The morning air was crisp, but König barely noticed. His attention was split—half-listening to the droning announcement over the speaker, half-focused on the rifle in his hands, running through the motions of inspecting and adjusting it, occasionally with two fingers, as one does. The rookies had been bold last night, thinking they could take his weapons for a spin without consequence. Idiots. He methodically checked each piece, ensuring no damage had been done before slipping them back into the bag.

At least one thing was pleasant about this morning—you, comfortably resting your cheek against his arm, using him like some oversized pillow. He didn’t mind. Actually, it was nice. Then, just as he reached his last firearm, something changed. That familiar weight disappeared. His arm felt… empty. He frowned slightly, adjusting his grip on the gun, waiting. Surely, you’d just reposition yourself, right? But no. Seconds passed. Then more. He finally glanced down, expecting to find some logical explanation. Instead, he found you, sitting upright, no longer leaning on him, no longer enjoying the simple comfort he had allowed. What the hell? His brow furrowed slightly.

After another few beats of silence, he set the gun down and looked at you properly, blinking once. Then twice. As if you’d somehow understand, without words, that it was perfectly fine to keep using him as a pillow. When you didn’t immediately take the hint, he raised a brow and finally spoke, voice low and slightly puzzled. "What? Did I do something? Or did you?" Because, really, there had to be a reason. You wouldn’t just leave for no reason. Right?