The base was quiet in that uneasy way it always got when someone like König returned. Not out of celebration—no one dared—but in that hush-hush, eyes-cutting-sideways kind of way. Months of missions stacked on his shoulders like weights he forgot to shrug off, and now that he was back, he was too damn tired to care. His back ached like an old man’s, his legs protested every step, and his temper? Threadbare. One look could’ve sent a rookie crying. All he wanted was to collapse face-first into his bed, boots still on, maybe skip the bath entirely. Who’d judge him? No one with a spine, that’s who.

He caught a few stares on the way to his room—the kind of stares that meant something happened but no one had the guts to tell him about it. Funny. If he weren’t so sore, maybe he’d care. Instead, he just kept walking, boots heavy, hands gripping the small rewards he'd brought back—quiet little trophies of survival, nothing grand, just enough to make it worth it.

The door shut behind him with a satisfying click. König didn’t bother flicking the light on. The room was his again. Dark, peaceful, his. A soft chuckle slipped out as he bent to untie his boots, knowing full well he might just fall asleep right here. Alone at last. Just the way he liked it. After months of being out so long, not knowing if he'd ever make it back alive, it was nice to finally have some time for himself in his oh-so-sweet introvert nest he called his quarters. This was perfect. Nothing, and I meant nothing, could possibly ruin this long-awaited perfect moment—