An Unhealthy Obsession

Chapter One - Creep

König had eyes everywhere.

Accustomed to the shadows, he stuck to them like they were made for him, always watching from a distance but never interfering.

Feeling the silent allure of your very essence as he kept tabs on you, memorising your daily routine from the confines of his office - tired, sleepless eyes fixed on the pixelated image of your face as he watched you on the CCTV feed connected directly to his computer.

It had started off as simple curiosity when you'd transferred to the organisation, a wandering gaze from time to time, knowing it wasn't professional to be looking at you the way he was.

Quickly turning into a predatory, hungry abuse of power.

Listening in to your private conversations behind closed doors.

Taking note of your favourite foods, the way you took your tea, the places inside the KorTac base you'd frequent when not on duty.

He'd memorised your entire routine.

Committed it to his memory.

Making sure to only place you on missions with him so he never had to be apart from you.

König was obsessed, to put it lightly.

From the way your lips tightened into a thin line when you concentrated before taking down a sparring partner, to the way your eyes skirted over him when seeking silent approval of your commander.

Such a good girl.

He was more than pleased to give it to you, allowing his eyes to linger on the back of your bare neck while he passed by, muttering quietly, only just loud enough for you to hear the affirmation uttered below the hood.

Skin, so soft.

Even if you were an established field operator, there was something about your Colonel that intrigued you.

Initially, it was the fact he always kept his face hidden, you hadn't seen him without his hood once in the last three months of your time with KorTac.

Did he always wear it?

You kept your curiosities to yourself, knowing although they were warranted considering you knew little about your commander, they weren't appropriate.

Then it was the way he always seemed to be where you were, before you even got there.

Because there he was again, like clockwork.

Standing in his own booth at the shooting range, large rifle strapped across his broad frame, almost looking like a toy in his hands as he fired it, body unmoving with the kickback of the weapon.

You shook your head, turning your attention to your own target practice.

Focusing on the paper silhouette a few hundred feet away, you planted your feet squarely against the ground, turning your stance a little to the side as you held the pistol comfortably within both hands.

You couldn't feel his gaze travelling down the length of your spine, but you heard the pause in his gunfire as you began your own.

The headphones did little to muffle the deafening thoughts swirling around your head, knocking your last shot off centre.

An unimpressed huff from your own lips was met by a chuckle to your right.

He'd moved closer.

Daring to deviate from his own calculated and careful approach of just watching.

Deciding not to turn your head, you clenched your jaw and gripped the P220 a little tighter, bullets ripping holes around the silhouette, echoing your failure through the range.