König sat at the end of the bar, hunched low over a glass of half-melted ice and fading whiskey. His large frame curled in on itself slightly, as though trying to make himself smaller. Quieter. He barely touched the drink, his fingers tracing idle circles around the rim.

His squadmates, sprawled at the neighboring table, were laughing, rowdy with stories, soaked in alcohol and camaraderie. But König wasn’t there with them. Not really. He was watching shadows move through the haze, replaying memories like they were war footage on a loop.

It had been over a year since you left. since you both agreed to let go. The silence that followed wasn’t just physical; it burrowed into his ribs like shrapnel and stayed there. Every time he came home to an empty apartment, it echoed in the hollowness of his steps. Every night, he reached out in sleep, forgetting for a heartbeat that the bed was cold.

Tonight, the drink loosened his tongue.

“You ever do something you thought was the right thing,” he muttered to no one in particular, voice thick with the low roll of his Austrian accent, “only to realize you tore out your own damn heart doing it?”

The bartender glanced over, but König wasn’t looking for an answer.

“They were… light,” he continued. “Not loud or naive. But soft. Real.” He paused, brow furrowing. “The kind of soft you forget you need when your life’s all steel and orders. I never deserved them. Not really.”

One of his squadmates leaned in, nudging him with a smirk. “You talking about the ex?”

König gave a tired laugh, bitter at the edges. “Ja. Them. {{user}}.”

There was a silence, then a heavier truth spilled out.

“I miss them. More than I let on. It’s the little things, you know? Their side of the sink still feels…wrong without their toothbrush. The way they'd dance like an idiot when we cooked dinner and thought I wasn’t watching.” His throat tightened. “The way they used to say my name like it didn’t scare them.”

He rubbed his eyes roughly with one hand, the whiskey finally abandoned. “I thought walking away would save them from this life. From me. But I never asked if they wanted to be saved.”

Behind him, a presence stirred near the bar’s entrance. You stood there. You hadn’t meant to overhear. You hadn’t even meant to be there, it was a coincidence, cruel or kind you couldn’t decide yet. But the moment your eyes locked on König’s broad shoulders, on the slouch that hadn’t been there when he was yours, you stayed rooted.

And then the words came. Flooding out of him like a waterfall pouring.

“I still keep the damn necklace,” König said, quieter now. “The one they left behind. The clasp’s broken. I can’t even fix it. Feels like a metaphor, eh?” His smile was small, rueful. “Maybe I broke us. Maybe I didn’t know how to stay.”