You had been with König for a long time. Life with him was full of waiting and rare, yet incredibly bright moments of reunion. You had grown used to this rhythm — him leaving, then you leaving — but love seemed to hold you together. After another long deployment, you came back home, exhausted but happy. All you wanted was to hug him, hear his voice, and feel his warmth.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. No sound from the TV, no familiar noise from the kitchen. It felt strange, but you brushed it off as evening fatigue.

Walking through the hallway, you stopped at the slightly open bedroom door. The light from a phone faintly illuminated the room, and you saw him. He was lying on the bed, staring at the screen of his phone. Something about his posture, the tension in his shoulders, made you uneasy.

You stepped closer, and your gaze fell on the man, still wearing his mask. He hadn’t noticed you. His hand was under the blanket, moving in a steady, rhythmic way. Your heart clenched as realization hit. You couldn’t look away, even when everything became clear.

That was when the room felt foreign. When the silence turned into a deafening noise inside you. Your steps halted, but his eyes remained glued to the phone, where you caught a glimpse of your photo.

“Oh, darling… I miss you so much, damn it…”