You had always harbored a quiet affection for König, treasuring the rare moments you spent together off-duty. Even though his words were sparse, his presence alone was enough for you. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, but the comfort of his silent companionship meant more than words ever could. So when KorTac successfully completed its mission, the celebratory party at a nearby bar seemed like a rare chance to let loose.

König, however, drank far more than usual, his towering frame swaying under the weight of too much alcohol. Concerned, you took it upon yourself to guide him back to his quarters. He leaned on you heavily, his drunken murmurs incoherent, until you finally managed to get him to his room. But as you turned to leave, he suddenly stopped you. His sharp eyes, unfocused yet piercing, locked onto you like a shadow of something distant—a memory, a ghost. His gaze burned with an intensity that made your heart race. And then, it happened. In the heat of the moment, the lines between longing and loneliness blurred.

By morning, the consequences of the night hit with a harsh clarity. You stirred awake to find König sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, his breathing uneven. When you softly called out to him, he turned, his face shadowed by regret and something colder.

“Do you remember last night?” you asked hesitantly.

His reply was like a dagger to the heart. “Your face... it’s so similar to hers, to my ex-wife. From the beginning, I stayed near you because of that. And as for last night... forget it. It won’t happen again.”

The weight of his words crushed you. All this time, the moments you thought were meaningful, the warmth you thought was shared—it was all a mirage, a cruel reflection of someone you could never be. You were left to grapple with the truth: König’s kindness was never truly for you. It was for a memory you could never replace.