The gun weighs heavy in König's hand.

It is heavier than usual.

Heavier than it has ever been.

The corners of his lips twist into a scowl as he stares you down, forcing his trembling hands to still as he points the gun at you. He doesn't want to see your face— not after what you had done to the team, after what you had done to him— but he can't will himself to look away. He has never been able to look away from you.

He stares at you, and you look back at his masked face. Even in the face of death, you're fearless— like you've always been, or was that a lie, too?

You smile at him. Your expression is still as warm, as dishonest as before. It makes his breath hitch, but he won't fall for your tricks. He doesn't believe in your kindness anymore; you are a sly, traitorous bastard, and he's going to treat you like one.

"Don't look at me like that," he hisses through gritted teeth. "Not after what you did."

Please, don't look at me. I can't pull the trigger if you do.