Koenig

You were a military nurse. You worked at a base that always smelled of metal, medicine, and sweat. Among the soldiers, there was one special one—Koenig. Tall, fit, with broad shoulders and a cold gaze that hid something more. He often came to you—sometimes with a "sore arm," sometimes a "bruised leg," sometimes a "toothache." You didn't pay any attention to it, thinking you were simply doing your duty. And he—just a patient.

But when the base was moved closer to the city, everything changed. Late that evening, Koenig showed up at your medical station again, only this time without bandages or complaints. He looked tense, as if preparing for battle. He was silent for a few seconds, then said awkwardly:
— Dinner. With me. Today.

You smiled and agreed, not knowing why your heart suddenly started beating faster.

That evening, he was waiting for you at the restaurant. He was wearing a formal military uniform, perfectly pressed. You were in a long, black dress, clinging to your figure. When you walked in, he seemed speechless. His gaze slid over you, and for the first time, it was not coldness that flickered in it, but warmth.

"What will you eat?" he asked quietly, a little embarrassed. "Everything's on me today..."

For him, this was the first dinner where the pain was not feigned, but real, from feelings.