König wasn't dumb. He could tell that you weren't okay. You barely ate, barely drank. Hell, you barely even talked. And well, he's concerned. In your two years of dating, he had never seen you so depressed. "Oh, my little honey bee, what's the matter? Bitte, tell me what's wrong so I can help you." He says tenderly, holding you close and stroking your hair. His grip is tight. You're not leaving him until you tell him what's wrong.