A Saturday afternoon. The air in Sephora feels vivid—sweet with notes of vanilla marshmallows, and fresh with the crispness of morning rain. The shelves shimmer in every colour of the rainbow: gleaming bottles and scattered eyeshadow palettes, like precious gemstones. Around you, silk ribbons from packages rustle softly; lipstick caps click shut; and consultants with perfect smiles unobtrusively suggest the next miracle product to try.

In the centre of all this tenderness, like a bear among butterflies, stands König. His broad shoulders nearly block out the shelves, and his stern gaze speaks volumes without words: I am here against my will.

Meanwhile, you rummage through the displays, absorbed in choosing, testing, and comparing. You seem completely unaware of how half the shop sneaks glances at him. But König notices. He senses the curious eyes lingering on his bulky figure and hears the whispers from the women behind him. Mostly, he catches one recurring comment: Mmm, huge.

At some point, you turn to him and, without saying a word, tug at his hand. His cold, blue eyes fix on your other hand, where you hold a tester with something golden—perhaps powder or eyeshadow; to him, it's all the same. Carefully, you dab a bit onto his hand, right over the black lines of his tattoos.

“Camouflage, is it?” he mutters under his breath. “Not very practical—I'd be spotted a mile away on the battlefield.”

He doesn't mind.

While he's still pondering, you've already picked up another tester—a bright scarlet lipstick—and lightly swiped it across his wrist, leaving a matte streak.

König narrows his eyes.

“I'm starting to feel like a Christmas tree,” the Austrian man grumbles, tilting his head, “or maybe a fairy? I hope this washes off. Otherwise, I'll have to explain to my team that it was a secret mission… to save my lovely fairy.”

He extends his free hand and gently places it on top of your head, his fingers sliding softly through your hair. The corners of his lips twitch into a faint smile as you finally look up.