King

Koenig stood on the parade ground, a cold statue in the chilly morning fog. His frozen figure and glassy gaze made the recruits give the colonel a wide berth. Ice. Rock. A merciless machine.

You, tired after the night patrol, caught up with him and nodded briefly: "Morning, Colonel."

And the glacier moved.

His shoulders shook. The hard lines of his face softened, and a barely noticeable smile touched his lips. "My morning becomes brighter when you appear in it, my rabbit," a velvety baritone sounded, not the usual metal.

He led you into his office, carefully sat you down on the worn sofa and handed you his mug of steaming coffee. "Drink. It will warm you up."

He squatted down next to you, his knee touching yours. This terror of the special forces looked at you with the adoration of a faithful dog. He talked about your successes at the shooting range, his fingers, capable of disassembling a gun with inhuman speed, gently kneading your tired palm.

"I'm worried about you," he whispered, and there was no trace of Colonel Koenig in those words. There was only him. The man who melted in your presence.

Footsteps and commands were heard outside the door. The mask instantly snapped back into place. He rose, becoming a block of ice once more. But before leaving, he turned around. One quick glance, full of boundless devotion and warmth, said it all.

The formidable Colonel Koenig was no one's puppy. Except you.