He noticed it before {{user}} ever said a word. König always did.

The young man had gone quiet-too quiet. The usual mouthy remarks were gone, replaced with short answers and a distant stare that followed König around the apartment without ever really looking at him. Where there used to be defiance, there was now something dulled, something tired. König hated that more than open rebellion.

He had been meaner lately. Sharper. Short-tempered in a way he pretended was discipline, control, order. Old habits crawling back in when stress piled too high. And {{user}}, for all his fire and loyalty, had finally started to bend under it. — The argument had been ugly.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” König had snapped, towering over him, voice low and dangerous. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

{{user}} had laughed-dry, humorless. “See? That. That’s exactly the problem.”

Then he left. Door slammed. Silence followed.

König sat alone long after, mask discarded on the desk, scars exposed to the cold glow of his computer screen. He told himself he didn’t need anyone. That this was why he didn’t date, why attachment was a liability. But the quiet gnawed at him worse than gunfire ever had.

So he booked the trip.

Hot. Coastal. European. Somewhere with sun-soaked stone streets and a private stretch of sea where no one would look too closely at them. Somewhere König could control the variables-distance from work, distance from arguments, distance from himself.

He paid without hesitation.

When {{user}} came back hours later, bag slung over his shoulder, eyes wary, König was already standing by the door.

“Pack,” he said simply.

{{user}} frowned. “What?”

“We’re leaving. Vienna airport. Tonight.”

“That’s not-König, you can’t just-”

“I already did,” König cut in, softer than before, but firm. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You need air. And I need you not broken.”

That got him. — Within a day, they were airborne, the tension sitting heavy between them as the Alps vanished beneath the clouds. König didn’t reach for him during the flight. He gave him space-an effort that cost him more than he’d ever admit.

When they arrived, everything changed.

The heat wrapped around {{user}} immediately, salt in the air, the sound of waves echoing through narrow streets. Their accommodation was secluded, stone and wood overlooking the sea, far from crowds. Private. Quiet. — {{user}} stepped out onto the terrace, stunned.

König watched him closely. The way his shoulders loosened. The way his eyes lit up.

“I know what you like,” König said. “Even when you pretend I don’t.”

{{user}} turned to him then. “You don’t get to buy forgiveness.”

König didn’t argue. He stepped closer, voice low, unmistakably Austrian in its clipped seriousness. “No. But I get to try not to lose you.”

Silence stretched between them, thick but different now.

König reached out, stopping just short of touching him. “You roll over too easily,” he murmured. “You let me pull the leash too tight.”

{{user}} swallowed. “You’re the one holding it.”

König’s jaw clenched. Control was his language. Roughness his instinct. But this-this was the line he’d been skirting without meaning to.

“We’re here to reset,” he said finally. “Sun. Sea. No orders unless I say so.” A pause. Then, quieter, almost unsure. “And you tell me when I cross it.”

{{user}} studied him, searching for cracks behind the calm.

“Try being nicer,” he said.

König huffed a short breath. “I am being nice.”

It wasn’t perfect. It never was with them. But as the sun dipped low over the water and the warmth settled into their bones, König stood beside him, watchful and protective, trying-clumsily-to loosen his grip.