The morning dawned with a sense of escape. Levi gathered his hard drive and laptop, while I packed a bag of clothes for us. Before we left, Levi issued a flurry of instructions to Rosa, detailing the handling and cataloging of the archaic legal documents cluttering our living space.

Leaving the house felt like shedding a heavy weight. We hailed a taxi, and arrived at a hotel, securing a spacious suite that included a separate meeting room. The moment we were inside, I collapsed onto the plush king-sized bed, a long sigh of relief escaping my lips.

"Ah..." I murmured into the soft pillows. "We actually got out of that house..."

Levi nodded in agreement. "It will undoubtedly complicate my workflow for a while, but I concur, Raphael. A temporary change of scenery is necessary." He glanced towards the adjoining meeting room, his laptop already in hand. "I will be in the other room."

The accumulated stress of the past day finally caught up with me, dragging me into a deep sleep that stretched until the late afternoon. When I finally stirred, the hotel room was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Levi was still ensconced in the meeting room, the soft click of keys and his low murmurings the only sounds. I was ravenous, so I ordered myself a late dinner – pan-seared fish with roasted vegetables – and, remembering Levi's sweet tooth, a plate piled high with various desserts.

The well-stocked mini-bar beckoned, and I poured myself a glass of white wine, and settled onto the plush sofa to wait for room service. Just as I was savoring my first bite of fish, the door to the meeting room opened, and Levi emerged, blinking slightly in the softer light. His gaze immediately landed on the plate of colorful desserts.

"Ah, my dearest," he said, a small smile gracing his lips. "What a delightful and thoughtful surprise. However," his smile faded slightly, "I must depart shortly to procure sustenance for myself."

"Do you want me to order something bland for you? Like... porridge?"

Levi's expression softened. "Actually, I was contemplating finally acquiring those feeding tubes you so helpfully suggested some time ago. I find I can tolerate thoroughly mushed and bland food now, without the... distress. I do not wish to pressure myself unnecessarily."

"Ah... I understand," I said, relieved that he seemed to have found a way to manage. "My wallet is on the bedside drawer."

Levi turned towards the bedroom. "Thanks for so readily remembering that I am, in fact, a penniless man," he quipped, reaching for my credit card nestled within my wallet.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips as Levi disappeared into the meeting room, presumably to embark on his quest for palatable mush. Living in a luxurious hotel room… perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all. At least for me, with room service at my beck and call and a gloriously comfortable bed. The thought sparked a nostalgic smile. My very first breakfast with Levi, the impulsive moment I agreed to become his fake husband, had also unfolded in a hotel room remarkably similar to this one. What a breathtaking, chaotic whirlwind the past months had been. Toppling ancient monarchies, navigating the messy dawn of democracy, witnessing Levi's sobriety, winning that award… Every single day had felt like being caught in a thrilling tornado, and every evening, a moment of unexpected, often bizarre, grandeur. Despite the constant upheaval, I was truly, utterly enjoying my life.

Dinner finished, a fresh wave of anxiety washed over me. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through social media, my fingers flying across the screen as I searched for any trace of that mortifying drunken escapade. Thankfully, no actual pictures seemed to have surfaced. However, my heart sank as I stumbled upon a comment on a local food blog, someone casually mentioning seeing me at that barbecue place. Well, that was just fantastic. Our already limited options for public outings just dwindled even further. Looks like that place was officially off the list. Forever.

The door to the main room creaked open, and Levi reappeared, his usual composed demeanor noticeably absent. His face was a mask of disgruntled resignation.

"Apparently," he sighed, running a hand through his ruffled hair, "I possess a remarkably robust gag reflex, Raphael. I... experienced a rather unpleasant bout of vomiting at the hospital. It was not a dignified spectacle."

My poor lion. I patted the empty space beside me on the bed. He gratefully unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt, loosening his collar, and carefully lay down next to me, his body radiating a weary tension.

"Tell me what happened, Levi..." I said softly, reaching out to gently stroke his arm.

He sighed again. "They employ a water-based lubricant to facilitate the insertion of that remarkably thin tube down one's nostril. The procedure itself was merely discomforting; I could tolerate it. However, thirty minutes later, a wave of nausea washed over me. Apparently, this is a common side effect of nasogastric feeding tubes. Therefore," he concluded, his voice flat with disappointment, "I assume this particular avenue of nutritional intake is also, regrettably, closed to me."

"Hm..." I murmured thoughtfully. "But there are so many cuisines that feature naturally bland and mushy textures... What about perfectly smooth mashed potatoes? Or creamy pureed soups? We could explore those options…"

"I do not know, Raphael," Levi said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, "but perhaps... perhaps we can manage. I assume you will enjoy the steak, and I... I will attempt the mashed potatoes."

My heart softened at his tentative suggestion. "Aw, my lion," I murmured, reaching out to gently cup his cheek.

"A lion who abhors red meat," Levi echoed, a wry smile touching his lips.

I leaned in and placed a chaste peck on his lips. "Consider that a down payment," I murmured, pulling back slightly. "The full kiss is contingent upon the successful completion of teeth-brushing protocols, Levi."

"I am not kissing anything," Levi said, his voice suddenly thick with a raw vulnerability that tugged at my heart, "until I manage to forget the distinct sensation of choking and vomiting in that sterile hospital room, Raphael. It... it brought back vivid memories of the withdrawal. It really wasn't pleasant."

Shit. I hadn't considered that.

I placed my hand gently over his. "It's okay, Levi... We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I'm here if you do."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his grip tightening slightly on my hand. "I don't even entirely remember the first month clearly," he whispered, his voice low and haunted. "Vomiting, puking, shivering, tremors... an endless, brutal cycle. It just repeated, over and over. Vomiting, puking, shivering, tremors..." A shudder ran through his body. "My entire existence, for what felt like an eternity, was simply that agonizing state."

To have your own body turn against you like that, trapped in a relentless cycle of sickness and pain... and for it to last a whole month? No wonder he still flinches at the memory. I knew it was bad, he'd told me bits and pieces, but hearing it like that, the sheer repetition in his voice…

"Only after the third week I saw my own reflection in the mirror."

"What do you mean by that, Levi?" I asked softly, my hand still resting on his.

Levi sighed, his gaze distant, as if peering back into that dark abyss. "When you try to shake a twelve-year-old opioid addiction, Raphael, it transcends discomfort. It is, quite simply, torture. Truly. The physical aspects were, yes, a living hell. But on the other side of that poisoned coin, your mind, as a defense mechanism perhaps, simply begins to shut itself down. You exist in this detached state, a profound sense of derealization where nothing feels real, including yourself. The withdrawal effectively caused a relative cessation of certain cognitive functions – memories blurred, thoughts fractured, and the connection to your own identity frayed. Also..." he paused, "...the image staring back from the glass, was utterly irrelevant.”

"Irrelevant..." I echoed softly. "That sounds even more horrifying than the physical pain itself... to feel so detached from your own existence."

Levi's gaze remained distant. "There were times in those early weeks, when I thought about shattering my own leg. Or pulling out my fingernails, one by one." He paused, a grimace flickering across his face. "Simply... for sensation. For any sensation. Anything to break through the suffocating emptiness."

"Gods, Levi..." I whispered, the memory of the sickening crack echoing in my mind. "Was it... was it anything like the time you broke your fingers?"

Levi shook his head slowly. "Mind you, I was already using at that moment, Raphael. No. This was... this was far worse. When my ribs were fractured, they were only giving me ibuprofen for the pain. I remember... I manipulated a male nurse, a hulking fellow with an army background. I spun him elaborate tales of my grandfather's campaigns, embellishing every detail. He actually clapped me on the back. The first thing my mind registered wasn't the pain, Raphael. It was the rush of endorphins."

"There was another incident," Levi continued, his voice still low. "My fractured ribs weren't healing fully yet, and one day, I coughed. A rattling cough that sent a jolt of pain through my chest. And then... then I felt it again. That same, almost desperate rush of endorphins.”

Tears welled in my eyes, a burning ache tightening my throat. He had endured that unimaginable hell... alone. And why? Because I, consumed by my own self-pity and a misplaced sense of betrayal, had abandoned him in that sterile, isolating place.

No, Raphael. Stop wallowing in your guilt. This isn't about you. Think about Levi, his body wracked with agony to the point where a cough became a flicker of sensation in the overwhelming numbness. The thought of him, a vibrant intellect reduced to craving the mere sensation of pain... it was a cruelty I couldn't fully grasp, yet felt with a sharp, visceral pang.

"After the first brutal month finally crawled by, another kind of hell began, Raphael. The boredom. In many ways, it was almost worse than the relentless physical pain. With the chemical fog finally lifting, my clean and sober mind began to dredge up a lifetime of forgotten memories. I suspect I was experiencing what other, more conventional people might call a midlife crisis, amplified tenfold by years of numbing myself. And there was no one there who truly understood, no one to whom I could adequately explain or articulate the complex storm raging within me. I actually staged a minor riot, Raphael. But in the end, all I truly felt was a profound, bone-deep boredom... and a considerable amount of irritation at the predictable reactions of the staff."

A fresh wave of sorrow washed over me. My lips trembled, and this time, the tears spilled over, hot tracks tracing their way down my cheeks. "Oh, Levi..."

He sighed, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. "You have no idea, Raphael. They actually made me read poetry to my fellow addicts, as some sort of calming exercise. The irony, the sheer injustice of being so blatantly disregarded by that therapist 'bug' – who couldn't even be bothered to understand my basic cognitive framework – only to then be forced to perform his duties for him... it felt like a profound insult. I seriously contemplated locating his entire alma mater and reducing it to ashes. Truly, Raphael. Even then, amidst the destruction, perhaps I would have finally felt something other than this gnawing, persistent boredom and the simmering resentment at being so utterly unseen."

I pressed my hand against Levi's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. "That must have been so incredibly lonely... so unbelievably hard."

Levi gave a humorless laugh. "It was, Raphael. My greatest victory some days was acquiring a single serving of strawberry jelly from a fellow addict by charming her with my smile. Me. Levi Blake.”

"Gods..." I choked out again, unable to articulate the depth of my sorrow.

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Levi's voice was softer this time, tinged with a wry amusement that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I played matchmaker for hot chocolate mix, Raphael. Think about that for a moment. Me. I once made a King soil his royal pants in front of his entire council. And in rehab? My peak social achievement was brokering deals for instant hot chocolate. Gods..." A shudder ran through him. "Thinking back on it now, stripped of the immediate agony of withdrawal, it somehow sounds even worse in my memory. The sheer, utter banality of it, the crushing waste of intellect and agency…"

I swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump of emotion in my throat and wipe away the last of the tears. "Why... why didn't you... try to escape that place, Levi?"

Levi turned his head to look at me, his gaze direct and unwavering. "I could have, Raphael. It would have taken perhaps a day of careful observation – noting the blind spots in the camera coverage, charting the predictable routines of the staff's shifts... The logistics were hardly insurmountable. But..." he paused, his grip tightening on my hand, "I didn't. Because if I had escaped... I knew that you would have completely erased me from your life."

That... that hits harder than any of the horror stories he just told me. He endured all that filth, all that boredom, all that crushing loneliness... because he was terrified of losing me? Even when I was the one who walked away, who left him in that sterile hellhole?

"I... I would have left you the moment you abandoned me in that place, Levi..." I confessed, the admission tearing through me, erupting in fresh, choked gasps and sobs.

Levi's gaze softened. "Hm... That would be the logical assumption, wouldn't it? Based on the circumstances, your feelings... But I wouldn't have, Raphael. And ultimately, I didn't leave you. Even though, yes," he admitted, "I still feel the sting of resentment, the lingering anger, and the sadness for that time... it doesn't change the fundamental truth that I want to be with you. And..." He reached out, his hand gently finding mine. "This... this is the first time I've truly felt your sadness for me, Raphael. That... that matters to me, far more than you can possibly realize."

"I... I'm glad that... you understand that difference, Levi," I managed, my voice still thick with emotion.

"While I hesitate to disrupt this rare moment of genuine emotional resonance with my typically clinical deductions, yes, Raphael. I could tell." He then reached over to the bedside drawer, and offered me a handful of tissues.

I blew my nose, a final, shuddering exhale of the pent-up emotion, and wiped the last of the tears from my face. "I... I'm sorry for being such an asshole while you are sober, Levi," I said, my voice still a little shaky. "But... I really need a drink right now."

"Please, Raphael, do so. I do not experience a craving for alcohol simply by witnessing someone else indulging.”

I swung my legs out of bed. My fingers found my cigarette pack and lighter on the nightstand. With a slight rustle, I retrieved them and then headed over to the well-stocked mini-bar, my eyes scanning the array of bottles before settling on a red wine. As I twisted the cap, I glanced back at Levi, who remained lying on the bed, watching me with a quiet intensity.

"You really gonna keep being sober, Levi?" I asked, with a mixture of curiosity and a touch of disbelief in my voice.

He turned his head slightly on the pillow, his gaze thoughtful. "I genuinely do not know, Raphael. My current sober state is simply... an ongoing experiment. A self-imposed challenge to see for how long I can maintain this particular configuration of my existence."

"Well," I said, exhaling a plume towards the ceiling. "I'm morbidly curious to witness the moment you finally lose your shit and succumb to the siren call of that truly disgusting scotch of yours."

Levi remained prone on the bed, his gaze following the smoke as it dissipated. "To be perfectly candid, Raphael, your beloved wine simply tastes and smells like industrial-strength cleaning agent to my refined palate. At least scotch possesses the redeeming quality of pairing rather exquisitely with dark chocolate."

I waved a dismissive hand, the lit cigarette tracing a lazy arc in the air. "I know perfectly well the primary, if not the sole, reason you ever indulged in that amber poison was to justify the socially acceptable consumption of industrial quantities of chocolate in the presence of other grown-ups."

"Obviously," Levi chuckled softly, a genuine warmth finally entering his voice. "My one true, unwavering addiction, the lodestar of my desires, remains, as always, the glorious pursuit of sugar."

I took another long drag from my cigarette. "What about nicotine, then, Levi?" I asked, curious about his perspective on my own vice.

Levi considered for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling. "It only truly registers when the internal pressure begins to build, when I feel as though I might spontaneously combust like a particularly well-crafted explosive device. Then, and only then, does the allure of a calming puff become... noticeable."

"You combusting..." I mused, exhaling another stream of smoke. "That is going to be quite the spectacle. Like watching a volcano erupt, spewing forth all that contained fury, only to somehow trigger a new ice age on this earth, once again."

Levi contemplated my dramatic pronouncement for a while, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "I am... not quite there yet, Raphael. However," a hint of a wry smile touched his lips, "I would venture to say that such a cataclysmic event remains a distinct possibility within the coming decade."

"You really mean that, Levi?"

"Indeed, Raphael. My internal landscape of anger is quite distinct from your fiery outbursts. Yours is like a sudden spark – intense, immediate, often physically manifested, as your unfortunate fracturing of my ribs can attest," Levi said, a hint of dry amusement in his voice. "If that state of yours, that explosive peak, registers as a ten out of ten on your personal scale... my own most significant experience of anger... was perhaps a mere three out of ten, maybe even less."

I took a contemplative drag from my cigarette, the smoke swirling around my head. "You need to explain that to me better, Levi... Like the incident with the Minister. You weren't angry then?"

Levi considered my question, a faint smile playing on his lips. "No, Raphael, not in the way you understand anger. I assumed you simply couldn't discern the steel beneath my charm, couldn't call my bluff. Really, dearest? When I theatrically 'threatened' those hapless staff to keep them locked in our private garden? Of course not. It was merely a... persuasive suggestion, delivered with a certain flair. Or when Shaw, threatened me? I didn't feel anything remotely resembling anger. Not even a flicker of annoyance. My threats, my dear Raphael, are often simply theatrical flourishes, a means to an end. To actually expend genuine emotional energy on a single, insignificant individual? That would be... remarkably boring and utterly dull."

I ground the smoldering end of my cigarette into the oversized glass ashtray. "So... all that threatening, all that carefully crafted menace... it's just your elaborate drama?"

Levi offered a nonchalant shrug, a genuine chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Of course it is, Raphael. What on earth did you imagine? That I spend my precious time and energy actively plotting the downfall of every minor annoyance who crosses my path? The sheer tedium of it… It simply wouldn't engage my interest in the slightest. No, my dear. It's merely a rather effective trick. A few well-placed threats, a touch of theatrical flair, and there! People tend to shut up and do exactly as I wish."

"Your audacity is truly staggering, Levi," I said, shaking my head slightly. "But... I still find it hard to believe that you didn't feel even a flicker of genuine anger towards the Minister."

"Perhaps a very mild annoyance, akin to the irritating buzz of a mosquito bite towards Shaw. You see, Raphael, a significant component of your own anger, is often intertwined with fear, is it not? A perceived threat, a vulnerability exposed. I, however, do not 'feel' fear in the same way. And if there is no fear to ignite it, then the corresponding flame of anger simply does not spark."

"I mean... you're kind of right," I conceded, the logic of his fear-anger connection making sense. "But I still find it difficult to believe you didn't feel even a sliver of genuine anger in those situations."

Levi regarded me with a knowing smile. "Well, Raphael, the last time I truly succumbed to the visceral grip of fury, I effectively ended a five-centuries-old monarchy. It was... a rather significant expenditure of emotional energy. My everyday interactions rarely warrant such a dramatic response. Even if a fleeting flicker of annoyance does surface, I can, with relative ease, simply disregard it. My penchant for 'villainy' stems not from rage, but from a genuine enjoyment of the intricate dance of manipulation and control. Ask yourself this, my dear Raphael: if I were a humble man with simple articulation and a placid demeanor, could I have possibly charmed you? I rather think not."

His charm, his allure... it's all tied up in that sharp wit, that theatrical flair, that hint of danger. A placid, humble Levi? Unthinkable.

"It's just... the image I hold of you in my mind, Levi, is still so different from how you describe yourself," I confessed, a touch of bewilderment in my voice. "I know you revel in the darker aspects of things, that much is undeniable. But I always subconsciously attributed it to some underlying wellspring of anger."

"Think of it more as an artistic choice, a deliberate aesthetic preference, if you will. Coupled, of course, with a rather robust god complex and an ego of truly magnificent proportions."

"Well... why didn't I put that together before?"

"Hm..." Levi mused, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Once again, let there be no ambiguity, no room for misinterpretation. Indifference is my natural state, Raphael. However," a subtle shift in his tone, a spark of genuine delight, "adopting the mantle of a malevolent deity brings me a certain... fun. Hence, I am that."

"First of all, Levi," I said, a wry smile playing on my lips, "your god complex is truly a sight to behold. I mean that with a genuine, if slightly terrified, admiration. Second... yeah. I think you might have finally succeeded in recruiting me as one of your devoted minions."

Levi rose gracefully from the bed. He closed the distance between us, and then gently took both of my hands, holding them loosely at my sides. "Minion? No, dearest Raphael. Never a minion. You are, and always have been, my equal."

"Equal?" I breathed, the question laced with a mixture of disbelief and a burgeoning sense of... something. "Do you truly see me as your equal, Levi?"

"If I didn't," he murmured, his breath still a warm caress against my ear, "would I have pursued you with such relentless... dedication?"

He placed a finger gently against my lips, silencing my hesitation. "Shh... There is one fundamental truth you must grasp, Raphael. Power is not a crude instrument with which you must burn people with uncontrolled fury. The true dance of power, the intoxicating beauty of it, lies in the art of control. The old nobles, for all their inherited authority, were often clumsy fools. They abused their power with impunity, and inevitably, they lost it. But as you, of all people, know, the power I wield is nothing like their blunt force. It is tempered by understanding, by awareness of how not to succumb to its corrupting influence, Raphael. Do you begin to see now? That I am not a volatile volcano, prone to indiscriminate eruption, but a glacier?"

"Levi..." I admitted, my voice softer now, tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "I understand your explanation, I truly do. But... I'm not someone who naturally relishes that kind of authority. It doesn't sit comfortably with me."

"I know," Levi murmured, his gaze softening with understanding. "That is what makes our conversations so exquisitely compelling. You possess a formidable power, a significant influence in this world, yet you have never truly grasped its extent, never even glimpsed its potential within yourself. You seem to conveniently forget that you are one of the wealthiest individuals in this nation, that we together orchestrated the downfall of an entire political regime, Raphael. And yet," a hint of gentle amusement touched his lips, "you often struggle to even instruct the housemaid to cease her rather enthusiastic gum-chewing. But that hesitation, that reluctance, is not rooted in inherent kindness, my dear. It stems from insecurity, from a deep-seated fear of being perceived as rude or unkind. But consider this, Raphael: when you finally embrace your own power, when you wield your inherent authority with intention, your words will not be perceived as mere barked orders. They will be received as guidance, as the considered pronouncements of someone who acts with genuine conviction and inherent goodness and fairness.”

He's right. It's not kindness all the time. It's a fear of being seen as... him. As someone who commands, who expects obedience.

"Levi..." I sighed. "Yesterday, Finn and I went to that absolutely dreadful, cheapest barbecue joint and drank watered-down beers. This life I'm in now... being your husband, being wealthy... it hasn't fundamentally changed who I am at my core. And honestly, I don't think... I can ever truly be like you, not in that way."

Levi hummed thoughtfully. "Hm... Well, it seems my gentle nudges towards your own potential for embracing the shadows have also reached their natural conclusion. I will not press you further on that front, of course. At least, not tonight." A faint smile touched his lips. "However... as your husband, I feel it my duty to remind you of something you consistently seem to overlook. You are, and have always been, my equal, Raphael. That persistent perception of your own inadequacy in comparison to me is, I presume, yet another manifestation of that familiar insecurity."

"Well..." I said, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through the lingering tension, and squeezed his hand. We both settled back onto the plush bedding. "And thank you for ceasing your... gentle persuasions for tonight. Also..." A question that had been nagging at the back of my mind surfaced. "At our house... we have our own separate bedrooms, and we've never really established a habit of sleeping together regularly. Why is that, Levi?"

Levi hummed thoughtfully, his fingers interlacing with mine. "It is simply an ingrained habit, one that developed organically. I confess, I deeply value my personal space. And as you have eloquently pointed out on numerous occasions, I possess a rather unfortunate tendency to commandeer the lion's share of the bed linens during the night. While a spontaneous relocation to your current chamber, or vice versa, might prove disruptive to our respective nocturnal routines... the possibility of establishing a shared master bedroom, a space that truly belongs to us both, is certainly an option, if it is your sincere wish."

I chuckled. "Gods, Levi... what in the hell are even 'nocturnal routines'? Of course, I want to sleep in the same bed with you, you idiot. Who cares if you wage a nightly war for blanket supremacy? Master bedroom it is then, Levi..."

"Sure, dearest," Levi murmured, a hint of sleepiness already softening his sharp features. "I do wish to sleep right now, Raphael..."

I leaned down and placed a soft peck on his forehead, the skin warm beneath my lips. "Good night, Levi," I whispered. He drifted off to sleep a little while after that, his breathing evening out. Wow... This was only the second time I had ever witnessed him truly asleep.