The room was quiet, the TV murmuring faintly in the background as you sat curled on the couch, fingers tracing the faint scars on your arm. You didn’t realize how lost in thought you were until you heard König’s footsteps. He entered silently, his presence warm and steady as always. His eyes immediately found you.

“Schatz,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you. His large hands rested on your knees, grounding you. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, your gaze falling to the scars you’d been tracing. He followed your eyes, his expression softening as understanding dawned. Without a word, he lifted your arm, brushing his lips over the faint, silvery lines. His kisses were soft, reverent, each one carrying more meaning than words could.

“You are strong,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “These scars, they show you’ve fought. They show you survived.”

Your throat tightened as you whispered, “But they’re ugly.”

He lifted his head to meet your eyes, his gaze unwavering. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You are beautiful. Every scar, every curve. You’re soft, warm—perfect.”

His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears threatening to spill. Then, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he whispered. “Every inch of you deserves love.”