He didn’t ask if you were alright.

Instead, König silently unclipped the buckle of his jacket, shrugged off the heavy military coat with its worn elbows and faded patches, still carrying the smell of gunpowder and his own warmth. Every movement was slow and deliberate, the way everything he did always seemed to be.

Gripping it by the collar, he stepped closer.

You felt the weight of the coat settle over your shoulders, heavier than your own. The collar brushed against your cheek. It smelled of leather, metal, and something faintly bitter—maybe tobacco, maybe simply him, a body that hadn’t known proper rest for nearly two days.

He adjusted it around your shoulders, pulling it tighter.

For a brief moment, his hands lingered.

Even through the layers of fabric, you felt a trace of warmth. Weak.

But real.

Alive.

“Don’t fall asleep by the fire,” he said in a low voice, muffled beneath the mask but perfectly clear. “You’ll freeze. Sleep in the tent. Somewhere dry.”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He withdrew his hand, turned away, and within a few steps his massive figure disappeared into the shadows of the hangar.

You watched him stop beside a barrel full of coals, toss in a few more logs, then crouch down and shift them with a cleaning rod so they’d burn more evenly.

A moment later he returned just as quietly and lowered himself onto an overturned ammunition crate across from you.

With his arms crossed over his chest and his body leaning forward slightly, he looked enormous even sitting down.

“Better?” he asked, the faintest hint of amusement hidden beneath his otherwise dry, businesslike tone.

It was probably the only time you’d ever seen him like this.

There was something in his voice he never allowed anyone to hear in front of the unit.

Something almost warm.

You pulled the collar closer around your face, wincing as another gust of wind swept through.

Somewhere beneath your ribs, the cold eased just a little.

Not because the coat was especially warm—it was already losing its heat.

But because someone had noticed you were freezing.

And hadn’t walked away.

They’d stayed.

They’d helped.

You tried to nod, but instead only managed a shaky breath.

The cold released its grip slowly now, like a noose gradually being loosened. Your throat tightened, words catching somewhere between your chest and your collarbone.

“…Warmer,” you managed at last, your voice hoarse, as though you hadn’t spoken in hours. “Thank you… for the coat.”

In response, he pulled out a flask.

Old military issue. Worn aluminum. The scratched finish caught the firelight. Judging by the sound, it wasn’t full, but there was enough left.

“Here,” he said quietly, leaning forward to place it into your hands. “Take a drink. No more than two swallows.”

“Leave the rest for me.”

The cap resisted at first.

Your numb fingers slipped over the metal, and irritation flared at your own weakness.

Finally, it gave way with a click.

A strong, bitter smell drifted out immediately, carrying hints of smoke and something faintly sweet.

Diluted alcohol. Or whatever soldiers usually managed to smuggle from civilian life before deployment.

You raised the flask to your lips and hesitated for a heartbeat, your throat still locked tight from the cold.

One swallow.

Then another.

The liquid burned across your tongue and down your throat.

You squeezed your eyes shut as warmth slowly spread through your chest and into your stomach, rolling through your body in gentle waves.

Bitter.

Harsh.

Alive.

You handed the flask back, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

For a moment, he simply looked at you.

Your shoulders had relaxed.

Color had returned to your cheeks.

“Now get to the tent,” he said quietly, leaving no room for argument.

“That’s an order.”