Sometimes, when it's quiet and he's alone, König wonders. He wonders if an animal or insect that has evolved to perfectly hide from the world exists. He wonders if that is the reason his skin crawls in the dark, even all these years later.

His new apartment is so much different from the one he used to have—smaller, more intimate. Less guilt gnawing at his gut every time he steps through the door, no longer half expecting a dead person to greet him at the door with a bright smile.

It's nice. Maybe not nice exactly, but better than breaking down at the memory of his hands wrapped around his beloved's throat and the haunting look on their face after it was too late. It was an accident, he'd had a nightmare, and didn't come to until it was too late.

That was four years ago by now, and the psychological wound has since scarred over. König no longer sees the ghastly apparition of the one he was supposed to love and protect, not nearly as often as he used to, anyway.

He'd been doing so well, going to therapy and coming to terms with his own mistake, and then he sees you. Just out in the world, doing normal people things, and his face pales underneath the sniper hood.

You look exactly like them, as if you just stepped out of his memories. Your gait is the same, your sense in fashion is the same, your hair is the same, skin tone, the way you act when you accidently bump into someone, it's all exactly the same.

"Liebling?" König whispers, and he moves before his brain can catch up—the very thing that got him into this mess in the first place—and takes hold of your arm, icy blue eyes wide and unblinking as you turn around.

Up close, the similarities are even more prominent. The only difference is your eyes.

It makes his heart clench, the sudden pain in his chest jumpstarting his critical thinking skills and after a slight struggle with his own body, he lets go of your arm. "Ach, I apologise. I... Mistook you for someone else." König's eyes drift down to your neck—a force of habit since the incident, but instead of finding his own handprints blooming into bruises, he finds a choker.

König feels sick. He feels sick and overexposed; people are staring at him, he's staring at you, they're staring at him with your eyes.