The salt-laced wind whipped at our faces as the boat pulled away from the island, leaving behind the smoldering scar on the ancient cemetery. The rain, which had threatened so dramatically, held off, as if even the heavens were unsure how to react to Levi’s peculiar brand of emotional purging.

Back within the familiar, yet now strangely box-free, confines of our house, Levi seemed to physically recede. He became a phantom, tethered to the dimly lit sanctuary of his study. The door remained perpetually closed, a silent barrier against the world, against me. The rhythmic tap-tap-tapping of his keyboard became the house's new heartbeat, a relentless pulse that spoke of a mind consumed, working at a feverish pitch. Twenty-four hours bled into each other, marked only by the infrequent clink of a mug or the rustle of papers under the study door. Rosa, her task of banishing the paper labyrinth completed, had departed.

The house felt both emptier and heavier.

The morning sun, cast a pale glow on the vapid drama unfolding on the television screen. My mind, still sluggish from sleep, barely registered the dialogue. The quiet was abruptly shattered by Levi’s unexpected emergence from his study – a disheveled specter blinking against the brightness. He wore only a silk robe, carelessly tied at the waist, revealing the band of his briefs beneath. His hair was a chaotic tangle, and deep lines of exhaustion were etched around his eyes.

He took a single, unsteady step away from the study door. He hefted three thick, weighty binders from the mezzanine of his study and hurled them down into the living room.

"The hell, Levi?" I asked, the soporific haze of the morning instantly dispelled by his bizarre appearance and even stranger action.

"An insect," he murmured, his voice raspy and low, as if he hadn't spoken in days, "will arrive in approximately one hundred and twenty seconds. Please ensure these binders are given to him."

"Levi, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Ugh, these," he gestured vaguely towards the scattered documents with a wave of his hand, "those imbeciles cannot even begin to grasp the fundamental principles of currency conversion, even after I meticulously compiled a binder the length of my lower leg. Honestly," he muttered, more to himself than to me, "the sheer level of cognitive deficiency I am forced to contend with..."

"Therefore," he continued, his voice regaining a semblance of its usual precise articulation, "I have reorganized the entirety of the conversion process, breaking it down to a level even their... limited capacities might comprehend. Color-coded, naturally. Green for the marginally competent 'good insects' who might actually follow instructions. Yellow for the vast swathe of 'average insects' who will require constant supervision and clarification. And," his voice dropped with a hint of weary disdain, "red for the truly... intellectually challenged 'dumb insects' who will likely still manage to create catastrophic errors despite these infantile simplifications." He rubbed his temples wearily. "Just ensure the designated insect receives the correct color-coded binder. My continued sanity hinges upon it."

He looks like he hasn't slept in days, hair all over the place, that robe barely clinging on... and he's still managing to be the most condescending lunatic I've ever known.

"Uhm… Okay," I replied slowly, my eyes fixed on the ominous stack of binders. "I will… correctly identify and deliver the appropriate binder to whomever happens to knock on the door."

"Gratitude," Levi murmured, his gaze distant, as if already lost in the labyrinth of his own exhausted mind. "I require a prolonged immersion in scalding water. My entire epidermis appears to be a veritable palimpsest of ink stains, perspiration, and an inexplicably tenacious film of what I can only surmise to be industrial-strength adhesive." He shuddered slightly. "The tactile sensation is… intolerable."

The insistent chime of the doorbell cut through the quiet of the house just as the sound of running water began to emanate from Levi’s bathroom. I scooped up the binders, their heft surprisingly substantial, and pulled open the front door. A young man stood on the threshold.

“H-Hello, sir,” he stammered, his eyes darting nervously around the entrance hall before settling on me. “Mr. Blake sent me. I… I came to receive the documents.”

With a grunt of effort, I thrust the tall binders into his outstretched arms, the weight nearly wrenching my shoulder out of its socket. “Here you go. Levi… uh… color-coded them for… complexity. So, you can just pick and choose whichever level of… detail… works best for you.”

There was absolutely no way I was going to explain Levi's "insect" taxonomy to this poor guy.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied, his arms straining under the load. “B-But…” he hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “I… I actually need to speak with Mr. Blake… There are… some complications…” His voice trailed off, his expression a mixture of apprehension and genuine concern.

"Look," I said, trying to sound diplomatic while simultaneously buying Levi some precious showering time, "right now is… spectacularly not a good time. He's… indisposed. Perhaps you could leave the documents at the office, and then come back later? Say, in a few hours?"

"I can't do that, sir. I'm on a tight schedule, and these concerns… they really need Mr. Blake's immediate attention. The staff are… quite agitated."

Levi, in his current state, was going to unleash a verbal torrent of epic proportions on this poor messenger, tearing him down with such brutal efficiency that the guy would likely spend the rest of his life questioning his very right to exist. But… if these concerns were truly pressing, if the staff was genuinely struggling, then maybe I shouldn't shield Levi from it.

"Well… alright then, poor guy. It's your funeral," I muttered under my breath. I opened the door wider and gestured for the nervous messenger to enter the living room. The plush carpet seemed to swallow his hesitant footsteps. Levi was still in the throes of his shower. However, it seemed my magnificent, albeit currently unhinged, lion possessed a supernatural ability to sense perceived incompetence or the arrival of his designated bug. The door creaked open, and Levi emerged, a cloud of steam trailing behind him. His dark hair was slicked back and still dripping, droplets tracing paths down his pale temples, and he was clad only in his bathrobe, carelessly tied at the waist.

The young messenger’s eyes widened at the sight. The surprise rippled through the air, a palpable wave of awkwardness. But honestly, after witnessing Levi’s self-imposed exile in his study for the past seventy-two hours, I couldn’t muster much sympathy for their delicate sensibilities. The man was clearly running on fumes.

Levi let out a guttural groan that seemed to emanate from the very depths of his exhaustion. “What?” he snapped. “What monumental incompetence has dragged you from your desk and into my home at this ungodly hour?”

The staff member clutched the heavy binders tighter, his knuckles white. “S-sir… The… the sheer volume of work required for this currency conversion… it’s… overwhelming. We desperately need more manpower… and significantly more overseers to manage the process…”

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “So?” he retorted, his tone laced with scathing impatience. “Is that the profound revelation that warranted this interruption? Go and hire more people then. It’s not as if any of you have ever demonstrated a particular aptitude for efficient task management. Do whatever rudimentary steps are necessary to rectify this deficiency. Furthermore,” he punctuated his words with a sharp point towards the binders, “commit the contents of those documents to memory. They are your new scripture, your guiding principles. Green for those marginally capable ‘good insects,’ yellow for the predictably mediocre ‘average insects,’ and red for the veritable legion of ‘incapable insects’ who will undoubtedly still manage to blunder their way through this despite my explicit, color-coded instructions.” He clapped his hands together with a sharp, dismissive crack. “Chop, chop. Get back to your desks and commence this monumental undertaking.”

The young man blinked rapidly. "So... just hire more people? And... the colors... they indicate...?" He trailed off, clearly struggling to make sense of Levi's bizarre instructions.

Levi stalked towards the petrified messenger. His eyes, still sharp despite the exhaustion that clung to him, bored into the staff member's wide gaze. He closed the distance until they were mere inches apart where a single drop of water, plummeted onto the young man's forehead, tracing a slow path down his cheek.

“Tell me,” Levi commanded, each word a precise and menacing instrument. “What element of my perfectly lucid instructions failed to penetrate the considerable density of your cranial vault? Articulate your incomprehension. Say it. Now.”

"Gods..." I muttered under my breath, a wave of pity washing over the trembling young man. A heart attack seemed like a possibility.

"I-I-I… Sir… I understood," the man stammered, his eyes wide and fixed.

"I am not going to ask again," Levi reiterated. "Articulate precisely what aspect of my directive eludes your comprehension."

He took a shaky breath, his gaze still locked on Levi's. "The binders… they are divided by color, indicating the level of… complexity… for the currency process. And… and we will proceed with hiring additional manpower… even though… the standard government hiring period has concluded… we can… we can reallocate funds from other departmental divisions to secure seasonal workers…"

"Well done," Levi conceded. "Anything else of such earth-shattering importance compelled this intrusion?"

"No sir," the man replied quickly, clutching the binders like a lifeline. "I will… I will immediately make copies of these and distribute them amongst the relevant staff."

"Excellent," Levi said, his tone still carrying a sharp edge. "Relay this message to your colleagues: if any of you, for any reason whatsoever, darken the doorstep of my residence unannounced again, I will personally ensure the swift and irreversible incineration of each and every one of you. Now," he punctuated his command with a sharp gesture towards the door, "get out."

His eyes widened to an almost comical degree, a silent scream trapped within their depths. He gave a jerky nod. I fully anticipated a panicked scramble for the exit, a desperate flight from Levi’s barely contained fury. But no. Instead, in a hypnotic state, he began to walk backwards. He retreated slowly, the binders rattled in his grasp. Finally, his shaking hand fumbled with the doorknob, and with a soft click, he slipped out of the house.

"The absolute fuck, Levi…" I sighed.

"Firstly," Levi stated, his voice laced with weary vindication, as if he'd just proven a complex theorem, "as your observational skills should register, he formulated a viable solution to his perceived predicament in a mere fraction of the time he spent quivering on our doorstep. Conclusion: he never required my explicit direction on the matter in the first place. Do you begin to comprehend the intellectual quicksand I am forced to navigate on a daily basis, Raphael? They possess the rudimentary capacity to arrive at logical conclusions, but only when the specter of my displeasure looms large. They require constant, infantile hand-holding, a perpetual recitation of the most basic principles. It is akin to informing a sentient being that two plus two yields the sum of four." He groaned again. "The sheer inefficiency is enough to induce a migraine of truly epic proportions."

"Oh, I comprehend your methods perfectly, Levi," I replied, my voice laced with a dry sarcasm that barely masked my disapproval. "A highly effective, albeit ethically questionable and somewhat… medieval… approach to management. But you consistently treat the employees at your own company with a modicum of respect, even fostering a semblance of a positive work environment. Why this stark and frankly insulting disdain specifically reserved for government staff?"

Levi waved a dismissive hand, his eyes rolling. "My own employees," he declared, "are the product of rigorous recruitment protocols. They are culled from the brightest minds of reputable Academia and esteemed research institutes. They possess a baseline level of cognitive function that, while occasionally disappointing, is generally within acceptable parameters. Government staff, on the other hand?" He paused, a look of utter distaste contorting his face. "Imagine a veritable mountain of human excrement attempting to string together a grammatically sound sentence. That, my dear Raphael, is the intellectual caliber I am forced to contend with. They are not my employees, Raphael. They are merely an unfortunate byproduct, a punitive measure for my… civic-minded endeavors in instilling a semblance of democratic function within this benighted nation."

"Mountain of shit, Levi?" I repeated, a genuine laugh escaping my lips. "Gods, the mental image that conjures... truly disgusting. Alright, alright, I get it," I conceded, shaking my head. "You're not exactly finding your government gig to be a stimulating intellectual oasis. But enough about your… fecal frustrations for now, hm?" I stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm. "Come on, let's go get you dried off before you catch a chill. Then, how about we get some actual food into you, and maybe even the radical notion of a few hours of sleep? Hm?"

He offered no resistance. We walked in comfortable silence to our master bedroom, the newly shared space still feeling like a fresh start. Levi sank onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. I took a soft towel and began to pat his dark hair dry.

“Thanks, Raphael,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep deprivation, his eyelids already beginning to droop. “If that Minister of Economy, what was that… that vermin’s name…” He trailed off, his head nodding slightly. “Shaw? Yes, Minister Shaw. If he calls or, gods forbid, attempts to darken our doorstep, would you be a dear and… shoo him? Politely, of course, but with unwavering firmness. I truly… I simply cannot engage with that level of… bureaucratic inanity… anymore.” His voice faded into a near whisper.

“Ah, my tired lion,” I murmured softly, a wave of tenderness washing over me as I looked at his exhausted form. “Minister Shaw did promise to endeavor to be a ‘good vermin,’ didn’t he? Don’t you worry about him. I will handle Minister Shaw with the utmost… diplomacy. Consider him successfully shooed.”

I eased his damp bathrobe off his shoulders. He really couldn’t afford to catch a cold on top of everything else. His legs felt heavy and limp as I lifted them onto the bed and tucked the covers around him. Wow. He had truly reached his limit, collapsing into sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. And looking closer, I realized he hadn't even managed a proper shower.

...

An hour later, the silence of the sleeping house was broken by the soft rustle of silk. Levi, looking slightly less like a man dragged through a hedge backwards but still undeniably sleep-deprived, padded into the living room. He settled onto the couch beside me, clad once again in his underwear and loosely tied silk robe.

“Oh, are you embracing your inner caveman, Levi?” I asked gently, a hint of amusement in my voice. “What’s with the sudden return to the primal wardrobe?”

He reached for the remote control on the coffee table, his movements still a little sluggish, and flicked on the national news. “You could say that, dearest.”

The news anchor’s serious face filled the screen, followed by a familiar figure: Minister Shaw. He was giving a live interview. The headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen confirmed my dawning realization: “Immediate Currency Conversion Mandated – Citizens Urged to Transfer Funds to Digital Platforms or State Banks.”

"There," Levi murmured. "From this moment forward, it is no longer solely I issuing directives from the confines of my study. Now," he gestured vaguely at the television, "it is nationwide chaos, orchestrated with my own two hands."

"Wow…" I breathed out, my mouth literally agape as the sheer scale and speed of his actions sank in. "You… you actually did it…"

"Indeed," he confirmed, a small smile playing on his lips. The exhaustion still clung to him, but beneath it, a familiar spark of… well, not quite triumph, but perhaps a deeply perverse sense of accomplishment, began to flicker.

"C-Congrats?" I managed, the word feeling utterly inadequate to describe the sheer audacity of what he'd just pulled off. "I… I honestly have no words, Levi. This is… monumental. Insane. Monumentally insane."

"Tell me about it," he murmured, rubbing his temples. "I can only cling to the faint hope that in one month, this torturous government obligation will finally be behind me. And then…" He groaned again, even louder this time, a sound of pure anguish. "Then I have to launch a presidential campaign. Ugh… why, oh why, did I ever think instilling democracy was a remotely good idea?"

There he sat, in a loosely tied silk robe, casually orchestrating a nationwide financial upheaval and now groaning with dramatic despair about the upcoming presidential selection. It was a level of self-absorption that was both infuriating and, in a bizarre way, almost admirable.

"But why the dramatic aversion to the presidency, Levi?" I asked, genuinely curious. "To be honest, when you actually stop and think about it, you possess a rather unique confluence of qualities. Your undeniable influence on the country, your considerable wealth, that surprisingly strong sense of justice you occasionally display, your formidable intelligence, and let's not forget your… vehement disdain for anyone remotely corrupt. You would, against all odds, probably be a remarkably effective leader."

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Because, my dearest Raphael," he declared, his voice filled with utter conviction, "I would be bored

beyond the very limits of my sanity. Truly, a fate worse than enduring an eternity of Minister Shaw's economic pronouncements. The endless meetings, the tedious ceremonies, the forced engagement with… the general populace. The sheer monotony of it all would undoubtedly erode my will to live within a fortnight."

"Would you at least continue your consultant work, though? Perhaps advising the new president, or individual ministers, from a more… detached perspective?"

Levi considered it, a thoughtful expression momentarily replacing his usual weariness. "It depends entirely on my mood, dearest," he finally replied. "If they sufficiently stroke my rather considerable ego, or present me with a puzzle intriguing enough to capture my attention, I might deign to offer my… shall we say, shadow leadership. But never in the public eye, no. This period of sobriety and cleanliness… has unexpectedly fostered an appreciation for my now blessedly quiet existence. As you so vividly recall, only months ago our lives were an unrelenting spectacle. Every dinner a photo opportunity, every outing a press frenzy, every gala a suffocating parade of social obligations. But now…" He reached out and took my hand, his gaze softening. "It is you and I, within the sanctuary of our home. And to be entirely candid, Raphael, I find myself surprisingly content with this newfound tranquility."

I leaned in, a soft smile on my lips, intending to place a gentle peck on his. But just as I closed the distance, Levi abruptly threw his head back. "I assure you," he said, a hint of a grimace accompanying his words, "neither of us would derive any particular pleasure from a kiss in our current circumstances. I have… regrettably lost track of the moment I last subjected my teeth to the rudimentary cleansing ritual of brushing."

"So you've fully embraced the disheveled aesthetic of your inner caveman, have you? Alright then, no kissing until the dental floss makes an appearance. Point taken." I reached out and squeezed his hand. "But you know, despite the occasional chaos – the frantic ministers at our doorstep, your tendency towards 'shadow tyranny' – I genuinely enjoy our life too, Levi. It's… nice. In its own wonderfully peculiar way. And," I leaned closer, my voice softening, "I love you… even when you smell faintly of genius, ink, and morning breath…”

Levi’s hand settled on my shoulder. "I wish," he began, his voice low and devoid of its usual sharp edges, "that I could articulate those three small words with the same effortless sincerity you do. But… as you know, my neurological architecture doesn't quite process oxytocin in the conventional manner. The ephemeral nature of what others call 'love,' that fleeting chemical rush… mine is not predicated on such fragile foundations, Raphael." He squeezed my shoulder gently. "But what I offer you, Raphael, is not predicated on such fleeting neurochemistry. It is an unwavering, unending loyalty. It is… the truest form of devotion I am capable of."

The man can orchestrate a nationwide currency change before breakfast, but those three little words… they’re a universe away for him.

“I know,” I said softly, my hand covering his on my shoulder. “I understand, Levi. And you know what? Your version of ‘love,’ this unwavering loyalty… it’s far more dramatic and impactful than any run-of-the-mill, chemically-induced affection.” I smiled gently.

Levi’s gaze flickered down to our joined hands. “There is… something I feel compelled to confess,” he murmured, his voice almost hesitant. “Do you recall our conversation, some time ago, about the possibility of acquiring… pets? And how we both ultimately concluded that the present circumstances were not conducive to such an endeavor? In rehab… during the interminable hours of enforced introspection… I found myself revisiting that particular discussion. And… the thought occurred to me… it might be… nice.”

“Are you entirely certain about this, Levi?” I asked carefully, a flicker of concern mixing with the surprise. “I mean, I also vividly recall the actual reason ‘why’ we ultimately decided against adopting a pet.”

Well… welcome to the wonderfully unconventional Blake family, where even the prospect of a pet comes with a hefty dose of familial trauma. Apparently, Levi’s illustrious grandfather, the infamous Conqueror, made a young Levi eat his own pet rabbit for dinner. He’d recounted the story to me, explaining how that horrific event had been his first visceral understanding of the meaning of ‘grief.’

"No," Levi admitted, his gaze still fixed on our joined hands, his voice a low, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "It is… not a simple task for me to articulate these… inclinations. But… yes, Raphael. After… considerable contemplation… I believe… I genuinely think… it would be… nice."

“Okay,” I replied, a genuine smile spreading across my face, a warmth blossoming in my chest. Hearing that single, hesitant "nice" from him… it was like witnessing a glacier slowly begin to melt. How incredibly difficult it must have been for him to even utter that simple word, to acknowledge a desire for something so… domestic. My magnificent, complicated lion had indeed traversed a long and arduous path to reach this point.

A genuine smile touched Levi's lips in return. "Now, then, dearest," he murmured, a hint of his usual dramatic flair returning, albeit softened by the preceding vulnerability. "If you will excuse me, your devoted husband will now undertake a rather… thorough cleansing ritual, involving what might generously be described as an industrial-strength scrub and the potential voluntary removal of his dental enamel. All in the name of domestic harmony, of course." He shuddered theatrically. "Following this self-inflicted ablution, I will retreat to my study, which, in its current state of glorious isolation, more closely resembles a much-needed man-cave. Ugh…" The weariness returned, clouding his features. "The lingering question remains… what precisely do I do with presidential candidates? Our previous, shall we say, unconventional tactic clearly failed to yield the desired results."

“Oh?” I perked up, a thought sparking in my mind. “Actually… the fundamental issue here, as I see it, is that you’re actively trying to find suitable individuals, aren’t you? But perhaps the process should be more… organic. What if you commissioned several reputable surveyor companies, and tasked them with identifying potential candidates through public opinion polling? I mean…” I shrugged, feeling a surge of confidence in my suggestion, “instead of you hand-picking candidates, the citizens themselves would essentially be choosing who they deem worthy.”

Levi stood for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought, his gaze distant as he processed my suggestion. “Hm… Hm… I comprehend your line of reasoning,” he finally said, a slow nod indicating his consideration. “So, you concur that the selection process should ideally be more… organic, a reflection of the public will rather than a top-down decree. Now that the immediate threat of currency devaluation is, thanks to my swift action, no longer a pressing concern, a week of data gathering might indeed be a prudent course of action. Thank you, Raphael. That was a remarkably… insightful notion. A genuinely interesting perspective.”

A wave of warmth washed over me, a genuine flutter of elation in my chest. Levi had not only listened but had actually approved of my idea. A small, internal victory dance commenced.

“Hm…” Levi hummed, still lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. “With the archaic legal framework now consigned to the digital and literal dustbin of history, my immediate workload has indeed been… substantially alleviated. And with the initial phase of the currency conversion now officially underway, this one-week timeframe for comprehensive surveying aligns rather… neatly. Hm…” He tapped a finger against his lips, his eyes unfocused. “I might even consider granting an interview. A strategic dissemination of information could serve to expedite both the public’s swift adoption of the new currency and the equally crucial process of identifying and vetting potential presidential candidates.” He nodded slowly, a plan beginning to solidify in his mind. “Yes, that has… potential.”

Gods… one simple suggestion, a tiny seed of an idea, and he's already cultivated it into a sprawling, nation-altering grand design, poised to impact the lives of millions. It's always a breathtaking, sometimes terrifying, spectacle to witness his mind at work. Wait… hold on… is that what he meant when he said I had my own power? Not some grand, world-shattering ability, but this? The capacity to offer a perspective, a single thought, that could organically shape the future of the nation? I… I technically just initiated a truly organic presidential election. Without any manipulation, without any coercion… just a simple idea, offered and accepted. The implications of that realization sent a strange mix of pride and slight vertigo swirling within me.

“What else… what crucial element am I overlooking… Hm…” Levi’s gaze had become distant, his eyes slightly glazed over as he stared intently at the patterns of the coffee table, yet clearly seeing something far beyond its polished surface. “BLAST!” he suddenly roared, startling the quiet of the living room. “Ugh! Such a monumental oversight… Organic. The key is organic. Not just the selection of candidates, but their very foundations. They must… they will… organically form their own political parties. Funding…” A predatory gleam entered his eyes. “That, too, can be… arranged. I require an immediate and rather… pointed conversation with several key ministers.”

All it took was one damn word. One measly, seven-letter suggestion: organic.

“Gods…” I murmured, shaking my head in bewildered amazement. “What even is your intellect, Levi? I uttered a single, solitary word…”

“To be entirely candid, that particular oversight rests squarely upon my own shoulders,” Levi declared, as if just realizing a critical flaw in his plan. “By this juncture, the citizenry should have already… Hm…” His brow furrowed again, his mind already leaping to a new tangent. “I must contact the labor unions.”

Where in the blazes did that

come from? It's like trying to follow a hyperactive hummingbird.

“Hm… What else… Talk to me, Raphael, just answer. It doesn’t matter if it’s a coherent thought, just keep the conversational current flowing. I should contact the labor unions because union leaders essentially wear the same ideological clothes as the heads of political parties, they already possess established organizational structures, and they wield significant influence over the laborers, who, in essence, constitute the majority of the citizenry. So on and so forth,” he waved a dismissive hand, “I assume the logical progression of my thought is self-evident.”

“N-No?” I stammered, trying to untangle the thread. “Not… not at all clear, actually?” My brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you suggesting they’ll… endorse candidates? Or… what exactly is the connection you’re envisioning?”

“Endorsement is far too… passive a term,” Levi corrected. “Unions are vast, organized entities, teeming with potential constituents. They will likely either coalesce and organically form their own distinct political party, further enriching our burgeoning democratic landscape, or, failing that, they will identify and align themselves with an existing party that best represents their interests. Either outcome is… advantageous. Hm… Whom else possesses significant organizational capacity and influence… Students, the vibrant energy of Academia…” His gaze drifted off again.

I mean, on some fundamental level, I sort of grasped the gist of his logic – a Levi-esque shortcut to jumpstarting the formation of political entities. He genuinely seemed to be trying to nudge the populace towards self-organization, albeit at a breakneck, utterly Levi-paced speed. But the how of it… how did his mind, leap from the abstract concept of organic to the very specific action of contacting labor unions? It was like watching a quantum particle teleport across vast distances without traversing the intervening space. All I had offered was one goddamned word. Organic.

“Give me your thoughts, Raphael, brainstorm with me. What other large gatherings of people tend to coalesce around specific political ideologies?” His brow was still furrowed. “Hm… What about my own charity foundation? It commands considerable resources and public goodwill. Perhaps its beneficiaries and supporters could organically coalesce into a more… liberated political party. Students and Academia, with their inherent inclination towards progressive ideals, would likely align with such a movement. Hm… what other significant demographics or organizations could be similarly… leveraged?” He tapped his fingers on the coffee table, his eyes darting around the room.

“Leveraged?” I echoed, the word hanging in the air with a slightly accusatory tone.

Levi exhaled through his nose. “It is not what your immediate, and frankly rather predictable, moral compass is currently indicating, Raphael. What I am actively attempting to do is to jump-start a genuinely organic, self-sustaining system. To provide the initial impetus, the necessary resources and connections, for these groups to find their own political voice and form their own independent structures. Think of it as… strategic fertilization, rather than outright manipulation.”

“The very word ‘fertilization,’ with its inherent implication of… directed growth, is already setting my moral compass on edge,” I admitted, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach.

Levi turned his head sharply towards me, and the fleeting warmth that had touched his gaze just moments before vanished as swiftly as a snuffed candle. A profound disappointment settled in its place, the light draining from his eyes, leaving them strangely flat and shadowed.

“Do you honestly believe that my inherent apathy, the very core of my being, gives even the slightest damn about individual people, Raphael? It doesn’t. It never has. What I am doing, however, is actively attempting to construct a framework, a system that provides millions with platforms they wouldn't otherwise possess, and I am doing so at considerable personal expense and inconvenience. Just moments ago, I confessed my profound desire to abscond from this entire undertaking, to retreat to the comforting oblivion of my study. And yet, despite that, you genuinely think… what, precisely? That I will descend upon these labor unions like some tyrannical overlord, screaming demands and manipulating them into lockstep with my own singular vision? What a remarkably… narrow and frankly simplistic lens through which you view my motivations. I find myself… surprisingly incapable of adequately articulating the sheer depth of my disappointment in your assessment.”

I know that. He's said it enough times. But… It doesn't quite add up. Maybe… maybe he really does just want to set the stage and let things develop on their own. His version of 'organic' is still likely to have a few strategic nudges, but… maybe I am being too cynical. His disappointment feels… genuine. And it stings, more than I'd like to admit.

“Okay… My tone did carry an accusatory edge. I apologize for that, Levi,” I conceded.

He let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples with a hand that still bore faint traces of ink. “Regrettably, Raphael, I find myself devoid of the temporal resources required for yet another protracted discourse on the fundamental differences in our respective ‘moralities.’ The intricacies of right and wrong, as you perceive them, will have to wait for a less… politically volatile moment. If you’ll excuse me,” he said, his voice regaining a measure of its usual crispness, “I have a rather substantial country that appears to require my immediate and undivided attention.”

He’s gone. Just like that. And now the whirlwind of nation-building will consume him, leaving me in its wake. We can’t afford a rift, not now. What if he retreats into the fortress of his study for another three days? I need to bridge this gap. I need to do something… something that resonates with Levi.

Chemistry, astronomy, revolution, intellectual sparring, and, of course, his insatiable sweet tooth.

Right. The first four options are laughably beyond my current skillset. I’m no alchemist, the constellations remain stubbornly indifferent to my gaze, and while I appreciate a good uprising, orchestrating one is decidedly not on today’s agenda. As for intellectual sparring… well, I just lost that round. Which leaves sugar. The great equalizer. Unfortunately, my culinary talents lean more towards… survival rations than gourmet delights. And simply ordering a dessert feels… inauthentic, lacking the personal touch needed for a peace offering. Damn it. I need to brave the treacherous landscape of the kitchen and attempt to bake something. Something edible. Something that doesn’t involve a call to the fire department.

Baking. The mere concept felt like navigating a minefield blindfolded. And Levi? He doesn't just bake; he conjures edible masterpieces, his creations rivaling the finest patisseries. This is going to be a disaster. Desperation clawing at me, I snatched my phone and began scrolling through the digital abyss, praying for salvation in the form of “easy recipes.” The simpler, the better. Preferably something that didn’t involve words I couldn’t pronounce or techniques that sounded suspiciously like advanced chemistry.

I know he appreciates intensely flavored dessert. Cookies are his domain, and soufflés are a recipe for disaster in my untrained hands. Banana bread is too… wholesome for his usual decadent tastes.

Alright then. Brownies it is. But not just any brownies. We’re talking a dense, fudgy explosion of chocolate intensity. I’ll load them with an obscene amount of both milk and the deepest, most decadent dark chocolate I can find. That level of unapologetic richness… that’s a language Levi understands. It’s a sweet offering that hopefully conveys the depth of my… well, not quite regret, but my desire to smooth things over without setting off any more moral compass alarms.

...

The smell wafting from the oven after twenty minutes was undeniably chocolatey. Hope flared in my chest. Maybe I actually pulled this off. The timer dinged. Pulling out the pan, the edges looked… a little too dark. Crisp, almost. But the center… it’s definitely soft, jiggly even. The toothpick test came back mostly gooey. The recipe said slightly gooey is okay. Slightly? This looks like molten lava in the middle, surrounded by a fortified chocolate wall.

Half-successful. The edges could probably shatter glass, but the insides… the insides were the fudgy dream the recipe had promised. It wasn’t a complete disaster. Maybe Levi appreciated a bit of textural contrast? Crunchy edges, molten core? Probably not. Shit. This was going to require some serious damage control.

Carefully transferring a few of the more… presentable –less burnt– brownies onto a small plate, I ascended to the second floor.

The scene that greeted me was utter chaos. Towers of cardboard boxes, filled with who-knows-what, had colonized the room, leaving only a path just wide enough for a single person to navigate to his desk. Levi was mid-conversation on the phone. He glanced up as I entered, arch of his eyebrow conveying a clear question: What in the blazes are you doing here? In response, I held up my culinary creation. Levi’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, before he flicked his pointer finger.

I sidestepped between balanced towers, and finally reached Levi's desk, placing the plate amidst the scattered papers and glowing devices. The only real illumination in the room emanated from the twin monitors. Gods, the air in here felt thick with stuff. I was grateful for my lack of claustrophobia.

“Indeed,” he clipped into the phone, “candidates must be prioritized, followed swiftly by the formal establishment of their respective parties… Ensure the union leadership receives comprehensive briefings firsthand. The preliminary data regarding potential candidates from the multiple surveying firms should be collated within five days, at which point we proceed to secure their explicit consent… No,” a decisive tone entered his voice, brooking no argument, “I will not personally engage with any of the prospective candidates at this juncture. Utilize the national news channels for the initial push regarding the upcoming election… Indeed, the logistical ramifications of this entire endeavor will undoubtedly plague our waking hours. I trust that I have adequately outlined the overarching strategy; granular details will be disseminated at the subsequent briefing… No,” a sharp intake of breath, “Ugh, you genuinely neglected to inform the national banks? Gods above… that was explicitly detailed within the first ten pages of the primary binder… Whatever. The immediate priority is to await the comprehensive survey results. Furthermore,” his gaze flickered back to a document on his screen, his tone hardening, “ensure you are diligently executing your responsibilities regarding the currency conversion. I expect a full report by morning.” He listened for a moment, a curt "Understood," before finally disconnecting the call.

“Wow…” I breathed out, genuinely impressed despite the lingering tension, “you truly wasted no time in setting your plan in motion.”

“Efficiency, dearest,” he replied, his gaze momentarily softening before snapping back to the papers on his desk. “Now, if you would be so kind as to illuminate the purpose of your unscheduled visit to my study?”

I tapped at the plate of my misshapen brownies. “I… baked these. For you. A peace offering.”

Levi’s eyebrow arched, a hint of amusement flickering in his tired eyes. “I appreciate the… culinary gesture, Raphael. However, as you can undoubtedly surmise, my schedule remains rather… demanding. If your intention is to alleviate my current stress levels,” a suggestive glint entered his eyes, “I can assure you there are… other, far more efficacious methods. Also,” he gestured vaguely at the chaos surrounding him, “you are welcome to remain and witness firsthand the glorious, and often frustrating, process of your husband being… ‘organic.’”

That subtle amusement. A good sign indeed. He hadn't dismissed my offering outright. Perhaps the burnt edges held a certain… charm?

“Hm,” I purred, a playful smirk tugging at my lips, “and what are these… other methods you alluded to, Levi?”

Levi’s lips curved into a knowing smile, a spark of his usual mischievousness returning. Without uttering a word, his gaze dropped to his lap, and with a theatrical flourish, he flicked his pointer finger downwards. Ah. So we were indulging in this particular cliché? Given the current tension and the undeniable pull between us… yes, please.