It was well past noon when Finn and I found ourselves at a bustling, no-frills barbecue joint, the kind where the air hung thick with the scent of charring meat and questionable hygiene. We ordered the cheapest beers on the menu. The first sip hit me with a wave of dizziness. Levi's sobriety had turned our home into a dry zone, and my tolerance had clearly plummeted.

"Damn, Finn…" I sighed contentedly. "This beer is absolute fucking heaven right now."

Finn, maneuvering skewers laden with marinated meat over the smoky grill, grinned. "You're about to taste true celestial bliss, Raph."

Despite the fact that my bank account could comfortably fund a small nation, I still found solace in these chaotic eateries. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, tending our sizzling meat, and sipping beer that might very well have been cut with tap water felt strangely… liberating.

Finn slid a skewer onto my plate. It was undeniably the most flavorful, surprisingly succulent cheap cut of meat I'd tasted in ages.

"You are a goddamn maestro of the grill, Finn," I declared, savoring the smoky, savory goodness.

"Nah," he demurred with a casual wave of his hand. "Just moderately proficient. Now, spill the beans, Raph. My culinary artistry has earned me some prime gossip. Lay it on me."

I took a gulp of my questionable beer, the slight buzz helping to loosen my tongue. "It unfolded exactly as I told you, Finn. Picture this: ten in the morning, a rude awakening by pounding on our door. Levi answers in his pajamas, looking like a disgruntled monarch. He herds the entire delegation of whiners into our garden – our garden, Finn! – and then, with a dramatic flourish, informs them they have the lifespan of three burning cigarettes to state their grievances. Initially, it was the usual bureaucratic whining, the 'woe is us, the work is hard, the sky is falling' routine. Then, naturally, Levi, in his infinite misanthropy, starts referring to them as 'bugs.' That's when the geriatric faction declared their intention to appeal to some mythical 'higher authority.' Finn, I swear, Levi's brain short-circuited. His face was a complete and utter blank canvas of confusion. I was practically performing acrobatic feats with my tongue to keep from howling with laughter. Then came the ultimatum: either I lock their sorry asses in our backyard for three days, guaranteeing their swift unemployment due to 'unauthorized absence,' or they shut their yapping mouths and get to work. I genuinely thought he was going to go full despotic ruler on them. I had to pinch him to dial down the crazy. And the grand finale? The manipulative asshole Levi was just bluffing.”

Finn stuffed a big piece of meat in his mouth. “Man, your life is never dull, is it? One minute you're dodging ancient law documents, the next you're a temporary prison guard in your own backyard.”

"Yeah," I mumbled through a mouthful of beef, "utterly insane. And it feels like centuries since I've actually left the house."

"I hear you," Finn commiserated, nodding sympathetically.

"By the way…" I mused. "You were a camera operator, Finn. A pretty good one actually. What exactly prompted the career shift to working for Levi? I mean…"

Finn took a long swig of his beer. "Well, the camera operating gig wasn't my first rodeo in the glorious world of government work, believe it or not. Before I was chasing light and angles, I was already knee-deep in bureaucratic bliss. Then came a particularly soul-crushing period of existential dread, culminating in a rather dramatic resignation and a swift exit stage left. My 'mythical connections' landed me behind a camera. Then, Levi happened, democracy was… instilled, and since we were already acquainted… I figured, why not? Work for the cause.” He offered a wry smile.

Finn finished a substantial portion of his beer. "You missed a lot in those three months you were gone, Raph. The transition after the nobility and monarchy crumbled was… intense."

"Intense is putting it mildly," I retorted, a wry smile touching my lips. "Levi traumatized me to the point where his silhouette in a doorway sent me spiraling into unconsciousness. I needed that space, Finn. That enforced silence was the only thing that allowed the constant knot of fear in my stomach to finally loosen. So no, I'm not accepting any blame for my temporary departure. The 'council room' incident," a shiver ran down my spine at the memory, "haunted my nightmares for weeks. But," I added firmly, meeting his gaze, "I'm not scared of him anymore."

"Hey," Finn said, a genuine smile gracing his features, "I wasn't trying to lay any guilt trip on you, Raph. You needed your space, plain and simple. What I was trying to explain was… well, Levi. The guy's a force of nature. Even before the monarchy fell, just through sheer influence and, let's be honest, a mountain of cash – I mean, by being the 'Saint of Ascaria' and all that – he single-handedly pushed through gay marriage laws, comprehensive disability acts, a whole slew of progressive societal changes. Legally, Raph. Actual laws in a country ruled by a monarch. I was always kind of… in awe of him, a weird sort of fanboy, maybe. So when he started this whole 'democracy' thing… it just made sense to join him."

He seemed lost in thought, and I decided to let the silence hang in the air, giving him the space to articulate his complex admiration.

"The week after the King died, I went to your place, but you were gone. Levi, he just… he piled maybe ten boxes of documents in front of me. Then he started explaining everything, from the absolute beginning – how we take the very first steps, the logistics, the framework. I moved to your kitchen, Raph. Endless nights, fueled by lukewarm coffee and sheer willpower, just debating, talking, hammering out the details.

"And these weren’t just vague plans. One binder was titled ‘Constitutional Amendment: Abolition of the Monarchy and Establishment of the Republic.’ I swear, it had Articles, numbered clauses, timelines—everything. I remember one page stating, ‘The institution of the Monarchy, the Crown and the office of the Monarch are hereby abolished. Any legal privilege derived from birth, hereditary rank, or title shall cease to have effect.’ I flipped a few more pages and there were margin notes, his handwriting in tiny letters: ‘Ensure seamless transfer of power. Avoid public panic. Parliament must enact enabling legislation within 30 days.’

"Another folder—‘Titles & Nobility Act’—was even more meticulous. It listed every title, every honorific, from Prince to Baron, and beside each, Levi had scribbled: ‘Null and void. Civil registers to be updated. All privileges revoked.’ There were flowcharts showing how to update passports, how to remove titles from official documents, even a schedule for notifying local officials and archivists.

"And then there was the ‘Crown Property & Asset Transfer Act’—palaces, lands, funds, everything. Each page had tables: ‘Property Name | Current Use | Proposed State Use | Notes.’ And Levi’s notes again in the margins: ‘Museumize this palace. Sell that estate to fund social programs. Verify private claims carefully—no surprises.’ I remember thinking, ‘This is insane.’

"I’m not even halfway through. There was another folder: ‘Sovereign Immunity Abrogation & Public Accountability Act’. It outlined exactly how the Monarch’s personal immunity would be lifted, how prior acts would be reviewed under law, and how officials could no longer claim privileges just because of birth. One page even had a flowchart for transitional oversight: arrows connecting Ministers, judges, and Senate, showing who had to approve what.

"Raph… ten boxes. Ten goddamn boxes of documents. And I had to digest them all. Overnight. Sometimes at three in the morning, Levi would glance over a chart and mutter, ‘If Minister resists, publish assets list.’ And I’d be scribbling notes, trying to keep up, thinking, ‘Am I suddenly a constitutional scholar?’

"Then came the Minister incident. We were in the government office garage, loading boxes into the car, when this pompous little man chased after us, erupting in a torrent of shouts and curses directed at Levi. And Levi? He just leaned in, whispering: ‘You are clinging to your title, just like those useless nobles. Because you have no future.

’ The Minister went from puce red to completely drained of color. And Levi? He just told him to shut his mouth and do his job. That’s when it hit me: as long as you follow the framework, swallow your pride, and do your job, Levi doesn’t actually care about anything else. He’s just dragging this country into a functioning democracy… in the most terrifyingly efficient way imaginable."

Ten boxes. Endless nights. Finn practically living at our house. I missed all of that.

Unbelievable.

The asshole had the entire legal framework even before the King was buried.

I slid the beer glass across the table. "Here, down some of that and keep going. That whispering, that cutting right to the core… yeah, that's his usual MO. He used almost the exact same line on some noble who decided to mouth off to me at a charity gala."

Finn took consecutive gulps of his beer, as if trying to wash away the lingering unease of the memory. "Remember that time, maybe two weeks ago now, when I completely lost it out of pure terror and desperation and actually punched him? Yeah? He just slowly rose from his chair and looked at me, and I swear, Raph, my legs turned to jelly. I thought, 'Right, Finn. This is it. You're about to become a stain on the rug.' Instead? He just looked right through me, like I wasn't even in the room. Which, in a bizarre way, was even more terrifying. So, seriously, Raph, you're the expert here. How in the hell do you even begin to apologize to that?"

"Well, my immediate thought was along the same lines, Finn, when your fist connected. Though, my own history with Levi, breaking ribs and a prolonged period of him pretending to 'consider' forgiveness while subtly making me jump at shadows were involved. Apologies, in the conventional sense, don't really compute in his emotional framework. However… a peace offering of exceptionally good chocolate, or perhaps treating him to an outrageously decadent dessert, might just register on his radar."

Finn raked his brown hair with his fingers. "Gods, Raph… I honestly don't know what came over me. The terror just overwhelmed me, and my fist just… reacted. The guilt afterwards was so intense I could barely bring myself to speak to him beyond what was strictly necessary for work."

"It's fine, really, Finn," I reassured him, though a knowing smile played on my lips. "He genuinely didn't seem to hold a grudge. But be prepared for a steady stream of thinly veiled jabs about your 'momentary lapse in judgment.' That's just his way. But yes, definitely invest in some top-tier chocolate. Even two months in rehab couldn't conquer his sugar addiction."

Finn wiped his plate clean. "Yeah… chocolate. Consider it done." Then his face contorted slightly. "Damn… this stuff really is bordering on undrinkable."

I clinked my glass against his. "Exactly," I whispered with a wink.

The conversation then drifted to more personal matters. I voiced my growing restlessness with my current state of semi-retirement, a yearning to get back behind a camera for at least one challenging gig. Finn, recounted the plots and merits (or lack thereof) of the latest cinematic releases. Our plates were long empty, the remnants of grilled meat and stray lettuce leaves the only evidence of our meal. So we lingered, the afternoon sun beginning to dip lower in the capital sky, and we continued to drink, the conversation flowing as freely as the watered-down beer.

...

"Ugh, Finn…" I slurred. "This... this beer tastes like my ass.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Finn, his movements now noticeably sluggish, squinted at his glass. "Yeah…" he agreed, his words slightly drawn out. "Definitely... tastes like... ass."

Finn laboriously raised his glass, a lopsided grin spreading across his face,eyelids drooping. "Speaking of... asses," he mumbled, the word drawn out into several syllables, "why don't you... direct a movie, Raph? I mean... you're richer than... than all the gods... now..." His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before snapping open again with a Herculean effort.

"Fuck," I echoed. "Yeah... you're right. Why the hell... didn't I think of that before?"

Damn it. Am I seriously about to embark on the classic tale of the dumb actor who decides to dabble in filmmaking and promptly incinerates their fortune? The cautionary tale whispered in hushed tones at industry parties? Cheap beer is about to bankrupt me in the most spectacularly cliché way possible.

"Smoke…" I fumbled for my pocket.

"Can't... smoke... here, man," Finn slurred, his words thick and slow. "Need to... get... out..." He gestured towards the outside with a wobbly hand.

"Why?" I asked. "There's already... smoke... from the... barbecue?"

Finn nodded with enthusiasm, his head bobbing. "Yeah... 'zactly... Already... smoke..."

"C'mon, then," I mumbled, my words thick and insistent. "Let's... go... smoke." I made an unsteady gesture towards an imagined exit.

"I don't..." Finn slurred, his brow furrowed in the effort of forming a coherent sentence. "Don't... smoke..."

"Why... not?" I persisted. The concept of someone not wanting to join me in my nicotine craving was baffling.

Finn slowly lifted his half-closed eyes towards the ceiling. "Yeah… Why... not?"

I attempted to rise from my chair. My center of gravity relocated to some distant planet. My legs wobbled and I was in a tangled heap on the floor, my chair clattering loudly beside me.

Finn erupted in a raucous laughter. A ringing started in my ears. Son of a bitch, who the hell do you think you are, laughing at my perfectly executed… chair dismount? I hauled myself to my feet once more, reaching out and grabbing the collar of Finn's shirt, pulling him slightly forward. "Smoke."

No. That wasn't the string of curses I had intended to unleash. I furrowed my brows at Finn.

Finn, still chuckling, though perhaps sensing a shift in my demeanor, nodded. "Yeah, alright, let's go get you that smoke."

Well. That de-escalated rather anticlimactically. Perhaps the cheap beer had mellowed my usual confrontational instincts, or maybe Finn's laughter was just too damn infectious, even in my slightly murderous state.

And so, like two ungainly swine attempting a delicate ballet, Finn and I lurched towards the designated smoking area, bumping into tables and narrowly avoiding toppling over bewildered patrons. The simple act of locating my own mouth proved to be a significant cognitive and motor challenge. Finally, after several clumsy attempts, the cigarette was positioned. I fumbled for my lighter, managed to ignite it, and took a long drag. Nothing. I pressed the lighter again, holding it there with determination. Still nothing. At this point, Finn, let out another braying laugh. He reached over and lit my cigarette for me. Finally, blessed smoke filled my deprived lungs. It then dawned on me. I hadn't been inhaling at all. I'd been exhaling into an unlit cigarette. Damn.

I erupted into a fit of laughter. Finn joined in, his laughter soon morphing into a series of loud oinks. And there we stood, making pig noises in the middle of an alley.

A particularly violent wheeze wracked my body, sending a plume of smoke straight down my trachea. "Imma... gonna... choke," I gasped, my lungs burning. Finn, stared at me for a split second before launching into action. He began hitting me on the back. Damn it, Finn. My lungs were vibrating, your enthusiasm is appreciated, but your technique is… less than helpful.

Just as Finn's back-pounding was threatening to dislodge a kidney, I spun around. My cigarette swung wildly, making contact with Finn's forearm. There was a brief hiss and the smell of singed fabric, but Finn didn't seem to immediately register the minor burn. He just blinked at me.

A full three seconds after the incident, he looked down at his forearm, a small red mark already beginning to appear, and exclaimed, "Ow! Hey! What the hell was that?"

Idiot, I thought, a hiccup of laughter escaping me. "Sorry, sorry! What... was that back-pounding technique?”

He rubbed the mark on his forearm, a belated wince crossing his features. "Okay. Ow! But seriously, Raph, you definitely owe me a drink for that little… branding incident."

What? No way. He was the one administering near-fatal back blows! He owed me a drink for the trauma.

"No, Finn! You were trying to rearrange my internal organs! You owe me!"

"No, you owe me for the accidental arson!"

"No, you!"

A silence descended between us. We stared at each other. Then, with a simultaneous shrug, the point was dropped.

As we stumbled back towards the entrance, my alcohol-addled brain finally dredged up a crucial piece of forgotten information: my own identity. Award-winning actor, husband of the "Saint of Ascaria," and a generally recognizable face across the entire damn country. And lo and behold, a gaggle of what looked like teenagers had already spotted our spectacularly undignified return. Phones were out, camera shutters clicking furiously. Fuck.

I grabbed Finn's arm and shoved him through the entrance. He stumbled, a look of mild surprise on his face, but offered little resistance. I kept pushing, steering him through the crowded tables and towards the restrooms.

"The hell, Raph? What's going on?" Finn finally managed to ask, his voice still thick with drink.

"Shush!" I hissed, my eyes darting nervously towards the entrance. "A group of... just took my picture. Shit, Finn..." I reached the grimy sink and splashed handfuls of icy water onto my face.

"Gods, Raph," Finn mumbled, leaning heavily against the bathroom doorframe, his eyes wide with belated alarm. "It's gonna be... all over the... the interwebs... tomorrow.”

"Shit, you're right," I slurred, my hands still slick with cold water. "Gotta... gotta call... my agent. Need them to... to scrub it all... clean. Damn it." I fumbled in my pocket for my phone.

My fingers, thick and uncoordinated, managed to dial my agent's number. "Ish me, Raph..." I mumbled into the phone. "’M drunk. Kids—cameras—pig noises. You gotta... scrub it. Make it... disappear."

"Raphael," the voice on the other end said, calm and distinctly masculine, a deep baritone resonating in my ear.

Wait a minute. My agent was definitely a woman. Sharp, impeccably dressed, and with a voice that could cut glass. Whom the actual fuck had I just called?

"H-hello? Uhm... where's... where's my agent? I thought... I dialed..."

A beat of silence hung in the air, the only sound the faint hum of the bathroom's fluorescent light. Then, a familiar voice, laced with a hint of amusement and a touch of something else I couldn't quite decipher in my still-muddled state, filled my ear.

"I am Levi, Raphael."

Oh, for the love of all that was holy and discreet. I had, in my infinite drunken wisdom, called my husband. Levi. The man who was, at this very moment, sober and definitely not amused by the mental image of his award-winning actor husband oinking in an alley.

"Levi... Shit... Levi... I missed you so much, my baby!"

What in God's name was that? Beside me, Finn erupted into another uncontrollable fit of laughter, the sound echoing off the tiled walls of the bathroom.

"I..." Levi paused for a long moment, the silence on the other end of the line thick with unspoken thoughts. Then, his voice, calm and steady as ever, cut through. "I missed you too, Raphael. I will send a driver to your location. Please remain where you are."

Well, there it was. Direct orders. "Stay where you are." So, in the bathroom I would stay.

I turned the cold tap on full blast and plunged my face into the stream of water again. Baby. I called Levi baby. Baby. I lifted my head, gasping for air, water dripping from my hair and clothes, and then promptly dunked my face under the tap once more. Baby. I surfaced again, sputtering.

"Are you trying to waterboard yourself there, Raph?"

"Finn... I... I called Levi baby."

"Yeah? So?" Finn shrugged.

I stared at him, aghast. "So? We stick to 'dear' or 'darling'! Who in the absolute fuck do I think I am, calling Levi... baby?"

Finn looked genuinely perplexed. "What do you mean, man? You're married! You can call him Snugglepuff, Cutie Pie, whatever floats your boat when you're, you know, being all husband-y."

He had a point. We were married. Maybe I was making a mountain out of a molehill, a very embarrassing, drunken molehill.

"Yeah... yeah, you're kinda right," I conceded, a small, sheepish smile creeping onto my face.

"Yep. And you know what else, Raph?" Finn wrinkled his nose, gesturing vaguely around the bathroom. "This place has a distinct aroma of... bacon and stale piss. My nostrils are staging a revolt. Let's make like a tree and get out of here."

"Right, right," I mumbled, still slightly preoccupied with the "baby" incident. "Gotta send Levi the coordinates. He's dispatching a chauffeur to rescue our inebriated asses."

…

The ride home was a blur. After dropping Finn off, the world began to tilt and sway with a vengeance. My head pounded with migraine, and the streetlights outside the car window bled into hazy streaks of color. The humming of the engine grew distant, fading into a dull roar in my ears.

My hand, missed the lock entirely, and I smacked my forehead against the metal of the door. A searing jolt of pain shot through me, amplifying the migraine until tears welled in my eyes.

Taking a shaky breath, I tried again, finally managing to push the door open. The moment I stepped inside, the world hazed. I could barely make out the contours of our living room. My mission was simple: reach the kitchen, find an aspirin, and hope for a moment of relief. But as I stumbled forward, my foot caught on one of the document boxes that littered the floor. I fell. Hard. The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through my head, and I lay there on the cold tile, a quarter-century-old man undone by corrugated cardboard.

I tried to prop myself up with my elbows, but my head was throbbing. I let out a groan, which quickly escalated into a pained yell for Levi. The sound only amplified the jackhammer in my skull, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain.

A long moment later, I heard the soft rustle of silk as Levi emerged from his study. "Raphael?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion. I felt his presence loom over me, and then his hands were under my shoulders, lifting me from the cold tile floor.

"Levi," I mumbled, the pain making it hard to form coherent words. I leaned into his shoulder, seeking comfort.

"Yes, my dear?" he replied, his voice a soft, low rumble. "Tell me what happened, hm?"

I sniffled. "They took my picture."

"I took care of it," he replied, rubbing circles on my back.

"You did?" I asked, a fresh wave of tears flowing down my cheeks.

Levi very slowly started to walk us away from the front door. "I did, my dear. It's all right now."

"Thanks," I mumbled, my voice muffled against his silk pajamas. "I fell... my head hurts. I fell because of those boxes."

"Put your hands on my shoulders."

"My head hurts so much, Levi. I think I'm going to be sick. Those damn boxes," I said, glaring at the guilty files.

He followed my gaze to the scattered boxes. "Yes. I agree, wholeheartedly. But my dearest, for now, let us attend to the more immediate problem." He tightened his hold on me. "I will take you to the bed, and then I will retrieve some medication for your… unfortunate condition."

I couldn't stay here, not with my head throbbing and the smell of stale paper filling the air. I needed to escape the cardboard kingdom, the dusty files, and the constant reminder of bureaucrats barging in our house. The thought of spending one more minute in this house, made me feel sicker than the cheap beer.