Your Too Sweet [Konigx Reader] ||UnknownRabbit||

19

My heart started to calm down as I entered the pub. Low light and calm atmosphere vibrated through me. It was not rowdy– yet– it still is pleasant with people enjoying their time chatting and having a good time. My eyes darted to the door again, looking for a corner, preferably around more people and less drunky.

The fact that I called Konig rather than Simon gnawed at me in shame. He was the least person I'd like to talk to, not because I'm guilty of fantasizing about him but because he's scary. And what would he think of me? Honestly, I would come off clingy, assuming we are not even that close to phone him.

Konig is the type of guy that would crush someone that irritates him. But the mention of him coming to my rescue actually made my stomach flutter. The moment those words left his lips it somehow warmed me from the inside, the coldness of my situations seemed to feel bright. Whoever that person is tailing me, I hope he stops because God? Are you listening at the moment? Please, I do not want to be another crime headline for tomorrow.

There are so many crimes these days that I am scared to even step foot out. But life does not go like that, it keeps moving, and I don't want to end up life moving without me being the one moving, cause i'm six feet under. Unfound and missing.

My finger taps to the side of my phone as I sit down, my body almost shaking from the adrenaline running. On and off, my screen flickering light from how much I check my phone messages pop up, waiting for Konig's messages to pop up and say hi, delivering me a good relief message such as, 'i'm here' or 'there you are'. It replays in my mind to give me a sense of safety. Even just a touch of it.

My eyes scan further as I slide and act normal, my hand barely feeling anything from the coldness of my veins. Darting to the front door, to chime and see the first man walk in, or the second. I could feel my breath only above my throat not even touching the bronchi of my lungs, those little grapes and branches.

Calm down...

Calm the fuck down...

My finger tapping and so are my toes, looking around casually. I have thought of buying a drink or two, maybe something hot or a juice cause I cannot be drunk, documentaries say that witnessing some horrendous crimes while drunk make your witnessing card more invalid. I don't want that, what if I will find myself in such a pickle that I would need my sober head.

What got him so long?

My patience is running thin, my own sanity runs thinner as well. Like a tightrope just dangling mid-air and throwing circus entertainment.

Suddenly a big heavy hand landed on my right shoulder making me freeze, the tapping stopped, my senses sharpened, as if everything went dull and I swallowed my saliva down. The coldness of my hand felt like running to the back of my spine and there I didn't know what to thank first, my mom, my dad? Or should I just leave them a letter.

My eyes close shut before I flutter them to open, the world feels like they slow down on me in purpose to taunt me.

"Y/n?". His voice gruff and I turn around to see the blonde beard, blue eyes and blonde overgrown hair. Smiles wrinkle on his eyes and at the nose. Brain pieces everything together rather slowly that I gawk at him as he retrieves his hand from my shoulder, shooting me a concern and still polite look as if silently, 'what's wrong? You look like you have seen a ghost.' The older guy's name falls at the edge of my tongue that I can't sweep off and acknowledge him. "Hi!". I forced out a smile and his expression brightened so slightly. "You okey there sweet?" My lips stammer but it finds words, "yeah, absolutely!" – Was that natural?

He looked around as if surveying the area before seating the opposite chair, "You look like you're pressed. Who's with you?", he asked with the most natural and not blow the cover question while I was not even being myself, I'm so readable. "Ergh...Myself." I shrug and continue on how I am acting, keeping my phone close. My nerves still frayed, even Mr. colleague here in which I forgot his name but at the tip of my tongue didn't help. "And you?". The question hung in the air between us, but it didn't come unanswered, the hand of a woman, painted red nails in gel polish made me look up to who owned such a beautiful hand. "D-Dane?" Her make up face– beautiful by the way– looked at me with a wide eye. Her touch to Mr. Simon's colleague felt familiar and a little close.