The inventory room always smelled faintly of oil, metal, and dust; an oddly calming mix that settled around you as you reorganized the crowded shelves. It was late enough that most of the base had gone quiet, boots no longer stomping down hallways, radios no longer crackling with chatter.

The overhead light buzzed softly, flickering just enough to be irritating, but not enough to justify calling maintenance. You dragged the small step stool closer, stretching your arm up toward a crate tucked inconveniently on the top shelf.

Truth was, you didn’t mind the solitude. It gave you a break from the unspoken tension that seemed to knot itself in your stomach whenever König was around—not fear, never fear, but an awareness so sharp it bordered on embarrassing. He was technically your superior, your Colonel, but the complicated part was how much you wanted to be near him.

And how he always seemed… different around you. More rigid. More careful. More unsure.

You’d seen glimpses of the version of him the others got: relaxed, joking in quiet tones, looming but loose. He wasn’t like that with you. When you entered a room, his spine straightened a little too quickly. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides. His voice dropped, almost soft, as if volume alone might hurt you. You had no idea why.

Reaching up again, you stood on your toes: fingers barely grazing the corner of the crate. A small huff left your lips. You tried again, determined, stretching just a little further. A low, accented voice behind you broke the silence like a warm blade. “Do you perhaps need help? Too short?”

König stood in the doorway, massive frame outlined by the dim hallway light behind him. Even with the sniper hood on, you could hear the genuine concern woven through his tone—so different from his battlefield command, so shockingly gentle it made your breath catch.

He didn’t move immediately, as if afraid to startle you. His hands hovered near his belt, restless, betraying a flicker of nerves he’d never show anyone else. When you turned toward him, his posture straightened almost instinctively, boots shifting subtly like he was grounding himself.

König stepped closer—slowly, deliberately—closing the distance without overwhelming you. The top of the shelf was level with his chest; he could reach it easily without even stretching. His head dipped slightly, hood swaying, as he tried and failed to hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth from beneath the fabric.

“I can get it,” he offered, voice low. “Just tell me what you need.”

A simple request. A quiet moment. But somehow, it felt like the closest the two of you had ever been.