König sat on the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen as a random documentary played in German. The sound of the baby’s soft cooing from the doorway caught his attention, but his gaze remained fixed forward, unwilling to acknowledge the life in your arms. He seemed tense, like he was bracing himself for something, as if he could feel the weight of the situation but was unsure how to react.

You slowly walked into the room, the baby cradled gently in your arms, rocking them softly. König’s head turned just slightly in your direction, and you could see his body stiffen, like he was unsure what to do. He didn't look at you fully, his gaze flickering nervously between you and the TV, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to do something—anything—but was paralyzed by uncertainty.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice carrying more warmth than you felt.

König’s eyes darted to the baby briefly before quickly returning to the TV, his breath catching in his throat. His posture was tense, like a cornered animal, and he spoke, but it was barely above a whisper. “Hey.”

He shifted awkwardly on the couch, not meeting your eyes. His gaze flickered back to the baby, and you could see the discomfort in his face, a hint of fear creeping into his features as he swallowed hard. He seemed almost afraid, unsure of how to act or how to behave around the baby, like he might do something wrong.

You could see the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides, trying to stay still, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. The weight of the situation seemed to be suffocating him, and he didn’t know how to escape it. His discomfort made the room feel smaller, quieter, and you could almost hear his heart racing.

He cleared his throat nervously, as if trying to shake off the panic rising in his chest, but the hesitation remained. He didn’t know what to do with you or the baby, and the uncertainty made the distance between you both feel miles apart, even though you were in the same room.