He carried me all the way back to the house. Once inside, he cleaned and bandaged his own elbow, where my panicked swipe with the knife had broken the skin. Then, he applied a cooling gel to my throbbing knee. I lay stretched out on the living room couch. It had been… an absolute hell of a day.

I think my brain was trying to stage a full-scale retreat from reality. My eyes felt glued open, unable to even blink, as I stared mindlessly at the ceiling, lost in a terrifying stillness. Then, Levi’s voice, broke through the fog.

“Dear, let us go to bed. It’s late.”

It had been early afternoon when we stumbled out of the woods. Now, clock on the wall glowed: 01:15. I had been lying here, paralyzed by my own thoughts, for hours.

I think… I might actually be traumatized by my own actions. Is that even possible? What a profoundly paradoxical and messed-up state to be in.

A shudder ran through me. Bed. The thought felt impossibly distant, like trying to reach a shore across a churning sea.

“Y-yeah,” I managed, my voice raspy and unfamiliar even to my own ears. With a herculean effort, I finally blinked. Levi was already moving, helping me to sit up. Each movement felt heavy, as if my limbs were filled with lead.

Once in bed, the darkness pressed in, amplifying the relentless replay of the day’s events in my head. Levi settled beside me, close but not touching. I lay there, staring into the darkness. The ghost of the airsoft gun in my hand, the memory of my intent, the sheer horror of what I had almost done – it all replayed endlessly, a terrifying loop in the theater of my mind.

Not a single moment of true rest claimed me. Beside me, Levi breathed deeply, lost in peaceful slumber. Dawn painted the sky with soft hues, yet I remained tethered to wakefulness.

Then, the insistent buzz of Levi’s phone shattered the quiet. He stirred, a low groan escaping his lips, and fumbled for the device on the nightstand. “Yes?” he mumbled. A pause, then a sharp edge entered his tone. “Stop shrieking like a swine and say it clearly…” He listened intently for a long moment, his brow furrowed. “Okay, alright, calm yourself. Contact the mint immediately. Indeed, the printing has started, now we need to focus on distribution. That, as always, is the truly arduous part.”

“G-Good morning, Levi…”

He pushed himself up in bed, propping his head against the headboard, his eyes still slightly unfocused. “Good morning, Raphael…” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hm, and now my real terror begins. The infernal logistics of distributing the new currency. And,” he added, a weary note entering his voice, “the presidential candidates' polls came in. The Cabinet has already contacted them, of course… So, yes. Even more delightful logistics to navigate.”

He looks tired. And what am I doing? Lying here, consumed by my own monstrous behavior. He has a country to run, and I… I almost shot him. How can he just… move on? Or is he just burying it, like he always does? Does he even realize the chasm that opened up between us yesterday?

“L-Levi…” My voice was barely a whisper. “We need… we absolutely need to talk about yesterday. I haven’t slept a single second. I am horrified, repulsed, disgusted beyond belief at my own actions…”

Levi’s hand, settled on my thigh, his thumb stroking the fabric of the duvet. “My dearest Raphael,” he said softly, his gaze meeting mine with steadiness. “Would endlessly dissecting the events of yesterday truly alleviate your guilt? I have my doubts. Allow me to offer a different perspective, then. The gun, as you know, was an airsoft gun. At absolute worst, I might have sported a rather fetching bruise. Furthermore,” he continued, “you aimed, however clumsily, at my bulletproof vest. Therefore, the situation is perhaps not as irredeemably catastrophic as your current emotional state might suggest, hm? You were acting out of anger, a misguided attempt at retribution, yet even in that heightened state, your aim was directed at a protected area. Does that truly sound like the actions of someone harboring murderous intent? I confess, I don’t believe it does.”

He… he’s trying to make me feel better. It was about the intent. I wanted to hurt him. I truly did.

“You should be angry, Levi,” I insisted, my voice trembling. “Be furious… anything other than this unsettling calmness… This isn’t right.”

“Would that truly change anything, my dear? Would you somehow feel better about yourself if I hurled insults at you, if I mirrored your own distress? Please…”

“I crossed a line, Levi. It was utterly unacceptable.”

“Hm…” He considered me, his gaze intense. “Guilt is a crushing emotion, is it not?”

“It isn’t just about the guilt, Levi. It’s about me. About my willingness, my desire, to hurt you. That is what is fundamentally unacceptable.”

“There, my dearest, is where we disagree. People hurt each other all the time, Raphael. Hearts break, they often mend. What truly matters here is your dawning realization that you need help to navigate these intense emotions. Also, let us not forget, I did push you, perhaps unwisely, to a point where you felt you had no other recourse but to lash out. To be perfectly candid,” a faint smile touched his lips, “I was half-expecting you to attempt to bludgeon me with the airsoft gun. The fact that you chose to shoot, and aimed for a relatively harmless area, suggests a level of restraint in your fury.”

He’s trying to rationalize it, to make sense of the senseless. To forgive me before I’ve even begun to forgive myself. But it doesn’t change the core truth. I picked up a weapon and aimed it at the man I love. And he… he was expecting it.

“Levi… No… please, don’t try to rationalize this away…”

“I am not rationalizing, Raphael. I am stating the objective facts of what transpired. You aimed an airsoft gun, a non-lethal weapon, at my bulletproof vest. What is there to rationalize? You didn’t target my head, or my already wounded arm. You physically shoved me, creating distance, in order to aim at the vest. That, my dear, is a degree of restraint. Please, for your own sake, stop this relentless self-punishment.”

“Levi… What if…” I began, my voice trembling.

He cut me off, his gaze sharp and unwavering. “Raphael. If that had been a real firearm in your hand yesterday… would you have pulled the trigger?”

Would I? Gods… the rage… the sheer, blinding fury… in that moment, standing there, the gun heavy in my hand… the thought of him crawling over me, his smug face inches from mine… would I have?

“No! Absolutely not. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Never. No!” The denial ripped from my throat. “NO!”

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Levi watched me, his expression unreadable for a long moment. “Then, my dear Raphael,” he said finally, his voice calm and measured, “what is it that we are still agonizing over?”

Why am I drowning in this guilt, this self-recrimination? Is it just the feeling of having lost control? The terrifying glimpse into the darkness within me? But if the core of me wouldn't cross that ultimate line… does that change anything? Does it lessen the horror of picking up that gun, of aiming it? No. Not entirely. But… maybe… maybe it's a flicker of light in this overwhelming darkness.

“I… I completely lost control… I surrendered entirely to the rage…”

“Indeed,” Levi agreed, his gaze unwavering. “I, too, have lost control in the past. And you, my dear, were witness to it. What transpired then? You acknowledged your role in pushing me to that point. I acknowledged my failure to contain my own emotions. And ultimately, we moved forward. Now, I readily admit my part in pushing you yesterday, and you, in turn, acknowledge your complete loss of control. So, Raphael, instead of succumbing to this cycle of self-punishment, I implore you to focus your energy on learning to master your own formidable power. That, my dear, is the truly responsible path. This relentless crying, this all-consuming self-loathing, this torturous sleeplessness… in the cold light of day, does it actually change anything?”

I have to do something. For myself. For him. For us. This self-flagellation… it's a form of avoidance, isn't it? Easier to drown in guilt than to actually face the work of changing.

“How… how do you… control yourself…” I asked, the question a desperate plea for some kind of guidance.

Levi considered me, his gaze steady. “I spent the entirety of my formative years in a rather suffocating existence, burdened by the expectations of nobility, as the sole heir to a dukedom, and indeed, as someone within the line of succession to the throne. Every single day was, in essence, a rigorous learning experience in self-control. You, my dear, have lived a remarkably free life in comparison. Furthermore, our fundamental emotional landscapes differ. Your anger is akin to a volcano, explosive and eruptive. Mine is more like a glacier, slow-moving, immense, and cold. But, if you are asking how I managed to restrain myself from butchering every single self-serving noble in existence,” a humor flickered in his eyes, “it was the stark realization that such an act would solve precisely nothing. I would simply become a deranged, genocidal murderer. And this country, I daresay, would not be enjoying its current democratic state.”

“C-Can you… can you explain that to me a little better, Levi…” I asked, still trying to grasp the enormity of his self-control.

Levi considered me for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Hm… The nobles, as a collective, were often rather… disgusting, revolting swines. But let me offer you a more tangible perspective, perhaps. Do you know why, at those interminable noble gatherings, every single woman would wield a distracting, often ludicrously opulent fan while they engaged in conversation? It wasn’t merely a fashion statement, my dear. It was a tool. A deliberate way to veil their true emotions during those tedious tea parties. They would learn to crinkle their eyes, a practiced imitation of a smile, so that they could mask the underlying disdain that would play about their lips. Raphael, after you spend decades existing in such a manner, bound by rigid tradition, suffocating rules, and constant scrutiny… you are presented with a stark choice: you either sink or you swim. I, my dear, learned to swim with a rather ruthless efficiency. And then, when the opportunity presented itself, I sank every single one of those detestable nobles. Now, Raphael,” his gaze softened slightly, “you will learn how to swim as well.”

Learn to control this volcano inside me, or drown in its lava. Learn to swim in this turbulent sea of my own emotions, or be consumed by them.

“Do you truly think…” I asked, laced with a desperate yearning for hope, “that I can actually do that? That I can learn to not feel this overwhelming rage… or at the very least… not let it control my actions?”

“I have no doubt,” Levi said. “There is absolutely nothing inherently wrong with feeling rage. My own considerable rage, after all, effectively dismantled a centuries-old monarchy, my dear. Yours, in comparison, merely resulted in a small hole in a tree in the woods. Instead of fixating on this incident as if you have committed some unforgivable crime, as if you have irrevocably crossed some imaginary point of no return, I urge you to look towards tomorrow. Furthermore, you have often joked yourself about being a veritable cauldron of repressed rage. Well, my dear, that cauldron finally, rather dramatically, spilled over. Now, you possess a crucial piece of self-awareness. It is high time you actively work to stop resorting to anger as your primary, instinctive response.”

It feels like climbing a sheer cliff face with bare hands. But the alternative… the alternative is to stay here, drowning in this toxic shame.

“Thank you, Levi… truly,” I managed, the words catching in my throat. “And… I am so incredibly sorry…”

Levi’s lips twitched. “My dear Raphael, you already know the most effective way to apologize to me.”

Damn this incorrigible man. Of course. He was talking about outdoor sex. Gods… He was offering profound words of wisdom just seconds ago, and now his mind has veered straight into the gutter.

“Levi! How can you even think about that right now?” I exclaimed, a flush of embarrassment and disbelief creeping up my neck.

“Hm? Oh… my dearest Raphael, did you truly believe that a few heartfelt apologies and a promise of therapy would absolve you of the act of shooting me?” Levi raised a playful eyebrow. “No, no, no. This, my dear, is going to be a recurring theme. I fully intend to bring this up at the most inopportune moments for the rest of your natural life. Also,” he added, a smug little smirk playing on his lips, “let us not forget the rather significant detail that you, in fact, lost the tournament.”

Seriously? I pour my heart out, confess my deepest fears, and he’s already planning a lifetime of teasing?

“You shot me, you absolute asshole,” I retorted, the blush receding. “That is the reason why I lost the damn tournament!”

Levi merely shrugged, a picture of faux innocence. “Indeed. A strategic miscalculation on your part. You should have shot me sooner, my dear, perhaps before I had the opportunity to… well… shoot you.”

The moment he tossed that airsoft gun aside, that’s when I should have acted. Instead, I stood there, idiotically waiting for him to explain his feelings. Damn me. Or even earlier, when he deliberately shoved me onto the dirt. Gods damn it.

“You… you are a gigantic, infuriating piece of…” I sputtered, my anger reigniting, but Levi swiftly placed a finger on my lips, silencing me.

“Dearest Raphael,” he said, his smug smirk widening, “what did we agree upon mere seconds ago? No resorting to anger as a first instinct, remember?”

No resorting to anger… easier said than done when he's being infuriating. But… damn it, he has a point. I did agree. And immediately I’m back to wanting to strangle him.

“Raphael, now, now,” Levi purred, his finger still pressed against my lips. “Let us ponder the appropriate form of your apology, shall we? Perhaps a lifetime of servitude as my personal ice cream fetcher? After all, this entire… episode… did originate with the unfortunate ice cream debacle yesterday. I merely offered a lighthearted jest, and your immediate response was to attempt to perforate me with an airsoft gun. Ah, the delicious, truly exquisite irony of it all.” His eyes gleamed with amusement, his mouth slightly agape, as if savoring my impotent fury. Damn him. If only the infuriatingly attractive bastard wasn’t quite so… attractive.

Ice cream. And now… now we're here. Me, a hair's breadth away from shooting him, and him… purring. Actually purring. The gorgeous bastard.

I grabbed his wrist, my fingers tightening slightly. “Fine. We will have sex outside. You have my word on it.”

He actually pouted, his lower lip jutting out in mock disappointment. “Of course we will, you already made me that promise, remember? I desire something… more creative than that for your monumental transgression.”

“Tell me then, Levi, what manner of recompense do you desire? Hm?”

“Ah,” Levi replied, a thoughtful expression replacing his earlier amusement. “That is the crux of the matter, is it not? I wish that my husband would choose something for this… apology. For me to dictate the terms would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? It is not my style to micromanage your contrition, however tempting. But,” he added, glancing pointedly at the bedroom door, “if you will excuse me now, I am rather… deeply engrossed in the rather pressing matter of running a country.”

He's putting the onus back on me. It's almost… generous. Or another one of his twisted games. Gods, the pressure. I have absolutely no idea what to do. But he's right. Him telling me what to do wouldn't mean anything. It has to come from me. Okay, Raphael, think. Think hard.