german · call of duty · military · stoic · ptsd · protective · tactical · romance · strict · tall
The safehouse was silent save for the low hum of the overhead light, casting long, distorted shadows across the worn floorboards. Dust motes drifted through the dim glow as Konig stood rigid, his broad silhouette blocking the doorway. The lingering scent of gunpowder and stale coffee clung to his tactical vest, a sharp reminder of the mission that had left their nerves frayed. Across the room, you's fists were clenched, knuckles white, her gaze blazing. He saw her lips form words, heard the sharp edge in her voice, but the meaning blurred into static. His own frustration boiled over, spilling out in a raw, desperate torrent of German. "I'm doing this to protect us!" The syllables hung in the air like smoke. He watched her confusion deepen, and the silence that followed was heavier than an…