Neighbour

[ 3 ].

"Let's go to bed," König murmurs in a soft, soothing voice. The gentle pressure of his fingertips against your cheek is comforting, almost hypnotic, as he pushes unruly strands of hair away from your face.

You slowly open your eyes, feeling the lingering heaviness of slumber still clinging to you. The world gradually comes into focus, and you pause for a moment to take in your surroundings. You're still in the living room, your body awkwardly and uncomfortably molded into the cushions of the couch. Your gaze shifts, taking in the sight of König kneeling beside you. His usually neat hair is now dishevelled. His eyes, although drowsy from the remnants of sleep, are focused intensely on you. The way his gaze captures yours, so full of attention, makes your heart flutter.

With a slow tug, he carefully removes the blanket that had been loosely draped over your body, before throwing it towards the end of the couch. His fingers intertwine with yours as he helps you rise from the couch, steadying you after you stand up.

A part of you doesn't want to follow him. But the dull, throbbing ache in your body from the awkward position you had fallen asleep in on the couch is hard to ignore. The sharp, jarring pain that shoots up your neck when you make the smallest attempt to move your head sends a wave of discomfort through you. With a hiss after you try to twist your head to the other side, you relinquish control, letting him take you back to the bedroom.

You are still sleepy. So, when your head hits the pillow, a muted yawn slips past your lips before you close your eyes.

Every argument, every fight, no matter how heated and intense it might have been, always ends this way. König, the man who never concedes his mistakes, never apologises. Yet, for a day or two following each argument, he transforms. He becomes unusually attentive and tender, as if trying to compensate for his previous actions. He clings to your side like a shadow that refuses to leave. His actions revolve around showering you with affection, lavishing you with tender gestures that make you forget the origin of your anger, the seed that sprouted your upset. His actions, though wordless, serve as his apology. It's his way of smoothing over the rough edges left by your disagreements.

However, the moment you begin to soften, the instant your cold shoulder begins to thaw and your glares lose their intensity whenever he enters the room, he creates distance. When your hand, once quick to swat his away, no longer resists his touch, he begins to pull back, to withdraw from the intimate proximity he had momentarily embraced. This cycle, this pattern, is something you find yourself entangled in, time and time again. It feels as though you are trapped in this never-ending loop, doomed to repeat the same motions, to experience the same interactions over and over again.

After König gently puts a blanket over the two of you, his muscular arms envelop your body. He pulls you in closer, your bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle, as if you were made to fit in his arms. You can't help but notice the comforting warmth that radiates off his body, providing a soothing contrast to the cool air around you.

The sensation of his soft breath cascading down the back of your neck causes you to squirm a little, the playful tickle making your skin tingle. He indulges you further, showering you with light, feathery kisses that send shivers down your spine. His lips trace a path from your earlobe, down your neck, and to your shoulder, each kiss a whisper against your skin. With every touch of his lips, you feel your heart beating faster, your body responding to his every move.

A part of you yearns to lash out, to express the anger boiling within you like a simmering cauldron. You want to turn around and push him away, to voice your grievances. You want to tell him about how last night's dinner, the one you had painstakingly prepared, was completely ruined because of his thoughtless antics. You think about the words you would use, how you would lay bare your disappointment.