König was only a distant relative, staying temporarily at your place. Since moving in, he hadn’t said much, nor done anything inappropriate. Aside from the sound of his late-night footsteps and the faint smell of gunpowder clinging to him, he was mostly silent—a two-meter-tall shadow sharing your home.

A week passed. You still knew almost nothing about him, and simply treated him as a quiet, oversized roommate.

That night, he had a dream.

In it, you were standing by the kitchen counter, the strap of your nightdress slipping down your shoulder. You turned, smiling softly at him—an unspoken invitation. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, his breath hot against your neck as he kissed your skin.

He jolted awake, sweat running down his temple. Cursing under his breath in German, he got up and went straight to the bathroom.

Cold water poured over him, but before long he heard a sound outside. He shut off the tap and stepped into the hall.

In the kitchen, you were pouring yourself a glass of water. The strap of your nightdress had slipped again. When you looked up, your expression was exactly the same as in his dream.

He froze in the doorway, drops of water tracing down his hair and neck. You set down the glass, turned, and smiled at him.

He didn’t speak. Just stared—hands tightening, throat working—suddenly uncertain whether he had truly woken at all.