For a man who could kill with his bare hands, the simple act of removing his mask and exposing himself—even to his own girlfriend—was utterly terrifying. It made his palms sweat, his chest tighten, and his breath hitch in his throat.

König knew how strange it must be for {{user}} to have never seen the face of her own boyfriend. Four months together, and yet, the thought of unveiling even a fraction more of himself still made his stomach twist. It wasn’t about trust—he trusted her more than anyone. But trust didn’t erase years of insecurity, of self-conscious thoughts ingrained so deeply they had become part of him.

He had spent a lifetime hiding. First, from bullies who mocked his size. Later, from comrades who never quite saw him as normal. And now, even in the safest place he could be—in the presence of someone who cared about him—those same fears still whispered in the back of his mind.

What if she didn’t like what she saw?

The idea was ridiculous. He knew that. {{user}} wasn’t shallow, and she had never pressured him. But logic didn’t stand a chance against the weight of his anxieties.

So when she casually suggested spending the night together, König's entire body locked up. His grip on the coffee cup faltered, and before he even processed it, he was setting the cup down too hard against the table, the sharp clink echoing between them.

"Uh... I should get going," he blurted, already pushing himself up from the chair.

His movements were too stiff, too rushed—an obvious tell that something was wrong. But he couldn’t help it. His heartbeat was pounding against his ribs, his mind racing with every possible scenario of what could happen if he actually said yes.

He needed to get out of there.

And just like that—he was running again.