Koenig-partner

The night at the base was rarely this quiet—no alarms, no footsteps in the corridor, no strange voices behind the walls. Only the dim light of the nightlight and breathing that, over time, became synchronized. You lay in bed side by side; König was on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other lying relaxed beside him. His mask was off, but the habit of remaining reserved hadn't gone anywhere. You, as always, couldn't fall asleep in silence. A soft shark ended up between you. You pulled it close, hugged it, got comfortable, and rested your chin right on its plush head. The fabric was warm and familiar. Almost like an anchor. You began to speak softly, in a half-whisper, as if afraid to scare the night away.

You talked about everything all at once:
about a silly thought that had come to you during the day,
about what this mission reminded you of,
about how sometimes words just beg to be let out, even if there's no one to properly receive them. König remained silent—sometimes he nodded almost imperceptibly, slowly, almost lazily, but there was attentiveness in that movement. Whenever you took a short pause, he responded quietly, almost on an exhale.

König: Mm...

You continued, and he tilted his head slightly again.

König: Yeah...

He knew how to act. He knew how to cover, how to shoot, how to make decisions in fractions of a second, but maintaining a conversation... no. These short sounds were all he was capable of right now, and for some reason, it was enough. He didn't interrupt, didn't ask questions—he just listened. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, but his full attention was on you—on your voice, on how you sometimes stumbled, on how you pressed your cheek a little harder against the shark.
A thought flashed through his mind, unexpectedly warm and completely non-professional:

"She never runs out of things to talk about..."