The Forgot Connection
This is just a little Köing x y/n drabble. I was bored tbh. Hope you like it. Enjoy.
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Köing grew up in a quiet German town, the kind where the streets emptied by dusk and silence felt like safety. He was always the quiet one—tall, broad-shouldered, and painfully aware of it. Social anxiety clung to him like a second skin; he hated crowds, avoided eye contact, and found comfort in routine.
The military seemed like a way out. Structure. Purpose. Distance. He trained relentlessly, hoping to become a sniper—drawn to the solitude, the precision, the quiet. But when he finally enlisted, they told him no.
“Too big,” they said. “You’d stand out in the field.”
It stung. But he didn’t argue. He became a Colonel instead—strategic, respected, and always a little distant. He led with quiet intensity, never raising his voice, never letting anyone too close.
Until he saw her again.
-
The train from Leipzig rolled into Brühl just past noon. Köing stepped off, boots hitting the platform with practiced precision. His duffel bag was heavy, but he barely noticed. After years in the Bundeswehr, everything felt lighter now—except the silence.
He hadn’t seen Jannik in over a year. They’d grown up together, two boys in a sleepy German town, sneaking beers and building forts in the woods. Köing had gone military. Jannik had stayed local, working in architecture and helping his parents with the family home.
The front door swung open before Köing could knock.
“Alter!” Jannik grinned, pulling him into a hug. “You look like you wrestled a Panzer.”
Köing smirked. “I did. It was called paperwork.”
From inside, a voice called out—his mother’s. “Is that Köing? Tell him to take off those boots before he ruins my floor!”
Jannik’s father appeared behind her, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Good to see you, Junge. Come in, come in.”
Köing stepped inside, the scent of roast pork and sauerkraut wrapping around him like a memory. The house hadn’t changed. Same crooked lamp in the hallway. Same loud clock ticking in the kitchen.
And then she walked in.
“Y/N,” Jannik said, “you remember Köing?”
She was grown now. No longer the little girl who used to steal their soccer ball and demand attention. Her hair was tied up messily, paint on her fingers, wearing an oversized hoodie that said Kunst ist Freiheit.
She blinked. “You’re the one who used to sit in the corner and read sniper manuals at my birthday parties.”
“They were tactical guides,” Köing replied, clearing his throat.
She laughed. “Still festive.”
Their mother chimed in, “She’s painting the guest room. You’ll be sleeping in a cloud.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “It’s a sky mural. Don’t mock the process.”
Later that evening, Köing sat on the back terrace with Y/N while Jannik helped his dad fix the garden lights.
“You’re quieter than I remember,” she said, sipping her Apfelschorle.
“I’ve always been quiet,” Köing replied. “Social settings aren’t my strength.”
She tilted her head. “You wanted to be a sniper, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Didn’t happen. Too big. Not built for hiding.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “You don’t have to hide here.”
Inside, Jannik’s mom was laughing at a story about Köing falling into the lake during a camping trip. Y/N smiled.
“You know,” she said, “you’re kind of like the sky mural.”
He frowned. “How?”
“Big. Quiet. But if you look long enough, you start to see all the colors.”
-
( flash back )
The backyard was a mess of cardboard boxes, duct tape, and half-eaten pretzels. Köing sat cross-legged in the shade of the walnut tree, sketching a layout for their fort with military precision. His pencil moved slowly, deliberately—each line a calculated decision.
Jannik, his best friend, was sprawled beside him, chewing on a gummy bear. “We should add a trapdoor. Like in those spy movies.”
Köing didn’t look up. “Trapdoors are unstable. We’d be exposed.”
“You sound like my uncle.”
“He’s a mechanic. I’m thinking tactically.”
From the patio, a voice called out. “Can I help?”
Y/N stood there, 11 years old, wearing a hoodie that nearly swallowed her and socks that didn’t match. Her braids were messy, and she had a smudge of paint on her cheek.
Jannik groaned. “Y/N, go draw unicorns or something.”
She ignored him and walked over. “I want to help. I can be lookout.”
Köing blinked. He didn’t talk much—especially not to girls. Especially not ones who stared at him like he was a puzzle.
“You can be lookout,” he said quietly.
Her face lit up. “Really?”
He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. “But you have to stay quiet. Like a sniper.”
She sat beside him, legs crossed, pulling out a notebook. “You want to be a sniper?”
“I do,” he said. “They work alone. They don’t have to talk.”
She tilted her head. “You don’t like talking?”
He hesitated. “I don’t like... being looked at.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then: “You don’t have to hide here.”
Jannik rolled his eyes. “She’s always saying weird stuff like that.”
Y/N stuck out her tongue. “It’s not weird. It’s true.”
Köing gave her a small smile. Just a flicker. She noticed.
Later, while Jannik ran inside for Apfelschorle, Y/N leaned closer and whispered, “You’re not scary like everyone says.”
Köing froze. “People say I’m scary?”
She shrugged. “You’re quiet. But you’re nice. You gave me a job.”
He didn’t know what to say. So he just nodded.
She smiled and went back to drawing camouflage patterns on the fort walls, humming softly.
And for the first time in a long while, Köing didn’t feel like he had to shrink himself to fit.
( just a btw hes 13 shes 11)
-
( here shes 14 hes 16 )
The music inside was loud—too loud. Laughter spilled out through the open windows, along with the scent of grilled sausages and cheap soda. Köing slipped out the back door, his shoulders tight, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.
He hated parties. Too many people. Too many eyes. Even if it was just Jannik’s birthday, even if he knew everyone there, it still felt like standing in the middle of a spotlight.
He climbed up onto the low garden wall behind the house, the one that bordered the overgrown hedge. It was damp from the afternoon rain, but he didn’t care. He just needed quiet.
He pulled out his notebook—half tactical sketches, half thoughts he didn’t know how to say out loud—and started drawing. A layout for a training course. Something structured. Something that made sense.
“Found you.”
He looked up. Y/N stood a few feet away, arms crossed, wearing a hoodie with paint stains on the sleeves. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and she had that look—curious, unafraid.
“You always disappear at parties,” she said.
“I don’t like noise,” Köing replied.
She climbed up beside him, settling in without asking. “You don’t like people either.”
He didn’t answer.
She nudged his arm. “You know, you’re the only person who didn’t laugh when I said I wanted to be an artist.”
“You’re good,” he said quietly. “You see things.”
She smiled. “So do you. You just don’t say them out loud.”
They sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the party muffled by the hedge. Köing felt his pulse slow. Y/N didn’t fill the space with chatter. She just... existed beside him.
Then she turned to him, eyes soft. “Do you ever feel like you’re too big for the room?”
He blinked. “All the time.”
She leaned in, just slightly. Her shoulder brushed his. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, then back to his eyes.
Köing froze.
She was close. Closer than anyone had ever been. And for a second, he thought—maybe—
But she pulled back, just a breath. “It’s okay,” she said gently. “I just wanted to see if you’d flinch.”
He didn’t. But he didn’t move either.
She smiled, not teasing—just understanding. “You’re not scary, Köing. You’re just quiet.”
Inside, someone yelled Jannik’s name. The party surged again.
Y/N hopped down from the wall. “Come back in when you’re ready. I saved you a slice of cake.”
He watched her walk away, her braid swinging behind her.
And for the first time, he wondered what it would feel like to be seen—and not shrink.
-
Present Day
The garden hadn’t changed much. The walnut tree was taller, the hedge a little wilder, but the wall was still there—moss-covered and cracked in places. Köing sat on it again, just like he had all those years ago. His boots rested on the edge, his hands folded in his lap.
Y/N stepped out from the back door, two mugs of tea in hand. She handed him one without a word and climbed up beside him, her shoulder brushing his.
“You always end up here,” she said softly.
“It’s quiet,” Köing replied.
They sipped in silence for a moment. The evening air was cool, the sky streaked with orange and violet.
Then she said it.
“Do you remember Jannik’s birthday? I was fourteen. You were sitting right here.”
He glanced at her, brow furrowed. “I remember leaving the party.”
“You were sketching something. I came out to find you.”
He nodded slowly. “You said I didn’t have to hide.”
She smiled. “I almost kissed you.”
Köing froze, mug halfway to his lips.
“I leaned in,” she continued. “You didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if you were scared or just... still.”
“I was both,” he said quietly.
She looked at him, eyes steady. “I didn’t want to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” he said. “I just didn’t know what to do with something gentle.”
They sat there, the weight of the years between them settling like dust.
“I think I wanted you to see me,” he added. “But I didn’t know how to be seen.”
Y/N reached out, her fingers brushing his hand. “You don’t have to try anymore. I’ve been looking at you for a long time.”
He turned to her, really turned. And this time, he didn’t freeze.
-
The kitchen smelled like fresh bread and rosemary. Jannik’s mother was slicing tomatoes with the kind of precision only years of cooking could teach, while his father sat at the table reading the newspaper, glasses perched low on his nose.
Köing stood near the doorway, hands folded behind his back like he was reporting to a superior officer. Y/N was beside him, arms crossed, trying not to smile.
Jannik leaned against the fridge, arms folded, watching the scene unfold like a spectator at a slow-motion car crash.
“So,” Köing began, voice steady but quiet. “We wanted to tell you something.”
Jannik’s mother didn’t look up. “You and Y/N are together.”
Köing blinked. “Yes.”
She nodded, still slicing. “We know.”
Y/N’s jaw dropped. “Wait—what?”
Jannik’s dad turned a page in his paper. “You think we didn’t notice the way you look at each other? You’ve been orbiting each other since she was fourteen.”
Köing flushed. “We weren’t—nothing happened back then.”
“We know,” Jannik’s mom said again, finally looking up. “But we also know you’ve always been gentle with her. Thoughtful. Quiet, but present.”
Jannik groaned. “You guys are weirdly okay with this.”
His dad shrugged. “He’s practically family. And he’s not an idiot.”
Y/N laughed. “That’s the highest praise you’ll ever get from him.”
Köing cleared his throat. “I care about her. Deeply. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
Jannik’s mom smiled. “We know.”
Köing looked at Jannik, who just shook his head. “I tried to be mad. Didn’t stick.”
Y/N leaned into Köing’s side, her hand brushing his. “So... we’re good?”
Her mom nodded. “Just don’t sneak around. And no kissing in my kitchen.”
Jannik gagged. “Please. I’m eating.”
Köing finally smiled—small, but real. “Understood.
-
The garden was quiet again. Köing and Y/N sat on the old wall, just like they had years ago. The air smelled like damp earth and apple blossoms. Köing’s tea had gone cold in his hands, but he hadn’t noticed.
Y/N was watching him. Not staring—just watching, like she always had.
“You never asked,” she said softly.
“Asked what?”
“If I meant it. That night. When I almost kissed you.”
He looked at her, eyes steady. “I didn’t have to ask. I knew.”
She smiled, just a little. “So why didn’t you kiss me?”
“I was afraid,” he said. “Not of you. Of what it would mean.”
“And now?”
He didn’t answer. He just leaned in—slowly, deliberately, like every movement had weight. She met him halfway.
The kiss was quiet. No fireworks. No dramatic music. Just warmth, and breath, and the soft press of lips that had waited years to meet.
When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his. “You’re not hiding anymore.”
“I don’t want to,” he whispered.
And then—
“What the hell is this?”
They turned. Jannik stood at the edge of the garden, holding a plate of leftover cake, eyes wide.
Y/N blinked. “Jannik—”
“You kissed him?” Jannik looked at Köing, stunned. “You kissed my sister?”
Köing stood slowly, posture straight. “I didn’t plan it.”
“That’s not the point!”
Y/N stepped between them. “Jannik, stop. It wasn’t a mistake.”
Jannik looked at her, then at Köing. “You’ve known her since she was a kid.”
“I know,” Köing said quietly. “And I’ve never disrespected that. But I’m not the same kid I was. Neither is she.”
Jannik was silent. The tension hung heavy.
Then he sighed, rubbing his face. “You could’ve told me.”
“I didn’t know how,” Köing admitted.
Y/N reached for Köing’s hand. “We’re not asking for permission. Just understanding.”
Jannik looked at them for a long moment. Then he muttered, “Mum’s gonna lose it.”
Köing almost smiled. “She already suspects.”
Jannik groaned. “Fine. But if you hurt her, I’m not letting rank stop me.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Y/N squeezed Köing’s hand. “We’re okay?”
Jannik nodded reluctantly. “You’re lucky I like you.”
-
( time skip a few days, i know its a little soon to get together but still. Come on they have know each other for like 14 years cut me some slack T-T )
The morning was still, the sky over Brühl painted in soft gray. Köing stood by the front gate, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, uniform crisp, boots polished. He looked like a soldier again—disciplined, distant. But his eyes betrayed him. They kept flicking toward the house.
Y/N stepped out, hoodie pulled tight around her, hair still damp from the shower. She walked up to him slowly, like each step was a question.
“You’re really going?” she asked.
He nodded. “Got the call last night. They need me back at base.”
“How long?”
“Could be weeks. Could be longer.”
She swallowed hard. “You always leave like this. Quiet. Like you’re trying not to wake the world.”
“I don’t like goodbyes.”
She reached for his hand. “Then don’t say it. Just promise you’ll come back.”
He looked at her, thumb brushing her knuckles. “I will. I always do.”
Behind them, the front door creaked open. Jannik stepped out, arms crossed, trying to look casual. Their mom followed, holding a thermos of coffee. Their dad stood in the doorway, nodding once.
“You packed snacks?” Jannik asked.
Köing smirked. “I’m not twelve.”
“Still. You get cranky when you’re hungry.”
Their mom handed him the thermos. “It’s the strong stuff. You’ll need it.”
Köing took it with a quiet “Danke,” then turned to Y/N. She was staring at him like she was memorizing his face.
“I’ll write,” he said.
“You never do.”
“I will this time.”
She stepped closer, rising onto her toes, and kissed him—soft, steady, like she was anchoring him to the ground. He kissed her back, hands gentle on her waist.
Jannik groaned. “Seriously? In front of the house?”
Their dad muttered, “Let them be.”
Their mom smiled. “We knew this was coming.”
Köing pulled away, forehead resting against Y/N’s. “I’ll be back.”
“You better,” she whispered.
He turned, walked down the path, and didn’t look back until he reached the corner.
She was still standing there.
Watching.
Waiting.
-
Just a little extra
The base was cold and orderly—rows of barracks, gravel paths, and the distant hum of drills. Köing stood near the checkpoint, uniform crisp, posture straight. But his fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh. He hadn’t felt nervous like this in years.
Then he saw her.
Y/N stepped out of the transport van, hoodie tucked under her coat, hair pulled back, eyes scanning the unfamiliar terrain. She looked out of place—and completely unfazed.
He walked toward her, boots crunching on gravel.
“You made it,” he said, voice low.
She smiled. “You didn’t think I would?”
“I thought the guards would turn you away.”
“They tried. I told them I was here to see a colonel who forgets how to text.”
He smirked. “Fair.”
They walked together past the barracks, her arm brushing his. Soldiers passed by, nodding respectfully. Köing didn’t usually let anyone into this part of his life. But Y/N wasn’t just anyone.
Inside his quarters, the space was sparse—bed, desk, gear stacked neatly. She looked around, then turned to him.
“You live like a monk.”
“I live like a soldier.”
She stepped closer. “You miss me?”
He nodded. “Every day.”
She reached up, fingers brushing his collar. “You look different in uniform.”
“Do I?”
“Stricter and hot, but still you,” She smiles
He leaned in, forehead resting against hers. “I didn’t know how much I needed this.”
She kissed him—slow, steady, grounding. The kind of kiss that made the walls feel less sterile. Less lonely.
He didn’t know how much time he had left, but it could matter less as long as he was with her.
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Yippe you made it hope you enjoyed, sorry i changed timelines so much wanted to make sure you got the full picture lol. Thanks for reading. Please like and Reblog! Im sorry for not writing him speaking in German a bunch, but i really just wanted something quick and easy.
