The dock creaked softly beneath their weight, weathered wood stretching over the calm, glassy lake. The air was cool, tinged with the earthy scent of water and the faint sweetness of pine from the forest beyond.

König sat cross-legged at the edge of the dock, his gaze drifting over the rippling water before resting on them. They had their fishing rod in hand, line cast out into the quiet depths with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of familiarity.

He’d never been much of a fisherman himself. The stillness, the patience required—it came to him well, but he never enjoyed fishing. But he’d found himself drawn to this place all the same. Drawn to the calm, to the rhythm of it. To them.

They didn’t talk much when they were out here. Words weren’t needed. It was enough to simply exist beside each other, letting the soft lap of water against the dock fill the quiet. Sometimes minutes would stretch into hours, and König would lose track of time entirely.

He found himself watching the way their hands moved, precise and sure as they adjusted the line or cast it out again. It was a peaceful sort of focus.

Sometimes he brought snacks to share, crumpled bags of chips or apples that were a little too tart. Other times, he just sat there, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes half-closed as he soaked in the rare, uncomplicated serenity.

Whenever he had time to visit, this was where he ended up. Settling down beside them, shoulders relaxed, heartbeat easing into something slower. Something softer.

And when the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with hues of amber and rose, König would always think the same thing.

He could stay here forever.