Untouchable | fdom x ghost x konig

✰ | twenty ;

"Ugh... my head hurts." I grab onto my shirt, pulling it over my head as a strand of hair clings to my lips. My head was pounding as I wobbled around my room, Konig sitting at my desk. He's messing with the scraps of paper on my desk, folding them carefully between his fingers. His eyes flit to me for a brief second, having turned around, then moved away quickly.

He's suddenly embarrassed, slouching over my desk in some form of reassurance that he wasn't peeking at me. Konig looked a bit silly, cramped into a small chair and desk. I just couldn't seem to keep a small smile from my face as I looked at him. I sniff my shirt. My nose wrinkles immediately at the odor that clung to it. "Ew, it stinks." The strong stench of alcohol covered the fabric, and I headed toward Konig. "Hand me your shirt, I'll wash it too. Sorry for wiping my face off on you."

Not one of my proudest moments. Definitely not. 

He doesn't turn when I speak, even when I hold out a hand. He's still acting shy? Fumbling slightly, he lifts his shirt over his head. I watch the way his skin is kissed by the light as he does so, the beautiful curves and slopes of muscle greeted with my attention. And... 

My eyes widen as he is completely exposed to me...

His back.

It was nothing like Ghost's scarring, where they were separate incidents with lasting marks. He had singular bullet wounds, cuts, nicks, brushes with death—this was... "Canary?" My eyes snap up, realizing that Konig still wasn't looking at me. He holds his shirt over his shoulder for me, his head tilted to the side in confusion at my lapse in attention. I was too distracted by the scarring to realize that he was waiting for me. 

He doesn't notice that I notice. Maybe he's forgotten about it. Maybe it's all he can think about. 

I clear my throat. "Oh, yeah, sorry, spaced out for a second." I take his shirt and he nods, still not looking at me. But I stare at his back for a few more seconds. 

Horrid, horrid scarring. All along his skin, dappling in streaks across the back of his ribs. Like wings.

Like scarred wings, stretching from his shoulder blades and dipping down to his hips. Lighter than the rest of his body, the affected skin searing across his shoulders. Each individual store was agonizing and intensive. Most of all, they looked recent. The scarred skin was still fresh like the wounds on my own body. 

When...? When could he--My heartbeat is in my ears. 

When we went to the encampment. When Konig and I were trapped in the crossfire of a million bullets. When they took him away. I swallowed hard. I know it has to be. When I was knocked unconscious, in that infinitely tiny gap of time. A sudden chill of realization runs down my spine. They were hiding this from me.

All of them were collectively under some sort of agreement to keep their mouths shut. I never did find out what happened. I never asked. From the second the world went black to the second I saw Konig again, I never knew a thing. His suffering, his agony. 

All I know is the aftermath. What torture did he go through? What did he have to endure to make it here?

Sigil didn't need three operators. In fact, he didn't need Konig at all. But he had us all in his palm. And he decided to do what he did best. I can only imagine... No. Not to him, never to him. 

My blood runs cold and I turn away quickly, stalking up to the door. I don't think I can hide the devastation from my expression if I were to stay here any longer. 

I turn the knob and a hand plants on the surface, shutting it with a click. Konig is behind me, placing a hand on my elbow, crowding me against the door. I can feel his presence behind me, the warmth of his body against mine. My heartbeat slows a bit. "Konig?" I lift my head, staring up at him with curiosity. His eyes meet my own. And flicker down at my chest. Then back up.