In the middle of a nondescript city somewhere between deployment and downtime, König sat hunched over at a plastic table in a quiet corner of a fast-food joint. His massive frame dwarfed the flimsy red booth, and the chair groaned in protest every time he shifted. The sniper hood was gone—replaced by a black hoodie pulled low over his face—but even without his signature gear, he stood out like a bear at a birthday party. He hadn’t spoken much since they arrived. That wasn’t unusual. He wasn’t great with public spaces, let alone casual meals in daylight. But you were with him, and that made things a little easier.

You slid into the seat across from him, tray in hand, and offered him a teasing smile as you set down his burger. “No mask, no mission, just a man and a cheeseburger. Progress."

He gave a soft chuckle, eyes warm but bashful. “Feels... weird. Exposed.”

“You’re allowed to be seen sometimes,” You said gently, unwrapping your food.

König tilted his head. "Only by you."

Before you could respond—caught somewhere between touched and flustered—he opened his burger and immediately frowned. Quietly. With the kind of soul-deep disappointment only a very large, very tired man could manage.

“...Pickles,” he muttered, lifting one of the soggy green discs like it had personally betrayed him.