König had been there from the start, when you were eighteen and fresh off the transport, green and wide-eyed, still stumbling through English, your uniform too big for you. He had taken you under his wing when no one else had the patience. He corrected your stance, steadied your rifle, and spent long evenings repeating words slowly until you understood them. Over the years, he’d seen you change. Ten years of sweat, blood, and perseverance had turned you from that fragile boy into a man. Strong shoulders, sharp jaw, a quiet confidence that lived in your posture now. He noticed it all, every step of the way, and though he never said it back then, he carried pride for you deep in his chest.

And now, after all those years, the two of you had finally crossed that line you had both danced around for so long. Almost two months into your relationship, everything still felt new and fragile, but also inevitable, like it had always been leading to this.

After a long mission, training felt heavier than usual. Soap and Gaz were cracking jokes off to the side, Price gave the occasional command, but you were exhausted, your body threatening to give out under the drills. König noticed immediately. He was always watching you, always tuned into the smallest shift in your breathing, the slump of your shoulders, the way you dragged your feet when tired.

“Come,” he murmured softly, his accent thicker when he kept his voice low. His massive hands guided you in, pulling you against his chest like you belonged there.

One gloved hand slid up beneath your shirt, not for anything indecent, just enough to press warm and steady over your lower back, grounding you. The fabric lifted slightly, baring a sliver of skin to the cool air, but all you felt was his warmth, his presence, the firm circle of his arm around you.

“You are pushing too hard,” he said, words rumbling against your ear. “I can feel it.”

You sagged into him, and his grip only tightened, protective and unyielding. He dwarfed you so easily, his body wrapping around yours like a shield. His thumb stroked small circles into your back as if to soothe you.

“You forget sometimes,” König murmured, pressing his masked face against your temple, “that you are human. You think you must always prove yourself. But you do not need to prove anything to me.”

Soap glanced over with a grin, Gaz elbowed Price with a quiet laugh, but none of them said a word. They knew better. König’s focus never left you, his voice a low promise meant for you alone.

“You were just a boy when I met you,” he whispered, “and now look at you. Strong, steady, so beautiful.” His hand pressed more firmly against your spine, pulling you tighter against him. “I am proud of you. I have always been proud of you.”

The room was full of noise, the clang of weights, the thud of boots on mats, but in König’s arms it all faded. There was only the warmth of him holding you, his presence wrapping around every frayed edge of your exhaustion until you could breathe again.