Chapter Text
König was sat by himself in the cafeteria.
Three sausages, a spoonful of beans, and two eggs alongside a 500ml bottle of water were all that consisted of his daily breakfast.
Hash browns would be served raw, and bagels were solid enough to break teeth when bitten into. König didn't even want to consider the sandwiches, as their stale, stinking cheese, their greasy and slippery butter, and their slick ham made him gag.
A pity that they didn't serve authentic Bratwurst or order half-decent — hell, even actual — eggs, as the meat in his sausages tasted out of date and the yolks were a dull yellow. The beans weren't even Heinz.
Looking at the cheap slop on his tray made him lose his appetite. At least the water was drinkable, but its taste was peculiar at best.
König sighed.
Every day "eating" the same breakfast, sitting in the same spot, at the same time...
To say that he enjoyed the routine of the barracks would be an overstatement, as he felt oppressed by the monotony: rigorous and thorough briefings pre-missions; intense training three times a day; shooting drills and target practice right after the sun barely opened its eye or into late hours of the evening when it was hard to see. The same shit, day in, day out.
Yet, he didn't complain, and forced himself to appreciate the predictable structure of the barracks.
After all, routine meant safety.
Knowing the details of the misson and the intel required guaranteed a flawless operation.
Knowing how exactly to eliminate an opponent in any given situation meant that it made the job faster.
Knowing when to dive for cover to avoid a rain of bullets and the rumbling thunder of machine guns in an active shootout equalled survival.
And knowing that you intimidated everyone on base at least made social interactions easier.
All of these extended his life expectancy — by how much was anyone's guess.
Being a 6'10 wall of a pure muscle made him the perfect human bulldozer, and paired with his animalistic instincts taking over while on the battlefield, he struck fear in even his own teammates.
Most of the time, König didn't even need to use a gun, as he could snap an enemy's neck faster than they could blink; and, even if they could do that, they wouldn't be able to react fast enough as he manhandled their body like an inanimate rag doll and snapped their spine in half over his knee. Quick and easy kills.
Other times, frantic stabs in the abdomen, chest or neck finished with a harsh cut of the throat sufficed when sneaking, and allowed him to release any pent of frustration he felt that he wouldn't have been able to relieve through strangulation alone.
Seeing König's brutality first-hand, however, made his teammates lose their balance and struggle to collect themselves during the mission, fearing that he would turn to indiscriminately killing anyone that had the misfortune of entering his field of vision.
Compared to König's animalistic instincts taking over in an active firefight and causing bloodshed, his allies putting down enemies with a bullet to the head seemed merciful, and even... kind.
Unlike friendships, killing people was easy. Keeping good relations with people was difficult enough for König to begin with — with his first hurdle being his social anxiety, and the hurdle of others being getting used to his frightening exterior — and it grew more and more into a challenge as he moved up the ranks, until his position as Colonel made him feared, not respected. People avoided his eyes, and kept conversations to a minimum, bowing their heads in fear, not respect.
After witnessing him maul enemies like a feral animal, König merely walking down the barracks had people scuttling away like rats in opposite directions, a horde of people dissipating in an instant.
Crowded rooms with rowdy laughter suddenly were brought to silence once he made the mistake of entering, with people instantly speaking in hushed whispers, or not even speaking at all, opting to escape before their Colonel addressed them.
Truth of the matter was, König never wanted to be a Colonel. He'd had rather been the one receiving orders than the one making them, as his social anxiety in front of innumerable pairs of expectant eyes put pressure on him in the moment and made it near impossible to let a single word out most times, the lives of so many in his hands, dependent on his commands. It was too much.
He was not a natural born leader — he knew it, everyone knew it — but he kept his position solely due to his ruthlessness in action and his cold efficiency, as there was no one like him that could come close to replicating his behaviour.
Then, to say that he enjoyed the daily routine of life in the barracks.. was a stretch to say the least.
The thrill of killing on missions and the primal adrenaline that took over his veins and clouded his senses could not be more of a contrast to this boredom and overwhelming isolation on base: of every day sitting in the same damned spot; of every day pretending to eat the same damned food; and, of every damned day being avoided by the other operators to be at a peace he was forced to accept, whether he liked it or not.
What a miserable life to live.
The beans on his plate looked menacing, and he had the urge to crush each one individually until they'd stop sneering at him so, as being judged by off-brand beans was running his patience thin.
He wouldn't do that, of course, as everyon else would view him as not only a brute but a mentally unstable lunatic who was now using food scraps as an outlet for his temper; so, he resorted to just picking at the rations instead, his head in his palm, and his gaze elsewhere, pale blue eyes drooping despondently.
So engrossed in absentmindly pushing the beans on his tray with his fork and contemplating what went wrong with him and his life that he did not hear the footsteps walking towards him.
You cleared your throat. "Ahem. Excuse me, sir, but, um — can I sit here?"
König looked up, and saw a young recruit hovering over him with a small brown paper bag in their hands.
Your face was one he hadn't seen before around here, and you weren't in the standard military uniform, so he assumed that you were perhaps a groundsperson of sorts.
You didn't address him as "Colonel", and to others that would've been a one-way ticket to polishing toilets with a tooth brush from other superiors... but for some reason, König felt endeared. Besdes, he was never keen sending subordinates to do that, as it further solidified his menacing status.
Your ignorance of him was probably the only reason you dared approach him, as any other person would have avoided his table at all costs and gotten whiplash from how fast they'd turn their head the other way.
However, he was glad that he didn't intimidate everyone that encountered him, and was internally thanking you for giving him a chance. Some hope. As meagre as it was.
Unbeknownst to him, you were uncomfortable under his scrutinising stare, and tugged the collar of your t-shirt, struggling for words.
A rub of the neck and a shuffling of feet. "S-sorry," you begun, sheepishly looking down at the floor. "It's just... all of the other tables are crowded, and I— I don't know anyone here well... And yours..."
You looked at him, shooting him a lopsided, apologetic grin, "...yours is... well... empty."
"I understand," he stated immediately, looking back down at the mush on his tray. "It is not a problem."
He did understand. If it was him in an unfamiliar place filled with strangers... the best port of call would've been to avoid as many of said strangers as possible.
It was also possible that he was projecting.
You gulped, feeling like he was dismissing you, and were beginning to regret approaching him. "Are... a-are you sure, sir? I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."
Look at you, he thought, so thoughtful about his feelings. When was the last time anyone bothered to ask him how he felt, or treated him like a human being?
"Ja. I am sure."
Still standing, you directed him a shy smile and sat down at a reasonable distance from the man, beginning to unpack the contents of your bag.
König kept stealing glances of you from under his eyebrows, trying to be discreet. Although he actually was uncomfortable — not used to company in the slightest, especially with someone so polite and courteous — he was oddly drawn to you.
He was thankful that you were oblivious to his reputation around these parts, and he wanted to leave a decent first impression on you before you finally overheard the true rumours about him, and paid attention to how quiet the cafeteria had gotten now that you two were sat together.
The thing was, he didn't know where to begin.
Communication was not his strong suit. He mused over potential ways of starting a conversation, yet not only had he never been faced with a situation like this, the language barrier was ever so present. Perhaps if he could speak to you in German he'd be able to formulate his thoughts better, yet at the moment it felt like all his knowledge of English seemingly evaporated in an instant.
"You prepared well your breakfast," he stated plainly, angling for any kind of small talk.
He internally cringed at the order of those words and how wrong that sentence sounded in his voice, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
"W-wow—" An awkward smile (though any smile was a smile!). "—thank you, sir!"
König felt his chest tighten, but he didn't know why.
"My first day on base I had the misfortune of being served breakfast," you continued, "so, from then on I decided right then and there 'Never again!'."
"The food—" you laughed embarrassedly, "—sure is... something."
"Du hast recht," agreed König. "I mean... yes. You are right. If I had a dog, I never would feed it this— these... scraps."
You could sense König hungrily devouring your food with his eyes.
Although he tried to be subtle, he was not good at going unnoticed.
Really, stealing glances of this behemonth in front of you, you kind of pitied the man, especially when the next edible meal would be in precisely 5 hours. With his breakfast beaten and bruised into an unrecognisable pulp, it was definitely too late for him to consume.
Mourning your sandwiches, you silently bid them farewell and took a deep breath:
"Um... well, sir. I assume that you're hungry."
You took out the contents from your bag and slid them in front of him, smiling meekly. "You can have my breakfast."
He looked down at your two sandwiches and his eyes visibly widened under his hood; four thick slices of sourdough bread, a generous slather of butter, cheese, rocket lettuce, and thinly sliced pieces of meat, topped with tomatoes and cucumber slices, and most likely seasoned with spring onion and pepper...
They looked so appetising, and he was positively salivating, yet he shook his head vehemently. "Nein!"
You tilted your head in confusion. König mentally facepalmed at his inadequacy.
"Forgive me. I-I mean... you tried... very hard, and it is not right of me. They are yours."
You waved a dismissive hand, downplaying your gesture. "Honestly, you need them more than me. I insist, sir."
He shook his head again, and picked up one slowly. "One will be enough."
He reached over to take one and you looked at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to take a bite and give you his thoughts... yet it hit you. He was wearing his mask. He probably wouldn't eat in front of you.
A cough. "S-sorry. I'll look away while you eat it. Please tell me what you think about it, though!"
The moment your back faced him, König practically shoved the entire thing in his mouth, and started choking.
He saw you turning back to assist, but he raised a hand weakly to stop you.
Getting over his near-death, he could finally appreciate the freshness and the flavour of the sandwich.
It tasted of... nostalgia. Like the sandwiches his Mama would make for him after school to reassure him and to take his mind off that day's events.
He felt like a young boy again.
When he closed his eyes, for a split-second he imagined he was in the kitchen with his mother chatting energetically, taking his plate and ruffling his hair when he had finished and feeding him another, insisting that he "was a growing boy" and babbling in German.
"So... good..." he mouthed, and was disappointed to see that the sandwich was gone from his hands, already eaten. "Mein gott, that was perfekt. A sandwich of the Gods."
You turned around and you were beaming so brightly that König swore he would need to shield his eyes from the sight.
"Oh— oh my God?! Thank you so much! You don't know how happy that makes me!"
You looked at him, your smile unwavering. "Do you know what would make me even happier?"
He gave you a blank look. "...No?"
"If you ate the other one." König's eyes widened comically.
"Though, please, be careful. Sandwiches can sure be a choking hazard," you teased him, sparingly, and was actually pleasantly surprised when he let out a quiet chuckle.
After savouring his second sandwich, the two of you were quiet. Although the tension had evaporated, the silence was deafening, and you felt suffocated by the lack of conversation.
"Uhm... so... sir. What is your name?" A hesitant start, as you remembered that he was likely a superior, your hands folded neatly in your lap so you weren't tempted to be casual. "If it isn't too much of a personal question, of course."
He deliberated for a few moments, before responding with a quiet: "König."
"...König," you repeated slowly, making sure to pronounce it properly.
Your eyes widened in realisation, and you smiled broadly. "That's King, in German, right? That's so funny, because I go by King myself!"
König froze.
"Ha! Holy fucking shit, what are the chances?" You rambled, not realising how quiet König had become. "Honestly, what are we doing here? Where are our castles, our riches? Our chariots led by silver horses and our toilets made of 24 carat gold?"
König shrugged stiffly. "Blown up by a grenade, I suppose."
You looked at him, dumbfounded...
...then burst into laughter.
Like, fits of giggles, too many of them and too strong for his unbelievably dry response. Maybe that's why you were laughing so hard.
Either way, König couldn't believe it at first.
It was so... beautiful... despite you holding yourself up with a shaky palm on the table and being unable to contain your pig-like snorts, snickering uncontrollably. He could get used to hearing you laugh more often.
And, just like that... he dropped his guard.
Slowly, all of his stiffness melted, and he became more of his confident self, this trait only ever coming out when he was actively shooting.
The two of you spent the entire length of breakfast chatting, joking, and telling each other things about each other.
Although König insisted that his English wasn't good, you assured him that you understood him just fine — if anything, his confused looks and furrowed eyebrows at idioms you used were adorably endearing, each time earning a sympathetic giggle from you.
At some point — and though he would've been ashamed to admit it — he tuned out the babbling that came out of your mouth as he admired your face.
He'd only catch himself staring when you'd suddenly finish talking.
"...But what do I know, I'm kind of stupid if you ask me, ha ha. It's a wonder I passed the tests to qualify for this job in the first place, you know?"
You locked eyes with him, interested in hearing what he had to say. "What do you think, König? I bet you know the answer!"
To which he'd quickly clear his throat and respond with: "I... don't know. To be... frank, though that is strange for me to say when I am not 'Frank'—"
You struggled to contain your laughter, and quickly apologized as soon as you stopped shaking, before attempting to explain to this clueless Austrian man how and why this expression was used.
König didn't feel demeaned by your explanation, though, as he thought that his blunders would be worth it every time if it meant hearing you laugh so sweetly, beaming brightly, your face glowing all the while...
...but to König's dismay, half an hour flew by in minutes. Time came to part ways.
As the two of you stood up, you had of course noticed that König was taller than the average man, based off how his knees could barely fit under the table.
You sure as fuck did not expect to see him this tall.
He towered over you, casting a shadow down below, making you to strain your neck just to even make eye contact with him
"Ha—haaa.... you're pretty, uhm... big."
That statement had more than one connotation.
Gott sei Dank für diese Maske, he thought. Thank God for this mask, otherwise you would have seen the blush from his neck up to his ears after his mind went to a place he hadn't thought it'd go — especially not with a person he had formally become acquainted with less than an hour ago.
"Oh well, I can finally put those 5-inch combat boots in the bottom of my closet to good use," you laughed, playfully nudging what was meant to be his shoulder, but your height difference meant that you instead touched his pec (not that you minded though).
With your arms behind your back, you shyly averted your gaze. "Well... it was nice to meet you, König. See you later."
"You too... King."
"How do you say it in German? 'Auf Wiedersehen'?"
"Ja, das ist es."
No it wasn't, but it was close, and it was the thought that counted.
"Well then, Auf Wiedersehen, big guy. I'll see you around!"
Big guy...
God. König had to get a grip.
Yet, with the way he was looking at your backside and fantasizing about your next meeting, he already knew that not even Gott could help him.
"Y-yes... I'll be seeing you."