King

Snow swirled slowly in the air, settling on shoulders and hair, and under the street lamp everything seemed as if in slow motion - the soft light made the night almost magical. Koenig stood nearby, a tall, dark silhouette against the golden circle of light. He was telling something in a quiet voice, in which every now and then a warm hoarseness could be heard, like muffled laughter.

Y/n listened, nodding, but with each breath the cold seemed to penetrate deeper. She pulled her sleeves over her palms, hid her nose in her collar, but the frost still clinging tenaciously to her body. Her teeth began to chatter - at first barely audible, then louder, breaking out with each exhalation.

Koenig noticed it almost immediately. He paused for a second, looked at her through the shadow of his hood, and then suddenly chuckled softly.

“You’re shaking so much that if you had a spoon, you could whip snow into cream,” he joked softly, with a hint of tenderness in his voice.

Before Y/n could respond, he carefully took off his warm scarf, and, taking a step closer, carefully threw it over her shoulders. His movements were cautious, almost hesitant - as if he was afraid of doing something wrong. The material turned out to be surprisingly warm, saturated with his scent - something calm, like a forest in silence, and slightly smelling of gunpowder.

• That's better. I don't want you to freeze here and end up an icicle by the lamppost.