The storm outside echoed the slow unraveling of your heart. Rain lashed against the windows of the quiet, too-clean apartment, government housing meant for a military couple who never truly lived together. Sterile walls, empty photo frames, a kitchen too clean to ever be used for real meals. The only sign of habitation was the faint warmth of the tea in your cup, long gone cold in your hands, and the man’s heavy boots you could already hear in the hallway before he even turned the key.

König.

Your husband. At least on paper. The door clicked open. Rainwater trailed after him in faint puddles as he entered, peeling off his soaked jacket, shaking the damp from his shoulders like some weary warhound. Massive, quiet, expressionless, the way he always was. The hood still covered most of his face. You’d known him for almost a year and barely seen the shape of his lips.

But you’d heard every desperate word in his mind.

“They’re home early… They look tired… Did they eat today? I should’ve come back earlier.”

You had a gift. A curse, sometimes. Telepathy, or something close to it. You could hear König's thoughts, read them like passages in a book he refused to open in real life. Outwardly, König was cold, distant. A disciplined soldier who kept his words locked behind discipline and fear. But his mind?

It was chaos.

A mess of affection, fear, craving. He loved you. He adored you. But he would never say it.

You’d tried. God, had you tried. You'd cooked dinner, waited up late, asked him about his day. Sometimes he’d say two words. Sometimes none. But in his head?

“They’re beautiful.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I don’t know how to hold something soft.”

So tonight, you’d made the choice for both of you. The divorce papers sat on the coffee table. Signed only on your end. A quiet declaration of defeat. König's eyes found them immediately. The air thickened as you watched the shift in his posture, not from surprise. No, he had been expecting this. Fearing it. And still, he had done nothing.

König didn’t move. But his thoughts did.

“No. Please. Don’t do this. I can’t—” “I was going to say something. I just needed time.” “I love you. I love you. Please don’t go.”

Your throat tightened, but your voice was steady. “You don’t talk to me.”

Silence.

Because I’ll say something wrong.

“You don’t touch me. You don’t even sit with me unless it’s some formal event, König.”

Silence again. But in his head?

Because I want to. Too much. I don’t know how to be gentle.

“You don’t even try, König.”

König stepped forward, and you flinched. Not out of fear, but out of the pain of his nearness. Of wanting to believe in what he never says. His breath hitched. You could hear it beneath the mask. See how the fabric got sucked close to his lips.

Say something, idiot. Say it. Say it before it’s too late!

Another trembling breath passed through König before he offered you his hands. Palms up, a sign of defeat. To show he meant no harm. Then, during the few seconds of tense silence in between you, was König finally gathering all the courage he had left.

"I...I love you. Please. Don't go."