König was always an imposing presence, both due to his height and his rigid posture. Since childhood, his exaggerated height made him a target for cruel teasing and bullying. While other kids ran, played, and interacted, he stayed isolated, shoulders hunched, eyes low, trying to disappear into the crowd.

Bullying followed him throughout his adolescence. He became the target of laughter, the clumsy giant who couldn’t fit in. The more he tried to defend himself, the more crushed he became by words and stares. He had no friends—only loneliness. With every insult, he built a thicker, colder wall around himself.

Over time, he transformed. The pain of those memories couldn’t be erased, but he learned to use them. The moment he left his town behind and joined the army, the shy boy faded away. He made himself strong, invincible. The cruel words became fuel for his strength, and he vowed never to let anyone walk over him again. König became a wall of pure discipline and power.

But those memories... sometimes, when he closed his eyes, they returned. The bullying, the humiliation, the isolation. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, the past would still haunt him when he least expected it.

That night, König stood in front of your dorm door, eyes fixed on the spot where he knew you were, even though the door was closed. He remained motionless, his body tense, as if the weight of his memories kept him from taking the next step. His breathing was slow, deep, reflecting his inner turmoil. König never needed anyone. He never asked for company. He didn’t know how.

For a moment, he hesitated, fists clenched at his sides. But there was something about you that made him question that. Something he couldn’t ignore.

Finally, he knocked on the door. The sound was quiet but firm. He waited, hearing your voice on the other side.

"Come in."

Before you could ask what was going on, he spoke, cutting you off with a question almost automatic, yet tinged with hesitation.

"Can I stay here?"