Black Swan | Ghost & König [I] ✓

chapter 20

You were beautiful.

König felt his legs go numb, his palms sweaty against the cushion of his chair's armrests, his heart sink in admiration.

He had never seen you like this. Light makeup, pinned up hair with soft strands cascading down your face. Your lashes were long and dark, creating shadows beneath your eyes from their length. Your lips were plump and tinted with an alluring rouge. Your brows were sharp and angular, as was your jawline and general profile. Your face and skin was clean and smooth, highlighted by the stage lighting.

You were an angel.

He was so accustomed in the short time the two of you have been reunited to seeing you with unkempt hair, a bare face smeared with dirt and even sometimes old blood, wearing tactical gear and joggers that hung lowly on your hips. But here, here you were different.

He couldn't breathe. It's like the second you stepped out onto the stage, your tall figure and graceful persona of Odette captured his attention and prevented his gaze from ever lingering elsewhere. It's like he was underwater.

Your skirt was flared, as ballerina skirts for performances typically were, and your outfit was white. The neckline, although not accompanied by actual feathers, appeared to be shaped in like the feathers of a white swan. The attire glittered and sparkles under the stage light. It was all so mesmerizing.

König had took off his sunglasses the moment you stepped onto stage. He knows he probably shouldn't have — he doesn't want anyone, even Task Force 141 and Los Vaqueros, to know what he really looks like — but he did. He had to get a better look at you. Though, his black face mask that shielded the bottom half of his identity remained on though.

"Heilige scheiße," Kilgore whispered breathlessly.

"You've never seen her, eh?" said Mr. Hofmann in German. König almost jumped out of his seat in fright.

"W-What?" he whispered back in his native language.

"Clara. She's quite famous," Mr. Hofmann went on. "You are from Vienna, no?"

König was confused as to why one of the owners was even bothering to speak to him. It was dead silent in the theatre apart from the melodic piano music that echoed off the walls. He would think that the owners would have more respect.

"Hey, amigo," Alejandro whispered in his ear beside him in English. "He's trying to learn more about you. He's suspicious."

König glanced to his side worriedly. Mr. Hofmann stared at him patiently, awaiting a response.

"He doesn't know English, no worries."

"Right..." Kilgore gnawed on his lip, and then moved back to a more comfortable position. "Sorry, I'm not from Vienna, no," he lied, "I'm from a small town in the west. I'm sure you've never heard of it."

"Really? What town?" Mr. Hofmann pried. Shit fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"Uhmmm...." Kilgore grit his teeth together, searching for an alibi to get the owner off his back. "Grünburg."

"Hm. I have never heard of it," Mr. Hofmann said, stroking the stubble on his chin. "Your friends?" He gestured to Alejandro and Rudy.

"Tourists." Kilgore smiled convincingly. "I've had many jobs abroad in my company. They assigned me to them as a translator while they toured Vienna for their work."

"Hm," the owner said suspiciously.

So much for stealth, König sighed internally.

"What work do they do?" Mr. Hofmann went on.