A week drifted by, the riot fading into the background noise of governance. Levi's whirlwind of new policies – the provocative 'eat the rich' rhetoric translated into taxation, the push to export Ascaria's cultural tapestry, hefty levies on luxury goods and cosmetics, and bills aimed at agriculture – were undeniably nudging the nation towards a more stable trajectory. Yet these initial measures, while impactful, were not a complete panacea for Ascaria's deep-seated instability.

On the more encouraging front, Levi's newly appointed assistants were proving invaluable. Their work in dismantling archaic noble laws was a significant weight lifted from Levi's already burdened shoulders. My own role in this unfolding drama? Primarily, it seemed, to lend an ear to Levi's frequent, impassioned (and often colorful) complaints about incompetence, and to patiently absorb his meditative pronouncements on the Ascarian currency. But beneath the surface of his venting, I recognized a process of intellectual digestion, a way for him to articulate his thoughts and, in doing so, to refine them. So yes, in a way, the delicate and uncertain future of Ascaria rested, perhaps a little too heavily, on my ability to listen and, perhaps, to subtly guide.

As we sat at the kitchen island, the rich aroma of the amazing hot chocolates Levi had prepared filling the air, his gaze drifted down to his own hand. "Ah," he murmured, almost to himself, "I completely forgot to remove the stitches."

"Gods, Levi…" I exclaimed, discomfort washing over me just looking at the dark threads. "Don't you even feel it? It gives me anxiety every time I see it."

"I applied a analgesic throughout the week, so I didn't necessarily feel any significant discomfort," he explained, matter-of-factly. "Some minor sensation, that's all." He then reached for the kitchen drawer, producing a pair of kitchen scissors and… the metal tweezers we reserved for extracting fish bones. Yeah, those. He snipped and pulled out the stitches. "Hm…" he hummed, examining his hand. "Healed remarkably better than I initially anticipated."

I let out a long sigh. "You sewed your own hand, and now you're casually removing the stitches with kitchen implements! How? Just… how? Are we living in the middle of some post-apocalyptic wasteland with rationed medical supplies? Or have we somehow regressed to cavemen handling our own crude surgeries?"

"It is simply a rather deep laceration that required closure, Raphael," Levi replied, utterly unfazed. "Also, as you are acutely aware, my physical constitution possesses a certain resilience, a fortunate byproduct of my sobriety and the Conqueror’s genetics. Even I was somewhat surprised by the speed of the healing. It wasn't as if I experienced no discomfort; it was more akin to a localized itching sensation."

"When I got shot and had stitches, Levi," I pointed out, "it took a good two weeks for that 'sensation' to even begin to subside."

"Yours was a bullet wound, Raphael, a significantly more invasive trauma," Levi countered. "And if my memory serves me correctly, it required seven stitches. This was a clean laceration, closed with a mere two knots. A negligible difference in scale."

"You are an idiot, Levi!" I exclaimed. "What? Just because you don't cry out 'ouch' doesn't mean it didn't hurt! You sewed your own hand right in front of me, as casually as if you were stitching a loose button back onto a damn shirt!"

Levi sighed, his gaze drifting upwards as if seeking patience from the heavens. "At that moment, Raphael, the pain was… manageable. Honestly, the stinging sensation of hydrogen peroxide on a minor cut is often more acutely unpleasant than the prick of a sterile needle. And let me offer you another perspective. The primary reason most individuals wouldn't suture their own laceration is fear. Secondly, there's the apprehension of doing something incorrectly, though as a member of the nobility, a rudimentary understanding of first aid was part of my early education. And finally, there's a more primal, evolutionary fear of witnessing one's own blood – the brain signals 'Injury! Vital fluids escaping!' and can trigger a shutdown response. Since fear holds little sway over my physiology, self-suturing presented no significant psychological barrier. Lastly, pragmatically speaking, the entire process took considerably less time than summoning a physician to the estate."

I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. "Gods..." I sighed, a defeated smile playing on my lips. "Well… at least you finally admitted it hurts.”

Levi took a slow sip of his hot chocolate. "You find my lack of demonstrative suffering amusing, do you? It is simply a different mode of processing physical stimuli."

"Oh, here we go," I said, taking a larger gulp of my own drink. "Your 'stimuli' are having a chat again, are they?"

Levi tilted his head slightly, a genuine curiosity in his eyes. "What is the alternative explanation, Raphael? I mean… truly. Sentiment? Emotion? There was no inherent emotional component to the act. A laceration occurred, a solution was implemented with available tools, and now the tissue has regenerated. A sequence of purely physical events. Where does 'emotion' factor into this equation?" He gestured with his cup, as if presenting a logical proof.

"You know, for someone so obsessed with observing and analyzing human behavior, you can be remarkably obtuse about the basics. The emotion is in the care. The fact that you had to fix yourself because you were hurt. Even your detached way of dealing with it is still a response to a negative event."

"Hm…" Levi swirled the remaining drink in his cup, his brow furrowed in genuine contemplation. "I still fail to perceive the emotion you describe. I experienced a loss of blood, a state that is biologically disadvantageous for survival. I then took measures to cease that loss. An act of self-preservation, perhaps, encoded within our species' very fabric… but beyond that fundamental biological imperative, I detect no significant emotional resonance within myself regarding the event."

"It's not just about the blood being inside or outside, Levi. It's your blood. Your body. It's the vessel that contains… well, whatever it is that makes you you. Isn't there some inherent value attached to that, beyond mere biological function?"

Levi swirled the dregs of his hot chocolate, his gaze fixed on the swirling liquid as if searching for an answer within its depths. "Is there?"

That simple question… it’s like staring into a void.

No. Wait… No… Not… It’s… Suicidal ideation, isn't it? That same detached curiosity, that lack of inherent value… He was suicidal for a long while. He even attempted it, and I… I stopped him. We never truly talked about it, not the core of it. But… is it still there? That casual disregard for his own well-being, that purely logical view of existence… it feels familiar.

How do I answer him? What do I say to him? No… I can't just blurt out "Are you thinking of killing yourself again?" Not like that. Not now. He's being… almost vulnerable, in his own detached way. I need to tread carefully.

Let me try to approach this from a different angle. Maybe it isn't a resurfacing of those dark impulses. Perhaps this is simply… a philosophical stance for him.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"So," I began carefully, watching his expression, "you're a nihilist then, Levi?"

Levi paused, his gaze drifting away as he seemed to consider the label. "Perhaps…" he mused after a long moment. "Not necessarily in the conventional sense. I perceive the world more as a series of intricate designs, like the rules of a complex game. There are systems at play, and even those systems are composed of further, nested systems. Ultimately, there is only one true currency: information. I can grasp the underlying logic, the mechanics of it all. But, as an individual with a… different neurological framework, I don't truly belong within any of those systems. I am, in essence, an observer pressed against a pane of glass, forever separated from the world I can see and analyze but never fully touch."

That's heartbreaking. All this control, all this intellect, and he feels fundamentally disconnected. It makes his question even more chilling. If he feels so fundamentally separate, why would he see inherent value?

I couldn't bear the weight of his words any longer. Rising from my chair, I walked over to him and pressed my cheek against his shoulder. "Oh, you lonely bastard," I murmured. "Gods, the irony. He bestows upon you this intellect, and yet… this profound void. But Levi…" I pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. "Maybe may never truly touch beyond that glass, but… I'll be here. On the other side of that glass. For you."

Levi finally met my gaze. "Why, Raphael?" he repeated, a plea for logical explanation. "It makes no logical sense for you. You, of all people, have observed the inherent barrier, that glass that will always separate us. I have even witnessed your loneliness, the shadows that flicker even when you are with me. I am incapable of reciprocating the depth of your emotions. I will never fall in love with you in the way you deserve, will never be able to offer you that full spectrum, that warmth and vibrant rainbow of feelings you crave. So why… why would you willingly place yourself in a position to be hurt like this?"

"You are an idiot, Levi," I said, a fond smile gracing my lips. "I'm not trying to shatter that glass, no. I'm simply trying to place my hand against it. And to answer your profoundly confused 'why'… the answer is elementary, Levi; it's you. It has always been you."

"I am uncertain, Raphael, which of us currently possesses the lower intellectual prowess," Levi murmured, his gaze softening slightly as he reached out and placed his hand over mine.

"Oh, undoubtedly me, Levi," I chuckled softly, as I leaned into his touch, nuzzling his shoulder again. "Falling head over heels for the biggest, most brilliant, and infuriating piece of asshole in the entire world… You know," I murmured, a genuine warmth spreading through me from his hand, "your hands aren't cold anymore… It actually feels really nice."

"Courtesy of the veritable hellhole you call rehab, I have indeed been 'chucked' by you," Levi said, his voice laced with a dry amusement that didn't quite mask the underlying memory. "And let us not forget the rather… memorable occasion involving restraints and a gag, also orchestrated by your undeniably capable hands, Raphael."

Yeah… I had, in fact, subjected this very, very, very petty and spectacularly grudge-holding man to both of those indignities.

"Shut up, Levi," I retorted, a playful glint in my eyes. "Don't forget that before any of that, me and Julia had the distinct pleasure of hauling your noble ass down several flights of stairs like a particularly heavy and uncooperative sack of potatoes."

"Ah, yes," Levi mused. "That charming episode directly preceded your decision to 'chuck' me into the trunk of a vehicle, if I recall correctly. And, lest we forget the preceding act of affection, it occurred immediately after you, in a fit of understandable fury, fractured two of my ribs."

"Oh, shut up," I repeated, a playful shove against his arm. "Although," I added, a flicker of genuine curiosity in my eyes, "I am rather intrigued as to why you haven't yet concocted some elaborate scheme of retribution for all of that."

Levi's lips curved into a slow smile. "The anticipation of watching your brilliant mind endlessly pursue the myriad ways I might exact my self-earned revenge is a pleasure in itself. Fret not, retribution will always be in order. But the precise nature of that retribution, and more importantly, the why behind it… that, my dear, is a secret you will never fully unravel."

He enjoys this, doesn't he? Knowing I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering when and how the Levi-shaped shoe will drop. And damn it, I hate that I find it… a little bit thrilling.

Levi's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He glanced at the display, a deep groan escaping his lips. "These persistent insects are truly testing the limits of my divine patience," he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Oops…

"Yes, Finn?" Levi said, his voice level. I strained to hear Finn's response, but the muffled sounds were indecipherable. Levi groaned again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You truly wished for me to end up in a jail cell in a fit of fury, Finn? I believed our parameters regarding my leadership were unequivocally clear. I do not wish for anyone to be in my personal residence. Ever."

Is Finn actually trying to send someone to our house? Oh, no. That is a spectacularly bad idea. Ever since achieving sobriety, Levi's lost any semblance of a filter. He's become brutally, terrifyingly honest. The last thing I need is some poor, unsuspecting soul weeping and pleading for their job in my living room, courtesy of Levi's unwavering commitment to his "parameters."

"Finn…" Levi said, each word carefully enunciated. "I can only assume you possess an utterly unfounded faith in the boundless reserves of my patience. Allow me to disabuse you of that notion immediately. I do not want an assistant residing in my personal residence. What did you envision as the outcome of this… suggestion? Perhaps allocate them a guest bedroom, so they might wag their tails in obsequious gratitude every time I deign to acknowledge their existence? Absolutely not. This enforced isolation of mine is, in fact, a public service of immeasurable value."

Poor Finn. He's probably on the receiving end of that icy tone and regretting ever picking up the phone.

Levi put Finn on hold. "There has been a significant incident concerning the archaic legal structures we've been attempting to reform," he explained, his tone devoid of its earlier sharp edge. "Finn is suggesting I have someone present at the house for logistical purposes. Given that this is our shared residence, your consent is paramount in this matter. Your decision holds absolute weight."

"I… I don't know, Levi," I said slowly. "Someone here… disrupting our equilibrium…"

"Disrupting is a gross understatement," Levi countered, his voice grim. "It is going to be significantly worse than mere disruption. There will be hundreds – potentially thousands – of boxes. They contain archaic laws, the ones that exist only in physical form, gathering dust and hindering progress. This individual Finn wishes to inflict upon us, will be tasked with the monumental undertaking of digitizing and then dissolving these obsolete statutes. This entire house, Raphael, will transform into a sprawling, disorganized archive. Imagine my study, but amplified to encompass every room."

"Gods, Levi…" I sighed, raking my fingers through my hair. "Look, I completely understand that neither of us enjoys the prospect of sharing our personal space with strangers. And frankly, the thought of hundreds of boxes filled with dusty tomes isn't exactly my idea of domestic bliss. But… Finn knows you. He wouldn't make a request like this if he wasn't genuinely desperate, right? So… alright. Call the assistant. It's alright by me."

Levi took an audible breath, as if bracing himself for an unpleasant ordeal. "Your unwavering optimism, Raphael, is a force of nature that will likely bury us under a literal tomb of centuries-old legal documents. Many of which are not even written in modern Ascarian… But very well. I will give Finn the go-ahead. However," he added, his gaze sharp and unwavering, "the moment, the very instant, you decide you no longer wish to have that person or those infernal boxes in this house, you inform me. I will have them removed immediately.”

I wrapped my arms around him again, squeezing him tightly. "Oh, Levi, you dramatic creature," I chuckled. "It's alright. I promise, the moment it becomes too much, you'll be the first to know. Now," I tilted my head, a hint of playful challenge in my voice, "how bad could it really be?"

Levi threw me a look. A single glance. A glance that unequivocally said, 'You have absolutely no idea what you've just agreed to.'