Quiet Hate

Aftermath

König leaves later that afternoon, with the plan in place to not speak of any of this or give anyone an idea, especially not at work. Not until after the next mission, at least.

At work the next morning, König comes in a little bit earlier, a bag from my favorite bakery in hand. Nonchalantly, he drops it off at my desk. Smiling to myself, I open it to find a note: You'll get the rest of your gift later, meine Liebe.

I blush, feeling König looking at me. I tuck the note into my pocket and try to unassumingly eat the croissant while I brush up on information for the meeting later.

After avoiding each other the rest of the day, König shows up at my door.

"Parked down the street," he says, kicking the door closed and pulling off his hood, kissing my cheek.

I smile up at him. "What do you wanna do?"

"There's a lot of things..." he says, bending down and pressing kisses to my neck.

I laugh. "I'm still sore from this weekend."

"If you're sure," he says.

"Well, I'm not, and it'll take about two seconds of convincing before I say yes, because I totally want to," I say, stepping up onto his boots to reach him closer. "But I'm starving, and I need to run to get more laundry detergent at the rate I'm washing my sheets."

"I'll buy you all the laundry detergent in the world," he says, looking down at me. "And I'll do all your laundry."

As hot as that idea sounds, and how the purpose of that idea is even hotter, I step down and head to the kitchen. "I have..." I open my fridge. "Money to order pizza," I say, turning around. König laughs, and takes out his phone to order.

We're tucked into the couch an hour later, pizza in our laps and TV on with one of König's favorite childhood shows. I have a tough time understanding, but I do manage to grasp the majority of it.

There's a scene where the single mother of the family gets proposed to by the sweet man next door. Apparently, up until this point, he's been a comedic figure that the mother just finds to be so hilarious.

"Oh, that's sweet," I say, nodding at the TV.

König's silent. I look over at him, and he's set his pizza down.

"Flora," he says, turning to me, "I'm not capable of... that."

My blood runs cold.

"I just meant that it was sweet because the kids all love him," I say, my words getting quieter and quieter as I go on. "But... alright."

It's not like I wanted to get married tomorrow, not at all. It's not that I even thought about a future with König. But the implication of what he's said isn't a that he's not capable of a proposal. It's that he's not capable of committment.

Which, though I greatly admire women who are able to live their lives without it, is something I value.

He keeps talking, which probably just makes it worse. "I mean, I just don't see myself being able to..." he trails off. The quick-tongued König that I've come to know, despite the quietness of our hatred for each other, is quickly fading.

I find myself at the edge, grabbing desperately in my mind for whatever this is. Because before, we at least had the contact between us, even if it was in the form of arguing or scowling. As he continues on, I find myself falling, my heart sinking.

"I don't see myself being able to commit to someone like that," he says. "My family, it... was very difficult, and though that was many years ago, with my job, it just..." he trails off, and after a moment or two, I realize he's not going to finish his thought.

"Okay," I say. I hear the blood rushing in my ears. It's only been a weekend, I shouldn't be this concerned.

So I'm not. "Okay," I say again, emotions under control after years of learning that being a woman means being called hysterical at the slightest reaction. Especially after being a woman in the military. I set my plate down. "You're right, this was silly. We should have just kept things a one-night deal. It was inappropriate of me to invite you to stay that night. I don't want you to feel forced to commit."

I know that's probably not what he meant - I mean, it's König. He doesn't want one-night stands, he just has lived in his own space for so many years. I'm sure it's hard to think about giving that up, it's hard to want to let someone in. He kills people for a living, for god's sake. At some point, you just... turn off.

"Flora, that's not-" he says, but I hold up a hand.

"Really, it's fine," I say. "I know what you meant, and I won't assume anything else."

I put out of my mind that he came here. I put out of my mind of what could have been, of what I wanted to be.

I get up, taking my plate to the kitchen.

"You can see yourself out," I call over my shoulder. "I need to get to bed."

It's six in the evening. He knows I'm lying, obviously, but as I spare one last glance at his face, looking at me with sadness from the couch, I put it out of my mind, too.

It's over.