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There's something about König that eludes him, something that makes him an enigma despite being the definition of an open book at times.
Roach can't define it, not really. Comparisons come in the form of bodily ailments, an itch he can't scratch, a twist in his stomach. A heart murmur that keeps catching him by surprise.
Romance was never something he partook in. It was just about the gratification that came with sex and nothing more, the endless chase for cheap, quick thrills with no strings attached.
Then König happened.
He graces him with fond looks, warm and inviting, expressive eyes brimming with a soft affection that ignited an inferno within him. The morning after smiles, the sleepy mumbles of good morning in either English or German, a promise of breakfast in a gentle kiss that brings back the murmur in its entirety.
Roach believed all he wanted from his voice was desperation and begging, pleased little gasps and whimpers for more or harder. Wanted to be able to hear the effect his words and hands had on him. Hear him be vocal enough for the both of them.
But then he finds himself drawn to the excited lilt in his voice when talking about vultures. Like a moth to the flame he's enraptured, a foreign feeling blooming in his chest as König enthusiastically talks of both Fuschl and Ötzi.
He wonders if König has ever spoken about him with that tone, an unknown warmth blooming in his cheeks at the warmth.
Eyes focus on the CCTV screens, gripping the warm mug resting between his hands a little tighter. There was no time to pay attention to the mess König was making him, scanning the aviaries with fledglings before movement on another screen catches his attention.
Its König and Gaz, Roach watching with interest as they talked, smile tugging at his lips at how expressively König spoke with his hands.
The smile turns to laughter, vocal and loud, filling the air of the staffroom with genuine mirth as the Austrian lays down flat on the ground, phone out to photograph Ötzi.
He can hear the compliments König paid his laugh the last time he'd used it, when the giant of a man explained how he'd learnt German Sign at first before his sister had pointed out that Roach would know British instead. Cute. Joyful. König had descended into rapidly spoken German that, if his meagre attempts at translation were to be believed, was akin to the whimsical nature of bumble bees.
Maybe Simon was right, Roach biting his lower lip with worry as he continued to watch König and Gaz, Gaz now having joined the other on the floor. Maybe this was the affliction of affection, the radiating warmth of König's light having drawn him in and now Roach was terrified he was but Icarus in the midst of reaching for the sun.
What if it doesn't work out? What if he simply leads König along, a promise of romance he can't fulfil and the feeling of being trapped in a one sided agreement with the fear of hurting him.
Simon had laughed at him when he'd explained this in rambled sign, trying to conceptualise his confusion as his hands moved almost too sporadically to form words. "It's called having a crush, ya pillock"
Was that it? Grubs first crush and its on a giant walking embodiment of social anxiety. It's funny, really, laughing again only this time his phantom one.
A hand claps on his shoulder, Roach jumping and turning in his seat to find Price, surprisingly ferretless. He looks amused, the concerned tilt of his eyebrows not hiding the fact he's clearly laughing at a joke Roach isn't yet privy to.
"Ferret for your thoughts?" Prince inquires, giving Roach space to think over his response, the click of the kettle beginning the timer to articulation in Roach's mind.
Does he tell Price? Ask for help from the one man who both had life experience and was least likely to mock him. It was sound in theory but the hesitation lingered of being open with his feelings and embracing the theory that he's been wrong in his thoughts of himself all along.
His self imposed time goes off with the rumbling of boiling water, the sound of it pouring into chipped, stained mugs and the slide of another cup of tea across the counter beside him.
Roach turns to Price, watching his boss take over flicking through the CCTV, not taking his attention away as he reprimanded the ferret in his sleeve for trying to drink his tea.
What's the worst that could happen? Price hadn't harshly reprimanded neither Soap nor Simon for their blatant flirting and that had long since become a worldwide problem. Roach refuses to believe his confusion over how König makes him feel is as bad as that.
Like a child, he gently takes hold of Price's sleeve, careful to not be too rough with the fleece in case either Deadshot or Daiquiri were in there. "What is it, son?"
Taking a moment to breathe, Roach carefully signs out his question, a nervous energy tingling in his fingers.
"How do you know if you're in love?"