It had been close to two weeks since he's really seen you around base, the yelling match in that office days ago finally pushing you over the edge. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not, the bitterly confusing emotions he was forced to feel starting to piss him off.
He was a commanding officer; a brutal war criminal who's hands brought more death than good deeds, and yet he had managed to somehow capture your sweet, innocent attention all those months ago. It was before he had tainted you, let his darkness plague you both, and left you to deal with the aftermath.
Alone.
He had felt prominent regret every waking hour since then, but the cold, detached part of him forced him not to care. You knew what you were signing up for with him and still took that dreadful leap.
So in a twisted sense of rationality, he had forced himself to believe it was your fault, and not his.
Lies he kept feeding himself.
The warm night air caresses his skin as he walks out into the courtyard, the twinkling stars above casting the building in a cool glow, the serenity of the quietness something he had missed. Life seemed to constantly be moving at the speed of light, warping into blurred memories and forgotten mundane moments.
His hands secure the motorcycle helmet on as he kicks out the stand on his bike, settling onto the purring vehicle with a newfound sense of freedom. He hadn't had time to ride much, responsibility and commitment to his job taking up most of his time.
His thumb skims your engraved initials in the paint of his bike near the handles, the pocket knife you had used to make it still in his nightstand drawer. The memory resurfaces a conflicting taste in his mouth, his fingers squeezing down on the hand clutch.
The roaring purr of the engine fills his senses as he revvs it a little bit, the sound flourishing adrenaline inside of him as he circles the parking lot, before pulling out onto the main road. The air whips at his shirt, his visor pulled down as he races through the streets, the bustling night life in downtown on a Friday refreshing.
It was the first night he finally didn't cave into your shared friends pressure of going out to the bars, mostly because he didn't want to run into you after the heated argument you had weeks ago.
Instead he lets the air wash over him as he rides, drawing the attention of the street pedestrians, his ego inflating as he passes by a group of college girls, his smirk hidden under his helmet as they drunkenly cat call him.
His foot rests on the asphalt as he stops at a red light, his head tipping in acknowledgment as a couple of them squeal, and it makes his muscles flex in masculine arrogance, squeezing the hand clutch once more as he takes off as soon as the light turns green.
He circles around downtown before he slowly comes to a stop outside of where he and you and his buddies usually go out, his eyes trained on the double doors with the bouncer hanging outside of it. The thumping of the base can be heard from the street, the bar overflowing with inebriated people.
He contemplates, the thought that you could be behind those doors making his jaw clench, knowing it'll be awkward to run into you again. He had pulled rank in a fit of anger and hard to admit jealousy, the thought of you wrapped up in another guy infuriating.
Even if he couldn't stand you anymore.
Maybe he hated the way you could easily see past the facade he keeps up around everyone, managing to see the real him under the hard exterior he presents. It makes him feel infuriatingly vulnerable, and the thought of completely opening up to someone is terrifying.
Hating you is easier than dealing with the emotions you provoke inside of him, a twisted sense of detachment alluding him whenever he had to be in close proximity to you. Even if it meant pushing you further away, he'd continue to pretend like you were just like anyone else, a replaceable soldier in the sea of comrades he overlooks every day.
He sighs as he removes his helmet, setting it on the bike seat as he parks it against the building wall in a small alleyway, making his way towards the entrance of the bar where he knew you currently were.
Immediately he's met with blaring music and loud chatter, his eyes scanning the dim space as he sidesteps groups of drunk people hanging out in clusters around the pool tables and drinking games. He spots his buddies in their usual table near the bartenders counter, but he doesn't see you anywhere.
He walks towards his and yours friends, narrowly missing the splash of a spilled drink as his face sets into a neutral expression. Being in a bar sober was something he wasn't prepared for, already ready to walk back out the doors and call it a night.
"König! What's up buddy!"
His hand meets one of his friends as he pulls him into a chest hug, his lips curling into a semi-forced smile as he greets the various girls and guys at the table, his expression obviously letting on to his thoughts.
"Just, stopping by. Was riding my bike and assumed you guys would be here," he says, his eyes continuing to scan the room, and he hears one of his friends chuckle drunkenly, sipping from a bottle.
"Aye, man. You just missed her. I saw her walking outta here with some guy," his buddy says, and König feels the familiar burn in his chest, eyes rolling slightly.
He should have known.
"That's not why I'm—you know what, forget it. I was just stopping by to say hallo," he says, maneuvering through the crowd again with a stern expression, hating that he was so reliant on your presence to feel somewhat put together.
The night air feels more stale now, his footsteps echoing off the concrete as he walks towards his bike, his mind a cotton-stuffed mess of thoughts. His hands shove into his pockets as he eyes his bike, before the sound of commotion across the street has his head lifting.
The sight of two men manhandling a small girl has his eyes narrowing, and it was the perfect opportunity to rid some of the frustration building up inside of him. He crosses the street, eyes narrowing in on the way their hands attempt to shove her in the back of the car, her face hidden in the back seat as he hears muffled, drunken resistance.
"I suggest you let her go before I make you unrecognizable," König calls out as he nears closer, their heads turning over their shoulders as one of them scoffs, the guy looking no older than 25. He straightens up as his buddy keeps his hands on the girl, his knuckles cracking in his palms.
"Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it tough guy?"
The insult does nothing but make his vision tunnel down, his lips curling into a cocky grin as he steps closer, his face suddenly dropping into a look of deadly anger.
"This."
Faster than the guy can register it, his hand is snapping out to grab his bicep, the other coming down on his jaw as he's sent to the floor, Königs eyes and hearing zoning in on the disgruntled groan as he tackles the guy onto the street.
The sound of the car door closing has his head turning over his shoulder, giving the other guy a lucky opportunity to get a hit in, the sharp pain across his cheekbone finally snapping him. His fist delivers a swift punch to the other guy behind him, pushing him against the car door as crimson smears the glass, his bloody nose bleeding everywhere.
It's a satisfying sight as König restrains the other guy with a hooked arm around his head, using his elbows and fist to keep the other guy on the floor, reducing his every attempt to get back up greatly with each counter attack.
"You think...drugging an innocent girl to get laid is manly of you?" König pants out breathlessly, continuing to tussle with both men as he dodges punches and delivers precise hits, years in the military giving him an advantage even against two men.
He has them both scrambling away from him, a mix of blood that isn't his and is his littering his fists, split knuckles aching as the adrenaline in him gives him a high he hasn't experienced in a while.
"Get out of here. Or I'll make sure you can't," he bites, watching them limp and jog down the street, his head turning to the car. He opens the door slowly as he's met with the sight of an obviously roofied girl slumped in the back seat, his eyes widening as he notices just exactly who it is.
"Fuck. Y/n?"
