Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You only found out his name recently. There hadn’t been a name on his mailbox for the four months he’d lived there, and then, just last week, he finally put a paper up. König. No last name. You wondered where it was from. Out of curiosity, you looked it up, found out it stands for king in German. Sounds like a fake name, you thought. Might be, considering how mysterious this new neighbour is.
He’s tall. Ridiculously tall. A walking utility pole. Always wearing a hoodie no matter the weather, a black surgical mask hiding what’s left of his face. He’d be unrecognizable if he wasn't so imposing. And if he wasn’t only ever seen walking his massive Cane Corso.

You’ve run into each other dozens of times now, both of you nodding like polite strangers in a Cold War spy film. Every time you pass him on your morning run, you feel like a Pomeranian yapping past a duo of panthers.

But then one day, you stop seeing him.

The dog still gets walked, but it’s by someone else—some gangly teenager who keeps checking his phone and doesn’t know how to hold the leash properly. By week two, you start getting curious. Maybe König’s just busy. Or he’s on a trip. Hard to tell the difference between when he’s home or not. You’ve never heard a sound coming from his apartment. His door is on the other side of the hallway, sure, but you’d at least expect the dog to make some kind of noise. There’s a family living on your floor and you sure as hell hear them.

On week three, you finally see him again.

You’re coming back from the corner store with a box of cereal and a microwave meal that won’t taste like anything but regret, a long day of work already in the tank, when you find that the building’s elevator drew its last breath earlier that day. There’s a cardboard sign taped to the metal doors that reads: OUT OF ORDER. PLEASE USE STAIRS. As if there’s another option.

You huff your way up two floors, just for the sake of letting your inconvenience be heard. It’s not like there’s anyone here to mope with you, and yet that doesn’t stop you from mumbling under your breath. Eyes fixated on your next step, you round the corner blindly and nearly slam into someone.

“Oh—sorry!”

You stop short.

König steps aside instinctively, tilting to the side with a wince that makes you wince. That’s when you notice it. He’s got one hand braced on the wall, the other holding two heavy bags, and he’s wearing a bulky knee brace. For the first time you see him with his hood down; sweat is starting to bead at his forehead, attracting flyaways that are too dark to be blond and too warm to be brown.

“Are you okay?” you ask, eyes flicking down to the brace.

He nods once. Curt. The grocery bags dig into his hand. One looks like it’s holding milk, the other something heavy. Cans? Bricks? A bowling ball?

“Do you need help? We live on the same floor.”

His eyes bore into you like he’s trying to detect an ulterior motive. But really, he’s just surprised you even know where he lives. That gives you enough time to notice that they’re blue. A cold, washed-out blue. Lighter than the shadow of his hood made them appear.

You extend your free hand out. It takes him a moment of consideration before he shifts one of the bags—the lighter one—your way. You grab it before he can change his mind.

You don’t talk much on the way up.

He limps up each stair with difficulty. You keep pace beside him, which feels awkward but is definitely better than walking in front or behind him. You hear him murmur something annoyed in German when you finally make it to your floor.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you dare to inquire once he’s on flat ground.

He glances down at his knee. “It's manageable.”

You snort. “That sounds like a very macho way to say yes.”

He doesn’t laugh, but you swear you saw the corner of his eyes crinkle above the mask. You follow in his footsteps when he makes his way to his door. He unlocks it and nudges it open. You stick by the threshold, unsure. Inside is lots of muted gray, dim but cozy, judging from what little you can see. You spot the dog immediately, lounging like a beast on the couch. He lifts his massive head, sniffs the air once, and lets out a huff like he’s saying 'bout time, loser.

You wait for an invite that never comes. König just extends his hand to retrieve his bag, thanking you. You don't take it to heart; it feels like he’s trying to waste as little of your time as possible.

“Well,” you start, straightening up, “if you ever need anything I’m in 5B.” You smile and step back. “Take care of that knee.”

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Chapter Text

You were prepared not to see him again for a while. König, your ghost of a neighbor. It was nice finding out you weren’t living next to a total freak. He didn’t strike you as talkative, that’s for sure, but your small interaction was enough to rule him out as unpleasant. Plus now you had both a name and a voice to match to the figure.

You’re pulling your apartment door shut, keys jangling as you shove them in your running belt, when you hear the familiar sound of a door opening on your floor. You expect to hear footsteps, someone passing by until they’re close enough to greet you, but the person doesn’t move.

You look over to the noise. Just planning to steal a glance. But you pause when your eyes land on König. You nearly say “hi” out of habit, like you do whenever you run into any other neighbor. But your throat catches on the word, and so does his.

Instead, there’s this… pause.

He doesn’t carry anything. Nothing to suggest he has a reason to be standing there in socks and joggers, looking like he forgot how doors work.

You glance at him. He glances at your shoes.

“Sorry, I don’t want to bother you,” he finally says, low and rough like he hasn’t used his voice all morning.

“You’re not. I was heading out for a run but I’m not in a rush.”

A beat. He nods.

“Do you like dogs?”

You blink.

“...Yeah. Why?”

König hesitates. Looks at the floor, then at the ceiling like the right phrasing might be written up there somewhere. He’s stuck between regretting having brought up the topic and needing to push through with his request. You've never seen a man who holds himself this straight look so lost in his own body.

“I need someone to walk my dog. I usually do it twice a day but my knee…” he falters, avoiding the subject of his injury, “I thought I could ask you.”

You cock your head. “You want me to walk your dog?”

Your hesitation must read as doubt, or something close to refusal, because he stiffens and tries to recover. “I understand. She’s big. But she listens. She’s very well trained. I just— I would like someone I know better.”

You blink at him. Know better? You? You almost laugh, but something about the way he says it stops you.

You try to pick your next words carefully. “Don’t you have a friend or someone who already knows her to do it?”

“I’ve been paying someone but Heidi doesn’t like him. He keeps pulling on her leash. She growls at him. She’s never like that with people unless she’s scared.”

You’re stuck on his first sentence.

Heidi.

The warbeast has a name. And he talks about her like she’s precious.

“I understand if you don’t have the time,” he starts backing up, ashamed he even bothered you with that.

“No I— it’s okay.” You refuse to act out of pity, but admittedly, you’d feel bad for straight up denying him. Besides, it’s not like you’re fully committing yet. “I’ll just have to meet her first. You know, just in case she doesn’t like my face.”

His eyes brighten. Just a little. “Of course.”

—

You expected clutter. Something vaguely man-cave adjacent. But König’s place is anything but. Your first few moments inside are spent taking in the interior, eyes bouncing from surface to surface in silent astonishment.

It’s spotless.

Like… unsettlingly so.

Everything is where it should be. The shoes lined neatly by the door—all black, all enormous. The couch, simple but clean, throw blanket folded with precision. No mess. No bottle or glass stain on the coffee table. Even the hardwood floors look freshly mopped. There’s that familiar scent of freshly cleaned hanging in the air, though it’s nothing unpleasant.

And near the entrance, like a shrine, is Heidi’s station.

A mounted display shelf holds no less than eight different collars and matching leashes, ranging from blushing pink to hard studded leather. You eye them like one might study someone’s watch collection.

“She likes to pick. Depends on her mood,” König explains beside you, hands in the pocket of his hoodie. You arch a brow at that. He says it so seriously, like it’s perfectly reasonable.

Next to the leash rack is her toy bin—overflowing. Chew ropes, squeaky donuts, something that looks like a little dinosaur. A particularly sad-looking teddy bear sits on top, its fur matted and one eye half-chewed, like it’s been loved too hard.

And then there’s the bed.

You look at it. Then back at König. Then at the bed again.

“That’s bigger than my couch.”

“She likes to stretch.”

“I could nap on that.”

“You can, if she lets you.”

You squint. “Would she?”

“Only if she likes you.”

And that’s when you see her, padding in from the hallway with slow, heavy steps. She’s every bit as massive up close as she looks from a distance. Black as midnight. Wide-skulled. Pale, watchful eyes. But she walks up to König like a child, her whole back half wiggling. He leans down as much as the brace allows to scratch behind her ears, as if greeting royalty.

“Heidi,” he murmurs. “Jemand ist hier, um dich zu sehen. Be nice.”

You glance down as Heidi moves closer, sniffing your legs like she’s reading your resume. You present your hand to her muzzle, knowing better than to try to pet her from the get go. “Hi, princess.”

König glances up. “She likes that. The nicknames.”

“Of course she does. She has a collar display.”

After a long moment, she huffs out a breath and plops down at your feet.

“I think she likes you,” König says with relief and maybe a bit of pride.

You finally reach out a hand to touch her fur. “I’m honored.”

Chapter Text

You’re not quite sure when test walk became the plan. One second König was explaining her lead style—harness, never collar, those are only for show—and the next he was pulling on a zip-up and following you down the stairs, stiff-legged with the bulk of his brace.

Heidi bounds ahead like a tank without brakes, all muscles and barely contained joy testing the leash's limit. You’re not holding it yet, but the idea of you trying to keep her in line while König trails behind like some massive, anxious bodyguard is… mildly hilarious.

And yet, not unpleasant.

You expected conversation to be hard. And it is. König walks beside you like he’s unfamiliar with the art of casual chat. He opens his mouth twice and says nothing. Then, out of the blue:

“I can pay you.”

You blink. “What?”

“For walking her,” he says, still watching the path ahead. “I paid the last guy. It’s fair.”

You glance at Heidi, at the joyful way she zigzags, ears flopping like they’re animated separately from the rest of her.

“I don’t want money,” you say.

König looks at you, slow, doubtful.

“I’ve been meaning to move more anyway,” you add, badly.

His expression doesn’t shift much—or it does but you can’t tell just from looking at his avoidant eyes. “Tell me if you change your mind.”

—

The park is a few blocks away, tucked between rows of trees and apartment buildings with cracked window boxes. It’s nothing special; a field, benches, a gravel path, but it has enough space for Heidi to lose her mind.

König unlatches her lead and throws the ball he’s been carrying in his pocket like it owes him money. It sails halfway across the field and Heidi launches, a blur of sleek black fur. You watch, stunned.

“I hope you don’t expect me to throw it that far,” you muse.

König uses the time Heidi takes to come back to sit on a bench, his knee reminding him why he hadn’t taken her out himself lately. “You don’t need to. She just likes to chase. She’d tire herself out just running after her tail.”

Okay so sarcasm really isn’t his forte.

You take the spot next to him, thinking of a way to keep the conversation going now that you have him speaking more than one sentence at a time. But that’s the moment Heidi chooses to bound back to you and deposit the ball at… your feet.

You blink down at the slimy yellow-green tennis ball nestled against your sneaker. “...Oh. Thanks.”

Heidi wags expectantly.

You reach for the ball—God, it’s damp—and give it an awkward toss. It doesn’t fly nearly as far as König’s did, but Heidi bolts after it anyway like it’s the most thrilling thing that’s ever happened.

“So, um, I assume she knows basic commands,” you start.

“Of course,” he retorts immediately, like implying that his baby may be undisciplined is deeply offensive. “But she’s trained in German. Hier, sitz, platz, aus…” he starts enumerating before catching your confused expression, “It’s not complicated, I'll make you a list.”

“That’d be great.” That’s definitely something you could look up on the internet, but since he’s offering. “Could you text it to me?

“I don’t have your number.”

Heidi brings the ball back. You throw. She goes. “I’ll just put it into your phone.”

You hold your hand out for it. It takes a bit for König to stir into motion, digging into his pocket to fish it out. He doesn’t unlock it for you, but there’s no password. Not many apps either judging from the front page. Just a picture of Heidi as a puppy for wallpaper. She’s tiny, or at least she appears to be with the way she fits in König’s hand. An aww almost slips out, but you don’t want to look like you’re snooping.
König keeps throwing the ball while you save your contact, sending yourself a text so you also have his. Heidi barrels toward you every time like she’s about to obliterate your legs, only to pivot at the last second with ballerina grace. König has to reach to your side when she drops the ball by you, shoulder brushing your knee twice or thrice—which… definitely isn’t something you’re keeping tabs on.

You count on Heidi to shake you up a little, but the next time she comes back she drops at your feet like a sleepy log.

“We should probably go. I forgot her water.”

Chapter Text

“She stays by your side. No need to hold so tight.”

You’re walking home with the leash in your hand this time. König keeps a step behind, hands tucked in the pockets of his zip up, gait uneven from the brace.

“I’m not—” you begin to protest, and then you glance down at your arm. Shoulders stiff, grip white-knuckled like you’re steering a tractor through a warzone.

Right.

You exhale and do your best to relax. “If you’re nervous, she’ll be nervous,” König adds.

Noted.

You peek back at him. He’s looking at Heidi, like he trusts her more than you to lead.

“Did you train her yourself?” you ask.

He nods.

“Where’d you learn?”

“Read books. Watched things.” A pause. “She’s smart.”

You wait for more. You don’t get it.

“So…” you try again, “do you work from home? Or…?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“What do you do?”

He hesitates. Not like he doesn’t want to answer. More like he’s waiting to figure out the easiest version of the truth. “Security,” he says eventually.

Vague. Entirely unhelpful.

“Nice,” translates to sure, I’ll leave it alone.

He doesn’t ask anything back. Not what you do. Not where you’re from. Not even something simple like if you’ve had dogs before. Either he doesn’t know how to make conversation, or he’d rather keep his distance with you. The little you know about him makes you believe it’s both.

You’re almost at your building when König slows a bit.

“Do you want ice cream?”

The question hangs awkward in the summer air. Still warm even as the evening creeps in.

You turn to look at him. “Like, do you want ice cream?”

He shakes his head. Doesn’t even hesitate. “No. I’ll buy you one.”

You blink. “Oh.” That’s it? That’s the offer? “I’m okay. Thanks though.”

He nods, clearly not offended.

You wonder when’s the last time he hung out with someone that isn’t his dog.

—

At your building, Heidi climbs the stairs like she’s still got three more parks to hit before sundown. König doesn’t even try to keep up, just huffs his way upward one step at a time. You hold the leash until you’re outside his door, patiently waiting for him to catch up. Heidi sits and leans on your leg like you’re a sofa she’s claimed.

“So would you be okay walking her sometimes?” he asks when he reaches your floor, taking back the leash. “When you have time,” he clarifies quickly. “If it’s not a bother.”

“Sure.”

“She’d be happy to see you again,” he adds, glancing down at Heidi like he’s letting her take the emotional risk for him.

“And you know that because…?”

“She tells me when she doesn’t like people.”

You nod. He says things like this with such conviction that you have no business judging or doubting him.

“Just ring the door when you want to take her out. I’m home most of the time.”

Something about his words land heavy. You have a feeling the injury isn’t when he started being confined to his home. It does raise questions, but you promise yourself you won’t bother him with your misplaced curiosity. Every interaction you’ve had screams I’m only doing this because I have to, so you won’t make him regret choosing you to trust.

König opens the door for Heidi, but she lingers for a second, nose nudging your hand. You lean down to pet her. “See you soon, sweet girl.”

When she pads inside, König lingers too.

“Thank you.”

And then he vanishes inside.

—

You’re back at his door the very next day.

Turns out you didn’t need much convincing. Plus, it’s the weekend; there’s little to do besides rotting in front of some mind-numbing show and visiting your snack cupboard one too many times.

König welcomes you a tad less awkwardly this time, Heidi already on his heels like she knows what you're here for. You stand aside while he gets her ready, wanting to ease into things with small talk but failing to find a good approach.
You’re handed the leash and a tennis ball—a clean one, thank God. Heidi behaves like you expected her to. Sure, her size is still somewhat of a concern to you, but it’d only be a problem in the very unlikely case she’d start throwing a fit.

You get to the park and decide to practice some of the commands König sent you the night before. Your pronunciation isn’t the best, but Heidi does sit when you ask her the second time. After a bit of trial and error, you even manage to get her to wait for your go to run after the ball.

The walk back goes just as smoothly; you play back König’s voice telling you to relax, and sure enough, Heidi doesn’t take it as a chance to drag you across the pavement. The mere thought now seems silly enough to make you smile.

Yeah, this’ll work out fine.