My dear Pulla followed me into the confines of my designated room. A becoming shyness colored his demeanor; the tips of his ears were flushed a delicate crimson as his gaze darted around the hallway, a predictable caution against prying eyes.

Upon crossing the threshold, his initial reaction wasn't a physical touch, no. Instead, his gaze swept the room. His attention snagged, however, not on the spartan furniture or the institutional blandness, but on the small collection of origami figures I had folded. They sat scattered on the bedside table, fragile bursts of color and intricate design against the monotonous backdrop. His brow furrowed slightly as he studied them, as if trying to decipher the story etched within each delicate crease and fold.

My Pulla, was visibly attempting to forge some semblance of connection. He placed the bag of clothes on the narrow bed. Who was I to deny even this small gesture?

With deliberate slowness, I began to disrobe. Each movement was languid, a subtle invitation in itself. At first, he remained true to his nature, embarrassment causing him to avert his gaze, focusing instead on some arbitrary point on the white wall. But the pull, the undeniable magnetic force that always drew him back to me, proved too strong. His gaze drifted, settling on my body.

My Pulla… He possessed no true understanding of the war waged within one's own flesh as the opioids were flushed from the system. The gnawing emptiness, the phantom aches, the skin crawling with a thousand insects – a silent torment etched onto my very being, a story my body still carried in its tense lines and the faint tremor in my hands.

He remained hesitant. I recognized the internal battle – the warring factions of guilt, lingering hurt, and the undeniable pull that had always existed between us. A direct sexual advance felt… wrong. Too crude. I needed something more subtle.

"Gods, Raphael," I murmured, my voice a husky drawl as I reached for one of the freshly laundered shirts he had brought, inhaling deeply. "You have no idea how much I missed 'our' fabric softener's scent."

He sighed. "That damn fabric softener. You know exactly which buttons to push, don't you?"

Interesting. My Pulla was evolving. A flicker of something akin to… pride?… stirred within me.

I took another deliberate sniff of the shirt. "It smells nice."

"Are you trying to distract me?" His voice was low and wary, each word measured. Suspicion radiated from him.

“From what, Raphael?” I countered, feigning innocent confusion. “Do you have any comprehension of the olfactory wasteland that permeates this establishment? They employ a truly heinous, scentless laundry detergent. This,” I lifted the shirt again, inhaling deeply with exaggerated pleasure, “is a sensory oasis in comparison.”

My little Pulla took a decisive step towards me, closing the remaining space between us. The weariness in his eyes had been replaced by a flicker of something akin to raw fire. “What do you want, Levi?”

“Frankly?” I shrugged, as I slipped the offered shirt over my head. “Something that smells nice.”

His voice softened, becoming almost a plea. "Levi, please. Can't you just be honest with me for once?"

What to do here? Feign innocence? No, my Pulla was far too astute for such a transparent tactic. Let us try a different approach, a sliver of the truth, perhaps.

“Raphael. What? What precisely do you want me to articulate?” My voice, lost some of its sharpness. “Do you wish for a detailed account of how acutely I missed the unique cadence of your scent? Or perhaps a sentimental recollection of the profound comfort I derived from our shared silences on the couch, those mundane moments that inexplicably held such significance? I have endured two months confined within these soul-crushing walls, Raphael. So, if my responses lack the expected… emotional nuance, perhaps you could forgive me. Truthfully, it is you whose expectations seem utterly divorced from the reality of my recent existence.”

"Then tell me what was real, Levi. In those two months. What kept you going?"

“What was real, Raphael? Fine. Cast your gaze upon that cold, unforgiving metal toilet.” My voice, though low, vibrated with a barely suppressed fury. “For a solid month, that was the focal point of my existence as my body violently purged itself of the poison you so desperately wanted gone. What about the relentless shivers that wracked my frame, the tremors that made my teeth chatter uncontrollably? Let me refresh your memory, Raphael – you were also the architect of these fractured ribs. And for the pleasure of opioid withdrawal, they saw fit to prescribe me ibuprofen. Do you even possess the faintest comprehension, Raphael, of the sheer hell that withdrawal entails? There were moments, stark and brutal, when the primal urge for oblivion was so overwhelming that I contemplated shattering my own leg for a fix. But I didn’t.” My gaze hardened. “They forced me to engage in these pathetic ‘group therapy’ sessions with my fellow addicts, Raphael. And in their vacant, hollowed eyes, all I witnessed was a reflection of my own profound isolation. Every single forced interaction with those bugs… was another brutal blow to my skull, hammering home the crushing reality of how utterly and profoundly alone I am in this world. But amidst that desolate landscape, I clung to the irrational, flickering hope that one day, you would come here. Place your palm on these walls, Raphael. Go on. Do you have any inkling of the countless times I slammed my head against this surface? Not out of some misplaced sense of guilt, Raphael. No. But because of this relentless, gnawing ache inside. Even though you cast me into this abyss, abandoned me to the very real possibility of self-destruction or a relapse into the oblivion you so abhorred, I still clung to the fragile light of acceptance you once shone upon me. So tell me, Raphael. Truly tell me. Is my existence a crime?”

Raphael stood frozen, his face drained of all color. His eyes, wide and filled with a dawning horror, flickered from the stained metal toilet to the unyielding white walls, as if finally seeing the true landscape of my recent hell. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing silently.

Then, a broken whisper escaped him. "Oh, God, Levi…" He took a hesitant step towards me, his hand lifting, trembling, reaching out into the space between us, not quite touching. "I… I had no idea…" His gaze, finally meeting mine, was stripped bare of all judgment.

“Of course you did not,” I echoed, the bitterness lacing my voice. “You didn’t respond to my letter, did you? You didn’t answer my call. And even now, standing here, witnessing the wreckage of my existence, your primary concern wasn’t the brutal reality of what I endured, was it? No. Tell me, Raphael, who do you fancy yourself to be? Some self-appointed arbiter of justice, here to punish a sinner? If that’s your twisted purpose, rest assured, the divine architect already delivered the ultimate punishment by simply birthing this flawed soul into existence.”

A harsh laugh escaped me. “Ah, but let me preempt that burning question I see flickering in your eyes. You’re still wrestling with it, aren’t you? Why was my study door ajar that night? Let me illuminate you, Raphael. It was a miscalculation. I anticipated your arrival a day later. The sole reason that door was left unsecured, was to facilitate the swift and uncomplicated retrieval of my lifeless husk by the authorities… and by you. Do you still cling to the delusion that it was some elaborate game? A final manipulation? Then explain this, Raphael: why would I have arranged the donation of every single penny I possessed? I was ready for oblivion, Raphael. Truly ready.”

A shudder ran through Raphael’s frame, a visible tremor that mirrored the earthquake I had just unleashed. His face, seemed to leach of all remaining color. His eyes, wide and haunted, darted around the room as if seeing it for the first time, truly grasping the depth of my confinement. He swallowed hard, a visible struggle in his throat. “Levi…” It was barely a whisper, filled with a raw anguish.

“I… Levi… I…” The words caught in his throat, unspeakable regret and a dawning comprehension of my near-obliteration etched onto his features. For the first time since he had walked into this room, I saw not my accuser.

“Are you finally sorry now, Raphael? Do those tears welling in your eyes signify a newfound pity for my wretched existence? But no, let’s be brutally honest, shall we? Those aren’t tears for me, are they? They are for yourself. For the weight of abandoning a suicidal addict, a burden you now must carry. It isn’t even guilt I see etched on your face, is it? It’s the sting of shame, the public acknowledgment of your perceived failure. Are you going to utter those hollow words? Apologize? Say you’re sorry? Spare me the platitudes, Raphael. I do not resent you for casting me into this abyss; it was perhaps necessary. No, my resentment festers because you abandoned me again, left me to rot in this hell without even the barest acknowledgment of my suffering. Were you sad, Raphael, in those endless two months? Were your precious friends offering their condolences? Were you drowning your sorrows in vintage wine? You couldn't even muster the courage to face me alone, could you? You sought the comforting presence of Julia, a buffer against the messy reality of my despair… What else is there to say, really?”

The tears spilled over, tracing wet paths down his pale cheeks, but his gaze remained fixed on mine, a wounded animal caught in a trap. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, a choked sound escaped him, barely audible. “God, Levi… I…” He shook his head, a jerky movement. “You’re right. You’re right about everything.”

He took another hesitant step closer, his trembling hand reaching out again, this time making contact, his fingers brushing against my arm with a feather-light touch.

“I… I was terrified, Levi,” he finally managed, his voice cracking with emotion. “Terrified of losing you, terrified of enabling you, terrified of… everything. And I… I handled it all so badly. So selfishly.”

He squeezed my arm gently, a tremor in his hand. “I was sad, Levi. Yes. But my sadness… it pales in comparison to what you endured. And you’re right. I leaned on Julia. Because… because I was a coward. I couldn’t face it alone.” His gaze dropped, shame etched onto every line of his face. “I am… so incredibly sorry, Levi.”

“You weren’t the one who faced it alone, Raphael. So cease your hollow apologies; they resonate with a meaning my very being struggles to comprehend. I, in my infinite foolishness, clung to the naive belief that if I granted you the space you seemingly craved, you would eventually find your way back here. Not to offer some tearful recitation of regret, but simply… to talk. To engage in the mundane exchanges that, in their simplicity, held a strange comfort. What truly gnaws at me, Raphael, is this undeniable truth: this is your second act of abandonment. Second, Raphael. Second. The first time, it stretched into an agonizing three months of silence. Now, a mere two. Should I offer you my gratitude for this incremental reduction in my suffering? Should I count myself fortunate that it was not genuine concern for my well-being that finally propelled you through that door, but rather the dictates of your oh-so-sensitive ‘morality’? Do you know the pathetic rationalizations my fractured mind conjured in those desolate weeks? I constructed elaborate theories of your behavior, convincing myself it was some recurring cycle of needing distance. Now, staring at you, the clarity is brutal. Even the first time, it wasn't a gentle distancing. It was severing. A cruel cutting off.”

A fresh wave of tears welled in Raphael's eyes, but this time, they held a different quality. Not just shame, but naked pain. He took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

"Levi…" His voice was barely a whisper. "You're right. God, you're so right." He shook his head slowly, a gesture of utter defeat. "It wasn't a cycle. It was… it was me being a coward. A selfish, self-pitying coward who couldn't face the consequences of… of everything." He choked on a sob.

"I… I don't deserve your forgiveness, Levi. Not after this. Not after… everything. But please… please believe me when I say… I never wanted you to feel that alone. Never." His grip tightened. "I was so lost in my own pain… I didn't see yours. I didn't see… how close…"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "How close, Raphael? You truly want an answer to that? What precisely about my state of being failed to register the knife pressed against my own throat? You didn't want me to feel alone? Do you even hear the hollow irony of your own words, Raphael? Do the sentiments you so readily articulate bear any resemblance to the callous indifference of your actions?"

My gaze hardened, locking onto his tear-streaked face. "Believe you, Raphael? Believe you? Do you recall the words I spat at you after your first abandonment? I made myself unequivocally clear. I told you that if you ever dared to make me believe, even for a fleeting moment, that my existence was not an unbearable burden, only to then cruelly snatch that fragile hope away, I would end you. And yet, here we are. Again."

A shudder ran through Raphael. His grip on my arm tightened convulsively, as if he physically needed to hold onto me to steady himself. He looked ashen under the fluorescent light. "Levi…" His voice was barely a choked whisper. "God, Levi, I remember. I remember what you said." His eyes, flickered down to my hands, then back up to my face, as if searching for any sign of the threat he knew I was capable of.

Unlawfully taken from NovelBin, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Levi, please," he stammered, his voice cracking. "Don't… don't say things like that. Not even as a threat. Please." His grip on my arm loosened slightly, becoming more of a desperate plea. "I… I was wrong. So wrong. And I… I don't want you to end me, Levi. Not like that. Not… not at all."

“Utterly pathetic

behavior, Raphael,” I stated flatly, observing his fear with a detached clinicality. “What? Did you genuinely believe I would enact some melodramatic murder scene in this place? But I suppose you were right; this forced sobriety has stripped away many of my more theatrical pretenses. Gone with the pride, wouldn’t you agree? Very well, Raphael. Let us talk.”

Control through terror was a blunt instrument; I preferred the precision of understanding.

"Talk," he echoed. "About… what, Levi?"

My gaze remained fixed on him, dissecting the flicker of hesitant hope in his eyes. "About everything, Raphael. About the past, about this… present… and perhaps, if you possess the fortitude, about a future that looks… rather different than either of us might have imagined."

A slow nod was Raphael's initial response. The fear in his eyes hadn't entirely dissipated, but it was now overshadowed by a cautious curiosity, a hesitant willingness to engage. He took a small step back.

"A future?" He ran a trembling hand through his hair, his gaze flicking around the sterile room as if searching for anchors in this disorienting reality. "What kind of future, Levi? After… after all of this?"

His gaze returned to mine, searching. "Tell me. Please. I… I want to understand."

“I said talk, Raphael. Speak your own mind.” My voice was level, devoid of any prompting or manipulation. The stage was set; the spotlight was on him. It was time to see if he could navigate this new, brutally honest terrain without his usual defenses. The silence stretched, expectant.

He took a deep breath, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw, stripped of its usual polish.

"I… I don't know where to begin, Levi. Everything you said… it hit me hard. The pain… the isolation… the fact that I… I left you to face all of that alone. And the door… God, Levi, the door…" He trailed off, unable to articulate the horror.

He finally met my gaze, his eyes filled with a genuine anguish I hadn't witnessed before. "I was so caught up in my own hurt, my own sense of betrayal… I didn't see yours. I didn't see the darkness you were in." He shook his head slowly. "And the abandonments… you're right. They weren't about needing space. They were about… me being afraid. Afraid of the intensity, afraid of the chaos, afraid of… you." He swallowed hard. "I was cruel, Levi. And I am… truly sorry."

“Fear… Fear… Was that all, Raphael? Fear… Fear… How utterly boring. Truly. Fear… Just that singular, base emotion? Did I ever once lay a finger on you in anger? Did I ever once raise my voice beyond a conversational tone? Did I ever push you to the precipice of betraying your own consent? No, Raphael. In fact, let's delve into a more uncomfortable truth, shall we? Have you ever truly heard the unfiltered brutality of my thoughts before this confinement? I assure you, you have not. I always presented a curated politeness, a veneer of agreeable niceness. Do you even possess the faintest comprehension of my inherent capacity for… let's call it ‘creative destruction’? I suspect not. Let me offer you an even more unpalatable honesty, Raphael. Truthfully, this facile explanation of ‘fear’ as your sole motivator is so profoundly… dishonest it threatens to physically revolt my stomach. If you genuinely harbored such a primal fear of me, Raphael, you would not have willingly re-entered the orbit of my existence after your first abandonment. Your presence here now speaks volumes, and ‘fear,’ I assure you, is a woefully inadequate explanation.”

Raphael’s face, seemed to tighten, his brow furrowing in a mixture of pain and a dawning realization of the inadequacy of his excuse.

“No.” He avoided my gaze, his eyes fixed on some indeterminate point on the floor. “No, you’re right, Levi. It wasn’t just fear. It was… more complicated than that. More selfish.” He took a shaky breath. “There was… a part of me that was afraid, yes. Afraid of the intensity you inspire. But there was also… a resentment. A resentment that you… that you... A resentment that I felt responsible for your actions. And… and that resentment made me cruel. It made me push you away, not out of fear for my own safety, but out of a selfish desire to… to be free of that responsibility.” His gaze finally flickered back to mine, filled with a self-loathing honesty that mirrored my own brutal assessment. “Fear was a part of it, Levi. But it was a convenient lie I told myself to justify my own failings.”

“Free of the responsibilities of my darkness?” A harsh laugh escaped me. “What a monumental load of self-serving bull, Raphael. If you had truly grasped the intoxicating potential of our combined… inclinations, if you had once genuinely taken my hand, do you have any inkling of the exquisite chaos we could have unleashed upon this pathetic, giant floating rock? And yet, you refused. And did I press you, Raphael? Did I force your hand? No. You know what I truly see when I look at you right now, Raphael? I see a person drowning in the stagnant pool of his own self-righteousness. It is utterly revolting.”

Raphael flinched as if struck.

A muscle twitched in Raphael’s jaw, the first sign that my scathing words had finally pierced through his self-absorption. His gaze, flickered up to meet mine, and for the first time since his tearful confession, I saw a spark of the old fire rekindle in his eyes.

“Self-righteous?” he repeated, his tight with a burgeoning anger. “You accuse me of self-righteousness? After everything you’ve done, everything you’ve admitted? You talk about unleashing chaos, Levi, as if it’s some sort of grand adventure!”

He took a step closer. “And you think I was wallowing in self-pity? I was trying to understand, Levi! Trying to take responsibility for my own failings in all of this! But all you want to do is drag me down into your darkness, to revel in some twisted fantasy of shared destruction!” His voice rose slightly. “It’s not self-righteousness, Levi. It’s a fundamental difference in how we see the world! A difference you consistently refuse to acknowledge!”

“Finally,” I stated, a grim satisfaction lacing my tone as I rose from the edge of the bed, closing the distance between us until we stood mere inches apart. “Finally, something has managed to pierce through that remarkably thick skull of yours. ‘Fundamental difference.’ Yes, Raphael. That is the term. The medical reality you have consistently refused to acknowledge. Did you honestly believe those pathetic tears of yours would somehow conjure empathy within this… void? Do you imagine that if this entire wretched world succumbed to a glorious inferno, I would register even the slightest flicker of emotion? No. Understand that, Raphael. For once in your self-absorbed existence, engage that remaining sliver of intellect and comprehend the crucial distinction between a void and an abyss. I am not an abyss, Raphael, a bottomless pit of darkness and destruction. I am a void. I am indifference personified. It is because of this inherent void that I am standing before you now. It is because of this void that I sought solace in a larger void – death. But do you want to know the most disgusting, revolting, pathetically clinging truth, Raphael? A part of me, a truly irrational and illogical part, still entertains the notion that… perhaps… we can try. And that, Raphael, is the most abhorrent, self-betraying thought that has ever dared to linger within the confines of my mind.”

Raphael’s eyes widened, reflecting a flicker of something I hadn’t anticipated – a dawning comprehension, perhaps? He took a hesitant step back, creating a sliver of space between us once more, as if suddenly wary of the raw intensity emanating from me.

“Try?” he echoed, the word barely a whisper, laced with a profound uncertainty. He looked at me then, into the… void. I saw not judgment, but a flicker of something akin to… fear? Not the pathetic fear he’d claimed earlier, but a primal apprehension of the otherness.

“Try… what, Levi?”

I took a step towards him, invading his personal space once more.

“Look in my eyes, Raphael. Do you see the flicker of light you so readily associate with… life? Do you perceive the chemical dance of serotonin, the gentle caress of oxytocin? They are just like my grandfather’s eyes, aren’t they? Empty. Vacant. Ever since the opioids were systematically purged from my system – the very substance that, in its twisted way, offered me fleeting glimpses of what it might feel like to be… human – there is nothing left. No light. No warmth. Just the echoing emptiness. Tell me, Raphael. Look into this void and tell me truthfully. What do you see?”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t try to look away, but his pupils seemed to dilate slightly.

He held my gaze for a long moment, his expression shifting through a series of subtle changes: initial shock, a flicker of something akin to pity, and then a dawning, unsettling understanding.

Finally, he spoke, the usual confident timbre completely absent. “I… I see… darkness, Levi. Not the darkness of malice, but… the darkness of absence. Like… like staring into a vast, empty space. And… and a profound… loneliness.”

“Good. Baby steps,” I conceded, the calm tone returning to my voice. “Now, etch this into that stubbornly moral brain of yours, Raphael. Malice and indifference are distinct entities. I am not malicious, driven by some inherent desire to inflict pain. Not out of some newfound ethical awakening, understand. No. I am indifferent. And as you, of all people, know very well, I derive no pleasure from the suffering of others.”

The void wasn't a raging fire; it was the absence of flame altogether.

A slow nod, was Raphael’s response. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly.

“Indifferent,” he repeated softly, as if he were trying to fully grasp its implications. “And… not a sadist. I… yes. I know that, Levi. You never… you never enjoyed causing pain for its own sake.”

He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “But… the things you did… the manipulations… the chaos you sometimes created… weren’t those born of… something other than indifference?”

“You know precisely why, Raphael. You simply prefer to frame it within your comfortable moral paradigm. It was for fun. And regarding your rather persistent fixation on ‘manipulation’… allow me to reiterate. I am largely incapable of experiencing the rich tapestry of human emotions. I can only observe them, interpret them. I taught myself the rudimentary mechanics of a smile by studying my reflection as a child. The orchestration of others’ feelings is not always a prelude to chaos. From your own supposedly enlightened perspective, Raphael, have you ever engaged in the subtle art of influencing my thoughts or actions? The answer is a resounding yes. Of course, you have. Every human interaction is a constant negotiation. Consider the supposed intricacies of ‘love,’ Raphael. Do spouses never attempt to sway their partners? Obviously, they do. Sometimes the stakes are as trivial as determining who will wash the dishes. So tell me, so we can finally consign this tedious discussion to the annals of the past: are you truly incapable of discerning the fundamental difference between a manipulation born from a desire to inflict harm and a manipulation born from a state of profound indifference?”

A weary sigh escaped Raphael. He finally met my gaze.

"No, Levi," he admitted, his voice softer now. "No, I'm not incapable of understanding the difference. Intellectually, I grasp the distinction you're making. Manipulation born of malice seeks to harm, to control through pain. Manipulation born of… indifference… is more about achieving a desired outcome without any real investment in the other person's feelings."

He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "But… emotionally, Levi, it's still difficult for me to reconcile. Because the impact… the feeling of being manipulated, regardless of the intent… it still hurts. It still erodes trust." He looked at me, a hint of the old hurt flickering in his eyes. "Perhaps that's my failing. My inability to separate the intent from the impact."

He took a deep breath. "But yes, Levi. I understand, intellectually. And yes," he conceded with a weary nod, "I have manipulated you too. We all do, in small ways, every day. Even in… love." The last word seemed to catch in his throat. "So, no. I'm not incapable of understanding the difference. It's just… accepting it, emotionally, when it comes to us… that's the harder part."

“Excellent. Now, if you harbor any genuine desire for a future that includes me, you possess a potent weapon, one that your overly empathetic nature has painstakingly honed for this very moment. You can discern, with relative ease, the subtle nuances between authentic emotion and calculated manipulation. Learn to wield that ability with greater precision. You have already cultivated a nascent defiance against my more transparent attempts, haven’t you? Now, this is the final, crucial question you must ask yourself, Raphael. Do you truly, deep down, believe that I felt absolutely nothing during the entirety of the time we shared?”

A long silence stretched between us. I could see the internal struggle playing out in his eyes. He seemed to be replaying moments, searching for clues, for the subtle undercurrents he might have missed or dismissed.

“No, Levi,” he said, his voice low but firm. “No, I don’t believe that. Not entirely. There were… moments. Fleeting glimpses. A vulnerability in your eyes sometimes, a… a stillness when we were simply together. A reluctant comfort in the mundane. Those weren’t manipulation, Levi. I felt them. I believed them. And deep down… I think you did too.”

“Finally. It took you ten months to realize that I felt something for you. To be perfectly candid, neither me nor that therapist bug is sure what it is. But I am glad you finally understand.” I took a deep breath. “Now. Take me out of this place, please, Raphael.”

A wave of conflicted emotions washed over Raphael’s face – bewilderment, concern, and something akin to a fragile hope warring with lingering apprehension. “Are… you sure?”

“Raphael,” I interrupted, my voice softer now. “If your plan is to simply walk out of here, back to your life, without me… then at least have the decency to offer a final gesture. Hug me before you leave.”

A visible tremor ran through Raphael’s frame. He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes searching mine, as if seeking confirmation that this unexpected request was genuine.

Then, with a sigh that seemed to release a great deal of pent-up tension, he closed the remaining distance between us. His arms, initially stiff and unsure, slowly encircled me. The embrace was awkward at first, a hesitant meeting of two broken individuals. But then, it tightened, becoming a firm, grounding pressure.

For a moment, the air was filled only with the sound of our breathing. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were damp, but there was a newfound resolve in their depths. "I'm not leaving without you, Levi. Not again."

A sardonic smile touched my lips. "I am glad to hear it, Raphael. Though, let's establish some clear parameters for our future interactions. Should you choose to abandon me for a third time – a notion I find remarkably tedious to even contemplate – know this: I will simply incinerate Ascaria. Purely out of spite. Consider yourself unequivocally warned."

"Sometimes, Levi… sometimes I think you enjoy making things as difficult as possible." A hint of his old frustration, but tinged with a weary acceptance. "But alright. Noted."

"Difficult?" I echoed, a lift to my brow. "Raphael, do you possess even a rudimentary understanding of the Herculean effort it requires for a man of my… pronounced self-regard to swallow the same bitter pill of betrayal, not once, but twice, only to even entertain the notion of a third act of forgiveness? Incinerating Ascaria would be a mere catharsis, a cleansing fire reflecting only the shattered remnants of my own pride, or whatever pathetic vestiges of decency still cling to this decaying soul."

"You know how to make a man feel truly loved, Levi."

“Ah, I am a rather dutiful and attentive husband, aren’t I?”