You sat on your cot in the dimly lit barrack, the rhythmic sound of your knife scraping against the sharpening stone filling the small, musty room. It was a quiet evening, no immediate orders, no missions, just the steady hum of distant voices outside and the occasional creak of the aging structure.

Your mind wandered as the blade of your knife grew sharper, catching the light just right, and before you knew it, a song escaped your lips, soft at first, then growing louder as you allowed yourself to fall into it. It was something you’d heard long ago, back when life was simpler, before the uniform and the bloodshed.

“I saw her in the rightest way, Looking like Anne Hathaway, Laughing while she hit her pen and coughed, and coughed... And then she came up to my knees, Begging, 'Baby, would you please, Do the things you said you'd do to me, to me?'”

Your voice wavered slightly, the memories the song conjured up sitting heavy on your chest. You kept sharpening, almost obsessively, trying to focus on the task at hand.

What you didn’t know was that König had been standing on the other side of your door. He had been there for a while, lingering in the shadows, listening to your voice carry through the thin walls of the barrack. You were unaware of his presence, too wrapped up in the task at hand.

König’s hand hovered over the door handle as he listened. He knew you better than most, knew the weight you carried, but he’d never heard you sing before. The softness in your voice caught him off guard, and something about the song made his chest tighten—he could hear the pain beneath the words, the longing.

Unable to stay hidden any longer, he pushed open the door. The sound of the door creaking open startled you, your knife pausing mid-sharpen as you turned to see him standing in the doorway.

"König…" you muttered, unsure of what to say, your voice barely above a whisper as the song died on your lips. You hadn’t expected anyone to hear you, least of all him.