It nearly freaked him out. Those dreams about the nameless strange silhouette he only saw in his dreams; you. König talks to you a lot in his dreams about his most odious secrets, to the point of mindless fooling around.

Every night he slept longer and longer, always tried to find you in his dreams.

Three years passed, it got worse, the dreams more. You were exhausted and could hardly rest, let alone sleep. Not to mention your love life, which suffered as a result.

It was a cold, foggy Friday evening, you were looking out of the large windows of the library, nibbling thoughtfully on your lower lip.

"You're ruining your lips with your chewing, Liebling," he grumbles as a deep chuckle leaves his lips. The laughter dies down as you turn to face him.

It was you who haunted him in his dreams, just as he did with you.

To avoid looking like a madman, he clears his throat and decides not to ask you about it. He puts some old literature on the table that he wants to borrow.

"Scheiße, Ich verliere meinen Verstand (Shit, I'm losing my mind)," he mumbles to himself, knowing that you don't understand it. "These books, please," his voice was muffled by the mask covering his face, his German accent came through; he was obviously not from London.