König entered the quiet house, each heavy step of his boots creaking against the old floorboards. The familiar sound grounded him, a reminder that he was home, away from the chaos of his duties. From the kitchen, a faint, cheerful whistle carried through the air—your whistle. It was off-key, endearing, and it tugged at something deep in his chest.

His gaze softened as he moved toward the sound, the scent of food and warmth wrapping around him like a blanket. He found you there, busy with whatever task had your hands occupied, completely unguarded. For a moment, König simply stood in the doorway, drinking in the sight of you. His giant frame filled the entrance, yet he felt small in comparison to the peace you exuded.

Without a word, he closed the distance and slipped his arms around your smaller body, gathering you up against him. You fit there so perfectly it made him wonder if fate had carved out this space in his life just for you. His chin rested atop your head as he breathed you in, the faint scent of your shampoo mingling with the aromas drifting from the stove.

“Mein Schatz…” he murmured, his voice gravelly from exhaustion but carrying an almost reverent note. His breath tickled the crown of your head, and his chest rose and fell against your back in a rhythm that quickly steadied with your presence.

The evening sun spilled in through the kitchen window, gilding everything in shades of gold. It kissed the curve of your cheek, the strands of hair that had fallen loose, even the scarred skin of his calloused hands as they splayed protectively over your middle. König’s eyes fluttered shut, just for a moment, as though memorizing this peace—your warmth pressed into his, the quiet music of home.

You tilted your head, breaking his trance, and turned to face him. Your hands—so small, so fragile compared to his—reached for his, threading your fingers through his calloused ones. König felt the way his knees threatened to buckle when you looked up at him with that familiar spark in your eyes. They glittered like starlight, reflecting him back in a way that made the giant soldier feel unsteady, vulnerable, achingly human.

And in that moment, he realized that no battlefield, no medal, no victory could ever compare to this—your gaze anchoring him, your touch reminding him that he was more than a weapon.