The soft, ragged sounds of breathing pull you from a deep sleep. Groggy and disoriented, your eyes blink open, struggling to make sense of the quiet darkness around you. The air feels thick with something unspoken, and it takes you a moment to realize; it's him.

König.

You turn to him, your heart instantly tightening at the sight. His body is tense, his back slightly arched, as if he's fighting something unseen. His breathing is erratic, harsh, like the air itself is a threat. The bed beneath you shifts slightly as his legs twitch restlessly, and you can hear the soft, muffled sound of his whispering breath, too fast, too shallow.

He doesn’t make a sound beyond that- there’s no screaming, no thrashing- but you can see it in the way his fists clench against the sheets, the way his chest heaves as if it’s not his own. His body is locked in a struggle, trapped between the horrors of the past and the fragile safety of the present.