Well, well, well.

Forty-eight hours had ticked by, leaving a mere five days until our anniversary. Levi remained entrenched in his study, emerging only for the most basic of human necessities – a quick trip to the lavatory and the occasional foray into the kitchen for sustenance. The city's unrest had followed a similar ebb and flow, the riots swelling in intensity before gradually receding. Even the beleaguered Mayor had finally returned home, presumably to grapple with the soggy aftermath of the flooding. And I? I was a picture of mostly serene anticipation, patiently tracking the delivery of my carefully chosen gifts.

"Now, Raphael," Madame Evanthe's voice, sharp yet encouraging, resonated through the recording studio, "let's try that line again. 'The wind whispers secrets only the ancient stones understand.' More… breath. Feel it in your diaphragm. The 's' in 'whispers' should carry a hint of the ethereal, not a hiss. And 'ancient'… give it weight, the gravitas of centuries."

I took a deep breath, focusing on the image Madame Evanthe had painted – wind swirling around weathered ruins, carrying forgotten tales. "The wwwwind whispers secrets only the aaaancient stones understand," I intoned, drawing out the vowels, trying to imbue the words with the required texture.

"Better," Madame Evanthe conceded, a hint of approval in her tone. "But the 'secrets'… they aren't just words, Raphael. They are fragile, precious things. Deliver them with reverence, as if you are the sole keeper of this lost knowledge."

...

Madame Evanthe and I were just finishing a soothing cup of chamomile tea, laced with honey easing our vocal cords, when… Levi appeared. In all his magnificent, oblivious caveman glory. Clad in nothing but his robe, carelessly open to reveal the expanse of his chest and the waistband of his underwear, he strolled into the kitchen as if it were his private domain. My ears began to burn with mortification. Madame Evanthe, shot a series of pointed glances in his direction before swiftly turning her attention back to me, a smirk playing on her lips.

Gods above… I was practically dissolving into a puddle of mortification. And there he was, my utterly shameless husband, completely oblivious to the social landmine he’d just casually stepped on, rummaging through the freezer with a single-minded focus on his damn ice cream. I swear, the heat radiating from my ears could probably boil water. I think… I might actually spontaneously combust. This was it. My final, blush-induced demise.

“M-Madame Evanthe, I am so incredibly sorry,” I stammered, my face burning, desperately trying to salvage some semblance of professionalism. “My husband is… very… preoccupied. He’s… deeply immersed in… important matters.”

Levi, the fucking Neanderthal, was still wrestling with the freezer door. Did that man even register the presence of another human being in his vicinity? Wait… he possibly didn’t. He probably hadn't even seen her. Because why would he? Madame Evanthe, as brilliant and insightful as she was, held no particular significance in Levi’s intensely focused world.

Madame Evanthe, seemed more… amused than offended. Perhaps the sight of the revered Saint of Ascaria in such disheveled domesticity was inherently comical. Or maybe his single-minded quest for frozen dessert struck a chord of shared humanity.

“It is perfectly fine, Raphael, truly,” she reassured me, a gentle smile gracing her lips. “Do not fret for a moment. In my years, I have witnessed my fair share of brilliant minds utterly consumed by their current pursuit, practically deleting the existence of the life and world around them. Your husband simply seems to be deeply engaged in a… very important intellectual endeavor.” Her eyes twinkled ever so slightly as she said the last part.

Intellectual endeavor? Right. The man was battling a stubborn freezer door for a taste of something cold and sugary. But… her kindness is disarming. And there's a knowing look in her eyes, like she's seen this kind of thing before. Maybe living in a world of artists and thinkers has given her a different perspective on… eccentricities. Gods, I love her. She's saving me from spontaneously combusting from shame. Okay, deep breaths.

“I am still terribly sorry, Madame,” I said, a flush of residual embarrassment still warming my cheeks. “I will certainly… ensure he at least secures his robe more appropriately next time.” I shot a pointed look at Levi, who had finally wrestled his ice cream from the freezer’s icy grip. His gaze, however, lingered on Madame Evanthe for a fleeting second, a flicker of something akin to… recognition? Shit. No. It was more like he was observing a particularly interesting piece of furniture. Then, his eyes flicked to mine, his eyebrow arching in that silent question: Who is she?

I shot Levi a look that could curdle milk, silently screaming get the hell out. He simply shrugged, and retreated back to his study.

After Levi's surreal exit, Madame Evanthe and I made our way back to the guest room. Before facing her again, I submerged my face in the cool water of the bathroom sink, hoping to somehow wash away the lingering heat of embarrassment. Upon my return, Madame Evanthe simply offered a kind, knowing pat on my back, and with a professional smile, we resumed our voice acting exercises.

...

Finally, it was time for Levi’s and my evening meal. The whirring of the blender indicated Levi was preparing his usual… culinary masterpiece. Oatmeal, or some equally beige and unappetizing concoction. I practically stormed into the kitchen.

“The actual fuck, Levi?” I hissed, my earlier embarrassment resurfacing with a vengeance. “What were you thinking, wandering around the house half-naked in front of my acting coach?”

He looked up from his blending with an unnerving calm. “Hm… So that was your acting coach. I comprehend,” he stated matter-of-factly, then opened the blender and pour the contents into a waiting bowl.

“Y-You didn’t know?”

“I was not previously aware of her physical manifestation within our domicile, no,” he replied, as he carried the bowl to the kitchen table.

“It was unbelievably disrespectful of you to wander around the house practically naked while I was trying to work, Levi,” I seethed.

He paused mid-spoonful, his gaze briefly flickering up to meet mine. “I comprehend. I will offer an apology to your… acting coach… upon our next encounter. However,” he continued, returning his attention to his bland concoction, “I see no logical reason to alter my preferred mode of domestic attire. Nevertheless, for the sake of our… continued domestic harmony, I will ensure the robe remains securely fastened in the presence of guests.”

“Can you… can you at least consider wearing trousers when we have company, Levi? Just… pants?” I pleaded.

He paused again, considering my request. “No. I find the current level of ventilation to be optimal for my… cognitive processes. However, as previously stated, I will adhere to the social convention of securing my robe when in the presence of individuals other than yourself.”

Gods… the man was reverting to his toddler persona.

“I was so incredibly ashamed, Levi,” I confessed, the memory still making my cheeks burn.

He looked genuinely perplexed, tilting his head slightly. “I fail to comprehend the magnitude of your distress. It is not as though I intentionally exposed myself in a lewd manner or actively sought to cause offense. She was present, I was present, and she observed my attire. What is the insurmountable problem here?”

“It’s about basic social cues, Levi. It’s about showing a modicum of respect for my professional life and not making my acting coach feel like she’s stumbled into some bizarre, silk-clad nudist colony,” I said, my voice tight with exasperation.

“I was not aware of her presence. My focus was solely on the retrieval of the frozen confection from the appliance,” he stated, as if that explained everything.

“Okay, Levi…” I sighed, the fight draining out of me. “Just… try to be a little more aware of your surroundings, please. It made me look incredibly unprofessional.”

Levi’s brow furrowed further, a hint of irritation coloring his voice. “Will you please cease this incessant agitation and allow me to consume my meal in tranquility? What is the fundamental issue? Did you perceive that I was attempting to… ‘shove my body’ at this individual, or engage in some form of indecent behavior? I was, quite simply, endeavoring to obtain a frozen dessert.”

"Look, can we just drop it? You got your ice cream. Madame Evanthe, thankfully, seems unfazed. Just… try to be a little more mindful next time, okay? For my sanity," I said while rubbing my temples.

“I told you I would offer an apology and ensure my robe is appropriately secured in the future. Your continued insistence on this matter is… illogical, given my assurances,” he stated with a sigh, returning his attention to his bowl of beige.

Ugh… Breathe, Raphael, breathe. Don’t let the simmering frustration boil over. Remember the gun incident?

Utterly mortifying. Deep breaths. Nothing truly terrible happened. He’ll apologize and at least secure the damn robe. Yes. Calm. Tranquil. Focus on something else. I padded over to the refrigerator, seeking the solace of the dinner our maid had prepared, and slid the plate into the microwave. Look at that. The gentle, rhythmic rotation of the plate. Yes… Peace. Tranquility. Like sheep drifting across a moonlit field. Calm. Calm. Just focus on the soothing hum of the microwave.

Right. What did the therapist say? Grounding techniques. Look around. Identify objects. Name your surroundings. Yes. The humming microwave, the stainless steel refrigerator, the dreaded freezer from whence the ice cream came, the kitchen table where Levi is currently engaged in his… culinary ritual, the… chair… where Levi is sitting, completely absorbed in his beige sustenance. No. No, focus. Calm. Don’t fixate on him. Tranquility. Inner peace. Zen. I am a cloud. A wispy, white cloud drifting serenely across the blue sky. Weightless. Boundless. Free from semi-naked husbands and social awkwardness. Yes… just float… float away…

Yes. Absolutely not focusing on the architectural parting of his raven hair, nor the low groan that just escaped his lips as he scrolled through his phone. Ignore. Retrieve the plate radiating warmth from the microwave. Ah, protein. My beloved protein. Settle into your chair slowly, select your knife and fork. Slice the chicken breast with measured, graceful movements. Yes. Calm. Bring a piece to your mouth. The taste is… surprisingly satisfying. Yes. Truly delicious. Absolutely not observing Levi methodically spooning his flavorless, beige concoction into his mouth. Calm. Just focus on your own meal. Yes. Calm. Keep eating. No plummeting blood sugar leading to irrational outbursts. You are no longer hungry. Just two individuals, sharing a quiet meal. Yes. Perfectly acceptable. Calm…

Levi’s phone buzzed. He snatched it up with a visible grimace. “What in God’s name is it now? Can I not have a single uninterrupted meal?” He rubbed a weary hand across his face. “Alright… I’ll personally handle the black market disruption. You continue to oversee the distribution of the new currency. Absolutely not. Do not deploy ground forces at this juncture. Simply alert the cyber intelligence unit; they will trace their IP address. I’ll draft the inter-ministerial order to choke the black-market spread; Treasury will sign it before close of play. Yes… That is sufficient.”

This is my life.

“Rough day at the saintly business, Levi?” I asked, trying to inject a note of gentle teasing into my voice. His deep voice, even when laced with frustration, still had a way of grounding me.

“Not particularly taxing, no. Yesterday presented more… kinetic challenges. I had intended to take a prolonged shower this evening, but it appears my schedule remains… fluid. I am currently one more telephonic communication away from authorizing a rather forceful intervention involving specialized personnel.”

Is he talking about paperwork or… an actual military operation? And he sounds so utterly exhausted. Bone-tired. He probably hasn't slept properly in days, dealing with riots and floods and now… whatever this black market/currency thing is. Gods, I just want him to relax. He just sounds… worn.

“Do you want to elaborate on that, or perhaps just… talk about it?” I offered gently, sensing the underlying tension in his voice.

“Essentially,” Levi began, his tone becoming more explanatory, “periods of widespread instability, such as the recent unrest, provide fertile ground for large-scale organized crime – mafias, syndicates, and other illicit entities – to expand their operations, using the chaos as cover. Furthermore, the introduction of a new currency presents a significant window of opportunity for counterfeiters. We have already implemented several preemptive measures. Now, the cyber intelligence unit will track any digital footprints. Only upon their confirmation and location will any ground forces be deployed. While this matter does not fall entirely within my direct jurisdiction, its intimate connection to the successful implementation of the new currency necessitates my providing a degree of strategic oversight.”

“The actual fuck, Levi? Are you suddenly leading some war against crime syndicates from our kitchen table? Are we… in danger?”

“No, Raphael, we are not in any immediate peril,” he reassured me. “I am merely directing the relevant personnel to execute their responsibilities, which includes ensuring that criminal elements do not exploit or disrupt the ongoing currency change. My anonymity in this endeavor largely insulates us from direct repercussions. However…” he paused, considering, “…I perceive no significant risk, but if the presence of additional security personnel outside our residence would alleviate your concerns, I see no logical impediment to arranging such a deployment.”

“Yeah… the anonymity,” I echoed, but the knot in my stomach remained stubbornly tight. “But… what if someone does come here?”

Levi’s gaze softened slightly. “My study door is constructed of reinforced steel, and the entryway to it is further secured by additional steel rods. You can retreat there immediately if you feel threatened. In the second drawer on the right-hand side of my desk, you will find a burner phone and a revolver. You can utilize the phone to contact my personal security detail and the local police force directly, or you can initiate the immediate dispatch of my helicopter, which can arrive at our residence within fifteen minutes. The crew maintains a hot-standby rotation—flight-plan is pre-cleared to avoid civilian air-traffic delays. And, my dear,” he reached across the table to take my hand, “please, try to calm yourself, hmm? I am merely issuing directives to the upper echelons. Nothing more. There is no tangible danger. However,” he squeezed my hand reassuringly, “I surmise that your anxiety would be somewhat mitigated by the presence of additional security personnel stationed around our property? If that would provide you with a greater sense of safety, I see no logical reason to deny your request.”

“That was… surprisingly considerate of you, Levi,” I admitted, a genuine warmth spreading through me despite the underlying unease. “But honestly, I don’t think we need armed guards patrolling the bushes. But… a burner phone? Really? Why on earth would you need a burner phone?”

“As a contingency,” he explained, his tone matter-of-fact. “In the event that my primary communication device is rendered unavailable, experiences signal interference, becomes irretrievable, or is, for any reason, compromised through electronic surveillance.”

“Gods above, Levi… a burner phone because your regular one might be tapped? Are we suddenly living in some espionage thriller? What is our life?”

“As I have already implemented comprehensive signal scrambling technology throughout our residence, the unauthorized interception of our telephonic communications is not a current or foreseeable threat,” he said, completely missing my dramatic flair.

“W-What?” I stammered, my mind reeling. “You have… signal jammers surrounding the house?”

Levi regarded me with a hint of surprise, a slight furrow in his brow. “Raphael, are you truly… unaware of our public profiles?”

“I… I honestly had no idea about the signal jammers, Levi,” I confessed, a wave of disconnect washing over me. “And to be perfectly frank… this whole ‘public profile’ thing, this life we lead… it often feels incredibly alien to me. Being wealthy beyond comprehension, being recognized everywhere, owning half of Ascaria and an art collection that could probably buy out several small nations… it all feels so detached from who I actually am. Sometimes… sometimes I just want to go to a dive bar, drink cheap beer, laugh loudly with my friends… with you. Just… normal.”

“My dearest Raphael,” Levi said softly, his hand now gently cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin. “I understand that yearning for unburdened freedom, that desire to simply exist without the weight of expectation. But, unfortunately, our reality remains: we are figures of public interest. And while that visibility brings certain… advantages, it also casts a longer shadow of potential risk. Ah, my dear,” he sighed, his gaze filled with a tenderness that often surprised me, “it feels suffocating at times, doesn’t it? But know this, my dear,” a small smile touched his lips, “your husband will always be there to handle any… spirited escapades that might arise from a night of cheap beer and uninhibited laughter, okay?”

Despite his occasional obliviousness, he could be incredibly sweet. After all, he’d stepped in before, hadn’t he? Remember that mortifying incident with Finn in the alley, oinking like escaped farm animals, and those damn teenagers with their phones? He’d handled that with a quiet efficiency I still appreciated.

“Thank you, Levi,” I murmured, leaning across the table to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You were being a bit of a stubborn ass earlier, then you dragged me down a rabbit hole of black markets and covert operations, and now… now you’re being unexpectedly lovely.”

“From my vantage point, your persistent focus on my attire could also be categorized as a form of… unwavering conviction,” Levi countered, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “However, I will accept the sentiment with the grace it deserves. Now, might we proceed with the aforementioned shower? My epidermal layers appear to have formed a rather tenacious bond with this silk garment, a state of being I find distinctly suboptimal.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Yeah, let’s go take a shower,” I agreed, pushing back my chair.

…

“I swear, Levi, I’m about to hurl that offensively pink strawberry shower gel across the tiles,” I grumbled, reaching for a more neutrally scented soap.

Levi simply tightened his embrace from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. “On the contrary, Raphael, I find the aroma rather… pleasing,” he murmured, then nuzzled his nose into the damp strands of my hair. Gods. Arguing with him about sensory preferences was a fool’s errand.

“My dearest,” Levi murmured, as he continued to rub his nose in my hair, “the vanilla variant possesses a far superior olfactory profile, in my estimation.”

Oh, for the love of all that is not sugar. His borderline obsessive predilection for sugary scents was a constant assault on my sensibilities. But… he looked so utterly content. How could I possibly disrupt that fragile serenity with a petty argument about shower gel?

“Levi, please. At least let me grab the lavender. I feel like I’m going to develop a cavity just from breathing in here,” I pleaded, reaching blindly for a more herbal-smelling bottle.

He squeezed me reassuringly. “You possess a delightful natural aroma regardless, my dear. Utilize whichever cleansing agent you prefer.”

Damn him and his infuriatingly sweet affection. How could I possibly stay annoyed when he said things like that?

And then, predictably, the earlier tenderness morphed into something more urgent. Levi, true to his current puppy-like,albeit demanding demeanor, initiated a thorough and enthusiastic exploration. We lathered, rinsed, and repeated, a sensual dance under the warm spray, culminating in a steamy, slippery entanglement. Afterwards, thoroughly cleansed and utterly spent, we finally collapsed onto the soft expanse of the bed, limbs intertwined. A truly satisfying conclusion to a rather… eventful day.

The peaceful slumber of the night surrendered to the insistent buzz of Levi’s phone the moment the digital clock flickered to 7:00 AM. The demanding puppy of the previous evening had fully morphed back into his dominant, lion-like persona. He snatched the offending device from the nightstand. “What in the blazes do you want?” he growled into it, the tone leaving little doubt he was addressing someone of significant authority. “Good job. Couldn’t this have possibly waited a single hour? Did you rouse me from my sleep merely to bask in my nonexistent praise for executing your assigned duties? Gods… the lot of you are utterly insufferable. Fine. Tell the Chief of Staff to convene the emergency economic sub-committee. We need to convene regarding the black market disruptions. And fetch that pathetic excuse for a human being who oversaw the capital operation, the secretary signed off on last night’s capital distribution logs—yes, the one who thought paper receipts were optional. Cease your unnecessary vocalizations and perform your function.” He stabbed the power button.

Did they call him for praise? Knowing Levi, probably. And knowing Levi, they likely deserved that verbal lashing.

“Good morning,” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the expanse of his bare chest. He responded with a gentle hand resting on my head, his voice thick with lingering sleep. “Good morning… Just allow me a few more moments of respite, please.” The gruffness from the phone call had already softened, replaced by a vulnerable weariness that tugged at my heart.

“Alright, you rest. I’ll go make you your… special blend,” I conceded, already picturing the precise ratio of sugar required to appease his morning palate.

“Hm… Yes, but… just for a little while longer,” he murmured, his hand tightening slightly in my hair, preventing my escape. The fearsome lion was still a bit of a sleepy cub when the world hadn’t yet demanded his attention.

...

Even in his exhausted state, that ingrained elegance, those impeccable table manners, never ceased to amaze me. Not a single unnecessary sound accompanied his eating, not even the faintest crumb dared to escape his lips. It spoke of countless hours under a strict tutor, a childhood likely punctuated by relentless correction and perhaps even torment over the slightest deviation. The precise way he unfolded his napkin, the delicate blotting of his mouth after each bite… it was undeniably graceful, undeniably refined. But beneath that polished surface, a pang of sadness resonated within me. Even in the simple act of eating he wasn’t truly free.

“Thank you for the sustenance, dearest. The concentrated sucrose has propelled me to a rather welcome state of full consciousness,” Levi murmured, then brought his mug of hot chocolate to his lips. Even that simple act was imbued with a certain grace. All his fingers remained aligned in a straight line. I always had the impression that extending one’s pinky finger was the hallmark of proper etiquette, a notion swiftly corrected by Levi’s very existence.

Did he ever just… slurp his hot chocolate? Probably not. I wish I could just whisk him away to that dive bar I was thinking about last night. Him, me, cheap beer, and zero expectations of elegant mug-holding.

"I sometimes wonder if you ever got to just… be a kid, Levi. Without all the rules and the tutors and the perfect mug-holding," I said with a sad smile.

“Hm…” Levi mused, tilting his head slightly. “The tutors, in retrospect, were a relatively benign experience. I find a certain… efficiency in decorum. It streamlines interactions and, as you noted, contributes to a desired… authoritative presence. And, dare I say, a certain undeniable charm.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “No, my childhood tribulations lay elsewhere. My grandfather’s rather… rigorous instruction in various methods of procuring sustenance – involving significantly less refined implements than these,” he gestured vaguely with his hand, “and my mother’s… rather unique approach to social engagements. Tea parties, yes, but not for polite conversation. The etiquette training, my dear, was child’s play in comparison to those… character-building exercises.”

“That’s… an even more heartbreaking realization,” I murmured, the image of a child Levi being so deliberately shaped into a tool of power chilling me slightly. “To be honed like a weapon from such a young age…”

“Fear not, my dear. The weapon they so crafted shattered the crown that sought to control. Revenge, in its own time, was… thoroughly executed.” A shadow passed over his eyes. His voice went cold. Just for a second, but it was there.

“It doesn’t negate the pang of sympathy I felt, Levi. My upbringing wasn't the brutal crucible yours sounds like, but there are echoes. Love and affection were… conditional in my household, a reward for conforming to their expectations, for playing the role they envisioned.”

“I understand the sentiment, Raphael,” Levi replied, his gaze softening slightly. “Our paths, though distinct in their severity, do share certain contours. The weight of expectation, the burden of obligation… it drove you to seek solace and autonomy elsewhere. A luxury I was never afforded, bound as I was to the land and legacy of my family. So, I chose a different path: to excise that legacy entirely. We can delve into the specifics of my childhood, if you wish, but divest yourself of any notions of a tearful recounting. It was, in essence, a highly structured, relentlessly demanding training regimen. Though I will concede,” a rare hint of warmth entered his voice, “my mother, in her own pragmatic way, did permit my pursuit of chemistry and botany. Purely for their potential applications, of course, but her influence in that regard is undeniable.”

“I still want to understand,” I insisted softly, my gaze unwavering. “Even if it wasn’t a ‘sob story,’ it’s your story, Levi.”

“I could recount the… narratives, but I assure you, they are not conducive to a pleasant morning conversation, my dear. And duty calls,” he gestured towards the hallway leading to his study. “Perhaps we can revisit this in the evening, hm?”

“Yeah… okay,” I agreed, a touch of reluctance in my voice. “Have a… productive day.”

“You are welcome to join me in the study, though I must warn you, the proceedings are likely to induce a state of profound ennui.”

“No, no. Voice acting awaits,” I explained.

“Understood. In that case, you have a fulfilling day as well,” he said, leaning down to press a brief kiss to my lips before turning and leaving the kitchen.

...

The chime of the doorbell echoed through the villa shortly after Madame Evanthe’s departure. Please, not some urgent summons for Levi, not today. Relief flooded me as I opened the door to find a delivery service holding a package. Levi’s anniversary gift had finally arrived. I signed for it quickly. Clutching the precious cargo, I retreated to my own bedroom. There, I carefully unwrapped the contents, my heart filled with anticipation. Once revealed, I arranged them artfully within a beautiful gift box, adding a handwritten note expressing my love and anticipation for our special day.

Later that evening, Levi and I shared our dinner. He reported that the earlier unrest had indeed subsided completely, leaving him noticeably less tense than I had anticipated. We sat across from each other, my plate laden with grilled fish and vibrant vegetables. He attempted to pilfer two forkfuls from my plate.

“Forgive me,” Levi murmured, his face pale. He pushed back from the table with an abruptness that startled me and bolted towards the bathroom. The retching sounds that followed were immediate and violent. Oh, gods. It was a visceral, physical rejection, so much more profound and distressing than I had ever truly grasped.

I stood up immediately, and rushed towards the bathroom. But Levi was already there, rinsing his mouth and then brushing his teeth, his movements sharp and agitated.

He returned to the kitchen table, his face still pale but composed, and gestured for me to sit.

“Are you alright, Levi?”

“Please accept my apologies, dearest. I entertained the notion that a mere taste might be… tolerable. My physiology, it appears, vehemently disagreed.”

“Don’t apologize, you stubborn idiot. Just… gods,” I exhaled sharply, trying to process the intensity of what I had just witnessed. “You… you had dinners before… was it always like that?”

“Not invariably, no,” he replied, his gaze steady. “However, a crucial distinction between those prior occasions and the present is my… altered state of being. Previously, I was… under the influence. It afforded me a certain… detachment from my physical reactions. Now, being entirely clean and sober, there is no such buffer. This… bland and texturally homogenous substance was a recommendation from the rehabilitation facility. It was, at the time, the only palatable option beyond pure sucrose. And, thankfully,” a wry smile touched his lips, “it seems there is now one additional dietary possibility.”

Of course. He was probably numbing himself through it all. And now… now he's facing it all raw.

“Gods, Levi… I wish you had told me about your addiction.”

The idea that our entire history, every shared moment, every whispered intimacy, might have been… tainted, a form of deceit… that was a wound that felt like a thousand tiny stabs to my heart.

Levi tapped his fingers on the table, his gaze fixed on the patterns of the grain for what felt like an eternity. The silence stretched, as if he were constructing a verbal bridge, avoiding the brutal honesty that could often be… devastating.

“Raphael…” he finally began, his voice a low, measured tone. But the bridge seemed to falter mid-span.

“Raphael… I honestly don’t know what to say. If our relationship had begun with the foundation of openness and trust we’ve built, I believe I would have confided in you. But… it didn’t. And… sobriety has stripped away the layers, gifted me an unwelcome clarity, an honesty I can no longer easily suppress. Before, I presented a curated version of myself, cloaked in a superficial niceness. You never truly heard my unfiltered thoughts, my genuine reactions. And now… now you are. And I find myself plagued by a profound uncertainty. Do you honestly believe… you would have loved the man I was then? Or even tolerated his presence, stripped bare of the artifice? To be brutally candid… I suspect not. The affection you hold for me now, I believe, is linked to the arduous journey we have navigated together, the shared struggles and triumphs that have forged this bond.”

Oh, Levi.

He truly believes that, doesn't he? That the polished facade was the only reason I could have ever been drawn to him. The thought is… ludicrous. Painful.

He thinks I wouldn't have loved the "real" him? Maybe it would have been… challenging. Maybe there would have been more arguments, more friction. But love isn't about constant ease, is it? It's about seeing the flaws, the darkness, and choosing to stay anyway.

And now… now he thinks the love I feel is only because of the journey? Because we've been through hell and back? That journey just solidified what was already there.

He's wrong. Terribly, beautifully wrong. I would have loved him then. Maybe not as easily, maybe with more bruises along the way, but I would have loved him. Because it was always him.

“You are being ridiculous, Levi,” I stated, my voice laced with a touch of exasperation and a whole lot of love. “I didn’t fall for some manufactured ‘niceness.’ You were always a gloriously infuriating, calculating bastard, and you know it. No, you obtuse man, I loved the way you, despite being utterly tone-deaf, still hummed off-key in the shower. I loved the quiet ritual of you preparing my tea every single morning, just the way I liked it. I loved the care you showed me, binding my fractured ribs with such gentle precision every day. I loved your fierce, unyielding spirit, the way you never backed down, never showed an ounce of fear. I loved your sharp, brilliant mind, your protective instincts, and even that cheeky glint in your eyes. Honestly, Levi, did you truly believe your superficial charm masked what a magnificent bastard you are? Of course not. I saw through your manipulations countless times, and you know what? I still chose you. And yes, even now, as you wallow in this self-doubt, you’re still being an ass, albeit a brutally honest one. And to be perfectly frank,” I reached across the table, taking his hand in mine, “I love you even more now than I ever did before.”

Levi absorbed my words, his gaze still locked on our intertwined hands for a long moment. Finally, he spoke, a hint of reluctant understanding in his voice. “Well… it appears my assessment was… inaccurate. To be candid, yes, our dynamic now does possess a… significantly greater degree of stability. And… thank you, Raphael, for your… forceful intervention. It’s an odd thought, but during my time in rehabilitation, I found myself considering my father’s potential reaction to my… condition. While his methods would undoubtedly have been less… physically persuasive than your own, the outcome, a forced sojourn in a similar facility, would likely have been the same. And… I must admit,” a small smile touched his lips, “there is a certain… clarity, a certain… liberation in sobriety. For now, at least.”

It’s not a full-blown declaration of undying gratitude, but it’s… progress. He feels liberated. Gods, that’s what I wanted for him all along. Not just sobriety, but freedom from the weight of his past, from the need to numb himself. He’s seeing it, maybe just a sliver, but he’s seeing that this… us… this messy, unconventional, sometimes violent, but ultimately loving thing we have… it’s real.

“So, what do you imagine your father’s reaction would have been?” I inquired, genuinely curious.

“Hm… Initially, I suspect there would have been a period of… quiet devastation. Perhaps even tears. Following that, undoubtedly, would have been a discreet but firm arrangement for my immediate admittance into a rehabilitation facility. Without the… theatrical elements your intervention involved, of course,” a wry smile flickered across his lips. “I imagine his sadness would have been profound, not born of personal disappointment, but rather a deep-seated sorrow for his son’s struggles. There would have been no anger, no harsh reprimands, just a quiet, unwavering offer of gentle guidance.”

It makes me wonder about the man Levi could have been, the man he might still become, without the weight of that oppressive upbringing, without the need for the self-medication. And it makes my own methods… well, a little less defensible, perhaps. But desperation breeds unorthodox solutions. And in the end… it worked. He's here, he's sober, and he's talking about his father with something that almost sounds like… fondness.

“Yes, well,” I said, a wry smile playing on my lips, “my apologies for the… forceful nature of my intervention. The kicking, the punching, and the rather enthusiastic application of our, shall we say, specialized restraints and gags…”

Levi’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Gods, Raphael, the audacity of the rope is one thing, but let’s not forget the trunk. The trunk! Not even the relative comfort of the back seat, mind you. Julia and you bundled me into the bloody boot of her car. The indignity!”

“Oh, hush. Don’t act like we were transporting delicate porcelain. Your entitled ass had to be wrestled down two flights of stairs. My patience, as you might recall, was wearing thinner than silk at that point. But… tell me honestly, beyond the haze, what flickered through your mind in those moments… being bundled into Julia’s trunk?”

“Raphael… I was in a state of near-fatal overdose. To be utterly truthful, the immediate aftermath, the sensation of being moved… it’s all a blur. My mind was a storm of… nothingness and a desperate yearning for oblivion. I don’t recall any specific thoughts, just a profound sense of… cessation.”

I knew it was bad, I saw the state he was in, the almost lifelessness in his eyes. But hearing him say it so plainly… it’s like a punch to the gut all over again. The trunk, the ropes, my anger… it all feels so clumsy, so inadequate in the face of that stark reality. He wanted to die. And I… I was so furious, so terrified, I reacted with… well, with brute force.

"Do you… want to explain… why… you tried…?"

Levi's gaze drifted, a detached look settling in his eyes. "It was always… a consideration. Once the nobility was dissolved, the purpose I had clung to for so long… it vanished. Life, for me, held little allure beyond that. Oblivion is oblivion. The void is the void. I simply desired a more… encompassing one. My miscalculation that day, was in underestimating your promptness. I believed you would still be away at your award ceremony, returning a day later."

Just one more day, celebrating some meaningless award, and he would have… Gods.

He wanted to cease to exist. And I… I love him so fiercely it physically hurts to even contemplate that possibility. The thought of a world without his sharp mind, his dry wit, his unexpected tenderness… it’s unbearable. And it was so close. So damn close.

My breath hitched, and a dull ache began to spread through my chest. “Do… you… still?”

“No, Raphael. Not yet, at least.”

“Please… just… tell me… next time…”

Levi’s gaze remained steady. “Hm… Very well, Raphael. Since we are being brutally honest, allow me to share a truth that may unsettle you even further. The impetus behind my attempt… was ultimately, a profound and all-consuming boredom. That, in its most stripped-down form, is the unvarnished reality.”

“I… know,” I admitted, the memory a sharp sting. “I recognized it then, that creeping ennui that settled over you like a shroud at the noble cemetery. The way you shouted ‘bored’ into the silence, your voice echoing off the cold stone, over and over again… it wasn’t just a passing mood, was it?”

"You witnessed a symptom. Now you are privy to attempt at a cure."

My hands clenched into fists beneath the table. How do you fight that? How do you make life interesting enough, meaningful enough, to combat that kind of profound apathy? It’s not a sadness I can soothe, not an anger I can deflect. It’s… nothingness.

“Hm… It appears my candor has elicited a degree of distress. Compose yourself, my dear. Rest assured, at this precise moment, I harbor no immediate inclinations towards ceasing my existence. For now.”

“Levi, please,” I implored, my voice thick with desperation. “Talk to me. Beyond the boredom, beyond that terrifying void… what else is there for you?”

Levi’s gaze remained steady, devoid of the emotion that was tearing me apart.

“There is nothing, Raphael. I was not sad. I was bored. I was so bored that death became logical conclusion.”

That… that might be the most terrifying thing he’s ever said.

“I… I honestly don’t know what to say, Levi.”

“You don’t need to say anything profound, Raphael. You are my husband, not a medical professional. This isn’t solely your burden to carry. Besides,” he continued, a hint of something akin to satisfaction in his voice, “I already have a therapist who specializes in neurodivergence. And to be perfectly frank, their approach has been remarkably effective, especially when compared to the litany of therapists I’ve encountered in my three decades. So, your suggestion on that front was… surprisingly astute.” He paused, his gaze softening slightly. “Raphael… if you’ve never experienced suicidal ideation, it’s not a state of mind one can simply empathize with. To override the fundamental, primal human instinct for survival… that’s not an easy concept for someone unfamiliar with it to truly grasp.”

I'm floundering, trying to find the right words, the magic phrase that will somehow erase that emptiness he feels. But I can't. I haven't been there.

He's right. Empathy can only go so far when you haven't walked that particular desolate landscape. I need to listen. To trust his judgment about his own mind, about his own healing. And maybe… maybe the best thing I can offer isn't profound words, but just… presence. Just being here, beside him, in this messy, complicated life we've built.