~MOUSE~
Ophelia's fingers traced the seams of her olive green duffle bag.
The fabric felt coarse under her touch, a stark contrast to the delicate memories she carefully folded and placed inside.
The worn combat gear, each crease telling a tale of survival, and the few casual clothes she owned formed a mosaic of her past.
As she scrutinized the olive green hoodie, she couldn't help but notice the frayed edges and the patches sewn onto it.
Floral patches she had replaced over holes and tears.
She never wore it unless she was going home.
This hoodie had been her shield, her sanctuary.
The clothes she was about to put on, the person she was outside the base, were different.
What if he hated it?
"I can't do it," she whispered to herself, the small words barely audible in the barrack.
Ophelia's chest tightened as an overwhelming sense of dread washed over her.
Her breaths became shallow and rapid as if her lungs were refusing to cooperate.
Why had she said yes?
She was such an idiot.
The world around her blurred, each noise and movement escalating into a cacophony of chaos.
It felt as though invisible hands were squeezing her heart, and an icy chill crept up her spine.
Ophelia's hands trembled, and she instinctively clutched at her chest, desperate for some anchor to reality.
The room seemed to close in on her, and the air thickened, making it difficult to draw in the oxygen.
They couldn't have a relationship, she knew that so what were they doing?
Sweat formed on her forehead as her body wrestled with an uncontrollable surge of anxiety.
Her thoughts spiralled into a chaotic whirlwind, a torrent of fears and worries colliding in her mind.
She was different outside.
Very different.
The once-familiar surroundings became distorted and menacing.
Ophelia's vision tunnelled, focusing on nothing but the suffocating weight in her chest.
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the world even further.
She felt an acute sense of vulnerability as if she were unravelling, losing control over both her body and mind.
Her heart skipped a beat as the room welcomed the intrusion of the creaking door.
The sounds of a body in motion, the rustle of clothing and the thudding of footsteps reverberated through the air.
The distinct scent of sandalwood lingered, a fragrance she associated with him and him alone.
Despite the undeniable recognition, Ophelia couldn't bring herself to turn around.
If she looked at him she would break.
The rhythmic symphony of fabric being folded and items being carefully placed into bags wrapped around her, creating an oddly soothing ambience.
The panic that had gripped her began to loosen its hold as she immersed herself in the calming cadence.
He moved with a practised efficiency.
Ophelia's wide brown eyes fixated on her bag, silently absorbing the grace in his movements.
He didn't seem as terrified as she did.
Did he bring home strange women all the time?
The internal turmoil whispered doubts and fears, but the steady rhythm of his actions acted as a stabilizing force.
Desperation tugged at her as she contemplated the decision before her.
She wanted to go with him, but the unknown loomed like shadows in her mind.
She couldn't.
This was insane.
The whole thing was insane.
They'd made a big fucking mistake.
Zeus would find out.
The team would find out.
She'd probably get dismissed.
She'd lose her shit if she got dismissed.
What was she supposed to do with herself?
So much could go wrong.
No.
She needed to-
"Ophelia," his accented voice cut through the ambient noise in her mind, and goose bumps danced across her skin in response.
"Hm?" She responded, her focus still on her bag—an emblem of her existence, now neatly packed away.
It was strange.
How her life could be tucked away in one bag.
A sudden touch on her neck jolted her senses.
Her gaze shot up to find a vibrant red wool scarf being draped around her.
The soft fabric cascaded down, cocooning her in its warmth.
Against the muted tones of the military surroundings, the scarlet hue stood out.
Her eyes met his, and even though his face was hidden by his hood, Ophelia could sense the care in his gaze.
She couldn't look away as their eyes held.
"It's cold this time of year," he explained, his words carrying an unspoken promise of protection and warmth.
Her heart stopped.
Her chest constricting.
Her fingers duck into the texture of the scarf as it wound around her neck.
The sandalwood scent, the softness from being worn and used.
It was his.
His scarred, strong hands gently wound the vibrant red scarf around her neck, each careful wrap of the fabric erasing her panic.
His hands carried an unspoken strength that resonated with her vulnerability.
Ophelia's gaze remained locked on his hands, on the scarred landscape.
The warmth emanating from the scarf seeped into her very core, replacing the icy grip of panic with a sense of security.
The scarred hands withdrew, leaving her feeling suddenly cold again.
Ophelia's eyes met his, stormy blue, and a silent understanding passed between them.
His eyes locked onto her face slightly curled up at the corners, he was smiling at her.
"Noël..." she began, but the weight of his hand on her cheek silenced her.
The scarred, gloveless hand, rugged and gentle in its paradox, mirrored the complexities of the man before her.
He was so gentle with her.
It eased her panic and somehow made it so much worse at the same time.
Because she didn't understand what it meant.
It made her want to scream and then cry.
König's scarred finger traced over her bottom lip, his eyes glued to it as he gently ran his fingertip along her skin.
"Don't worry, Maus, I'll take care of you," he reassured, his eyes holding hers in an unspoken pact.
Ophelia could feel her cheeks heat and her lips part as she gazed up at him.
Beneath the hood that concealed his face, she could sense a hidden grin.
He understood her need to run away.
He had seen her rigid panic.
But he wasn't going to let her go.
Her gaze lingered on the scarf as his finger traced from her lip down to her jaw.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
It seemed like the one thing he owned, his one personal item.
And he'd given it to her.
With a huff, a cathartic release of turmoil, she let her fist connect with his chest.
Of course, he didn't even budge, and her knuckles just ended up hurting.
But the playful impact conveyed a mixture of defiance and a newfound acceptance.
She was going to do this.
"Whatever," she scoffed, her lips playing with the edges of a smile as she adjusted the scarf, tucking it closer to her lips.
A soft chuckle emanated from König, as he turned his attention back to his own bag.
He found it hilarious when she punched him.
"Fühlt sich an wie ein kleiner Vogel," he mumbled as he walked towards his bed and grabbed his duffel bag.
She stared at his lean back, clad in a black hoodie and loose-fitting black cargo pants.
Despite the hood obscuring his features, there was an undeniable attractiveness about him.
Her small smile grew as she watched him pack.
Heat curling in her stomach as his muscles rippled like water.
Before she could utter another word, the door to the barracks swung open.
Zero stood with his bag casually slung over his shoulder.
His sharp eyes, like twin daggers, narrowed as they fell upon the vibrant red scarf adorning Ophelia's neck.
They widened.
His gaze then lingered on her olive green hoodie adorned with patches of flowered fabric, as well as her baggy brown cargo pants and scuffed Doc Marten boots.
His eyebrow rose as a small smile licked his lips.
A sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over her, as she realized that her clothing offered a glimpse into the person she was behind 'Mouse.'
And Zero could see it.
Could see her.
Twenty-year-old girl from the French countryside.
Who painted beautiful things as she smoked on her balcony with a bottle of wine, crying while she looked down at her hands.
Imagining all the awful things they had done.
She saw a faint smile curl his lips as he looked at her clothes.
He seemed to like it.
"Zero? I thought everyone had left already?" Ophelia asked uncertainly, her gaze fixed on him.
König turned from his bag, eyes hard as he looked at Zero.
The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly, laden with unspoken tension as the two men regarded each other, each seemingly sizing up the other.
Why? Ophelia had no idea.
Zero's expression remained unreadable for a moment before a hint of a smirk played on his lips.
"Well, it seems I'm fashionably late," he replied with a nonchalant shrug.
His gaze shifted back to Ophelia, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
"New accessory, Mouse?" he asked as he stared at the scarf with a tight expression and a strain in his voice.
Ophelia's fingers instinctively tightened around the scarf, a shield against both the chill in the air and the unexpected scrutiny.
She nodded, her small smile masking the vulnerability beneath.
"Cold in France," she said casually as she shrugged and crossed her arms across her chest in a position of defence.
Zero's smirk widened, and he stepped further into the room.
"Colour suits you," he commented, his tone playful yet edged with something she didn't understand.
Zero's eyes swung to where König still packed his bag, back rigid as he ignored their conversation.
Or tried to, she could feel his tension.
Zero's eyes shifted from the hoodie to the scarf, and Ophelia couldn't help but wonder if he had glimpsed more.
She questioned whether he had seen her as Ophelia rather than just 'Mouse,' and the uncertainty stirred a mix of emotions within her.
He sighed nonchalantly and shrugged, a demeanour that exuded a blend of indifference and a touch of sentiment.
"Groups left. Wanted to say goodbye, and tell you to smack that old man of yours for me," he added with a grin.
Ophelia reciprocated his smile.
"Sure thing," she replied, already envisioning her father's reaction to a message from the ever-sarcastic Zero.
Yet, as Zero's gaze lingered on the scarf, a peculiar tension settled in the room.
"Albard fi firansa?" Cold in France? he inquired, his raised eyebrow conveying both curiosity and scepticism.
Her muscles tensed as their eyes locked, panic pulsating in her chest.
Did he know?
She shrugged, attempting to maintain a casual façade, but the subtle tightening of her grin betrayed a deeper unease.
Zero regarded her sceptically, his gaze then shifting to König.
"Colonel," he stated stoically, acknowledging their leader, before nodding to both of them.
With a brisk turn on his heel, he made his exit.
Ophelia watched him leave with a slight frown, her thoughts following him out the door.
Sensing Ophelia's unease, König turned his body around to face hers.
"What's wrong?" he inquired, his eyes fixed on her expression.
Ophelia, maintaining a veil of secrecy in her response, merely shrugged.
"Nothing," she said softly, diverting her attention back to her olive green duffle bag.
As she zipped up her bag, a lingering unease settled within her.
Zero had picked up on something, or at least had a suspicion about her and their Colonel.
The weight of his scrutinizing gaze lingered in her thoughts, leaving an indelible mark of concern.
She stole a glance at König, who was finishing up with his own preparations.
His muscled body moved with grace as he packed all of his weapons.
Ophelia, on the other hand, had only packed a few essentials.
The weight of Zero's suspicions continued to weigh on her.
She could almost hear the disapproving tone in his voice, envisioning the stern lecture she was definitely going to get.
A wry smile played on her lips at the thought, acknowledging that he'd probably smack her upside the head in his unique way.
Her fingers traced the soft wool of the red scarf around her neck, finding solace in its comforting embrace.
With a subtle smile, she turned back to her bag and slung it over her shoulder.
She could do this.
Despite the doubts, the fears, and the unknown challenges that lay ahead, she made a silent promise to herself.
She would try.
~~~~~~~~~~
TRANSLATIONS
GERMAN
"Fühlt sich an wie ein kleiner Vogel," - Feels like a little bird.