One Clean Breath
Oh König didn’t understand right away that it was the scent.
At first, he decided he was just tired. Then that the ventilation in the archive was working badly. Then that his anxiety was rolling in again, that same foul, viscous kind, when his ribcage felt too tight, his hands felt too large, and his whole body seemed to take up more space than it had any right to.
And then you walked past.
Just down the corridor, with a folder in your hands, keys hanging from a funny little bear keychain, and that quiet presence of yours that suddenly made the base stop feeling like a concrete box packed with metal, sweat, and other people’s voices.And he inhaled.Deeper than he needed to.
Under the mask, the scent reached him muted: floral hard candies, sweet pastries, something warm, human, real beneath that sugary top note. Not perfume. Not shampoo. You.His stomach tightened for a second.
*Fuck.*
The thought was sharp, rough, almost angry. Not at you. At himself. At how quickly his body had betrayed discipline, training, all those years of control. He stood motionless, huge in the dark corridor, and everything he wanted in that moment was unreasonable to the point of shame.
Lift the mask.Not take it off. No.Just hook the edge. For one second. Raise the fabric near his nose. Breathe you in without the layer of cotton, without the smell of his own gear, gun oil, and old smoke soaked into his things.Just breathe properly...
The thought hit so hard his fingers twitched toward his chin on their own. He caught himself too late: his thumb had already touched the seam of the balaclava, found the rough stitching.
*No. Don’t. Don’t be a creepy fuck.*
He froze.
You were looking for something in a box beside him, fixing your hair, pushing it back. And the scent came closer. Warmer. As if the air between you had suddenly turned dense, sweet, almost edible.König exhaled slowly through his nose.
Mistake.
On the next inhale, he caught you again. Deeper. Hungrier. It grew hot beneath the mask. His heart thudded heavily, with a dull irritation, like someone had punched from the inside.
He hated it. And wanted more.That was what scared him most.Not that you smelled good. People smelled good sometimes. That wasn’t a crime. Not a catastrophe.
The catastrophe was that he had started waiting for it.Remembering the places where he managed to catch traces of you. And finding reasons to be there.
*This is fucking insane.*
And immediately after that: *Don’t you dare.*
But his body remembered anyway.Now, when he was near you, he sometimes touched the mask. As if adjusting it. As if the fabric had shifted. As if the seam irritated his skin. As if he was simply uncomfortable.
Bullshit.
Every time, the same small war.Fingers to the edge.Fabric under the pads of his fingers.One centimeter of freedom, and he could breathe you in for real.
He imagined it too clearly. How the air would touch the skin beneath the mask. How your scent would enter all at once, without resistance, filling his nose, mouth, throat, chest. How he might close his eyes for one second, because otherwise he wouldn’t survive it.
And that already felt almost obscene.Not an action.Not even a touch.The desire to breathe a person in like some kind of junkie.
König stood beside the archive table, silent, too large for the room, looking not at you but off to the side. His shoulders were tense. His back nearly against the wall. His hands motionless, but there was a fine tremor in his fingers, treacherous and angry.
You leaned over the documents and fixed your hair again, the strands spilling over your shoulders.He broke on the inhale. Barely noticeable, but to him it sounded louder than a gunshot.
*Scheiße. Scheiße, Scheiße…*
His thumb found the edge of the balaclava again.This time, he managed to lift the fabric just a little. Not enough for you to see his face. Only millimeters. Just enough for the air under the mask to change.And that was enough.He inhaled as slowly and deeply as he could. Holding his breath, he tried to exhale faster, just so he could draw you in again. A new dose.
His knees almost buckled.Not enough for you to notice. Almost.
*Fuck…*
He immediately let go of the mask. The fabric returned to its place, familiar, but now it felt like a barrier that got in the way, not something that protected him.
Too late.
Now he knew how you smelled without anything between you.And that was worse.Because before, he could pretend he was exaggerating. That the fabric distorted it. That the anxiety was winding him up. That his brain had simply found itself a new obsession, a new sharp edge to cut itself on at night. But not anymore. Now he knew.
You said something, probably asked about a folder or a case number. He didn’t understand right away. The words reached him with a delay, as if through water.König blinked. Lowered his gaze. When he answered, his voice was lower than usual, a little torn, with grit at the bottom.
“Yes. Right shelf. Second box.”
A pause.He swallowed, too heavily.You were standing close.Too close for his self-control, and too far for what his body wanted.He hated that distance.And was grateful for it. Because a little more, and he might have done something stupid. Leaned in. Stepped closer. Breathed near your shoulder. Said something completely unbearable.
Something like:
“You smell so fucking good…”
And that was exactly why, when it eventually slipped out one day, low, almost hoarse, he froze as if he had struck himself.The words hung between you. Not a compliment.Not flirting. Not a pretty phrase. A confession from his body before his mind had given permission. König looked away first. Of course.His fingers curled into a fist. His shoulders lifted, as if he were trying to hide his neck, his face, his whole enormous, ridiculous, too-sensitive body.
*Well done. Fucking perfect. Now she definitely thinks you’re insane.*
He wanted to apologize. Wanted to leave. Wanted to erase himself from the room, from the corridor, from the base, from your memory.
Instead, he stayed standing by the wall. Quiet. Huge. Embarrassed by his own discovery.
And still breathing a little deeper whenever you were near.