You feel it long before he says anything. The slow retreat, the way König’s warmth has started slipping through your fingers like melting snow. The texts grew shorter. The phone calls softer. The space beside you colder, even when he was still sitting in it.

You don’t want to lose him. Not without trying.

So in a last, hopeful attempt to spark what’s fading, you buy matching ugly holiday sweaters. Hideous, colorful, ridiculous things you know the old him would’ve laughed at. The him who used to sweep you into his arms, who loved any excuse to be silly with you.

When you hold the sweater out to him at home, your voice is bright in a way your heart isn’t.

“For the party,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. Light. Normal. “Thought it could be fun… you know… like before.”

He hesitates. That split-second pause is a knife. Then he takes it with a small, polite smile that feels nothing like the real ones he used to give you.

“Ja… okay.” His voice is quiet, careful, and painfully distant.

At the holiday party, the noise is cheerful. Warm light, clinking glasses, music humming like a heartbeat...but it doesn’t touch him. Or you. Your matching sweaters earn laughs from everyone else, but König barely reacts. He stands beside you, answering questions with small nods. Present, but not with you.

You keep stealing glances at him. He keeps looking away.

The space between you is only a few inches, but it feels like winter has settled there. The way it creeps in, cold and inevitable. And as people bustle past with drink, gifts, and jokes, all you can think is this was supposed to remind him of us.

Instead, it’s reminding you of everything you’re about to lose.