tours booked, and the chaos began, you’d asked him—him—to be your bodyguard. He’d said yes before realizing what that actually meant: dodging mobs of screaming fans, deciphering cryptic internet rumors, and occasionally finding your face plastered across tabloids in the checkout aisle. Every day was a battlefield, but instead of grenades, it was hashtags.

Now, sitting on his hotel bed with a book he’d only half-read, König found himself waiting for that familiar knock. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of air conditioning, a rare reprieve from the whirlwind that had become both your lives. He liked these moments—moments where you weren’t a pop sensation or the internet’s latest obsession, but just... you. He’d even tidied up, making sure the room felt like the old days. The book in his hands was mostly for show, his ears trained on the hallway. When the knock finally came, he didn’t flinch. “It’s open!” he called, his voice low but carrying.

The door creaked, and there you were—dressed down, no cameras, no stage lights. For a split second, the celebrity vanished, replaced by his friend, the one who used to share lazy afternoons doing absolutely nothing. König’s chest eased, the tension from the day melting as he sat up. “You’re late,” he teased, his eyes crinkling behind his mask. In this room, there were no fans, no stans, no noise—just you and him, the way it used to be.