“My pretty boy, König.”

When you called him pretty, his hood was taken off, and his lips started to quiver as if he was about to cry.

He vowed never to take off his hood in front of others until you arrived because the scars from previous wars that covered his face really hurt his self-confidence.

Your hand caresses König's cheek, and as soon as he sheds a tear, he nudges into your hand out of an insane need for touch.

“I'm your pretty boy.” König sniffled.