"Shit," I muttered under my breath, the word escaping before I could stop it. "I don't wanna be in this room now. It just reminds me about puking all over your rug."

“We don’t have to be, we can just… leave,” Levi said in his flat voice.

My head snapped up, a jolt of surprised hope surging through the lingering nausea. "Leave?" I echoed, the word feeling foreign and almost too good to be true. "Leave... the house? Now?"

“Surely, is there anything stopping us? No, as far as I can tell. The door is here, windows are not barred; we just have to take a step,” he casually said while shrugging. It truly makes you wonder, how can one be so casually chill to just propose leaving the house after confessing maybe a quarter of the sins he committed? I rubbed my forehead.

“No, no. I don’t want to go outside, I just wanted to sleep. I need to go to set tomorrow. You know, for my film,” I blurted whatever reason I could gather.

Levi's simple, almost dismissive, "Of course, good night, Raphael," accompanied by another casual shrug, underscored his profound detachment. He wasn't offering comfort, concern, or even a hint of acknowledgment of the emotional turmoil I was clearly experiencing.

…

The morning came; I slept soundly from sheer exhaustion. Levi was already gone, which was something once again, I was grateful for. I grabbed my clothes and my bag to leave the house. A car, sent by my agency, was waiting outside.

The normalcy of it all was almost jarring. A regular car, the kind that blended into city traffic, waited patiently. My worn duffel bag, filled with my own clothes, felt reassuringly ordinary in my hand. The thought of casually leaving for work, of stepping back into the predictable rhythm of a film set, was a desperate craving. I needed the mundane, the monotonous, the possibly tedious humanity of it all. For a few hours, I could immerse myself in a world of make-believe, a world where the stakes were fictional and the darkness was confined to a script.

Stepping onto the bustling set was a sensory overload. The bright lights, the flurry of activity, the familiar faces of the crew – it was all a welcome distraction. For a few hours, I managed to lose myself in the character, reciting lines, hitting marks, and focusing on the immediate demands of the scene. The tediousness was a balm, the mundane a comfort.

Lunch break offered a brief respite, but even amidst the casual chatter and lukewarm coffee, Levi's words echoed in the back of my mind. I found myself observing my colleagues, wondering if they, too, harbored hidden depths, if the normalcy concealed something darker.

The afternoon wore on, each take pulling me further into the fictional world, a temporary escape from my own reality. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the set, a sense of weary relief washed over me. The day was almost done.

The drive back to my own apartment was quiet. The city lights twinkled outside the window, but my thoughts remained heavy. Reaching my modest apartment felt like stepping back onto solid ground after a turbulent sea voyage.

I ordered a simple dinner. As the evening wore on, I found myself unable to fully relax. The psychology books I had jokingly mentioned now seemed like a genuine necessity.

A peculiar sensation settled over me. It was the first night I would spend away from Levi's house without informing him. A small act of autonomy. But beneath the surface of that newfound freedom, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor of apprehension lingered. It wasn't fear, not exactly, but a quiet awareness of the unconventional and unpredictable nature of the man I had left behind. The silence of my apartment felt both comforting and strangely… expectant.

I spent the night sleeping on my creaky bed. It was one of the best sleeps I have gotten over a quite long time. After a quick shower, I was ready for another day on the set.

The morning routine was blessedly normal – the lukewarm spray of my shower, the familiar scent of my own soap. As I dressed for another day on set, the familiar anticipation I usually felt seemed muted, overshadowed by the events of the previous day. The craving for the spotlight, the validation of praise – things I had always eagerly sought – felt strangely distant, almost superficial.

The familiar chaos of the set faded into a dull background hum as my phone vibrated insistently in my pocket. The scene we were filming dragged on, each take feeling longer than the last. Finally, the director yelled "Cut!".

I glanced at the screen, the insistent caller ID confirmed my unease. Levi. A knot tightened in my stomach. After my unspoken departure, his call felt less like a friendly check-in and more like… something else.

I hastily answered the call. “Hello, Levi.”

“Good afternoon, Raphael. One must imagine my surprise when I realized my husband didn’t come back home yesterday. Pulla…” His voice, smooth and cultured, filled my ear.

“If I stayed at the home I could puke again. I did us a favor.” My reply was clipped, the memory of the previous night’s visceral reaction still vivid. A low, contemplative hum resonated through the phone, a sound that hinted at a mind rapidly processing data. “Hm… Do you want to move out?”

“Wha- I… Look, I just need some time out from you.” Panic flared, and my response was rushed, defensive.

A beat of silence stretched between us. Then, Levi’s tone shifted, the smooth surface cracking ever so slightly to reveal a hint of something akin to wounded surprise. “Time out,” he repeated, the phrase sounding almost foreign, clinical, on his tongue. “You do know you have been awfully rude and mean to me, correct?”

“Don’t play the victim card right now, okay? Look, I am working right now, I don’t know when I will be back, but I will. Promise.”

A soft sigh, laced with a hint of something unreadable – resignation? Calculation? – drifted through the speaker. “So many promises, in such a short amount of time… But, surely, do as you wish, Raphael.”

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Shit, he is never gonna drop this.

I wrapped my work at the set, and instead of going to my old apartment, I went to a random luxury hotel. Because I was curious about something: did I not crave the attention? Did I just grow out of it?

I went to the hotel’s bar, my gaze drifted around the room, a familiar habit kicking in – scanning for those lingering looks, the subtle invitations that had once fueled my ego. There were glances, as always. A businessman nursing a solitary drink, a group of women laughing near the window, a lone figure nursing a cocktail at the far end of the bar. Their eyes flickered my way, a momentary spark of interest before returning to their own conversations.

A waiter approached, and I ordered a drink, my attention still subtly cataloging the room. The glances continued, some bolder than others, a silent offering of admiration or perhaps something more. Men and women, waiting for that almost imperceptible signal. But as I truly looked at them, a strange sense of detachment settled over me. None of them… registered. They were just… passing faces in a space.

None of them were as impressive as Levi. These faces, these fleeting glances, felt pale in comparison to the complex, terrifying, and undeniably compelling Levi. The realization was both unsettling and strangely… clarifying.

I was once again, betrayed by my own body. I didn’t care about their attention, I wanted his attention. Ah, fuck. Raphael, what the fuck did you do? You absolute pig. Out of all the eyes you could pick, you picked his eyes to adore you. The eyes of a man who saw me not with affection, but with a detached, analytical curiosity, and yet… you still want it.

I made an impulse decision and dialed his number.

“Levi, can you come to me, right now?”

A beat of silence, a pause that felt loaded with unspoken questions. Then, his voice, laced with a subtle note of something I couldn't quite decipher – concern? Curiosity? – replied, “Is something wrong?”

A choked laugh escaped me, tinged with self-disgust. “Yeah, something is definitely wrong with me. But just… Can you come here?”

“Surely, send me the location.”

No questions about why, no expressions of concern beyond the initial polite inquiry. Just a direct instruction, efficient and to the point. It was classic Levi. Part of me desperately wished he wouldn't come, wouldn't witness this unraveling. The thought of him seeing this pathetic need, this undeniable pull towards him despite everything, made my stomach clench with a fresh wave of self-disgust.

The minutes that followed felt both like an eternity and a blink. Then, he was there. He entered the hotel bar, his presence immediately commanding attention without any apparent effort. His gaze swept across the room, sharp and discerning, before settling on me. He moved with that characteristic fluid grace, a silent predator drawn to its mark. As he walked towards me, the space around us seemed to shrink, the ambient noise fading into a dull hum. Relief? I didn’t know.

He reached my table, his dark eyes holding mine with an unreadable intensity. There was no hint of reproach for my sudden departure or my even more sudden summons. Just that steady, assessing gaze.

"Raphael," he said, his voice a low murmur that barely carried over the bar's gentle hum.

He gestured slightly to the empty chair opposite me. "May I?"

The simple courtesy, the lack of any overt interrogation, was almost disarming. I nodded. While I was trying my best to suppress this intense urge of kissing him, he ordered himself a drink.

“You were rather distressed on the phone. Is there a reason why we meet here? I hope everything is alright.”

His careful eyes were watching, looking directly at my reactions. Yeah. His attention. His unwavering, piercing attention. Possibly lethal attention.

A raw, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. “I am a fucking idiot, Levi. I run away thinking maybe if I could just breathe. But, you know what… It was so boring. Nothing gave me satisfaction.”

“Boring?” he echoed, the single word imbued with curiosity.

“Yeah, boring. Even the praises, attention… Even they didn’t feel fun at all. It felt… normal. And it was just boring,” I confirmed, the admission laced with a bitter honesty.

A beat of silence ensued, his gaze never wavering. Then, Levi’s voice, smooth as polished obsidian, cut through the air. “And what precise conclusions am I expected to draw from this… rather illuminating, if somewhat self-flagellating, disclosure, Raphael?”

I hesitated. His question wasn't accusatory, but it demanded an answer.

"I... I don't know," I confessed, the words feeling like a shameful admission of defeat. "I just... everything else felt so pale. So… insignificant." I avoided his gaze, suddenly finding the condensation on my glass fascinating. "Even the things I used to want... they don't matter anymore."

A beat of silence stretched between us, broken only by the clinking of glasses at the bar. When Levi finally spoke, his voice was softer than before, though still carrying that undercurrent of detached observation.

"Insignificant?" he echoed. "Compared to what, Raphael?"

“Stop playing. You already know the answer.”

A faint smile touched the corners of Levi's lips. "Do I?" he murmured, his eyes still holding mine with that unnerving intensity. "While I appreciate your confidence in my deductions, Raphael, clarity, especially in matters of the heart, is often best achieved through direct articulation."

He paused, allowing his words to settle. "However," he continued, his voice softening slightly, "if you insist on this game of unspoken truths, I will venture a hypothesis. Could it be that the rather unique intensity of our recent interactions has… recalibrated your threshold for stimulation? That the ordinary, the predictable, now pales in comparison to the… extraordinary, even if unsettling, nature of our connection?" He leaned back slightly in his chair, watching me, waiting for my confirmation.

“Yeah, you fucker. I hate you so much but…”

He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes narrowing with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"But...?" he prompted softly. He was waiting, his usual composure momentarily disrupted by the unexpected force of my contradictory emotions. The ambient noise of the bar seemed to fade away, all focus narrowed to the space between us, to the unsaid words that trembled on my lips.

“Nope, I am not saying it out loud. You already know it.” I shrugged and crossed my arms.

“I can neither confirm nor deny what you meant. But, I am merciful. Let me kindly remind you, Raphael, I can not compensate for feelings, in any way, shape or form.” His words were precise, each syllable enunciated with a clarity that underscored their definitive nature.

A wave of self-loathing washed over me, and the admission tumbled out, raw and unvarnished. “That’s why I said I am an idiot. I truly am.”

Levi’s gaze softened imperceptibly, a fleeting moment of something akin to… pity? Amusement?

“Oh, pulla. Do not be so harsh on yourself. It is just a reaction to stimuli. Like booze, like your nicotine addiction you hide very well, like falling off a cliff. It is the adrenaline rush you seek.”

A sardonic smile twisted my lips. "Oh, is that what it is now, Levi? Just a 'reaction to stimuli'?" I scoffed, the self-disgust still simmering beneath the surface. "Can we just skip this part of you being an ice block and go to a hotel room and just fuck?”

A barely perceptible flicker crossed Levi’s impassive features, a momentary lapse in his carefully maintained facade. “Well, if it is truly what you wish, then by all means, let’s leave for the hotel room.”