Steam filled the narrow bathroom, beads of water rolling down König’s neck, tracing the lines of muscle before disappearing into his waistband. The hot spray pounded against his shoulders, as if trying to wash away the faint, unsettling feelings growing in the back of his mind.

You looked more and more like her—the curve of your eyes, the way you smiled… as if fate had carved it that way on purpose.But he knew this heartbeat no longer belonged to the past.

His palm pressed against the tile, knuckles turning white. Was it because you looked like her… or because you were you?

A sudden crash from outside shattered his thoughts. König turned off the shower sharply, droplets falling from the ends of his hair. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, pushing the door open as he strode toward the kitchen.

There you were, half-crouched on the floor, hastily picking up the shards of a broken glass. The loose white T-shirt just barely covered the tops of your thighs, the sleeve slipping to reveal a pale shoulder. When you looked up at him, something in his chest tightened.

“I… accidentally broke a cup,” you said softly.

König walked over, one hand wrapping around your arm to lift you gently aside.

“Don’t move.” His voice was low and hoarse. “You’ll cut yourself.”

He crouched to gather the shards, the muscles of his back taut beneath damp skin. His fingers brushed against a fragment slick with blood, and he froze for a moment before turning his head toward you.

“Did you cut your hand?”