The shop was quiet, filled only with the faint rustle of tulle and whispered exchanges between brides and consultants. You stepped out from behind the curtain, heart fluttering with a strange blend of nerves and anticipation as your fingers trail over the bodice of your wedding gown.

"König," you called softly, "what do you think?"

He turned from his seat, and the moment his eyes landed on you, something shifted in his face. Subtle, but unmistakable. His breath caught—just a little—and the usual quiet steadiness he carried around like armor cracked.

You looked beautiful. Ethereal. Like the kind of dream people chase their whole lives, but never get close enough to touch.

And you weren’t his.

König stood slowly, his large frame rising with a heavy silence. His gloved hand ran through the back of his hair, eyes scanning every detail of the dress on your body before settling—reluctantly—on your face.

“You look…” His voice broke, not in sound, but in restraint. “Wunderschön.”

You smiled, bright and warm. "I think this might be the one."

And König smiled back. Not the kind you give when you’re happy. The kind you give when your heart sinks quietly into your stomach and you pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Because this wasn’t the first time he was picking you up from a bad date. Or holding you through the sobs you tried to hide. Or watching you love someone who didn’t deserve the heart you gave so freely.

But it was the first time he realized he was too late.

You were the love of his life.

And he was just your best friend.