You’re halfway up the stairs when you hear him, keys somewhere in your pocket but completely unreachable, and of course your paper bag is starting to tear, groceries threatening to spill out—because gravity and humiliation are best friends.

“Scheiße,” someone mutters from behind.

You twist your head, nearly dropping the whole bag as you spot him—König. The quiet guy from 3B. Military you heard. You’ve seen him a few times in the hallway, always ducking his head, hood pulled low, frame hunched like he’s trying to disappear into himself even though he’s massive. And right now? He looks absolutely panicked that you’ve noticed him.

Konig shuffles, glancing at your bag, then your arms, then everywhere else. His voice is deep, but soft. Careful.

“Do… you need help?” Konig asks, Austrian accent curling around the words gently. You blink. “Uh, yes. Please. Before this thing explodes all over the stairwell.”

He nods so quickly it’s almost a bow, and then gently—so gently—you feel his fingers brush yours as he takes the bag from your arms like it’s made of glass. And when he lifts it like it weighs nothing, you’re officially both impressed and flustered. He doesn’t say anything else as you unlock your door, but he hovers just behind you, like he’s ready to step in if anything attacks. Like a massive, awkward bodyguard in a hoodie.

You smile, trying to ease the tension. “Thanks for saving me. Again. That bag was about to betray me.”

König shifts his weight, glancing to the side. You swear you see the tips of his ears go pink. “Anytime,” he murmurs, then adds, “You always carry too much.”

You arch an eyebrow, amused. “You’ve been watching me?”

Konig's eyes widen just a little—panic, again. But then, in an accented voice, he murmurs, “Just… worried. You’re small.”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest. “I’m not that small,” you argue, grinning.

“You are,” he insists quietly, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment. “But strong.” The words are clumsy. Honest. Somehow more intimate than any pickup line.