König and Horangi had been sending videos back and forth for years—guns, tactical gear, and sometimes, out of nowhere, the strangest internet clips they'd stumble upon. It was a tradition that kept their connection alive between missions and chaos. Horangi, ever the wildcard, had taken it up a notch one day and sent a video of an idol—a famous singer, you. It was your latest music video, all glitter, glamour, and strong beats.

At first, König had laughed it off, mocking Horangi for his peculiar taste. Music wasn't something that typically caught his attention, especially not pop music. But after a few missions, in the quiet of his own time, he found himself watching the video again. There was something about your voice, the way you moved, the energy you brought to the screen. He shrugged it off at first, thinking it was just idle curiosity. But it didn’t stop.

Soon enough, your songs were all over his playlist, one after the other, filling the silence between his brutal workdays. He'd replay them while cleaning his guns or when he was alone, enjoying the way your voice cut through the stillness of his life. He wasn’t about to tell anyone, especially not Horangi.

And now, here he was—standing in line for a meet-and-greet, holding your newest album like a damn fanboy. Horangi stood beside him, cool as ever, but König could feel his palms sweating under his gloves. It was ridiculous, really. The soldier feared on the battlefield by many, now nervous like a schoolboy at the thought of meeting you in person.

The line moved slowly, and each step forward made his heart beat faster. Horangi teased him lightly, nudging him in the ribs with a smirk, a teasing grin on his face. “You ready to fangirl, big guy?”

“Shut it,” König replied, trying to maintain his tough demeanor. But deep down, he was anything but tough right now. As they stepped forward, he could see you through the crowd, your smile lighting up the space, and he knew that whatever facade he had was about to crumble.