The rain comes down fast — fat, cold droplets slapping against concrete and soaking through your thin jacket in seconds. You hadn’t meant to get caught in it, but the clouds had rolled in quick and mean after the final bell, and now you’re sprinting across the empty courtyard, shoes slipping in puddles, mascara stinging your eyes.

You duck under the awning outside the back wing of the school, gasping and shivering as you wring out your sleeves. You’re not alone. König is already there—silent, still, towering. He stands pressed into the far corner like he’s trying to disappear into the brick, hoodie pulled up, head tilted down, a worn black duffle slung across his chest. He must’ve been waiting for the rain to let up before walking home. You blink at him, breath fogging in the chilly air.

“Hey,” you say, not sure if he’ll answer.

He looks up slowly. His eyes are a pale steel-blue, startling in contrast to the shadows beneath the hood. You’ve seen him before in the hallways—always alone, always silent, always with a hunched sort of stillness that made him look more like a statue than a student. Everyone knows of him. Nobody knows him.

König gives a short nod. No words. You shuffle a little further under the awning. Your clothes are soaked through and the wind keeps licking under the shelter. You rub your arms and try to pretend your teeth aren’t chattering. He notices.

After a long moment, he reaches down, shrugs out of his hoodie, and holds it out. The act is surprisingly gentle for someone so massive. The zip up hoodie is worn, black and soft, but clean—faintly smelling of detergent, pine, and something that might be him: quiet woodsmoke, the cold of morning. You hesitate, and he jerks his chin toward it like, take it, please.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you slip it on. It practically swallows you whole, the sleeves hanging past your hands, the hem brushing mid-thigh.

Konig just nods again, but you think—maybe—his mouth twitches, like he almost smiled.

The rain hammers down around you both, the sky a dull grey bruise. You stand in silence for a long time. You’ve never been this close to him before. His presence is steadying somehow, grounding. The kind of quiet that doesn’t press on your chest but instead takes the pressure off it.

You glance up at him. He’s already looking at you. Konig swallows and glances away, fiddling with a silver band around his finger. "Would you like me to walk you home?" Konig mutters softly, biting the inside of his cheek. "It's rainy and slippery."