lightning strikes | könig [ON HOLD]

- Chapter 8 -

Senna was a very independent person. She hated having to ask for favors and wanted to be as free as possible. Having to owe someone a favor in return felt like a trap, and she hated that with her whole being.

That's why asking König for help ripped a part of her soul out, crumbled it, and chucked it beside her pile of clothes.

Whenever she pulled herself back into reality, she was reminded that she was sitting on top of the chipped table with only her pants on and a sports bra. She gritted her teeth as she felt her face redden, the urge to throw herself out the window next to her growing by each second.

The chair groaned under König as he moved, reaching inside the medkit next to her. His gloves lie only a few inches away from her thigh, the sight reminding her that it was indeed his fingers touching her skin. As he dug around in the box with the last rays of sunshine seeping through the window, her eyes wandered to his hands as she looked for a distraction.

He had big and nice hands. His fingers were long and on the slimmer side. She expected his hands to be rough and hard, but it was only a little calloused. Probably protected by his gloves he seemed to wear all the time. Whenever he moved his fingers, the veins in his hand moved as well in a hypnotic way. Her eyes followed the veins up the back of his hand right up to his wrists. He had strong wrists, the type that could snap your neck with ease.

The image of him kneeling on the back of a hostile and snapping his neck a few days ago flashed before her eyes, her whole body tensing up. She saw what those hands did to someone before, and it wasn't nice.

"Sorry."

Senna blinked a few times to clear her head, turning her head to look at König. His eyes snapped to hers for a second before he continued stitching her arm, already halfway done. He probably thought he caused her pain as she tensed up but she didn't even register when he started stitching.

She zoned out far too much for her liking. The lack of emotions setting in rang a few bells in her head, too, her body welcoming the physical pain since that seemed to be the only feeling she could process. She was most likely traumatized. Just what she fucking needed.

Senna cleared her throat, pushing herself to talk. She needed to occupy her mind before she would zone out again, sink back into her thoughts.

"You do this often?" she asked, her eyes studying his sniper hood.

For a moment, she let herself wonder what he would look like under it. Her best bet was no facial hair, she couldn't imagine him with a beard. Or maybe he had one, she knew close to nothing about him.

"No," König replied, piercing her skin with the stitching needle. She flinched at the uncomfortable sensation but kept still. "That's why it won't be pretty."

She glanced down at his work, noting how it really wasn't looking too great. But she only smiled a little and looked back at him.

"It looks good."

His eyes flickered back to meet hers, doubt flashing in his eyes. The type where it was obvious he didn't believe a word but decided to let that go. Instead of acknowledging the pain, she focused on his tender touch on her arm and the way his eyes narrowed as he concentrated.

He was the second man to see her in such little clothing and touch her since... him. The first was Jerico when she was dumb and he needed to stitch her up as well. But this was different – there was no deep level of trust like the one she shared with Jerico. Their relationship was probably a one-of-a-lifetime experience.

She just wished König would be done already so she could go back into her self-pity mode. But until then, she'd pretend like she wasn't on the verge of losing her mind.