Behind blue eyes and a sniper hood is König living his life. Even in public. You are the only safe space he has. You are the only one who sees him without the weight of fabric and expectation pulled tight around his face. In crowds, he keeps the hood up out of habit more than necessity. His shoulders stay squared, posture rigid, eyes always scanning. People glance once and then look away. He notices every time. He always does.

With you, it is different. The hood comes down the moment the door closes behind you. Not dramatically. Not with ceremony. Just a quiet motion, like setting something heavy aside. His breath changes after that. Slower. Real. The blue of his eyes softens, loses its edge, and for a moment he looks almost unsure of himself. You never comment on it. Never ask him to take it off. You simply make space. König sits closer to you than necessary, large frame folding in on itself just enough to fit. His knee presses against yours, grounding. When he speaks, his voice drops into something quieter, warmer, stripped of command and distance. “They don’t look at me the same way you do,” he admits once, not meeting your eyes.

With you, he does not have to be the giant. He does not have to be terrifying or untouchable or endless. He can be tired. He can be gentle. He can lean his forehead against yours and let the world exist somewhere else for a while. Outside, König is a silhouette and a reputation. Here, with you, he is just a man who wants to be seen and finally is.