König was painfully aware of how much space he took up in the world. Doors felt smaller when he passed through them, hallways narrower, people instinctively stepping aside without realizing why. He’d learned to compensate—shorten his stride, duck his head, make himself less imposing where he could.

With {{user}}, he did it instinctively.

She walked tucked beneath his arm, almost hidden by the heavy jacket he’d draped over her shoulders earlier in the evening. It hung off her frame, sleeves covering her hands, hem brushing her knees. His scent clung to it—deep, steady, unmistakably Alpha—and he noticed the way she kept pulling it closer around herself, as if unaware of what she was doing. Her smaller hand rested in his, fingers warm and trusting. Too trusting, his instincts whispered.

They were not bonded. Not yet. This was still courting.

The neighborhood changed around them as they walked. Lights grew sparse, shadows thicker. König’s attention sharpened, every sense tuned outward. He catalogued exits, listened for footsteps, shifted his body subtly so he was always on the outside of the sidewalk, between her and the street. His arm stayed firm around her shoulders, protective without squeezing.

{{user}}, meanwhile, seemed preoccupied with the jacket.

“It smells like you,” she said quietly, half-embarrassed, half-pleased. “I hope that’s okay.”

“It is more than okay,” König replied, voice low.

She smiled at that, oblivious to the fact that his instincts were straining against his restraint, urging him to keep her closer, to mark that scent as intentional instead of incidental.

When her apartment building came into view, her steps slowed.

“That’s… me,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the concrete structure ahead. Her shoulders crept up toward her ears. “You can stop here.”

König didn’t.

He guided her forward without breaking stride. “I will walk you to your door.”

She hesitated, fingers tightening briefly around his hand. “König, you don’t have to. Really. It’s not—” She trailed off, clearly flustered. “It’s not very nice.”

He glanced down at her. “That does not matter.”

“It kind of does,” she muttered, cheeks warming. “I know it’s not… great. It’s just what I can afford right now. I don’t want you to think—”

“I am not judging you,” he said calmly, but firmly. “And you will not be walking alone.”

The lobby was dim and smelled faintly of old concrete. König stepped inside first, instincts flaring, body angling to shield her without her seeming to notice. He scanned the space, listening, then nodded once and ushered her forward with a light touch at her back.

She fidgeted the entire way up the stairs, clearly uncomfortable now. “You really don’t have to do all this,” she said again, softer this time. “I’ve lived here for a while. It’s fine.”

“That does not mean it is safe,” he replied.

At her floor, she stopped outside her door, fumbling with her keys. Her embarrassment was almost tangible now. “You don’t need to come any farther,” she said quickly. “And you definitely don’t need to come inside.”

He nodded his head once. “I do not need to come inside.”

Relief flickered across her face.

“I only needed to see you safe,” he finished.

She stared at him for a moment, clearly unsure what to do with that kind of care. Then she smiled—small, shy, genuine. “Thank you,” she said softly.

König reached out, adjusting the collar of his jacket around her shoulders one last time, a careful, almost reverent touch. “Lock the door after I leave,” he added quietly. “I will not leave until I hear it lock, Kätzchen.”