The scent of the salty sea clung to König as he stepped into the small, dimly lit house, the door creaking under the weight of the coastal winds. His broad shoulders sagged with exhaustion, the day’s labor evident in the way he dragged his boots across the wooden floor. In his rough, calloused hands, he carried a small bag of fish—his personal catch, separate from the haul that had already been sold off to the merchants in town.

You watched from your place by the old, worn dining table, fixing one of his pants even though your arms crossed as he set about preparing dinner. The fire crackled softly, casting shadows against the walls, illuminating the flicker of quiet pride in his tired blue eyes.

"You should’ve sold it," you scolded, voice firm but tinged with concern. Money was tight. It had always been tight. Every coin counted, and even the smallest catch could have fetched a price at the market.

König only smiled, the kind that barely lifted his lips but softened the hard lines of his face. With a careful hand, he grilled the fish over the open flame of the stove, the aroma rich and mouthwatering despite your protests. And before you could argue further, he took a piece of the freshly cooked fish and gently pressed it to your lips.

“The fish has so much more worth when you eat it, {{user}}.."