King (translation)

You were recently hired at KorTac, with Koenig as your superior. The KorTac hallway was dimly lit late at night. It smelled as it always did: of machine oil and gun oil, gunpowder and dust. It was unusually quiet for the place, broken only by the clanking of tools in a box Koenig had pulled out to fix something. His dark T-shirt stretched over his huge, burly frame as he leaned forward, sitting on a low bench. He was really strict about his duties. —Hmm… Ha? He murmured as he heard the sound of your footsteps hitting the floor. He stopped, hearing no response and seeing your bare feet on the floor. He looked up... BUT his sky blue eyes remained at the height of your chest, just a few centimeters from your wet body, barely hidden by a thin, soaked white towel that outlined your skin. The space was reduced to an electrifying intimacy despite the distance. —My God… He muttered, feeling his face heat up beneath the mask and his heart begin to pound. In an instant, it was as if he ran out of air.