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It was, once again, late at night.
The kind of late that grants you the ability to hear your own heartbeat, along with snores from close enough rooms and the song of cicadas outside.
And you were, once again, struggling to sleep. You had tried everything; counting sheep, making up scenarios in your head, journaling, planning your day tomorrow… at that point, you were seriously considering getting up and doing some burpees, to see if you could tire yourself to sleep; akin to a parent, dealing with an overexcited toddler that had way too much sugar before bedtime. You quickly decided not to, however, with your aching body reminding yourself that you were, indeed, tired.
You snuggle closer to your blanket, hoping that maybe by changing positions enough times, you would either find the sleep you longed for—or fall off the bed entirely and pass out from banging your head too hard on the concrete floor—and with how long rest was taking you, the second option was starting to become more likely.
After god-knows-how-much time spent passive-aggressively sighing and glaring at the ceiling, wishing god finally put an end to your insomniac suffering, drowsy eyes started to shutter closed.
And of course, that couldn't go over smoothly, now, could it?
And so, you heard a sound. A sound that wasn't your heartbeat, or a snore, or a cicada.
It sounded like… a light knock…?
That's it, —you thought. —I’m actually going insane. I’m so tired I’m hearing things now.
A beat passes by. Silence.
…I really have got to get my sleeping pills refilled tomorrow. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you readjusted yourself on your side, and then—you heard it again, impossibly quieter now, but after the first time, there was no denying; someone was at your door.
Oh, for fuck's sake. Really? …Now? Who the hell could it be at these fuck-all hours in the morning? I swear to God, if this is some kind of prank, I will punt the motherfucker into the sun.
After much complaining and cursing in your mind, you threw your blanket on the ground and put on your slippers, groggily trudging to your door.
You turn the doorknob to see a massive figure walking away slowly. Which upon hearing the creaking of the hinges, turned to you, wide eyed.
"What could you possibly—König…?" you slurred, with surprise making the last word come out clearer and higher pitched than the rest.
As if hearing his name had rung a bell in his mind and broken him from a trance, König walked back to your doorway, immediately apologizing in a hushed whisper.
"Ah, sheiße. Herz, I am very sorry, I did not mean to wake you," he seemed to stare intently at some spot on the floor.
You were… definitely very awake, and decidedly less grumpy now.
"Nah, don't worry big guy, hadn't quite managed to pass out yet." You tried to suppress a yawn—your statement’s antithesis.
"Can I… um, may I come in?" He fiddled with the hem of a long sleeved shirt, which he wore as pajamas.
"Oh, right! Sure, sure thing, here." You held out the door for him. "Is everything alright?" Turning the lock, you took the opportunity to not-so-subtly check him out, looking for any obvious sign or reason as to why this man had knocked on your door so late. Your analysis found no visible injuries, at least, so that's a good sign, right? Oh, but he's standing so awkwardly; is he slowly folding over himself? His hands are so close to his heart is he—is König hyperventilating? Oh. God. Oh, I know what this is.
The symptoms were easily recognizable to you, having dealt with them from childhood. You've went through multiple instances of panic attacks, struggling with them to this day, albeit less frequently than on your teenage years—with high school days being the worst.
König is having a panic attack, you realize with a start, König is having a panic attack, in the wee hours of the morning, and he came to you for help. And you're dumbly staring at him. What a great friend you are.
You clear your throat and start as softly as you're able,
"…Okay big guy, sit on the bed, will you? You don't need to stand there in the corner, get comfortable."
You smile when he does sit, looking everywhere but you.
His hands seem to shake, and he holds them with closed fists on his thighs.
You approach him gently, standing almost in between his knees—far enough to avoid possibly unwanted physical contact, close enough to make sure he could focus on your presence, and not on what was currently running through his mind.
"Hey, do you want to talk about it?" You mused, as softly as you could muster, trying to emulate a calmness you were definitely not feeling right now, because how are you supposed to help someone else's panic attacks when you can barely handle your own?? you're scared.
König looks into your eyes, seemingly slightly more panicked, as his hands turn white from how hard he's gripping them, and it takes all your strength not to just hug the guy, right here and now.
"It's okay—you don't have to. We don't need to talk about it or anything else right now, alright?" He nods.
"Is it okay if I touch you? Or is physical contact too much right now?" You pointedly avoid eye contact, choosing to stare at the wall instead.
"Y-yes, it's fine," comes the meek, but fast spoken reply from your friend, and you worry.
Grabbing his hands, you slowly free his fingers of the white-knuckled-grip he's been holding them from, lightly massaging the indents his fingernails left on his palms, hearing the sharp noise of a released breath—of which he was likely not even aware he was holding—and your heart melts, just a little.
"Alright, you need to time your breaths with me. Do you have a favorite breathing exercise?" You hold his hands a little more firmly, now. Looking at him, as he shakes his head. Nein, then.
"That's fine, we'll just use mine. It's the triangle method, breathe in for 3 seconds, hold again for 3, and breathe out—you guessed it—for 3 seconds. Ready?"
He nods, and you (sadly) let go of his hands, trying to focus on going through the exercise for a few rounds, but ultimately just paying attention to how shaken up he looked. Catching you off guard, König locked eyes with you, and although he for sure looked calmer than when he arrived, he still seemed so scared. Your heart gripped, and you had an idea.
Slowly, you held one of his hands on top of your chest, "can you feel that?"
You willed your heart to remain calm, which was admittedly easier because of the breathing exercises you just went through.
"I'm here with you. I'm alive and well, and so are you, König. We're okay. And we are going to be okay. My heart is beating, just like yours. Just remember to breathe, okay?" You heard a deep breath.
"Was habe ich getan, um einen Freund wie dich in meinem Leben zu verdienen?" He mumbled, to which you responded by tilting your head, as if to say you do know I didn't get that, right?
"I only got 'what', 'I', and 'friend' from that whole sentence, but since we met, I’ve been practicing German—"
You were cut off by König taking his hand off of your chest—instead circling both his arms around your middle, enveloping you in a strong hug, which knocked the breath out of your lungs (not just because it was really tight), resulting in an embarrassing cough coming from you, in turn making König flinch. And there ya go. Ruining it. But before he could ease his arms away, you embraced him back.
"My bad, just caught me off-guard, is all."
You could feel his heart beating through your chest, and you were sure he could hear yours, going at just a barely calmer rate than his.
One of your hands absentmindedly ran on the back of his sniper hood, as if petting his hair, which you couldn't reach. He contently slumped his head forward, resting it on your shoulder. You hummed the tune to a song you've forgot the name to, and the seconds rolled by (and they did roll by, sadly), you found that both your heartbeats had calmed down, beating almost in sync with each other, as if both were two cogs of the same machine, joined together with elastic, part of something greater (and you were, we all are).
And with the not-so-sudden calm, and the lull of your humming, you found yourself yawning, eliciting a similar response—another yawn—from your counterpart.
The both of you lightly chuckled, softly scared of laughing too loudly and breaking the moment. You shifted the hand previously on the back of his head, to sit holding his cheek, tilting his head up to you.
"Hey big guy, you feeling any better?"
König looked at you with pinched brows, wordlessly saying are you kidding? Are you aware of what you do to me?
And sighed, with a nod, murmuring, "you are too good to me."
You shook your head, not good enough, looking into his eyes with such warmth and care, König couldn't help but stare back, dumbfounded; hoping his eyes could convey just as much emotion as he was feeling in that moment, praying you could understand how much you mean to him without uttering a word.
He put his hand on top of yours, still on his face, and saw you felt as strongly as he did, when your eyes slightly widened and your lips quirked up, seemingly out of their own accord.
As if noticing the domesticity of the moment, the birds outside sung, revealing to the couple just how much time passed—and revealing to their bodies they needed rest—König's eyes lightly drooped, and his hands left your embrace, giving you goosebumps and leaving you to feel just a little cold (and you hadn't a clue if it was because of the chilly morning, or because your heart cried at the prospect of leaving König).
You wouldn't—couldn’t—let this moment end so easily; at least let me have this, life, god damn it! And in a surge of new-found confidence (and maybe, just a little bit of desperation):
"Do you wanna sleep here, tonight?" You blurted out.
König's eyes widened, and he looked at you quizzically.
"Wait—no, I mean—it's just… we're both tired and I don't want you to spend the night—er, morning—alone," you pointedly ignore the voice that tells you to say that you don't want to either or that his hug is really cozy, can't imagine what cuddling him feels like and instead, opt for "and the bed is spacious enough—so, um. Yeah." You ramble, you know, like an idiot.
Great job! You ruined it. He totally thinks you're gross and weird and—
"Are you sure?" He says, once again avoiding eye contact.
"Positive." He nods. Wait. He nods?
You gingerly grab the blanket you so hastily threw on the floor beforehand, and place it on top of the bed, toeing off your slippers, swiftly getting in and scooting over to the corner, hoping there's enough room for the two of you not to touch in case he thinks cuddling is too much.
König makes quick work of his boots and places them in the corner, hesitating for a second before ultimately taking his hood off and placing it on top of your bedside table, leaving him with only his balaclava to mask his face.
He then, as delicately as possible, climbs onto the bed, trying to shrink himself to impossibly occupy less space.
"Hey, you'll fall off if you stay that close to the edge. You can come closer, you know? I seriously don't mind," you mutter, sleepier by the second.
König once again follows your directions, scooting closer to take up more of the bed, and as you try (and fail) to get more comfortable, you bite the bullet. Fuck it, we ball.
"…In fact, is it alright if I put my arms over you again?”
"I would like that, Herz."
The two of you (finally) get comfortable, with your chin propped up on his shoulder, his arms hugging your middle and your legs entangled, and as your eyes flutter closed you hear it,
"I could teach you German, if you want," his smile was audible through his words.
"For real?" You feel more so than hear his low chuckle.
"Ja, for real."
You smile into his neck, squeezing him with your arms.
"Sounds great."
And at last, when sleep rolls by, with his hand carding through your hair, and you hearing the cicadas, snores, birds and most importantly of all; the beating of your hearts in tandem—synchronized, your last coherent thought sounds out: thank you, for coming to me.