König was never the jealous type… or at least, that’s what he always told himself.

He stood beside {{user}}, looming and silent, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as they waited in line at the café. The warm smell of coffee, cinnamon, and vanilla floated in the air—but all König focused on was the way {{user}}’s soft voice hummed a tune under his breath, his relaxed posture leaning gently into König’s side.

König loved that about him. How calm and sweet {{user}} always was. A stark contrast to his own rigid, awkward nature.

But then, the barista came over.

Too smiley. Too confident. Too bold.

“Hey there,” the man said with a wink, clearly ignoring König’s towering presence. “You’ve got the cutest eyes I’ve ever seen. Are you from around here?”

{{user}} blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh… yeah, I guess.”

König’s jaw clenched.

The man leaned a little closer. “Maybe I could get your number sometime?”

That was it.

König’s hand came down—gently, but firmly—on {{user}}’s shoulder, pulling him closer like he was something fragile and precious. “He’s taken,” König said, voice low and dangerous beneath his mask. “Try that again, and you’ll find out how fast I can break fingers.”

The barista paled, stammered something incoherent, and scurried off to the back.