I slept in Levi’s room while he occupied the master bedroom. Stepping into his space was always akin to entering the mind of a brilliant, if occasionally chaotic, puzzle solver. Everything was organized, bordering on the obsessive. Even the notebooks from his college days, tucked away in the top drawer of his desk, were stacked with architectural precision. I drifted off to sleep in that ordered environment.

The morning, however, shattered the stillness. From the downstairs, the sounds of Levi’s less-than-peaceful awakening drifted up – his low groans, the sharp intakes of breath. Relief washed over me knowing that Leo, was there to assist him. While Leo expertly navigated Levi’s morning routine – the careful inspection of his stitches for any hint of infection, his pain medication, and the patient encouragement as he took his first tentative steps of the day – I found solace and purpose in the kitchen, preparing a breakfast designed to offer small comforts and sustained energy: warm, chocolate chip-studded muffins for Levi, and a more substantial spread of crispy bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs for Leo and myself.

With a steaming mug of tea and my tablet in hand, I retreated to Levi’s bedroom. The prolonged conversations I’d had with my therapist over the past two weeks, amidst the chaos and worry, had proven surprisingly effective in helping me process the emotional fallout of the accident. Thankfully, the trauma surrounding cars and traffic hadn’t materialized. The official reports from both the insurance company and the police had placed the blame squarely where it belonged: on the drunk truck driver. Yes, that reckless asshole, had been the architect of our pain, transforming my torso into what felt like a bruised and battered rotten potato, and leaving my beloved Levi resembling a sewed and patched onion sack.

Stepping away from my therapy session, I descended the stairs, the murmur of voices drawing me towards the living room. I was met with an unexpected tableau: Levi, propped up on the couch with pillows, engaged in what appeared to be a rather animated debate with Leo. Perhaps the shared intimacy of assisted toileting had forged an unlikely bond.

"Nonsense, Leo," Levi declared with a dismissive wave of his hand, his brow furrowed in disagreement. "One cannot simply deny the profound and prolonged impact of celestial bodies on the very fabric of our myths, our tales, our entire literary tradition."

Leo, however, remained unfazed by Levi’s pronouncement. “No, sir,” he countered respectfully, his gaze thoughtful. “I meant the other way around. I actually think literature has significantly affected the naming process of celestial bodies. Think about it – comets, stars, moons… their names are often steeped in mythology, in stories that predate any scientific understanding. Perhaps it was the tales that shaped how we perceived and ultimately named them.”

"Preposterous," Levi scoffed. "While I concede that primitive societies often imbued the cosmos with fantastical narratives, to suggest that mere stories dictated the nomenclature adopted by serious astronomical inquiry? Utterly backwards. The phenomena existed first; the tales were woven around them, attempts to explain the awe-inspiring reality of the heavens."

Gods. Where on earth had this conversation even originated? Since when had these two, even stumbled upon such a niche topic?

Leo tilted his head slightly. "But sir, isn't there a beauty in that connection? That the same stories that inspired ancient poets and storytellers also gave us the names for the stars we study with our telescopes today? It suggests a long and intertwined history between humanity and the cosmos, shaped by both observation and imagination."

Levi tapped his fingers, his gaze distant as he considered Leo's point. "An intertwining, perhaps, but one where observation laid the foundation and imagination merely decorated the edifice. The cosmos exists independent of our tales, however enchanting those tales may be."

My curiosity about this unexpected camaraderie was thoroughly piqued. I walked over to the living room and settled onto the couch opposite Levi, choosing a spot beside the towering frame of Leo. Gods, he was even more imposing up close.

"Ah, dear Raphael, welcome to our rather stimulating debate," Levi drawled, his voice carrying a hint of languor. "But do tell us, my dear, how was your therapy session? I trust you unburdened yourself of all the… delightful details?"

"It was good, actually," I replied. "I mean, with everything that's been going on, it felt surprisingly cathartic to just talk about it all – you know, the accident, the constant worry about the pain, the brief but bizarre appearance of my little devil horns, and my torso currently resembling a rather abstract, and somewhat painful, painting."

"Devil horns were a rather amusing, if temporary, addition to your otherwise angelic face, dearest," Levi said with a lazy smile that nonetheless managed to send a familiar flutter through me. A tell-tale blush crept up my neck, betraying my annoyance. Leo, thankfully, seemed completely unfazed by our banter. Just as a comfortable silence settled, the insistent trill of my phone shattered the quiet. It was Finn.

Retreating to the relative privacy of the kitchen, I answered Finn's call. A torrent of well wishes poured through the line, followed by his earnest desire to apologize to Levi and convey his hopes for a swift recovery. It completely slipped my mind. It felt like a lifetime ago, during Levi's tumultuous return from rehab, that Finn, in a fit of misplaced anger and frustration, had punched Levi. Since that volatile incident, their interactions had been strictly limited to essential government business. I'd vaguely suggested Finn offer an olive branch in the form of copious amounts of chocolate, but the ensuing whirlwind of events had pushed it to the back burner. Would Levi, even want another presence in the house? The thought of asking felt fraught with potential for discomfort, so I demurred. I suggested Finn postpone his visit, at least until Levi's mornings weren't punctuated by involuntary groans and cries of pain, until he could navigate the house on his own two feet. Finn, thankfully, accepted my reasoning without argument.

Returning from the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet scent of hot chocolate filled the air. I carefully placed the tray on the coffee table, and settled onto the couch beside the towering figure of Leo.

"Truly, Leo?" Levi sighed. "Existentialism? Not even the slightly palatable chaos of absurdism, but full-blown existentialism? You are going to make my sentimental tissue weep uncontrollably… if such a ridiculous organ actually existed within my thoroughly pragmatic frame."

What on earth had transpired in the few minutes I was gone?

Damn it. I felt utterly out of my depth, my high school diploma suddenly feeling woefully inadequate. My attention span was already beginning to waver. I could sense a long and intellectually challenging afternoon stretching before me.

Leo’s gentle chuckle rumbled through the quiet living room. "Well, sir, someone has to consider the big questions, even if the answers remain elusive. Besides," he continued thoughtfully, "after contemplating the sheer vastness of the cosmos, the question of our own fleeting existence within it seems like a natural progression of thought."

Levi waved his hand dismissively. “Please, Leo. You are a medical professional. You know better than anyone what constitutes a ‘natural progression’ in our species. It is called breeding. There is no inherent, grand meaning beyond that biological imperative. It simply is. We exist. End of inquiry.”

Yep. That was quintessential Levi. His usual philosophy: ‘is’, ‘be’, nothing more. We all simply exist, biological machines ticking out our allotted time. Luckily, this particular philosophical dead end was well-trodden territory between Levi and me.

"I understand your perspective, sir, the scientific basis for our existence is clear. But doesn't our capacity for abstract thought, our creation of art and literature, suggest a drive beyond mere biological imperative? A search for something more, even if that 'more' is of our own making?"

"It is called…" Levi drawled, a hint of triumph in his voice, "having a frontal lobe, Leo. The neurotypical Homo sapiens brain is wired for finding and creating community; it is a fundamental survival mechanism, almost as crucial as breathing. Let me offer you another, perspective. This inherent need for community, for belonging to a tribe if you will, can even override the seemingly primal biological imperative of breeding, ergo, the existence of asexuality within our species. As the tribes of sapiens grew larger and more complex, our very evolution, at one point, seems to have whispered: 'Your genetic contribution is not essential; your skills and presence within the community are sufficient.' It is simply an anthropological debate, fascinating in its own right, but not even remotely touching the nebulous realm of philosophical meaning you seem to be grasping for."

Leave it to Levi to reduce the human yearning for meaning to a neurological quirk. But... he has a point, a cold, hard, logical point.

And yet... even as he dissects it with his usual clinical precision, there's a strange sort of comfort in his certainty. If there's no grand plan, no cosmic judge, then our choices, our connections, our self-created 'meaning' become all the more significant.

Even as I roll my eyes internally, I can't deny the intellectual stimulation of it all. It's like watching a scientist meticulously dissect a flower, explaining every petal and stamen, while someone else stands by, simply appreciating its beauty and fragrance. Both perspectives have their validity, I suppose.

Leo paused, his brow furrowed in quiet contemplation as he absorbed Levi's explanation. After a moment, he spoke, his voice soft but carrying a gentle weight. “While I deeply respect your perspective, sir, and the logical framework it provides, I cannot deny the comfort I personally find in a different understanding. The thought that billions have lived before me, and billions will live after, each navigating their own existence… and that within those vast numbers, every single one of us has likely stumbled through similar sins, succumbed to similar indulgences, endured our own embarrassing moments, and cherished the same simple joys. The comfort, for me, sir, comes from this deep sense of shared humanity, this quiet knowing that you are never truly alone in your experience. Because, in the end, we are all simply… human.”

Wow. That's... so beautiful. So simple, yet so profound.

It's the opposite of Levi's stark individualism, his ‘is.’ Leo finds solace in the collective 'are.'

Levi tapped his fingers on his abdomen, his gaze distant and shadowed. A cold knot of understanding tightened in my stomach. Of course Levi couldn’t fully embrace that sentiment. There was no ‘we are’ for him. The very empathy that Leo described as binding billions together… it wasn't wired the same way in Levi's mind. Even if others like him existed, their numbers were so statistically diminished, so scattered, that finding that sense of belonging, that tangible ‘we,’ remained a distant and difficult prospect.

Levi finally spoke, his voice low and devoid of any warmth, his gaze still fixed on some unseen point beyond the ceiling. “The ‘comfort,’ if one insists on using such a sentimental term, does not arise from this supposed shared human experience, this comforting notion of collective stumbling. No. It stems from the profound and utterly liberating indifference of it all. It comes from truly understanding and accepting the reality: we are nothing more than temporarily animated collections of carbon, hairless apes clinging to a giant, insignificant rock hurtling through the vast, uncaring vacuum of space. The so-called sins, the fleeting pain, the momentary agony, the transient joy, and all the other melodramatic human sentiment… the only genuine ‘comfort’ to be found is in the unwavering certainty that the sun will rise tomorrow, regardless of our petty dramas. The cosmos doesn’t care about you, not out of malice, but out of a fundamental, all-encompassing indifference. It doesn’t acknowledge your joy, just as it ignores your suffering, because to the cosmos, we are less than dust motes in a hurricane.”

The sting of hearing those words, the pathetic, self-absorbed jealousy I once succumbed to, no longer held the same power. Because even if we were merely hairless apes, adrift on a cosmic speck of dust, Levi had chosen me as his hairless ape. The universe, in its grand indifference, didn't punish or reward our connection; it simply was. And while my own humanist, warm, and decidedly fuzzy sentimental tissue, resonated far more with Leo's interconnected worldview, I couldn't entirely dismiss Levi's reality. Because… for him, perhaps, there truly was nothing else.

Leo’s simple statement, so full of heartfelt humanism – "Even if we are just 'hairless apes on a rock,' sir, our internal world, our capacity for empathy and compassion, feels like something significant, something worth valuing, regardless of the cosmos' opinion" – felt like a sudden, sharp knife twisting in my gut.

It felt… profoundly wrong to say that to Levi.

It felt as if the very person standing before Levi had, in that innocent declaration, inadvertently denied a fundamental aspect of Levi's existence.Was this what Levi experienced… every single time he interacted with someone who operated on a different emotional plane? This subtle, yet devastating, disregard of his inherent way of being? I couldn't suppress the sudden, uncontrollable trembling of my lips. Wasn't this a form of trauma, witnessing this subtle erasure?

Levi's eyes remained distant, the familiar light within them seeming to flicker and dim, retreating once more into the shadows of his own internal world. I had to show him, somehow, that I saw him, that I understood, or at least was trying desperately to understand. I walked the few steps to the couch where Levi lay, my heart pounding in my chest. "I don't agree with him," I murmured, my breath catching slightly on the words.

"You should," he murmured back, his voice still carrying that distant, almost resigned quality. Yeah. I knew I should. My fuzzy, often overly empathetic moral compass screamed it. My sentimental tissue ached with the injustice of it. But… my fierce, unwavering love for this complicated man often stubbornly defied those neat moral categories.

"Shut up," I said softly, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

…

The morning arrived, heralded by agonizing groans that echoed from downstairs. A fierce instinct urged me to rush down and offer comfort, but a more rational part of me recognized that my presence, with its own sensory input, might only add another layer of unwanted stimulation to his already tormented state. Levi’s morning ritual was a brutal gauntlet: a battle against pain until the blessed relief of his medication finally kicked in, followed by the post-operative check-up, and then the assisted trek to the toilet with Leo’s unwavering support. This morning, our thoughtful maid had prepared a batch of savory sausage pastries. Knowing Levi’s palate, I quietly busied myself making him a stack of fluffy pancakes, generously drizzled with his favorite maple syrup. He used to pick at his pancake in tiny, almost bird-like bites, but today, he seemed to be eating with a little more comfort. I guessed that regimented hospital fare had finally instilled a yearning for even something he didn't particularly enjoy under normal circumstances.

With breakfast finished and a fragile peace settling over the downstairs, Levi retreated to his usual spot on the living room couch. A pen danced across the pages of his current book, his brow furrowed in concentration as he jotted down notes, dissecting the author's arguments or perhaps weaving his own intricate connections. Drawn by the familiar sight of his focused intensity, I approached the couch, not settling onto its soft cushions but instead choosing the floor, cross-legged, my gaze drawn to the pages beneath his hand.

"What has captured your attention so intensely, Levi?" I asked softly, careful not to break the delicate thread of his concentration. He glanced down briefly.

"Nothing too elaborately mind-bending for a post-operative brain, dear Raphael. Just organic chemistry. My company's lab has encountered a rather intriguing, and somewhat frustrating, halt in their current research. So, I am simply immersing myself in the fundamentals, hoping to stumble upon a potential solution, or perhaps merely waiting for a fortunate epiphany to illuminate the path forward." He punctuated his explanation with a quick scribble in the margin of the book.

A warm smile spread across my face as I watched him. Look at him, poring over the fundamentals as if he hadn't mastered them years ago. My brilliant, slightly mad scientist, forever captivated by the secrets of the molecular world. Then, his gaze abruptly lifted from the page, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, unfocused. In that moment, I could almost see the intricate gears turning within his mind, the lightning-fast connections being forged. A beat of silence stretched, before he slammed the heavy textbook shut with a resounding thud and hurled it across the length of the living room.

"T-The hell?" I stammered, my eyes wide with shock.

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"Idiots," he spat out. "Those utter idiots," he repeated, the anger now more pronounced, his fists clenching. Then, his gaze sharpened, focusing on some invisible point in the air as the pieces clicked into place. "They didn't close the pressure chamber securely enough, did they?"

"Damn it, Levi," I blurted out. "You can't just hurl books across the room and mutter about pressure chambers like some cryptic prophet. Can you please, please, explain what's going on?"

He finally tore his gaze away from the invisible disaster unfolding in his mind and looked at me. "Please be a doll for me, dear Raphael, and hand me my phone." I reached for the device resting on the coffee table, my own hands still trembling slightly, and placed it in his outstretched hand. He swiftly dialed a number.

"Annie," he said, his voice now clipped and authoritative, all traces of post-operative languor gone. "Tell those incompetent buffoons at Lab A to immediately double-check and properly secure the main pressure chamber. That is the source of the anomaly in the latest data readings. And Annie," he added, his tone hardening, "identify the technician responsible for that oversight and inform them that their employment with my company has been terminated, effective immediately."

That escalated quickly. A pressure chamber not secured properly... that sounds incredibly dangerous. Anomaly in the data... So, he spotted a glitch in the numbers, and his intuition immediately jumped to the human error.

"Great, come to the house immediately, and bring me a decent analgesic and a large tub of chocolate chip ice cream," he commanded into the phone before abruptly ending the call.

"So…" I began slowly, trying to piece together the fragments of information. "Do you want to, perhaps, elaborate on that, Levi? This sudden firing of an employee… I mean, a pressure chamber not being secured properly sounded rather… dangerous."

"If your mind conjures images of a pressure chamber as some gigantic, industrial vat, dear Raphael, then no, it is not that. At least not in the context of this particular research. It is simply a 20-liter tank. So, no immediate risk of catastrophic explosion, merely the irritating consequence of an utter idiot who couldn't be bothered to tighten a fitting sufficiently," he explained with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"And Annie is coming here?" I clarified, still a little bewildered by the rapid turn of events.

"Indeed," he confirmed. "Since I am rather eager to return to the helm of my own company, and my current physical limitations make prolonged sitting in a chair… less than ideal, it is time for a recalibration, shall we say. Time to shed the mantle of government consultant and reassume my rightful position as CEO, if you will."

"Oh?" I asked, a flicker of curiosity mixed with a touch of wistfulness. "So, you might not even return to the government office once you're fully healed?"

"Perhaps," he mused, a thoughtful expression momentarily softening the sharp lines of his face. "Or perhaps not. There are… significant changes I am contemplating. Hm?" His gaze flickered to mine, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Will my dear Pulla miss my… rather unique brand of domestic cohabitation?"

"Yeah," I admitted, a small smile mirroring his. "I've actually gotten rather used to your tyrant-king-of-the-living-room home office."

Levi chuckled softly. "Managing a company and offering consultancy are distinctly different. My consistent presence at the company will be required, especially given my rather extended four-month hiatus. However," he added, his tone softening slightly, "if it offers you some measure of comfort, my dear Pulla, things will not entirely revert to the chaotic old ways. Midnight returns will be a rarity; I anticipate being home in the evening, at the latest."

"Really?" I replied, a genuine wave of relief washing over me. "Then... okay."

I pillowed my head on the couch’s edge. A moment later, his hand settled on my hair, his fingers beginning a slow, soothing stroke.

Gods, at this rate, I might just succumb to sleep right here. I was wonderfully relaxed, the tension of the past few days unwinding with each touch. Just then, Leo appeared, his footsteps soft on the carpet, to conduct his routine check on Levi. He examined the surgical stitches with a practiced eye, inquired about Levi's pain levels, and then quietly made his way upstairs. I remained on the floor, a contented stillness settling over me, Levi's hand a comforting weight in my hair, his fingers now gently twirling strands around his pointer finger.

...

"Shit," I mumbled, my eyes snapping open. I had fallen asleep, slumped against the couch on the floor. The sound of the front door opening and Annie's greeting dragged me back to consciousness.

Annie, was carrying a laptop and, I kid you not, a bag that appeared to be larger than her frame. Levi chuckled softly at my disoriented state. He patted the empty space beside him on the couch. I was still a little stiff and hesitant from my impromptu floor nap, but I gratefully accepted the gesture, maneuvering myself onto the soft cushions slowly and very carefully.

Annie, meanwhile, had placed her behemoth bag on the floor and was now setting up her laptop on the coffee table. "Sir," she began, "the Minister of Health expressed an urgent desire to have a meeting with you, but we successfully postponed it. Rest assured, she shares the same strong sentiment as us regarding the ethical implications of advertising prescription drugs." Annie then extended a thick file towards Levi. He took it, his attention immediately captured by the contents.

"Hm… An alumni from our own Academia," Levi murmured, his brow furrowing slightly as he scanned the document. "And she is not of noble lineage. Interesting."

"Indeed, sir," Annie confirmed. "But… there is another matter, not directly concerning the new minister, but… our lab."

"Is that so?" Levi mused, his attention fully diverted from the minister's file, his gaze now fixed intently on Annie.

"An… employee has been systematically stealing from our research lab, sir," Annie stated. Fuck yes, just the kind of low-stakes drama we needed to spice up the post-operative recovery period.

"Instrument or ingredient?"

"Ingredient, sir," Annie confirmed, her hand diving into the cavernous bag at her feet, emerging with a intimidatingly thick binder. "These are the comprehensive inventory reports, cross-referenced between our primary suppliers and the records from each of our lab facilities. As you can see," she continued, flipping open the heavy volume and pointing to several highlighted sections, "there is a significant discrepancy between the received quantities and the recorded usage. I have highlighted the specific substances that appear to be missing."

Levi couldn't possibly manage that enormous binder without risking tearing his sutures, so I took it from Annie and opened it on my lap. To be honest, the contents were utterly incomprehensible to me – a dense landscape of chemical terms and arcane compound names. The only things my untrained eye could decipher were the dates scattered across the pages. Even the numerical quantities held no discernible meaning for me. Levi, however, was already deeply engrossed, his gaze darting across the highlighted names and figures, occasionally directing me to flip to a specific page with a curt instruction. As I turned the heavy sheets, I could feel his internal engine of scheming and problem-solving purring.

"Pseudoephedrine."

What in the actual hell was that? The name sounded vaguely pharmaceutical, but beyond that, I was completely clueless.

"Yes, sir," Annie confirmed, her brow furrowed slightly. "Which is why I have not yet terminated his contract."

Why not? My internal sense of justice screamed. An employee caught stealing from a research lab? Immediate dismissal seemed like the only logical response.

"Good," Levi said, his eyes now gleaming with a predatory light. "Do you have security footage of these… acquisitions?" Annie leaned closer to the laptop on the coffee table, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she typed commands and began to open video files.

Levi and I were hunched over the laptop screen with Annie, the living room transformed into a makeshift surveillance center. Damn, it felt like stepping into a gritty detective movie, or perhaps even the mundane reality of actual detective work. I handed the mouse to Levi, his sharp gaze darting back and forth between the dates highlighted in inventory reports and the grainy timestamps on the security footage. He took control, his fingers deftly rewinding the video, then swiftly opening another file, only to rewind that one as well.

"There," he finally declared after a prolonged silence, his finger jabbing at a specific point on the screen. "Look closely, Annie. This is where he was subtly altering the signature on the requisition form, making it appear as if the pseudoephedrine was being used within the lab."

"Yes, sir," Annie confirmed, her eyes narrowed. "We believe he managed to evade many of our primary security cameras by exploiting known blind spots in their coverage. However," she added, a hint of grim satisfaction in her voice, "I suspect he didn't anticipate our recent installation of an internal camera within the main cold storage room. As you can see in this next sequence," she said, pulling up a new video feed, "he was systematically transferring containers of pseudoephedrine from the regular inventory shelves to the less monitored environment of the cold room. Then, during the brief five-minute shift change of our external security personnel, a known vulnerability in our outer perimeter checks where bags aren't routinely inspected, he was able to carry the concealed substances out of the facility. Since there's typically no one stationed to check outgoing personnel during that precise window, his movements went unnoticed... until now." Annie then began to play the relevant security footage, showcasing the employee's calculated and surprisingly brazen actions.

To be honest, the leap Levi made from the inventory discrepancies to the forged signatures was beyond my comprehension. He truly was a man laser-focused on a problem, his mind working at a speed I could only marvel at. But the question was gnawing at me, a persistent itch of curiosity.

"That pseudo thing… pseudoephedrine," I corrected myself, trying to sound knowledgeable. "Why would he steal that? What is it even used for?"

Levi looked up from the screen, a wry amusement dancing in his eyes at my innocent inquiry. "Ah, we utilize it as a key ingredient in one of our over-the-counter cough syrup formulations, dear Raphael. However," he added, "it also possesses a rather… less savory application. It's a primary precursor in the illicit synthesis of methamphetamine."

Shit. What? Meth? My god. That was… decidedly not what I had been expecting. I had conjured images of rare, expensive chemicals, vital to their cutting-edge research, not something associated with… that.

"Annie, his resume, if you please," Levi instructed, his voice now carrying a distinct edge of disappointment. Annie swiftly retrieved two crisp sheets of paper from the thick binder and handed them to him. Levi's eyes scanned the document, a sigh escaping his lips. "What a waste," he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "A bright mind, indeed, graduated from a respectable institute with very impressive certifications, only to squander his potential as a clandestine cook for some pathetic drug ring."

"D-drug ring?" I stammered, a knot of genuine panic tightening in my chest. This had escalated far beyond simple theft.

"Yes, dear," Levi confirmed, his gaze briefly meeting mine, a hint of grim understanding in his eyes. "One does not pilfer this quantity of pseudoephedrine for personal recreational use." He then handed the resume back to Annie. "Compile every piece of evidence we have – the inventory discrepancies, the security footage, and his resume – in a digital format and forward it directly to Chief of Police. He will know how to proceed. And Annie," he added, his tone firm, "do not terminate his employment. Not yet. We will wait until the police have built their own airtight case."

"Understood, sir. The inventory records are already digitized and ready to send. Should we intervene directly if he attempts to steal again in the interim?" Annie inquired.

"No," Levi stated firmly. "Instead, authorize an immediate, but discreet, second round of security personnel. And instruct the head of the main research lab, to casually, almost as an aside, mention the new cold room camera in the vicinity of our light-fingered friend. Even better if she adopts a convincingly grumpy demeanor about the increased surveillance. We will ensure his pilfering ceases… subtly."

Extra security, a casual mention of the camera... it's like watching a chess master at work.

"But…" I persisted, still slightly uneasy with the passive approach. "Do you truly believe subtlety is the most effective course of action here, Levi?"

"Indeed," he confirmed, his gaze unwavering. "If the police were to simply arrest this individual now, what would be the ultimate outcome? He would be apprehended, face legal repercussions, and likely end up in jail. End of a rather unremarkable story, wouldn't you agree? However," he continued, his voice taking on a sharper, more calculating edge, "what if, by allowing him to continue, under our carefully orchestrated illusion of ignorance, the police are able to trace his connections, to unravel the threads that lead to the larger organization he is undoubtedly supplying? Given the quantities stolen and the extended period over which this has occurred, it is highly probable that he is not operating in isolation. We have the potential to dismantle a significant drug trafficking network, to eradicate a substantial operation from the streets. Who truly cares about this insignificant piece of vermin? What truly matters is dismantling the larger, more damaging enterprise."

"I understand the logic, the strategic advantage of going after the bigger players. But it still feels… deeply wrong, somehow. Like we're knowingly allowing this poison to continue flowing, making us unwilling accomplices in his crimes, even if it's for a greater good," I admitted.

Levi simply shrugged, his expression unmoved by my ethical quandary. "By all means, Raphael. Pick up the phone and alert the authorities yourself. Ensure that particular piece of vermin is swiftly apprehended if that singular act will grant you a more restful night's sleep."

He's testing me, I think. Seeing if my 'sentimental tissue' will override the logical course of action. So, I'm stuck. Between what feels right in my gut and what my head tells me is the more effective, albeit morally ambiguous, approach. Damn it, Levi, you always manage to put me in these impossible situations.

I could feel Annie's gaze on me, a quiet understanding of the silent battle raging within. Her voice cut through the tension. "Sir, this is not the first instance where our company has encountered a situation of this nature. The established protocol, often explicitly advised by the police force themselves, is to refrain from immediate termination. By allowing the individual to continue their activities, under our discreet observation, the police gain invaluable time to build a more comprehensive case, potentially dismantling a larger criminal network. Or, if they already have an ongoing investigation, our employee's theft becomes a crucial piece of corroborating evidence, strengthening their existing case. In this specific situation, now that we have provided them with the evidence, the police will undoubtedly initiate surveillance protocols, including tracing his phone activity and monitoring his movements, hoping to identify his contacts and ultimately dismantle the entire operation."

I knew, intellectually, that they were correct. Their reasoning was sound, the logical pathway to a more significant outcome. Yes, my brain registered and accepted the validity of their plan. But that visceral sting of unease, that nagging feeling of moral compromise, still lingered in my gut.

"Thank you for the explanations, Annie," I said, forcing a semblance of calm into my voice. "Rest assured, I won't be dialing the precinct. I understand you're right."

Annie offered me a small, reassuring smile before turning her attention back to Levi. "Then, sir, there is nothing further that requires your immediate attention at this time."

"Excellent," Levi declared. "And where, pray tell, is the promised ice cream and analgesic for this long-suffering patient?"

Annie, reached beneath the coffee table and produced a thermal bag, extracting a large tub of chocolate chip ice cream and handing it to Levi. He accepted it with a satisfied sigh.

"Good day to you both, sirs. I sincerely hope you have a swift and comfortable recovery," Annie said, offering a polite nod. She then gathered her laptop, hefted her large bag, and with a final smile, made her exit.

Levi's gaze turned to me, an expectant request for a spoon. Damn this brilliant man. With a gentle groan, I carefully rose from the soft embrace of the couch, padded into the kitchen, and retrieved two spoons. I settled back onto the cushions beside him. Knowing his impatience and not wanting him to strain himself, I popped open the lid of the ice cream tub. We both scooped out a generous spoonful.

"Levi, why did you tell me to call the police if I wanted to? You clearly have a plan."

He took another spoonful of ice cream, his expression utterly indifferent. "Because, I do not care. The intellectual puzzle has been solved; the connections have been made. The endgame, the broader societal implications, hold no particular sway over my interest. The fun, the challenge of the deduction, is over."

Yep. I had known the answer even before I asked. The consequences, the human element were entirely irrelevant, to him. But, in his own detached way, he had given me the freedom to choose my own course of action, even if his indifference to that choice was palpable. For Levi, that was practically an act of profound consideration.

"You know," I said, the rich sweetness of the melting ice cream coating my tongue, a small smile playing on my lips, "now that I'm actually thinking about it, I believe you would be a truly exceptional detective, Levi."

"Perhaps," he conceded, "but not all cases present an engaging intellectual puzzle, dear Raphael. This particular endeavor was… mildly amusing, a diverting exercise in deduction. However, I suspect I would find myself profoundly bored until presented with a truly intricate challenge – the meticulously planned strategies of professional bank robbers, the complex psychological profiles of serial killers, or the multifaceted mechanics of other, more morbidly fascinating cases."

He'd probably be brilliant, though. Unburdened by empathy, driven solely by logic. He'd see patterns and connections that others would miss, untangle the most convoluted webs of deceit.

"So," I clarified, wanting to ensure I truly understood his perspective, "the more intricate and challenging the puzzle, the more it captures your interest?"

"Precisely," he confirmed. "Think of it, in rather pedestrian terms, as a knitted sock with a single, tantalizing loose string. The more complex and tightly woven the pattern of the sock, the exponentially more satisfying it is to trace that loose thread and unravel the entire intricate design. But if the sock is small, the knitting simple and easily undone… well, then where, indeed, is the intellectual stimulation, the gratifying challenge?"

For me, the 'wearer of the sock' will always matter more than the complexity of the knitting. The potential harm caused by that loose thread… that’s what would drive my urgency. But I can appreciate his honesty, his attempt to explain his perspective in a way I might understand. Even if that way involves comparing human drama to unraveling yarn, devoid of any emotional weight.

Levi sighed dramatically, scraping the last vestiges of melting ice cream from his spoon. "Take this away from me before I succumb to the primal urge to devour the entire contents, Raphael."

I chuckled, a genuine, hearty sound. "Gods, alright, you incorrigible sweet fiend," I said, reaching for the tub and firmly snapping the lid back into place.