I jolted awake with a strangled gasp, my body recoiling, sending me upright in the bed. The soft light of dawn was filtering through the curtains, illuminating the familiar shape of my Levi sleeping peacefully beside me. A shudder ran through me. What a disturbing and utterly bizarre dream… or was it a full-blown nightmare that had somehow twisted into something… else? The lingering emotions, the terror, the empathy, the confusion, all felt intensely real, clinging to me like a damp shroud.

Levi's eyelids fluttered open, his expression still soft with sleep. A rumbling voice, thick with the remnants of slumber, filled the quiet room. "Pulla? Is something... wrong?"

Wrong? He had no idea. In the space between one breath and the next, I had lived an entire saga. Scrubbed raw by strangers, paraded like chattel, offered as a slave to a regal version of him who didn't even recognize me. A shudder traced its way down my spine, but the words remained trapped behind my teeth. How could I possibly explain any of that?

“Just a bad dream,” I murmured, my voice still a little shaky as I reached out and cupped his warm cheek. “Nothing to worry about. You just keep sleeping.”

He nuzzled into my touch, his eyelids heavy. “Mmh… need to be up in… two hours…” he mumbled, already drifting back towards slumber.

I reached for the water glass on the nighstand, and gulped down the cool liquid in desperate swallows. The fuck was that? What twisted corner of my subconscious had conjured that bizarre scenario? Was it some unexplored kink lurking in the shadows of my desires? Or a deep-seated fear manifesting in the guise of power dynamic? I honestly couldn't decipher it. The only clarity that emerged from the fog of the dream was the undeniable truth of Levi's revolutionary spirit, still burning bright even as a king, and the profound, aching loneliness that permeated his being. But then, the horrifying question echoed in the silence of my waking thoughts: 'the cure'. The regal Levi, a figment of my dream, had yearned for a cure. Did my Levi, the man sleeping peacefully beside me, harbor that same unspoken desire?

How could I even entertain that thought? My Levi has always possessed a deep understanding of his neurodivergence, a knowledge coupled with the firm conviction that it isn't something to be eradicated, something requiring a "cure." But… what if, deep down, a hidden corner of his being yearned for a different experience?

No.

That's not a conversation I should be initiating. If that desire exists within him, it's a deeply personal struggle he needs to navigate on his own terms, with whomever he chooses to confide in. My role is to offer unwavering love and acceptance, not to project my own anxieties onto his inner world.

This dream… it has truly shaken me, peeled back layers I didn't even know existed. It's brought into sharp relief the precious nuances of my relationship with Levi. My Levi, the man who can be a veritable ice king to the outside world – sharp-tongued, brutally honest, indifferent – he melts into a pool of kindness when it comes to me.

Staring into those eyes in the dream, eyes that held no recognition, no spark of the connection we share… that was a terror that eclipsed even the fear of being his slave.

A stupid, sentimental part of me couldn't shake the image of the regal Levi on his imposing throne, surrounded by power and yet utterly alone, a hollow ache resonating in the vast emptiness of his being. Against my better judgment, a sliver of pity, a reluctant sorrow for that cold monarch, began to take root in my heart.

When Levi finally woke, stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Good morning, Raphael,” he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep.

“Yeah… Good morning, Levi,” I replied, a little too strained, as I tried to smooth away the turbulent emotions the dream had dredged up, hoping he wouldn't notice the undercurrent of unease.

Even before his eyes were fully open, Levi's hand snaked out to grab his phone from the bedside table. He held it to his ear, a low, impatient "What?" the only greeting. "Good enough. We'll discuss the details in the meeting. Gather the cabinet in thirty minutes," he commanded, his voice already sharp and decisive, the remnants of sleep completely banished. As he listened to the response, a thin, predatory smirk stretched across his lips. "Is that so? So, Minister of Health was indeed lining his pockets with Kendall Pharmaceuticals' coin," he stated, a hint of grim satisfaction in his tone. "Thanks, Shaw. Be a good boy now and ensure our corrupt minister doesn't manage to misplace any incriminating evidence." He ended the call with a curt click.

Wow. The Minister of Health was indeed rotten to the core. Levi mentioned his suspicions that morning at his company. It was uncanny – he had sniffed out the corruption like a bloodhound on a scent. And typical of Levi, he hadn't just idly speculated; he had already quietly alerted the authorities.

He cupped my cheek with his hand, his thumb idly stroking my skin. “You seem distressed, dearest.”

“Ah, no…” I managed, forcing a weak smile. “Just a bad dream… And congratulations, you were right about the minister.”

A hint of grim satisfaction flickered in his eyes. “Indeed. Now that swine will find his attempts to push my untested drug and unleash those nationwide prescription drug advertisements thoroughly thwarted. With public opinion now firmly against such tactics, thanks to the Academia’s insightful research on the societal impact of those ads, coupled with his rather public display of corruption and bribery… well, the case is as good as shut, wouldn’t you agree?”

He can dismantle a corrupt minister before breakfast, but he still notices the shadows in my eyes. He's so… Levi. I love him so much.

I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, inhaling his subtle scent. “Oh, Levi?” I teased, a small smirk playing on my lips. “You actually showered before bed? And maybe, if I’m incredibly lucky, even graced your teeth with a brush? No more caveman tendencies?”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he reached up and gently tangled his fingers in my hair. “Ah, yes. My initial intention was to dedicate my evening entirely to you, showering you with my undivided attention, as it were. However,” his eyes twinkled, “you, my dearest Raphael, were already asleep. Not wishing to rouse you from your slumber, I decided to finally indulge in a civilized pre-sleep ablution. A real shower, as you so eloquently put it.”

“Levi…” I sighed, leaning into his touch. I wish you had woken me. You have absolutely no idea the bizarre and unsettling journey my subconscious just took me on.

I looked at him pointedly. “Next time, please, wake me up.”

“Hm… Somnophilia, dearest? Truly? I must confess, that particular… inclination… was not on my extensive list of your intriguing proclivities. However, who am I to deny you such a unique indulgence?”

Oh, you smug bastard. Really?

“So,” I pressed, a playful challenge in my voice, “if I had given you my explicit consent to wake me, would you have actually… indulged this supposed somnophilia of mine?”

“The explicit consent is present, the implied desire is… intriguing. What further deliberation is required?”

Wait a minute… processing… I think… I might actually be into that. Damn him. With one casual, teasing remark, he's unearthed a previously unknown… interest. A blush crept up my neck. I leaned in and placed a quick peck on his lips. “Fine,” I murmured. “I’ll… be waiting.”

“Most interesting development. I do wish to delve into the intricacies of this… revelation… at a later juncture. But,” he sighed, swinging his legs out of bed, “I have a cabinet meeting filled with individuals desperately in need of a thorough verbal dismantling of their manifold incompetencies.”

There he was, my magnificent beast, already halfway to his work persona – clad only in his signature silk robe precariously tied over his underwear. The "nocturnal caveman" was apparently a 24/7 aesthetic these days.

Wait. His cabinet meetings… weren't they often video calls? My brilliant, ruthless lion… was he about to conduct a high-level government briefing practically half-naked? He is famously immune to the shackles of shame. So… logically… why wouldn't he? No, surely even Levi wouldn't… would he? Come on, Raphael, get a grip. Of course not. But… that tiny, mischievous seed of "what if" had already been planted.

“Levi…” I began hesitantly, “are your cabinet meetings… usually video calls?”

He turned, a smirk already playing on his lips, as if he could read the chaotic images flashing through my mind. “Ah, is my dearest Raphael perhaps envisioning a scandalous scenario involving accidental royal exposure to the esteemed ministers?” he teased. “Fear not, dear. They are merely conference calls. However,” he added, a hint of playful threat entering his voice, “should any of those imbeciles dare to physically breach my chambers once again, I assure you, my attire will consist of precisely this,” he gestured to his robe, “and absolutely nothing more.”

Smug bastard. He knows exactly how to both reassure and slightly scandalize me at the same time. Gods… But that little threat at the end… the image of him, half-naked and furious, verbally eviscerating some poor, interrupting minister… a tiny part of me finds that incredibly amusing.

“So, what’s with the sudden return to the… minimalist wardrobe, Levi?” I asked, gesturing to the silk robe. “Just a few days ago, you were perfectly content in you pajamas.”

“I confess, I am not entirely certain of the genesis of this sartorial shift. I hypothesize that this current period of self-imposed confinement within my study, dedicated to the organization and composition of various documents, has somehow triggered a nostalgic resonance with my more… disheveled Academia days. A time, as I recall, primarily fueled by despair and truly staggering quantities of sugar.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Academia Levi. The brilliant, brooding scholar, surrounded by stacks of books and empty candy wrappers, furiously scribbling away in his underwear and a robe. It's almost… endearing, in a chaotic sort of way. So, my half-naked lion is just channeling his inner graduate student.

“You absolutely have to regale me with more tales of your Academia days during your lunch break, Levi,” I insisted, my curiosity thoroughly piqued. “I’m picturing a very different version of you.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you entirely certain, dearest? You are currently acquainted with a Levi who has endured a decade of rigorous self-regulation, a decade of cultivating the facade of a composed adult. Now, endeavor to envision that same individual, brimming with youthful exuberance, possessing a distinct lack of concern for societal niceties, and liberally seasoned with a generous pinch of chaos.”

“Absolutely,” I affirmed, my curiosity now fully engaged. “Lay it all on me. I want to hear everything.”

“Hm… Well then, exercise a modicum of patience and await my arrival in the kitchen at lunch. It is there, amidst the clatter of cutlery and the aroma of midday repast, that I will regale you with the rather… unconventional tale of how a youthful version of myself, armed with a drug of my own clandestine synthesis at the esteemed Royal Academia, rendered the late king biologically incapable of siring further heirs.” He paused, letting the bombshell drop. “It was, shall we say, a formative period.”

Shit, right. He had told me that story. Multiple times, in fact. The six-month tea regimen, the carefully synthesized compound, the deliberate creation of a power vacuum to expedite the dismantling of the entrenched nobility – it was a cornerstone of his revolutionary backstory.

“No, I know that one already. Something else. Something… less regicidal.”

“Patience then, my dearest. All shall be revealed in due course. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, already moving with his purposeful stride, and disappeared through the bedroom door, leaving me to stew.

...

A mischievous energy bubbled inside me as I busied myself preparing our midday meal. A juicy cut of beef sizzled enticingly for me, while Levi’s customary, suspiciously beige mush sat steaming beside it. When he finally strolled into the kitchen, still radiating that alluringly disheveled charm in his silk robe and underwear, his gaze landed on the dishes with a playful arch of his eyebrow. “Oh, dearest?” he inquired, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Is this… a culinary act of bribery?”

“Guilty as charged,” I admitted with a grin, gesturing towards the table. “Now, sit. And the stories begin.”

Levi settled back in his chair, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he began his tale.

“Ah, yes, my tempestuous days at the Royal Academia. It coincided with a period of… shall we say, heightened familial obligations, involving frequent visits to the Royal Palace in my ducal capacity. We were tasked with presenting a final paper, something groundbreaking, something to truly challenge the established norms. Naturally, I undertook a thorough review of the existing literature, including the rather… pedestrian works of our esteemed professors, and indeed, the Dean himself. His core theoretical framework, I must say, possessed the intellectual rigor of a particularly dull-witted toddler. Consequently, I undertook the liberty of refining it, of extracting its latent potential, and presenting that as my own. The Dean, as you might imagine, was less than enthralled. In the auditorium, his voice vibrated the ancient rafters as he publicly excoriated me for my ‘unwarranted arrogance and offensive overconfidence.’ But dearest,” Levi paused, a subtle smile playing on his lips, “I offered no immediate retort. Instead, I cultivated an air of wounded scholarly integrity, a delicate performance of youthful idealism crushed beneath the heel of institutional rigidity. The desired effect was achieved; sympathetic murmurs rippled through the student body, and even a few of the more intellectually honest professors cast the Dean rather… pointed glances. His subsequent descent into petty bureaucratic obstructionism – the denial of access to crucial spectroscopic equipment, the assignment of mind-numbingly trivial experiments – merely provided further grist for my mill. Discreet inquiries regarding his intellectual… flexibility… began to circulate amongst more influential circles. The inevitable confrontation occurred in the main hall, immediately following Professor Eldridge’s notoriously soporific lecture on chiral molecules. The Dean, his face a study in apoplectic fury, stalked towards me, his voice a bellow that momentarily silenced the usual academic hubbub. Precisely the stage I required. Instead of the cowering student he anticipated, I met his rage with a calm gaze, articulating my unwavering dedication to the advancement of knowledge, even if it necessitated challenging ossified paradigms. The students, to their credit, recognized the intellectual posturing for what it was. The Dean, sensing the palpable shift in their collective disdain, retreated with a speed that belied his considerable girth. But my dear Raphael,” Levi’s eyes twinkled, “did you truly believe my machinations concluded there? Of course not. My access to the Royal Palace, as you know, provided certain… opportunities for nuanced discourse. Given the Royal Academia’s crucial role in supplying the King’s physicians and their medicaments, a subtle seed of concern regarding His Majesty’s… continued well-being… was carefully planted. A gradual introduction of a certain synthesized compound into the royal tea over a period of six months ensured a specific… outcome regarding the lineage. The subsequent ‘investigation’ into the Dean’s leadership, and his rather abrupt departure from the Royal Academia, were merely the logical consequences of a well-executed strategy.”

The audacity, the sheer… Levi-ness

of it all.

“Gods…” I whispered, a mixture of disbelief and morbid fascination swirling within me. “I was picturing some drunken escapade, maybe a tale involving copious amounts of cheap beer and an unfortunate encounter with a public fountain. And instead… you’ve just casually recounted the strategic takedown of an academic authority figure, all while casually mentioning the subtle, six-month-long project of… rendering the King infertile? What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

“Ah, but you forget, Raphael,” Levi countered, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “I was not merely some callow undergraduate. I was simultaneously managing the not-insignificant affairs of my father’s company, fulfilling my ducal obligations with the requisite gravitas, and, indeed, tolerating the intellectual shortcomings of the Royal Academia. Given that rather… multifaceted existence, would you truly expect my anecdotes to revolve around spilled beverages and regrettable public urination?”

Duke by birth, heir to a massive corporation, and somehow still finding the time to revolutionize academic theory and destabilize the monarchy before he could legally drink in most countries.

“Seriously, not even one truly dumb story, Levi?”

He considered this for a moment, a shadow flickering across his usually composed features. “Hm… there is one anecdote involving a rather… memorable gathering I attended. However,” he added, his tone shifting, a distinct coolness entering his voice, “I have a strong suspicion that the details would elicit a rather significant degree of… displeasure… on your part.”

Think, Raphael. What could possibly evoke such a strong negative reaction? Sex? No, he’s always been remarkably open. Alcohol? He’s never shown any inclination towards excessive drinking. Drugs. He mentioned starting around the time he turned eighteen, during the Royal Academia. Fuck.

“Right… I get it. I was just… hoping for a story that didn’t involve political intrigue or… substance use.”

Levi’s gaze softened slightly. “Ah, yes. Forgive my lack of… frivolous anecdotes. You must recall, my time at the Royal Academia also coincided with the protracted and thoroughly unpleasant dissolution of my marriage to Julia – a legal battle that consumed three years of my existence. Frankly, my college years were less a period of youthful exuberance and more akin to a suffocating exercise in damage control and strategic maneuvering. But speaking of Academia, Raphael…” he shifted, his tone becoming more thoughtful, his gaze direct. “Have you ever considered pursuing higher education yourself? You are only twenty-five, already established in your career, and certainly possess the means. Accessing quality education would be… remarkably straightforward for you.”

“You know, higher education never really appealed to me, Levi,” I replied, considering his question. “My passion has always been acting. I pursued classes, honed my craft, and well… here we are. Semi-retirement at a rather young age, I suppose.” I chuckled softly. “Although,” I mused, a new thought sparking, “I have been toying with the idea of voice acting classes. I do miss the creative outlet of performing, but the quiet comfort of our home, spending this wonderfully bizarre and chaotic life with you… that holds a very strong appeal.”

Levi tapped his fingers on the table. “If this pursuit of voice acting genuinely interests you, Raphael, we can readily convert your bedroom into a professional-grade recording studio. The acoustics can be optimized, the necessary equipment acquired… consider it done, should you desire it.”

Just like that. No hesitation. It's… incredibly sweet. It would be a way to indulge my creative side without sacrificing the comfort and security of our life together. Voice acting… I could work from home, be here with him, and still have a career. It's a bizarrely perfect solution.

“Yeah…” I agreed, a genuine smile spreading across my face at the prospect. “That… that would actually be really nice, Levi.”

“Fret not then, my dearest,” he reassured me, his own smile warm. “You focus on finding a voice acting coach who meets your standards, and I will oversee the transformation of your room into a state-of-the-art recording studio.”

Just as I opened my mouth to express my gratitude, his phone buzzed, a groan escaping his lips as he reluctantly answered.

“Am I not even permitted the simple pleasure of a peaceful meal?” he muttered into the device, listening for a brief moment. “No, absolutely do not proceed with that course of action. Instead, collate the relevant data and transmit it to me directly. I will handle the intricacies. And no, Mr. Shaw, under no circumstances are you to come to my residence. Though,” a predatory glint entered his eyes, “by all means, attempt it if you possess a particular penchant for self-inflicted misery. I am certain I can devise several… engaging methods of addressing such an intrusion.” He ended the call with a decisive click.

“Gods…” I sighed. But a persistent curiosity gnawed at me. “Levi… about Mr. Shaw, the Minister of Economy… after everything he did – the betrayal, the conspiracy with Kendall Pharmaceuticals, even trying to bug our house – have you… actually become friends with him?”

“Friends would be a rather… generous term for our current dynamic, dearest. He remains, at his core, a vermin. A particularly resourceful and occasionally useful vermin, perhaps, but vermin nonetheless. However,” he continued, “I operate under a rather simple principle: if an individual has traversed the path of enmity and betrayal, yet alters their course and earns a modicum of trust through consistent action, one should… acknowledge that shift. Such individuals, having experienced the consequences of their transgressions, often possess a singular motivation to never repeat them.”

Vermin, but a useful vermin.

Someone who's burned their bridges so spectacularly might be extra careful not to light another match.

“Wow…” I echoed, a wry smile touching my lips. “So, the Dean gets his career nuked for a bit of academic arrogance, but Mr. Shaw, who actively tried to ruin us, gets… a second chance?”

Levi’s gaze sharpened. “I made no mention of forgiveness, dearest, nor were any apologies exchanged. We possess rather… irrefutable documentation,” he gestured pointedly towards the security cameras, “of Mr. Shaw’s rather extensive treachery. Furthermore, I have no need for his loyalty. I merely require him to execute his duties with competence. The lingering apprehension of the consequences of his past actions, coupled with a healthy dose of guilt, has proven to be a remarkably effective motivator. A thoroughly reliable form of vermin control, wouldn’t you agree?”

I couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up. “V-vermin control…” I echoed, shaking my head with a bewildered smile.

He merely offered a smug wave of his hand, a silent acknowledgment of his unique approach to interpersonal… and inter-species… management.

Before the demands of his study fully claimed him, Levi rose from his chair, his gaze lingering on mine. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw before gently pulling me closer. Our lips met, and the kiss that followed was a slow burn, a deliberate exploration that deepened with each passing moment.

The moment Levi’s presence no longer filled the kitchen, a sudden drowsiness crashed over me. Six hours. That’s all the respite I’d had since waking from that… vivid dream. This shouldn’t be happening. My eyelids felt heavy, the edges of my vision blurring. No. No, not again. Was I about to be dragged back into that bizarre, unsettling world of King Levi and… me? The freed slave? SHIT!