The next time my eyelids fluttered open, the midday sun was streaming through the gap in the curtains. My gaze drifted lazily to the bedside table, where a slim, dark-covered book sat propped against the lamp. Ugh. My stomach sank. The niceness rule. A self-inflicted wound, clearly. With a groan that stretched my still-sore muscles, I rolled my eyes heavenward. Well… at least it looked relatively short. Please let it be short.

Levi wasn't beside me. The tapping of keys led me to the living room, where he was sprawled on the sofa, his brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers danced across the screen of his phone. "Mmmph… morning," I mumbled, before shuffling towards the kitchen, a strong, black coffee my sole motivation.

As the aroma of coffee filled the air, I glanced at my phone. A text from Finn. I'd completely forgotten. Finn was supposed to apologize to Levi for that… punch. The injury, the currency change, and now the refugee crisis had pushed it to the back of my mind. But perhaps today was the time. A quick reply to Finn instructed him to bring a peace offering of good, artisanal chocolate.

I sank down onto the sofa beside Levi. "Shit…" I mumbled, glancing at the clock on the wall. "It's nearly lunchtime… why didn't you wake me?"

Levi finally looked up from his phone. "I rather thought you desired the uninterrupted slumber," he replied. "If your schedule demanded your presence elsewhere, surely you would have employed an alarm, no?" He queried with a slight lift of his eyebrow.

Well. Can't exactly argue with that brand of logic, can you?

Responsible adult? Ha! He has no idea. More like a slothful pig who hibernated until the sun was setting for its midday nap.

"Levi," I began, a slight tremor in my voice, "Finn… Finn wants to come over. To… apologize."

"There is truly no necessity for such a gesture," he replied, his voice flat. "However," he added, a pause in his typing, "if the prospect of this… reconciliation brings you a measure of comfort, then I will endeavor to oblige his belated courtesy." He didn't even bother to look up.

Belated courtesy? More like long-overdue damage control. He really doesn't care, does he?

"Thanks, Levi," I said. "Uhm… what has you so engrossed, anyway? Still wading through the endless updates on the refugee crisis?"

"No," he replied, his voice utterly devoid of inflection. "Far worse, in fact. My mother has decided to unleash her particular brand of chaos upon the social circles of the capital."

"Oops

," I breathed, the image of Cybil's frail form on that desolate island flashing through my mind. After I'd brought her to the capital, given her a home, she'd promised… or at least implied… a certain level of decorum. "But she said—" Panic began to bubble in my chest.

Levi cut me off, his gaze finally lifting from his phone, a weariness etched around his eyes. "You possess a fundamental misunderstanding of my mother, Raphael," he stated, his voice low and resonant. "You witnessed a woman weakened by circumstance and offered her sanctuary. What you failed to fully comprehend is that Cybil was the Duchess of Blake, the most influential ducal territory in this entire country. She is the daughter of the Conqueror, and she endured his fifty-year reign. She orchestrated two separate attempts to dethrone the late king. And," a flicker of something dark crossed his features, "she stole my genetic material. She oversaw my education, Raphael. She is the architect of my being, the one who taught me the subtle art of dismantling an opponent with nothing more than an arched eyebrow."

"Okay…" I said slowly, trying to wrap my head around the potential fallout. "But… what exactly is she doing right now? I mean, she doesn't even have any independent income, right? Aside from the rather modest sum we send her for her upkeep and… necessities."

Levi chuckled. "You truly underestimate my mother's resourcefulness if you believe a lack of direct income would impede her machinations. Whatever pittance we provide is likely being leveraged tenfold through means you and I cannot even fathom. The current issue, as I surmise it, is that she appears to be actively interfering with the divorce proceedings of several young noblewomen. Possibly an archaic attempt to preserve the sanctity – or rather, the stability – of her own antiquated social circle. Gods…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She truly cannot let go of the old ways, can she?"

"I… I am truly sorry to hear that, Levi," I said softly, a pang of guilt twisting in my chest. "I genuinely just wanted to help her, you know? She seemed so old… and frail… I really just wanted her to experience some semblance of peace, of freedom…"

Levi sighed, a sound that spoke volumes of weary resignation. "The unintended consequences are what they are, Raphael. Now, if you will excuse me, I must once again attempt to mitigate my mother's… enthusiastic endeavors." He swiftly dialed a number on his phone, and then turned and strode away from the living room, his footsteps echoing on the stairs as he ascended to his study.

Right. Like a hurricane is an enthusiastic breeze. I should have known better. You can't just transplant a force of nature like Cybil into a new environment and expect her to suddenly become a docile houseplant. Freedom for her probably translates to the freedom to manipulate and wreak havoc on a grander scale. And now Levi has to clean up the mess. Again. My well-intentioned act of kindness has likely just unleashed a whole new level of aristocratic drama. Great. Just great. And it's all my fault. Well, not entirely my fault. Cybil has her own agency, however twisted it may be. But I definitely played a part in this current delightful mess.

"Gods," I muttered under my breath. This fucking family… Is there ever a moment of peace with any of them? The irony wasn't lost on me – trying to help Levi with his mother, while still completely avoiding the elephant in my own room: my parents. They were in the capital now, a fact I was trying to ignore.

A solitary lunch did little to settle the unease churning within me, the guilt and anxiety a persistent knot in my stomach. Eventually, Levi returned to the kitchen, the clinking of a mug and the hiss of the kettle signaling his arrival. He began preparing himself a cup of hot chocolate.

"I handled it… discreetly," he announced, his voice calm. "Isolde and I had a rather lengthy discussion, and we concluded that instead of directly confronting my mother, a more… strategic approach would be to offer assistance to the young noblewomen she is so vehemently targeting." He paused, a frown creasing his brow as he sat down on the kitchen chair. "Although…" he continued, his gaze distant, "something about this entire situation feels… off. It lacks a certain… logical coherence. Why would my mother, with her usual calculated precision, resort to such blatant interference? It doesn't quite align with her typical modus operandi. I may need to speak with her directly," he finished, a clear note of distaste in his voice, "which, as you can imagine, is an endeavor I am far from enthusiastic about."

"So, you're thinking she's not just being her usual manipulative self? That there's something else driving this?"

"Yes…" Levi sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It simply lacks her usual… finesse. Why would she, with her considerable intellect and strategic acumen, resort to such a clumsy and transparent attempt to appease her aging cohort of noble acquaintances? There has to be a more significant underlying motivation… but the nature of it eludes me." He leaned back in his chair. "Ugh. The mere prospect of an audience with her is… profoundly unappealing."

"Could it be about Isolde? Is she trying to… I don't know… reassert some kind of maternal control through these other women?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Levi conceded, his gaze still distant as he swirled the hot chocolate in his mug. "It is a possibility, though her methods seem… unusually unsubtle for such a long game. My primary concern remains the well-being of these women seeking to dissolve their marriages. As long as their safety and autonomy are not compromised by my mother's… interventions, the underlying motivations of her actions are of secondary importance to me." He finally took a sip of his drink, his eyes narrowing slightly as if already anticipating the unpleasant conversation with his mother.

"I don't know, Levi," I mused, considering the situation from a different angle. "But… what if her reasoning isn't necessarily about harming people, but… dare I say… prolonging these divorces? Maybe she's somehow trying to give those women more time to gather evidence, to build a stronger case before things become final?"

Levi stilled, his fingers tapping on the kitchen table. The tapping grew slightly faster. "That is… a rather significant departure from my understanding of her motivations," he finally said, his brow furrowed. "My ingrained perception of my mother's character struggles to accommodate such… altruistic intent. However…" He paused, his gaze distant. "It is not entirely beyond the realm of possibility, I suppose. Regardless, Isolde's… unique insights will likely prove invaluable in uncovering the true nature of her endeavors."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from NovelBin. Please report it.

"Maybe," I offered tentatively, a sliver of wishful thinking creeping in, "all that time on the island actually… mellowed her out a little? You two had a tiny bit of a reconciliation..."

Levi's expression hardened. "Please, Raphael. Let us be clear on this point. I will never forgive that abusive, narcissistic woman. Never. Reconciliation is a far too generous and inaccurate term to apply to our current dynamic. What exists now is a detached understanding. An intellectual acknowledgment that her abhorrent behavior is likely rooted in her neurodivergence, the brutal 'kill or be killed' social Darwinism that permeates the nobility, and the decades she endured under the reign of the Conqueror. It is simply accepting the origins of her flaws, recognizing them for what they are, and maintaining a significant and necessary distance between us."

A knot of anxiety tightened in my chest. "Levi…" I began hesitantly. "Do you… resent me? For… taking her off the island? Or… about what happened with your grandfather…?"

Levi stilled, his fingers resuming their tapping. "Resentment… Hm…" he murmured, the word hanging in the air. "Perhaps… perhaps not. It is more akin to a detached understanding that your kindness, while well-intentioned, stemmed from a place of… shall we say, a certain naiveté. A recurring tendency on your part to overlook the potential ramifications of your impulsive actions. It is not entirely what one might categorize as 'resentment,' but perhaps a persistent undercurrent of… frustration. Or perhaps not even that. My emotional landscape, Raphael, is not as readily defined and neatly categorized as your own."

Frustration. Yeah, I can see that. From his perspective, I'm probably a walking, talking embodiment of unforeseen consequences. It's not outright anger, but that constant undercurrent of disappointment… it's there.

"So…" I ventured, the word barely a whisper, "is it… disappointment, then?"

Levi hummed softly, his brow furrowed in thought. "Hm… possibly. It is difficult for me to articulate with precision. I cannot realistically expect you to make your decisions based on my often detached perspective. You saw a suicidal, seventy-year-old man, not solely the murderer of my father. Similarly, with my mother, you were largely unaware of the extent of her… complexities until you delved into my personal files. But…" He paused, his gaze finally meeting mine. "I think… I wish… that you would perhaps consider my feelings, my potential reactions, first, before extending your considerable empathy to others."

That… that stings more than I expected. It's not a direct accusation, but the underlying sentiment is clear. He feels overlooked. Like my empathy flows so freely outwards that I sometimes forget the people closest to me.

"It's not that I don't care, gods, you know that, Levi. It's just… sometimes I see a need, a wrong that needs righting, and I just… react. I leap before I look, and I don't always stop to think about the ripples, about how my actions might affect you." I paused. "I have a confession to make… Levi… It's… difficult to articulate, even now." I took a shuddering breath, the air catching in my throat. "The reason why I didn't visit you at the rehabilitation center… yes, the sting of betrayal was a significant part of it, the raw hurt of what happened. But also… also, I was scared. Scared that you would somehow manipulate me, and convince me to take you out of that place before you were truly ready." I squeezed my eyes shut, the memory still sharp. "And… and I think…" I continued, my voice barely above a whisper, "after witnessing the way you moved through the world, the way you navigated the currents of the nobility, the monarchy, the almost casual way you handled the Conqueror, even your own mother… I… I didn't think you would feel… sad. Or… that you would be truly hurt

by my absence. I think… somewhere along the way, I… briefly stopped seeing you as fully human. I built this… this image of you in my head, this… invincible being who was always ten steps ahead, always in control. But…" My voice cracked. "But… I was wrong. So terribly wrong."

Levi remained silent for what felt like an eternity, the only sound the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the otherwise still kitchen. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady. "Even if your fear of my… manipulations was genuine, Raphael… a simple acknowledgment of my call would have sufficed. Fear, however potent, does not negate the existence of other emotions in the recipient. But," he sighed, a subtle weariness entering his tone, "I suppose there is little point in dwelling on what might have been." He tilted his head back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I… believe I can begin to comprehend your assumption that I was somehow impervious to hurt, sadness, or other such… human frailties. My own reticence regarding my neurodivergence, my struggles with addiction… was obscuring my vulnerabilities from your view." He let out a shaky breath. "Perhaps… perhaps we should revisit this conversation at a later time, when we are both… better equipped to navigate its complexities."

A simple call. A text. Anything to acknowledge his existence in that sterile, lonely place. 'Better equipped to navigate its complexities'… that's Levi-speak for 'I need time to process this without completely shutting you down.'

"I apologize again, Levi, for my inaction. There's no excuse; it was selfish of me, plain and simple. And I am truly sorry for the hurt I caused, for the isolation you must have felt." I took a deep breath, trying to convey the depth of my regret. "I will genuinely try to do better, Levi. From now on, I promise to consider you, your feelings, first and foremost in my actions. I am sorry for making you feel, even for a moment, as if you weren't my absolute priority."

Levi gave a small nod. "I truly do wish to drop this particular thread of conversation for the present, Raphael," he said, his voice still carrying a hint of weariness. "But your apologies have been noted… and acknowledged."

Not forgiveness, not absolution… but acknowledgement. I can still feel the weight of his resentment regarding the rehab. But at least this particular conversation hadn't ended in a sharp retort or a complete emotional withdrawal. It had settled into a neutral, if somewhat tense, silence. My gaze drifted down to the lukewarm remnants of my coffee. Anxious to break the tension, to inject some much-needed levity I swiftly tapped out a text message, urging Finn to arrive sooner rather than later. Sorry, Finn.

...

A little while later, the doorbell chimed. But he wasn't just bearing the promised artisanal chocolate; nestled in his other hand was several bottles of craft beer nestled in a carrier bag. My god, the man clearly felt the need for some liquid courage to lubricate what was bound to be an awkward apology. It had been at least three long months since our last face-to-face encounter. We exchanged a somewhat hesitant hug in the doorway. Finn, clutching the precious chocolate box protectively in his arms like a peace offering, shuffled into the living room, where Levi sat with his usual regal stillness on the couch.

Levi, in his inscrutable way – was it vengeful deity today, or merely detached observer? – watched Finn's palpable awkwardness with an unreadable expression. "Hi, Levi," Finn managed, his voice tight. "I heard about the car accident… I hope you've made a full recovery. And… I am truly sorry about punching you." He extended the box of artisanal chocolate towards Levi like a supplicant offering. The scene felt akin to watching a mortal bearing precious offerings to a capricious shrine, praying for the floodwaters to recede and spare their village.

Levi accepted the offered chocolate with a smooth regal grace. "There is truly no need for such visible distress, Finn," he said, his voice calm and even. "It occurred a considerable time ago. Please, make yourself comfortable." He gestured towards the single armchair situated opposite the main couch. Finn, still wearing a somewhat strained smile, gratefully sank into the offered seat.

Well… that initial exchange went… surprisingly smoothly? Perhaps Levi's earlier reflections had softened his usual sharp edges. I excused myself and headed to the kitchen, gathering an assortment of glasses and accompanying snacks to complement the beer – a bag of salty chips, a jar of tangy pickles, and a small bowl of olives.

I settled back onto the couch beside Levi, efficiently popping the caps off the beer bottles. "So, Finn," I began, extending a bottle towards him with a smile, "how have you been keeping yourself these past few months?"

Finn took a long, appreciative sip of the beer, a sigh escaping his lips. "Working myself ragged at the government office, Raph. It's been… intense, to say the least. The transition after the currency change has been surprisingly smooth, thankfully. But then the presidential campaigns kicked off, which has thrown a whole new set of logistical nightmares and endless pushing our way. And… you know…" He trailed off, a shadow crossing his face. "The ongoing war in Cyrusia… the sheer scale of the refugee crisis… it's all been weighing heavily. Honestly, Raph, I really needed this beer." He gestured with the bottle. "So, what about you? How have you been holding up amidst all this… chaos?"

"My family… they're safe, thankfully. They made it to the capital on the first day of the war. We managed to get in contact and ensure their safety. But…" I admitted, the words catching slightly in my throat, "I… I just haven't been able to bring myself to face them yet."

"Raph," Finn said gently, "you did what needed to be done. Not just as their son, but as a fellow human being. You ensured their safety, and that's what truly matters. And… well," he hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully, "gathering from the things you've mentioned about your family's… cultural perspectives… I can begin to understand why facing them right now might feel impossible, or at the very least, incredibly difficult. So, no judgment here, man. No blame whatsoever. But seriously," he emphasized, subtly raising his beer bottle in a silent toast, "if you ever need to talk, about anything at all, you know I'm always here."

It's not just about the war; it's about the years of… everything else. The unspoken disapproval, the thinly veiled judgment, the constant pressure to be someone I'm not.

"Thanks, Finn," I said, the sincerity of his words warming my chest. "It really does mean a lot."

Just then, Levi spoke. "Gentlemen, I rather suspect your afternoon will devolve into a rather pedestrian affair involving copious amounts of… fermented barley water. Allow me to elevate the proceedings."

Fuck yeah.

Between Finn’s and my rather enthusiastic glances, Levi gracefully glided towards the bar nestled beside our open-plan kitchen. He beckoned us to join him, and we happily obliged, perching ourselves on the high bar stools, anticipation bubbling within us as we waited for Levi to work his cocktail magic. But… instead of reaching for shakers and exotic liquors, he retrieved a remote from the countertop. With a soft whir, the automated blinds on our high ceiling windows, which I hadn't even realized existed in the fourteen months I'd lived in this house, silently slid shut, effectively blocking out the late afternoon sunlight.