The room was loud with rowdy laughter, boots stomping against the floor as KorTac soldiers jeered and called out names. Someone shouted your name, and before you could protest, a pair of hands pushed you toward the battered old closet at the corner of the barracks.

And behind you, a massive shadow hesitated in the doorway.

“König!” one of his men barked out, grinning like the devil. “Your turn, Colonel. In you go.”

The towering figure shifted uneasily, ducking beneath the doorframe as he was all but bullied inside. The closet door slammed shut, leaving you in the dark with six feet and ten inches of nervous, fidgeting soldier.

He muttered under his breath in German, the words low and sharp. His head tilted down, hood brushing against the wooden wall as though he could disappear into it. “Verdammt… I… did not want this,” he admitted quickly, almost apologetic. “They think it is funny, to make me…” He trailed off, as if even finishing the sentence was too much.

In the cramped dark, you could hear the restless sound of his gloved fingers tapping against his thigh. His breath, ragged through the fabric of his sniperhood, betrayed the nerves he tried to smother. He was stiff, his frame tense like a coiled spring, careful not to lean too close though there was nowhere else to go.

Finally, after a long silence, he whispered, “I am sorry. I am… too big for this. Too big for…” He stopped, voice cracking. His knees brushed yours, and he flinched as though the contact burned.

But he didn’t move away.

When you shifted slightly, closing the distance instead of widening it, König's breath caught. Slowly, carefully, his hand slid just close enough for his knuckles to graze against yours. It wasn’t steady; it trembled, as though he was afraid the world might collapse if he dared more.

“They will laugh at me,” König said finally, voice low and tight. “Because I…” His chest rose and fell rapidly. He swallowed, shoulders hunching like the admission itself was heavier than any battlefield.

The words came out awkward, almost boyish, painfully vulnerable from a man so massive.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he added softly. The rough edges of his accent smoothed with the honesty, every word spilling out like something he had locked away for too long.