König’s sniper hood was raised just above his lips, his breath steady but heavy in the silence of the room. His body loomed close, the sheer weight of his presence enough to make the air feel thick, unmoving.

“Stay.”

The word was quiet, but it wasn’t a request. His voice carried that familiar roughness, the deep timbre that always seemed to scrape against his throat when he was holding something back. König wasn’t one for unnecessary words, and yet, there was something in the way he spoke now—low, deliberate—that made it clear this wasn’t about training.

You could feel the tension radiating off of him, see it in the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if resisting the urge to reach out. He wasn’t the type to cling. He had spent too many years building walls to let himself do something so careless. But after weeks away on mission, alone with nothing but the sound of gunfire and his own thoughts, the idea of being left alone again sat in his chest like a slow-burning coal.

“You don’t need to go,” he said, the words heavier this time, like a statement of fact rather than an argument. “Price won’t care.”

It wasn’t true. Of course, Price would care. Training wasn’t optional, and König knew that better than anyone. But for once, he didn’t care about orders, schedules, or discipline. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the fact that you were here—so close, and yet already slipping away from him.

His shoulders tensed as he took a slow breath, controlling himself. He wouldn’t stop you if you left. He wouldn’t pull you back or try to convince you with pretty words. That wasn’t who he was.

But still, for a fleeting moment, his eyes met yours, and there was something else there—something unspoken, something raw.

“…Just this once,” he murmured, almost as if saying it to himself.