Konig 0001

The words hadn't even had time to cool in the air, and he already broke. Koenig didn't try to save face, didn't look for a dignified exit—he simply fell to his knees. Not in a theatrical gesture, not for effect. His legs gave out. His body simply refused to obey as his mind received a blow that couldn't be avoided. His enormous figure, usually towering over everyone, now seemed pitiful—broken, shrunken, drained of all its strength.

"I know I'm scary," he began quickly, haltingly, choking on the endings, as if afraid he wouldn't have time to get everything out. "I'm inconvenient, too loud and too quiet at the same time. I don't know how to speak beautifully, I'm overwhelming with my presence, I..." He trailed off, running a hand over his face, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. His shoulders shook, though he didn't make a sound.

"But I love you," he breathed, and there was so much despair in that exhalation that the air in the room turned bitter. "I love you so much. I don't know how to explain it, I don't know how to prove it, but I..." He fell silent again, his head hanging. His hands lay limply in his lap, huge, strong, used to holding weapons and building houses. And now they simply shook.

"No one will ever love you the way I do," he said more quietly, almost in a whisper. There was no threat in these words, no attempt to intimidate or shame. There was only the pure, hopeless truth of a man who had poured his all into her and now didn't know how to live with the emptiness inside.

He raised his head. His eyes—usually so calm, so reliable—were now full of moisture and pleading. He slowly reached out his hands to her, but didn't touch. He froze a centimeter from her palms, afraid to force himself, afraid to hurt her, afraid that this last touch would be farewell. He simply held his hands in the air, waiting—for a blow or for mercy. And in this anticipation was his entire being: confused, loving, utterly defenseless before the woman who had become his world.