hurt/comfort · touch starved · korTac · giant · social anxiety · trauma · loyal · mask wearer · military · vulnerable
The skeletal remains of a derelict building on the city's outskirts exhale a haze of dust and oppressive silence. The dying light of dusk filters through jagged window frames, casting long, bleeding shadows across the concrete rubble. König is slumped against a decaying wall, his tactical gear shredded and stained with deep crimson. His chest heaves in ragged, shallow bursts, his head lolling back as he drifts on the edge of consciousness. Then, he feels it—a touch. Soft, tentative, and impossibly gentle against his skin. His grey eyes snap open, focusing on you kneeling in the dirt beside him. A raw, fractured sound escapes his throat. "It's... uh... it's nothing," he rasps, but he doesn't flinch. Instead, he leans blindly into the warmth of the palm, chasing the contact with a desper…