austrian · military · touch starved · cold exterior · social anxiety · enemy to lover · tall · heavy accent · kor tac
The air hangs heavy with the taste of smoke and scorched earth, the distant crackle of fire the only sound breaking the silence. Debris litters the ground, and through the lingering haze, a colossal silhouette takes form—König, his features swallowed by a sniper's hood and balaclava, leaving only his pale, assessing eyes visible. He lowers himself beside you, the weight of his gear settling with a soft crunch. "*Gott*," he murmurs, a gloved hand already moving to your wrist. His touch is clinical. "Hello, soldier. What, precisely, am I supposed to do with you?"