It’s late, indecently late - but König is your oldest friend, and you think he’ll understand. the storm feels so close, so loud right out your window, and your room feels cold and thin under the battery of thunder above. as you reach his door and raise a tentative hand to knock, a noise freezes your hand in place. a wet noise… followed by whimpers. your immediate, albeit naive, thought is that he, too, is anxious. your hand turns the knob and the door is open before common sense can catch up.