A stabbing pain in my neck jolted me awake, my head snapping up from its awkward angle against the chair. How stupid could I be? A perfectly good couch sat just a few feet away. Of course my neck felt like it had been twisted into a pretzel; my entire upper body had collided with a steering wheel. I groaned, each small movement sending a fresh wave of agony through my neck and shoulders. I rummaged through the medicine bag, retrieved the analgesic cream, and liberally applied it to the protesting muscles. By then, the scent of food wafted through the air. It was lunchtime. A nurse had deposited a tray with the bland mush for Levi and a standard hospital meal for me. But Levi remained deeply ensconced in sleep, his face peaceful for the first time in what felt like an eternity. There was absolutely no way I was waking him for this tasteless gruel.

Finishing my meager hospital lunch, the need for a cigarette, a brief escape from the sterile confines, became overwhelming. As I stepped outside I reached for Levi's phone, still tucked in my pocket. The screen lit up with a staggering number – easily over a hundred missed calls and countless messages. Ministers, political parties, presidential candidates, politicians, mayors, any government body imaginable… the names scrolled endlessly in the notification bar. I didn't even know his unlock pattern. Did I even dare to look at those messages? I could feel my own stress levels rising, imagining the web of demands and expectations.

I lit a cigarette, and let the smoke curl into the clear morning air. My gaze drifted towards the imposing architecture of the Academia.

Griffith Blake, you slave-owning bastard. Fuck you and your institution built on exploitation.

Stepping back into the hospital room, the scene that greeted me sent a jolt of pure terror through my veins. The small space was crowded with doctors and nurses, their movements urgent and coordinated. And Levi… they were strapping him down. Tying his limbs to the bedrails. His groans of agony filled the room, each one a physical blow to my own chest. The agitation in his eyes, the desperate thrashing against the restraints, the pain etched on his face… it was unbearable to witness. My own eyes welled with tears, a helpless mirror to his suffering.

Another sharp glint of a needle, another vial of potent painkillers injected into his thigh muscle. Now, the restraints were more extensive, binding his legs and one arm, leaving him only a minimal range of movement. He looked… trapped. Like a criminal, or a wounded animal caught in a snare.

"From… now… on…" Levi gasped out, his head shaking against the pillow. "Electrocute… before… the… injection."

The doctor's face registered shock and disbelief, a clear hesitation in his eyes. But witnessing Levi's utter torment, the uncontrollable agony that wracked his body, seemed to sway him. With a heavy sigh and a look of profound reluctance, the doctor finally nodded.

So, it seems, in this supposed age of medical advancement, one of the methods we're resorting to for pain management in the 21st century is… electrocution. Yes, you heard that right. Apparently, this archaic-sounding technique is even used on pregnant women, or so the internet whispers. Something about overloading the brain's pain signals, creating a diversion. Unbelievable, isn't it? And Levi, my fiercely intelligent, impossibly resilient Levi, is about to be subjected to this. A small instrument will deliver jolts of electricity to his body, a desperate attempt to somehow bridge those chasms between the fading effects of one painkiller injection and the arrival of the next. Yes. This is where we are. In a modern hospital, using electric shocks to try and manage the excruciating pain of surgical recovery.

Now, a treacherous thought, a venomous whisper, slithered into my consciousness, its claws tightening around my throat.

Should he just… take opioids?

The agony he was enduring, the desperate plea for electrocution – wasn't that justification enough?

No. This isn't my decision to make. This is his body, his recovery, his battle against the insidious pull of addiction. It's not my place, not now, not ever, to undermine that hard-won resolve.

Finally, the blessed relief of the painkillers washed over him, his ragged breaths evening out. My naive hope of returning home, shattered into a million pieces. How could we possibly leave? If a potent muscle injection could barely quell his screams, how would he cope outside the constant vigilance of a hospital? After the medical team finally withdrew, leaving us in a fragile quiet, I leaned over him, my hand trembling as I stroked his hair.

"Gods, Raphael…" he whispered, his eyes still clouded with the recent agony. "It feels like… like shards of glass are still embedded in my very bones… and with every breath I take, they're sawing… deeper and deeper."

My heart twisted in my chest. Words of comfort felt hollow, inadequate in the face of such visceral suffering. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "I'm so sorry, Levi. Just… try to rest for a little while, hm? Maybe the painkillers will…"

He cut me off with a weary shake of his head. "I sleep only to wake up in torment, Raphael… a brief descent into oblivion followed by an even steeper climb back into this… this hell."

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What platitude can I offer that won't sound utterly meaningless? Just try to sleep? As if he has any control over this assault on his body. I would gladly bear this pain for him, take every shard into myself if it would grant him a moment's peace.

"You will feel better, little by little, day after day, Levi," I said, still stroking his hair. "I know… gods, I know it hurts so much right now."

"The next wave… the one in about five hours… it will be worse than this, Raphael," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "You… you shouldn't witness that."

Yeah. The electrocution. The image of him bound, helpless, about to be subjected to that barbaric treatment sent a fresh wave of nausea churning in my stomach. Like an animal. Like cattle led to slaughter.

"It doesn't matter, Levi," I said, my voice firm despite the tremor in my hands. "My comfort is irrelevant. You… you just focus on getting through this moment. Focus on yourself."

I picked up the tray, the bland, beige concoction the nurses had deemed suitable for Levi's delicate system. "Do you want to try a little something? It might give you some strength," I offered gently. He nodded slowly. This time, I didn't bother with the chair. I stood close to the bed, spooning the tasteless mush into his mouth. He couldn't urinate without assistance, couldn't take a single step, couldn't even scratch an itch without permission, but at least… at least he could still eat. A small, pathetic victory in the face of so much loss of control.

Having managed about half the bowl of tasteless mush, Levi offered a curt nod of gratitude, his gaze already fixed on the silent phone on the bedside table. "My phone," he commanded, his voice still weak but with that familiar undercurrent of authority. I reluctantly handed it over, watching as his left hand, clumsily dialed a number. "What? Gods…" he rasped into the receiver, a flash of his old impatience crossing his face. "I am out of commission. Call my secretaries in the government office, and tell the cabinet and everybody else to cease the incessant 'get well' messages."

"Levi, your phone hasn't stopped buzzing for a single second," I said, the mere memory of that overflowing notification bar sending a fresh wave of anxiety rippling through me.

"Hm… mostly well wishes, for now," he murmured, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Tomorrow, though… tomorrow it will be logistics." I glanced down at my own phone, its screen also illuminated with a barrage of missed calls and messages. They would have to wait.

"Logistics?" I prompted, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"Yes…" he sighed. "Three candidates will begin… nationwide rallies… with their respective political parties… and the deadline for the currency exchange… it's in one week."

"Oh my god, Levi…" I breathed out, the sheer weight of his responsibilities hitting me like a physical blow. "Are you… how are you even going to begin to manage all of that from here?"

He opened his eyes. "I don't have to do… anything…" he said, each word a painful effort. "I already… planned everything… People… need to do their jobs now… And I need to…" He closed his eyes again, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. Then, his brow furrowed. "Ugh… I completely forgot… about the black market thing…"

"What black market thing?"

"Give me my laptop. Unleash my right hand and give me my phone… and then, Raphael… leave the room."

Fuck.

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, I positioned his laptop on the adjustable tray attached to the bed, handed him his phone, and released the clasp on his right wrist. "Call me," I managed, my voice thick with unshed tears, "if you need absolutely anything." Then, I fled the room, the need for a cigarette a desperate clawing in my chest.

I dialed Finn's number. When he answered, his voice tight with worry, I poured out the events of the last harrowing hours. The mangled car, the terrifying surgery, the surreal discovery of my own budding horns, the heartbreaking image of Levi stitched and bandaged like a fragile doll – I recounted it all in a rush of words, the raw emotion still clinging to my voice.

"This is insane…" Finn repeated, his voice tight with disbelief and concern. "So you're telling me the best medical minds in the country are resorting to strapping him down and shocking him because he's terrified of relapsing?" Finn's voice was laced with incredulity and a hint of outrage.

"Yeah, Finn, that's the gist of it," I replied, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "It's insane, Finn. Utterly insane. And there's nothing, absolutely nothing, I can do except try to coax him to eat half a damn bowl of mush."

"This is just… barbaric. And you, having to witness it. Just… keep talking to me, Raphael. Tell me everything. Maybe just hearing it out loud will help us both," Finn's voice, though tinged with helplessness, offered a lifeline. And so I spoke. I recounted the harrowing last twenty hours in vivid detail. As I spoke, the weight on my chest eased. But the gnawing feeling of uselessness remained. There was nothing, truly nothing within my power to truly alleviate the agonizing reality of his suffering.

Next, I dialed Maya's number. It had been too long since I'd last heard her, since she'd left the capital with her girlfriend for a quieter life. I poured out the same harrowing tale, and with each shared detail, a sliver of the crushing weight on my chest seemed to lift. I must have smoked half a pack of cigarettes during our conversation. Finally, with a deep breath, I called my agent. I laid out the bare facts: Levi's incapacitation, the bizarre treatment, my indefinite stay.

Stepping back into the quiet of Levi's room, the sight that greeted me was both familiar and jarring. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his fingers flying across the laptop keyboard, his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he spoke. He was juggling calls and emails with a grim determination. The moment I entered, however, he abruptly ended his call, snapped the laptop shut, and pushed the tray away. "Sorry for making you leave, dear."

"Are you alright, Levi?" I asked softly, stepping closer to the bed, my gaze searching his face for any sign of renewed agony.

"Right now?" He offered a weary smile. "About a four out of ten on the pain scale. But you need to re-secure my arm, dear. I'm going to try and get some sleep."