The days drifted by, each one a quiet prelude to today – our anniversary, our date. A tangible excitement buzzed in the air as we moved through the rituals of preparation. We groomed our hair, debating the merits of different styles. Even the selection of our colognes was approached with seriousness, each scent a subtle note in the symphony of our evening. Damn, a goofy grin stretched across my face. I felt like a teenager again, and every single, exhilarating second of it was pure bliss.

“Raphael,” Levi inquired, deftly knotting his tie, “shall we exchange our anniversary gifts now or perhaps later this evening?”

It had been far too long since I'd witnessed him in a suit. The days spent in his preferred caveman attire had been comfortable, but this… this was something else entirely. He possessed an effortless chic in that crisp white shirt, even with the collar playfully upturned, giving him a touch of the darkly romantic – almost vampiric. Wait. Levi would be an extraordinary vampire. Seductive, undeniably charming, utterly alluring, and possessing an innate commanding presence… Yes. Absolutely. He would be magnificent.

“Now, now, now!” I exclaimed, an impatient grin plastered across my face. “I want to see your gift now, Levi. The suspense is unbearable!”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Alright, dearest,” he conceded, giving his perfectly knotted tie a final, approving glance. He turned and headed towards his study. I, meanwhile, bounced on the balls of my feet, grabbed my wrapped presents, from their hiding place in our bedroom.

My heart did a little flutter as Levi re-entered the room.

Oh…

He held an origami flower bouquet. Each bloom was a marvel of intricate folds. There were delicate roses in shades of deep crimson and softest blush, their layered petals creating a stunning depth. Elegant lilies stood tall with graceful curves, their centers hinting at unseen pollen. Interspersed were vibrant tulips in sunny yellows and passionate oranges. Tiny forget-me-nots, a constellation of azure, nestled amongst larger blossoms, adding a touch of whimsical charm. The stems were crafted from tightly rolled green paper, bound together with a slender satin ribbon the color of twilight. It was a miniature sculpture.

“Oh my gods…” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper. How many hours had he dedicated to creating this ephemeral masterpiece? It was so beautiful that my gaze felt physically tethered to it, unable to wander.

“Gods…” I whispered, utterly mesmerized. “H-How…?”

Levi offered a small smile. “I recalled my earlier attempts at grand gestures,” he explained, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Offering you a crown, proposing a move to the Royal Palace, even suggesting a… preemptive engagement with Cyrusia. Your consistent response, as I recall, was a simple request for flowers. So,” he gestured to the bouquet with a quiet pride, “I acquired the necessary papers and… fashioned these for you.”

A lump formed in my throat. This… this is more precious than any crown, any palace. This is him. His time, his effort, his quiet, unexpected way of saying… I cherish you. And gods, I love him so much it hurts.

“Levi,” I choked out, my eyes starting to sting. “And all this applied powder is going to streak down my cheeks…” My voice wobbled. “I love you so damn much. Did you… did you really fold all of these in your study?”

Levi’s lips twitched. “Indeed, dearest. While I was engaged in the intellectually stimulating endeavor of crafting particularly scathing insults for the esteemed ministers, I also found myself… occupied with this,” he said, with a subtle nod of his head towards the exquisite bouquet.

It’s almost too much. I’m such a sap. But Gods, the thought of him sitting in his study, surrounded by his books and papers, folding these fragile petals… it’s unbelievably endearing. He’s such a contradiction, a beautiful, bewildering contradiction. I am going to cry. Definitely going to cry.

“It looks truly magnificent, Levi…” I said, still captivated by the delicate artistry.

Levi inclined his head slightly. “Had my idle pursuits veered towards, say, the crafting of fine jewelry or the intricate threading of gold and silver filigree, this would, of course, be a bouquet of considerable material worth, dearest. However,” a small shrug accompanied his words, “I am nonetheless gratified that you find pleasure in the humble intricacies of the paper medium.”

Even in this incredibly sweet moment, he has to throw in a little reminder of his potential for extravagant displays. A gold and silver bouquet. Can you even imagine the weight of that thing? And the cost? But he made this. With his own two hands. That’s worth more than all the gold in the world. Humble intricacies of paper? It’s a masterpiece! And that tiny shrug… he’s secretly so proud of himself, and he has every right to be.

Levi stepped closer, and placed the bouquet on the bedside table. “I must, however, inform you of a slight… logistical constraint,” he said, his gaze lingering on the paper blooms. “This particular manifestation of floral artistry is, regrettably, ill-suited to the rigors of the outdoors, and thus unlikely to survive the duration of our date. You are, of course, more than welcome to carry it with you, should you so desire its company.”

A soft smile touched my lips. He's so adorably practical, even in the midst of this incredibly thoughtful gesture. It's just another one of his endearing contradictions.

“No, no, absolutely not. This deserves a proper display,” I declared, already envisioning the perfect glass dome to protect its beauty. “It will have pride of place in our bedroom, a constant reminder.” I turned, a touch of nervous energy bubbling up within me. “Now, it’s my turn. But… a fair warning… mine is not, shall we say, a testament to hours of painstaking craftsmanship like yours. So, please… try not to be too disappointed.”

Suddenly, the gifts felt utterly inadequate in comparison. He had poured his time, his focus, his unexpected artistry into creating something so fragile, so beautiful, so deeply personal. Mine, while selected with love, felt… ordinary.

“Uhm…” I began, a nervous flutter in my chest, “I was thinking back to our time at the beach house, you know… when I, rather clumsily, proposed to you… So…” I took a deep breath and extended the gift box towards him. Levi accepted it with his usual graceful movements, his long fingers carefully untying the satin ribbon. I held my breath, my heart pounding in my ears, waiting for his reaction.

He lifted the fountain pen box, his movements imbued with a reverence that eased some of my anxiety. Then, with exquisite care, he unlatched the glass container. A slow, breathtaking smile bloomed across his features, chasing away any lingering tension. That smile. His falling stars smile. The kind of smile that makes you instinctively hold a wish captive in your chest, a silent plea for its permanence. His lips curved upwards, a genuine, unguarded expression, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with pure delight.

He turned the pen slowly between his fingers, his gaze lingering on the engraved inscription – ‘Levi Everett’ – for a prolonged moment, as if tracing each letter with an invisible touch. A soft, almost reverent tone filled the air as he finally spoke, his eyes meeting mine with a warmth that melted away any lingering insecurity.

“Raphael… this is possibly the most profoundly thoughtful, the most exquisitely beautiful gift I have ever received. Thank you, my dear.”

Gods, that smile. It’s like seeing a constellation align perfectly for the first time. All the anxiety, the worry that my simple gift wouldn’t measure up… it just melts away under the warmth of it.

“I… I remembered how much you… how much you wanted to forge your own path, to not always be defined by the Blake name…” I explained, a nervous hope fluttering in my chest.

“My dearest Raphael,” he murmured, leaning in to press a tender kiss to my forehead. “That understanding, that recognition of my deepest desire… that is what renders this the most profoundly thoughtful of gifts.”

Maybe, just maybe, I possess a certain knack for deciphering the language of the heart and translating it into tangible form.

“And… there’s one more thing,” I added, sliding the leather notebook across the bed towards him. “A notebook. For… well, for whatever inspires you. Perhaps you’ll finally immortalize the incompetence of the ministers and staff in verse. But more importantly,” I met his gaze, a soft smile playing on my lips, “I hope you’ll use it to write whatever you want to write. You’ve always had such a beautifully poetic way with words, Levi. Perhaps it’s time your hand had a chance to be just as eloquent.”

He accepted the leather-bound notebook, the smooth texture seeming to please him as he opened the pristine pages. His finger traced across the untouched surface. “To be perfectly candid, the spoken word and the written word are distinct disciplines, requiring different skills,” he mused. “However… as you are acutely aware, I am a man often plagued by a profound ennui, possessing few discerning hobbies beyond baking. Therefore, my dear Raphael,” a hint of a smile touched his lips, “I might indeed endeavor to commit some thoughts to paper. Though I must forewarn you: do not be unduly disappointed if the resulting script consists primarily of mathematical equations and my rather… vivid, shall we say, imaginings of the various fates I deem suitable for the more… creatively challenged members of the ministerial staff.”

But… he said he might try. That’s progress. Boredom, that relentless antagonist, might finally have met its match in the form of a blank page and a pen. And even if all that comes out are complex calculations and elaborate revenge fantasies… at least he’ll be engaged. At least he’ll be… doing something.

“I will read every single word, Levi,” I affirmed, my gaze unwavering. “Whatever you choose to write, I want to see it.”

“Hm...” he hummed, “I suspect the delicate mechanisms of your moral compass would not merely shatter, but be vaporized into a fine mist of disbelief. You truly have no conception of the depths I can succumb.”

“No shit, Levi,” I retorted, my lips twitched with amusement despite myself. “I distinctly recall hearing about your… ‘living marionettes’ endeavor. The fuck was that, even? How did that particular… inspiration even take root in your mind? And poor Rosa! She was traumatized.”

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“Ah, the living marionettes,” Levi mused, undeniable pride lacing his voice. “A rather elegant solution, wouldn’t you agree? But, my dear Raphael…” He leaned in conspiratorially, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You haven’t even begun to fathom the non-elegant possibilities.”

“Gods...” I sighed, a sliver of relief cutting through my morbid curiosity. “At least you have some fundamental aversions, like… blood and physical violence.”

Levi’s brow furrowed slightly. “I possess no inherent aversion, Raphael. I merely find the visceral reality of blood aesthetically… unappealing. And physical violence, in its messy, uncontrolled nature, strikes me as regrettably reminiscent of crude animalistic behavior. There is a distinct lack of… finesse.”

Physical violence? Too… animalistic. As if his ‘elegant solutions’ involving living marionettes weren't deeply unsettling.

“Debating the finer points of your aesthetic revulsions is a fascinating intellectual exercise, sure, but it’s rapidly eating into our anniversary outing. Let’s go, shall we?”

With a flourish, I gestured towards the door. Levi, with a characteristic air of compliance, followed me out, and soon we were ensconced in the leather of the car, the city lights of capital painting streaks across the night sky as he expertly navigated the route to the chocolatier.

...

Smiles bloomed across the staff's faces like flowers in a time-lapse video. They swarmed around Levi like bees drawn to the richest pollen. It was a constant, bewildering reality that the public persona bore so little resemblance to the mind I cherished. They saw only the philanthropist, the architect of Ascaria’s nascent democracy, the quiet force behind progressive societal reforms. They had no inkling of the darkness he carried, the battles he fought within.

Suddenly, the weight of my own fame, something I often found suffocating, felt strangely… lighter. At least my public identity, however scrutinized, was rooted in my actual profession. But Levi? His was a mask crafted for public consumption. His past addiction to opioids… it clicked into place. The immense pressure of maintaining that flawless image, the constant need to suppress his true self, the exhausting performance of normalcy… It made a horrifying kind of sense, even as the thought itself twisted in my gut.

The staff, ushered us to a secluded and beautifully appointed table, ensuring a degree of privacy amidst the bustling shop. However, their genuine enthusiasm and affection for Levi proved to be an almost constant presence. They flitted around our table like eager attendants, their conversations revolving around his charitable foundation – how it had offered them crucial support, how his disability act had tangibly improved the life of a colleague who used a wheelchair, granting her dignified access to workplace facilities.

How can someone who has demonstrably improved the lives of millions, who has tangibly reshaped a nation for the better, feel such a profound emptiness? I know the clinical explanation, of course. Perhaps he experiences a detached sense of satisfaction, a logical acknowledgment of a task completed successfully. If that were me, knowing the countless lives I had touched with genuine, systemic improvements, I imagine I would be filled with a joy so radiant it would eclipse the sun. But Levi… he merely offered a polite smile, a courteous nod to their effusive excitement and heartfelt praise.

A deep ache resonated within me, a longing for Levi to, just once, truly feel that radiant warmth of joy, the kind that makes the soul sing. He had confided in me once that his personal pinnacle of happiness registered a mere two out of ten on a scale where my own joy often soared to a perfect ten. No. Stop. That line of thought felt… wrong, somehow. Ableist, perhaps? I shook my head slightly, trying to dislodge the intrusive thought. No, focus. He experiences the world differently; my metrics don’t apply to him.

Just then, the attentive staff began to present our desserts, a delightful array of tiny plates showcasing confections from across the globe. Alongside each miniature masterpiece, they placed paired beverages.

“My dearest,” Levi murmured, a hint of genuine pleasure softening his features as he savored the smooth texture of the milk chocolate melting on his tongue, “seems to have curated a rather… perfectly palatable evening for me.”

He appears… content. But a knot of unease tightens in my own chest. It feels as though, in my desire for us to share a pleasant evening, I've thrust him into a subtle battle. Now that he's clean and sober, the raw edges of his personality are more exposed at home – the brutal honesty, the barely veiled irritation that flickers towards anyone who crosses his path. It feels… like I'm forcing him to perform.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, Levi,” I said, offering a smile that hopefully appeared natural.

Levi picked up a jewel-toned square, its surface shimmering with a delicate cocoa dusting. “This, my dearest,” he began, his voice taking on a familiar analytical tone, a welcome distraction from the forced pleasantries, “appears to be a dark chocolate ganache. Note the subtle sheen, indicative of proper tempering. The aroma… a complex interplay of roasted nuts and a hint of red fruit, likely cherries. They have paired it with a chilled infusion of lapsang souchong tea. The smokiness of the tea should provide a fascinating counterpoint to the inherent bitterness of the chocolate, preventing it from becoming overwhelming, while the subtle fruity notes in both may create an interesting resonance.” He paused, considering the pairing with a thoughtful expression before finally taking a bite.

Thank the heavens. He’s actually speaking to me, explaining the nuances, drawing me into his sensory experience. It’s a welcome reprieve.

“But you detest tea, Levi,” I pointed out gently, a fond smile playing on my lips.

“Indeed,” he affirmed, a slight grimace momentarily disrupting his otherwise composed expression as he savored the chocolate. “The vast majority of infusions bearing the misnomer ‘tea’ possess a distinct and undeniable resemblance to diluted urine. However,” he continued, “one must occasionally yield to the accumulated wisdom and experimentation of esteemed artisans. Perhaps, in this rare instance, their expertise has managed to transcend the inherent limitations of the medium.” He took a minuscule sip of the tea. I watched, a knowing amusement blossoming within me, as his eyes crinkled at the corners, swiftly followed by the unmistakable scrunch of his nose. Precisely the same expression that graces his features whenever he sniffs wine.

Finally succumbing to temptation, I selected a dark square.

Oh… for a fleeting moment, I glimpsed paradise. It began to soften at my fingertips almost instantly, but in my mouth? It was an entire ocean of sensation. The rich chocolate melted, coating every surface – my tongue, the roof of my mouth, the back of my throat – in a wave of ecstatic flavor. My mouth flooded with anticipation. Then, I took a sip of the accompanying tea. Damn. They had paired this impeccably. The subtle bitterness and smokiness of the tea sliced through the intense richness of the chocolate, offering a cleansing breath.

“I think I just glimpsed the celestial spheres,” I exclaimed, still reeling from the explosion of flavor.

“Hm, if textural intrigue is to your liking, my dearest,” Levi remarked, gesturing with a finger, “do sample the third plate.”

It was a sugar confection, crafted into the form of a delicate pink rose, its surface dusted with shimmering, edible glitter. Intrigued, I picked it up and took a bite. The outer layer shattered with a delightful crispness, giving way to an inner core that was a soft jelly. The flavor was a predictable, rosewater, but the crunch… the delight of that initial texture against the soft center? Fucking amazing.

“Levi…” I breathed, still slightly awestruck. “Oh my god, that crunch… the crunch, Levi…”

“Hm, so textural experiences are particularly pleasing to you,” he observed and gestured towards another small plate. “This offering is more traditional in its composition, but I believe its textural profile will be to your liking.”

Intrigued, I picked up the unassuming chocolate and placed it in my mouth. The initial taste was of high-quality milk chocolate, smooth and rich, without any particularly extravagant flavor notes. Then… I finally bit down. The crunch. It was an explosion. The insides were densely packed with tiny, perfectly crisp rice crackles. Each minuscule grain offered another burst of texture, another delicate snap, creating an intense and surprising symphony that resonated both in my mouth and audibly, in my ears. It was just… toasted rice. Who knew such a simple element could elevate a familiar chocolate to such heights?

“Gods. It tastes like… just perfectly crunchy rice…”

“Ah,” Levi corrected gently, a hint of a knowing smile playing on his lips, “that delightful textural surprise is not, in fact, rice. It is toasted quinoa.”

Quinoa? Leave it to Levi to know the precise grain providing that exquisite crunch.

“What was your personal favorite from this exquisite selection, then?” I asked, curious to know what had truly pleased his discerning palate.

“My own preference,” Levi replied, “I suspect would prove… rather pungent for your sensibilities. However, do humor me and sample the ninth plate.”

Pungent? What could that possibly entail in the realm of chocolate? Intrigued and slightly wary, I located the ninth offering. It was a striking piece, coated in a vibrant red dye that gave it the appearance of a shimmering ruby. I placed it on my tongue, anticipating the melt and burst of flavor. Instead, an immediate and overwhelming sweetness flooded my mouth. Fuck. It was cloying, intense, almost painful in its sweetness. My throat constricted, and a violent cough erupted.

“Oh, dear Raphael, quickly, drink some of the tea,” Levi said, his usual composure momentarily disrupted. Tea? No, tea wouldn’t cut it. What I desperately needed was the briny tang of the open ocean. Nevertheless, I took a large gulp of the chilled infusion, but it barely made a dent in the sweetness. Damn my impulsive nature, my eagerness to experience everything at once. I had nearly choked on a single, deceptively beautiful piece of chocolate.

I struggled to speak between small coughs. “Tea? Levi… I feel like I need to chew on a salt rock… like a goat.” Another wracking cough escaped my lips. Levi reached for a white cube of cream cheese and a salty cracker from a nearby plate, deftly assembling a bite and holding it out to me. I gratefully accepted.

Yeah. Gods, that shit was good. The saltiness, the creamy richness… it cut through that sugary assault like a knife. I have a definitive answer now: Fuck chocolate. Give me substance, give me flavor that bites back.

“It’s settled then, Levi,” I declared with newfound certainty. “I am a red-blooded, red-meat man. No more of that aggressively sweet, nearly-induced-respiratory-distress chocolate for me.”

Levi chuckled softly. “Ah, my dearest Raphael,” he murmured, as he popped another chocolate into his mouth, “your fervent appreciation for crimson flesh is a well-documented phenomenon. Indeed, the very rhythm of your heart quickens to the frantic pace of a cheetah the moment your gaze falls upon a perfectly seared steak, as if you yourself had just brought down the magnificent beast.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “A cheetah heart? What about you then, sipping at sugar like a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower?”

Levi shuddered dramatically. “Consuming… red meat? Engaging with that stringy and, dare I say, barbaric texture? I assure you, the Ascaria would fall.”

“The nation would fall? Levi, your ego is truly a magnificent spectacle. Every time it makes an appearance, my jaw dislocates itself from my face in sheer awe,” I exclaimed, shaking my head.

He waved a dismissive hand with exaggerated flair. “My sincerest apologies for this unfortunate manifestation of my… perceived god complex.”

The remainder of our evening unfolded in that comfortable rhythm of playful banter and gentle ribbing, punctuated by shared memories from our earlier days. We continued our exploration of the chocolatier's offerings – tiny plates laden with chocolates, decadent desserts, and overwhelming amount of sugar, all accompanied by an array of non-alcoholic soft beverages, the occasional adventurous sip of tea for Levi, and a few exquisite cups of coffee. It was, in its own understated way, the perfect date. So perfect, in fact, that the formality of a date seemed to melt away. It felt as natural and effortless as our usual evenings spent sprawled on the living room couch, lost in conversation and laughter. Eventually, we left a more than generous gratuity for the attentive staff, pausing to capture a few smiling pictures with them before stepping back out into the night. Yes. A truly perfect date. And now, the anticipation hummed beneath the surface, a silent promise of returning home to crown this perfect evening with a night of passionate abandon – a delicious dance of raw desire, tender intimacy, and a rhythm that would carry us until the first blush of dawn.