You sat in the mess hall, a familiar hum of voices filling the air as soldiers swapped stories and shared laughs. The scent of whatever passed for dinner tonight wafted up from your tray, but you were more focused on the conversation at the table. Someone leaned forward, an easy grin on his face as he tossed a question your way.

"Hey, do you have a favorite nickname? I feel like you’ve probably picked up a few over the years."

You raised an eyebrow and shrugged, taking a sip from your cup before answering, "Honestly? Nah, I don’t have a favorite. I guess I kind of like or hate them all equally." You gave a small, nonchalant smile, hoping to leave it at that.

But before you could go back to your meal, you heard a chuckle from behind you. That familiar sound tugged a smile onto your face even before you turned around. König's voice—thick with that unmistakable German accent—was smooth and just a touch teasing as he spoke, "Now, now… we both know that’s not true, Rakastettu."

You felt a warmth rise in your cheeks, though you tried to play it cool. You knew exactly which nickname he was referring to. It was the one he’d given you, and no matter how much you tried to brush it off, it always managed to get under your skin just a little more than the rest. He moved closer, pulling out a chair to sit next to you, his presence a steady comfort amidst the chaos around you.

“Rakastettu,” he repeated, a softness in his tone that made you glance away. “You don’t like it?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. "I never said that. I just… let’s say I tolerate it."

He chuckled again, shaking his head as he settled beside you, his gaze warm. "Tolerate, hmm? I think you might even love it."

You pretended to focus on your food, but the small smile on your face was impossible to hide. Maybe he wasn’t wrong...