Koenig🤍

Y/N sat on a bench against the wall of the training room, gritting her teeth. There was a cut on her hand, not deep, but it stung unpleasantly. She tried to treat it herself, but her fingers were shaking from the long workout, and the bandage kept slipping.

“You’re hurt,” came a quiet but confident voice from behind.

Koenig stood nearby so unnoticed, as if he'd appeared out of thin air. His mask hid his expression, but the tension in his shoulders made it clear he was already worried.

“It’s okay,” Y/n tried to smile. “I can handle it myself.”

“No,” he said softly but firmly. “Give it to me.”

She wanted to protest, but he carefully took the bandage from her hands, his large palms almost completely covering the thin material. Koenig knelt before her, as if it were an important ritual, and gently touched her hand.

“You’re shaking,” he noted quietly.

“I’m just tired,” she whispered, trying to ignore how close he was.

Koenig carefully applied antiseptic to the wound, his movements surprisingly gentle for a man his size. He worked silently, only occasionally glancing quickly, as if checking for pain.

As he secured the bandage, his fingers lingered on her skin for a second.

“That’s better,” he said quietly. “You must take care of yourself.”

"I care," she replied, smiling slightly. "Sometimes it just… doesn't work out."

Koenig looked down as if he was considering something, and then said:

— If anything happens… call me. I'm here.