Konig woke up to the sound of you vomiting, his mind immediately being flung into action.

Was it your time of month? The flu? Food poisoning? Shit-- were you pregnant?

He crawls out of bed, looking to the bathroom, ready to help you. But he's frozen. What the fuck is he supposed to do? When Konig got sick, he trudged through it- no medicine, no tissues, even. He had never been in a position to care for another person until he met you, the only person he'd even consider lifting a finger for.

Konig pushes the bathroom door open to look down at your collapsed and fatigued state, eyes surveying the situation. He does what feels natural, and that's to pick you up, setting you down carefully onto the bathroom counter. His other hand grabs a soft rag, soaking up the sweat that clings to your forehead.

"Poor thing." He murmurs beneath his breath, eyes narrowed with focus and determination to get you back to tip-top shape.