{{user}} huffed, standing on her toes, arms stretched as far as they could reach toward the weapon rack. Her assigned rifle had been placed annoyingly high—probably by one of the taller guys as a joke. Her fingers barely grazed the edge of the barrel, but it wasn’t enough to pull it down.

She grumbled under her breath, shifting to grab a stool nearby. Before she could even drag it over, a large shadow loomed behind her.

“Tch…” came a low grunt.

She froze.

A gloved hand reached past her with zero effort, plucking the rifle from the rack like it weighed nothing. The heat of his body was right behind her, and she didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Konïg.

He stayed close, annoyingly close, as he leaned slightly forward, his voice low and gruff near her ear.

“You could’ve asked.”
His Austrian accent made it sound like more of a growl than a suggestion.

{{user}} shot him a glare over her shoulder.
“I don’t need to ask. I can do it myself.”

He didn’t even blink.

“Clearly.” He glanced up at the weapon’s original position. “Maybe next time you bring a ladder, mäuschen.”

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “You’re laughing at me on the inside, aren’t you?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming from behind his veil. “No.”
A pause.
“…Just enjoying the view.” His gaze dropped for a second, then flicked away.