~MOUSE~
The warm water from the shower had left gentle steam lingering in the air, enveloping Ophelia in a cocoon of comfort as she dressed in one of Nöel's oversized knitted green jumpers.
She had snooped through all his belongings and was surprised, to say the least.
The soft fabric draped loosely over her, the sleeves extending far past her hands.
Paired with her trusty brown cargo pants, the ensemble offered a curious blend of comfort and mismatched fashion.
Now, she found herself seated in his kitchen, a place that seemed to reflect the enigma that was the man himself.
The room emanated a sense of order, with gleaming stainless steel appliances and neatly arranged utensils.
Her eyes attentively followed him, tracing every movement as he navigated through the space, effortlessly picking up items and delving into cupboards with quiet efficiency.
Nöel, clad in his signature all-black attire, moved with a certain grace that demanded attention.
His every step was deliberate, his movements precise.
Ophelia couldn't help but observe him in silence, captivated by the aura he exuded.
"Ich kann etwas zu essen machen, wenn du möchtest," he offered, his voice resonating in the air.
Her gaze remained fixed on him, absorbing the melodic cadence of the unfamiliar language.
When she failed to respond, he turned to face her, a hint of concern creasing his brow.
A subtle raise of her eyebrow was her only reply.
His sigh betrayed a sense of exasperation, and he decided to switch to a language they could both understand.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, to which Ophelia responded with a nonchalant shrug.
Unperturbed, Nöel sighed once more and began collecting ingredients from various corners of the kitchen.
"Schwierige Frau," he muttered under his breath, the German words lacing his frustration.
Ophelia, arms crossed over her chest, frowned at the unfamiliar phrase.
She could feel the tension building, sensing that their interaction was about to take an unexpected turn.
"This is going to get irritating fast," she commented with a frown as she observed him rummaging through his freezer.
Nöel turned his gaze towards her, momentarily forgetting the culinary task at hand.
The height difference became starkly apparent as he approached her, standing so close that their personal spaces nearly merged.
Cocking an eyebrow, he towered over her, a silent challenge in his eyes.
His hands landed on the bench on either side of her body as he caged her in.
Ophelia gritted her teeth, meeting his intense gaze with an unyielding stare even as his smell and heat waved over her.
The air crackled with an unspoken tension as she involuntarily tilted her head upward, forcing herself to look him straight in the eye.
The proximity sent a shiver down her spine.
The sudden touch of König's scarred finger against her bottom lip sent a jolt through Ophelia, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.
Her heart raced as she felt the warmth of his touch, and she instinctively held her breath.
His eyes fixed on the point of contact, a silent intensity burning within them as his finger gently traced the curve of her lip.
Her blood seemed to turn to fire as the scarred finger continued its tender exploration.
"I could teach you," he whispered, his voice soft and low.
The words hung in the air, creating a subtle invitation that lingered between them.
Ophelia's eyes locked onto his, the heat of the moment enveloping them both as they stood close.
His scarred finger withdrew, leaving her lips tingling with a newfound awareness.
She swallowed hard, grappling with the mix of emotions that surged through her.
Ophelia remained silent, her eyes still fixed on Nöel.
The offer hung in the air.
She turned her head away, feeling the warmth radiating from her cheeks.
"Fine," she mumbled, almost reluctantly, but she could practically feel his satisfaction at her acquiescence.
He stepped back, creating a physical and metaphorical distance between them, leaving her with an unexpected chill.
As he moved away, Ophelia couldn't shake off the newfound sense of cold that seemed to settle in the space he had vacated.
She observed him thawing meat in the sink with an efficiency that bordered on routine, and then his hands expertly moved through the process of cutting vegetables.
A wave of uncertainty washed over her as she stood there, feeling strangely out of place.
Feeling somewhat useless in the bustling kitchen, Ophelia decided to take a seat.
She lifted herself onto the counter, her legs dangling, and settled into a position where she could observe him.
The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board created a soothing background noise, and the rich aroma of spices and ingredients filled the air.
Her gaze fixated on him, silently absorbing the mastery with which he handled each task.
As Ophelia observed him effortlessly manoeuvring through the kitchen, a realization dawned on her.
He never cooked on base.
The contrast between the stoic, enigmatic operative she knew and the domesticity he displayed now was jarring.
It felt strange to witness König engaged in such mundane tasks.
The clatter of utensils, the sizzle of ingredients in the pan, and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables painted a domestic tableau that clashed with the shadows of secrecy that usually enveloped him.
The familiarity of the kitchen routine raised questions in Ophelia's mind.
Her eyes remained fixed on him, the air heavy with unspoken curiosity.
Nöel, now immersed in the art of cooking, seemed momentarily detached from the covert world that defined their shared reality.
To fill the growing silence, Ophelia decided to break the silence enveloping the kitchen.
Leaning forward on the counter she watched his scarred hands.
"So, you said you weren't very good at English. Does that mean not good or flat-out terrible?" she inquired, her eyes focused on him.
The corners of her lips curled into a faint smile as she awaited his response.
He huffed, a sound she recognized as his version of a laugh.
"Terrible," he admitted, a self-awareness colouring his admission.
Ophelia's smile widened a little, finding a certain charm in his honesty.
The revelation added a touch of vulnerability to the stoic image she had grown accustomed to.
As the admission hung in the air, the tension that once filled the kitchen began to dissipate.
"Where'd you enlist and train?" she asked as she picked at the jumper that swam around her.
The question lingered in the air for a moment before he looked up.
His eyes met hers, a flicker of contemplation crossing his features.
Ophelia sensed a guarded hesitation as if the memories attached to her inquiry held a weight he wasn't eager to share.
"I enlisted in Munich," he began, his tone carrying a hint of detachment, as if revisiting the past required a certain emotional distance.
Ophelia nodded, respecting the boundaries he seemed to impose on that particular part of his history.
The loose fabric of the oversized jumper enveloped her as she absentmindedly picked at it, the tactile action providing a comforting distraction.
"Why'd you join KorTac?" she asked, her fingers absentmindedly tucking curls behind her ears.
The silence that followed lingered, emphasizing the weight of the question.
He set down the knife, a reflective glint in his eyes as he considered the answer.
"KorTac gave me a purpose," he finally replied, his voice measured.
"To act where others couldn't or wouldn't. It aligned with my... skill set."
Ophelia recognized the guarded nature of his words, a reluctance to unveil the layers beneath the stoic exterior.
Nöel's gaze remained fixed on the knife in his hand, the reflective gleam in his eyes hinting at a myriad of thoughts swirling beneath the surface.
Ophelia, intrigued by his choice of words, seized the opportunity to delve deeper into the layers of his past and motivations.
"Skill set?" she echoed, her question hanging in the air.
As he continued to stare at the knife, she sensed a guarded reluctance, a hesitation.
He sighed, a subtle acknowledgment of the weight behind the words.
"Why did you join?" he asked, his inquiry penetrating the surface of her composed exterior.
She flinched involuntarily, the memory of the 141 rushing back – her dismissal, the medical discharge that masked the true story.
In other words, you can't torture and slaughter a warehouse of men by yourself because they killed your team and left you to die.
She had vehemently disagreed with their assessment.
"Zeus contacted me," she admitted softly, the weight of the revelation settling into the space between them.
Nöel slowly turned to face her.
His eyes, sharp and discerning, bore into her with an intensity that demanded honesty.
"Personally?" he asked, a note of surprise colouring his tone.
Ophelia nodded, her gaze unwavering.
"Where were you before?" König's question sliced through the air, carrying a stern gaze that sought to unravel the enigma surrounding Ophelia's past.
She responded with a nonchalant shrug, her fingers idly picking at her nails as she offered a vague reply.
"Around," she said, the single word hanging in the air with an air of mystery.
Nöel, undeterred by her evasiveness, nodded in acknowledgment.
The exchange was brief, yet it held an unspoken agreement to respect each other's boundaries.
He turned back to the culinary task at hand, a silent understanding settling between them.
"You've really never seen a horror movie?" she asked, clearing her throat and trying to change the topic.
He nodded in confirmation, his expression betraying neither excitement nor reluctance.
Jumping down from the counter, Ophelia smiled mischievously.
She gestured towards the television across the room.
"We're changing that now," she declared with determination, her enthusiasm evident in every step as she walked towards the entertainment setup.
"Fine," came König's response from the kitchen.
Ophelia's smile widened at his surrender.
She flopped down onto the couch, the oversized green jumper enveloping her like a cozy cocoon, and eagerly grabbed the remote.
The anticipation in the room grew as the TV flickered to life, casting a soft glow across the space.
Ophelia glanced towards the kitchen, wondering how he would react to his first experience with horror.
Based on what she had seen he'd probably be fine.
The moment held a light-hearted charm, a departure from the intensity of their earlier conversation.
With a playful glint in her eye, Ophelia scrolled through the movie options, searching for the perfect blend of suspense and thrill.
"Ooh! Scream is a classic," Ophelia exclaimed with a grin, clicking on the movie.
She heard Nöel huff behind her.
Intrigued, she spun around to face him.
"Come on! The 1996 version is the best one!" she insisted, excitement bubbling in her voice as she curled her legs under her on the couch.
The man, unable to hide a small smile, glanced away from her.
"Fine," he said again with that same smile and Ophelia felt her chest flutter and her stomach dip.
~~~~~~~~~~
TRANSLATIONS
GERMAN
"Ich kann etwas zu essen machen, wenn du möchtest," - I can make some food if you want
"Schwierige Frau," -Difficult woman