"Ouch… ouch… bloody hell, ouch," I muttered with each dab of analgesic cream to my torso. Gods, even after three weeks, the bruising was a lurid tapestry of purple, angry green, and sickly blue – less like a healing injury and more like a badly tie-dyed shirt. And yes, it had now been a full week since Levi's discharge from the hospital. According to his assessment, his baseline pain without medication was a manageable 6 out of 10, which mercifully reduced to a tolerable 4 out of 10. Consequently, the symphony of groans that had punctuated our mornings had finally subsided. However, we were still maintaining separate sleeping arrangements.

Leo, our gentle giant of a caregiver, remained a steadfast presence in our home, diligently tending to Levi's needs. During my absences – whether I was in my recording studio, or processing my own experiences in therapy – Levi and Leo engaged in their own form of intellectual sparring. Their discussions ranged primarily from the nuances of literature and the beauty of poetry, occasionally venturing into the vast expanse of astronomy. I had observed, with a knowing smile, that Levi often found Leo's astronomical knowledge… lacking in depth. Whenever the conversation drifted towards the cosmos, I'd witness Levi subtly diverting the topic, steering it towards more stimulating intellectual terrain to avoid the dreaded abyss of boredom. Yes, my manipulative lion, even when stitched and sewn up, knew how to orchestrate his own amusement. On a brighter note, Levi had achieved the milestone of being able to navigate very short distances independently, albeit with excruciating slowness and a firm grip on any available support.

"Gods…" Levi groaned, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through the quiet morning air as he sipped his hot chocolate. "When, oh when, will I be able to perform the simple act of a bowel movement without the distinct sensation that shards of molten glass are simultaneously combusting within my very core?"

What a truly… morbid, grim, and yet somehow delightfully Levi-esque way to begin our day.

"Is it still that bad, Levi?" I asked, my brow furrowing with concern.

"I am now seriously contemplating resorting to a rather… forceful laxative, Raphael," he declared. "However, the meticulous weighing of the potential cons and pros presents a rather… perplexing dilemma. For instance, the obvious advantage is a significantly facilitated bowel movement, thus placing less direct strain on my recovering abdominal muscles. Conversely, the inevitable consequence would be a markedly increased frequency of visits to the lavatory, which, in its own way, also constitutes a considerable strain on my recovering abdominal muscles. You see my predicament?”

It's a lose-lose situation, Levi-style.

"I am sorry, Levi," I said, trying to sound helpful despite the absurdity of the conversation, "but I honestly have no expertise in this particular post-surgical… evacuation conundrum. However, instead of resorting to a chemical warfare on your digestive system, perhaps we could explore gentler, more… organic solutions? Like fibrous foods? Or perhaps a specific type of herbal tea?"

"Ugh," he shuddered, wrinkling his nose with distaste. "All tea tastes like diluted urine, Raphael. Never utter such a suggestion again. But… fiber. Hm…" His gaze drifted off to the kitchen. "What, precisely, constitutes an acceptable and readily available source of dietary fiber…"

Well, considering his rather restrictive diet, my own knowledge of fiber-rich alternatives was… limited, to say the least.

"Some fruits, perhaps?" I offered tentatively, racking my brain for anything remotely appealing. "Or maybe even some fruit juice? I think prune juice is supposed to be… effective?"

"Prune juice, Raphael?" Levi echoed, his face contorting in a grimace of utter disgust. "Do you actively wish for me to evacuate the entire contents of my stomach in my current delicate condition? The sheer force of such an event would likely cause every single stitch in my torso to violently erupt from its carefully sewn confines. Gods…" He shuddered. "Let us, please, explore other avenues regarding my dietary intake. The last ill-fated attempt at a feeding tube resulted in a similar, projectile outcome. Just the mere thought of such interventions is… unpleasantly reminiscent of the opioid withdrawal." A dark cloud settled over his features.

He looks genuinely distressed just thinking about it. No more drastic suggestions. Gentle, bland… think gentle, bland.

"Mashed up banana, perhaps? Or maybe some smooth apple puree?" I offered tentatively, hoping these mild options would be acceptable.

"Hm…" he mused, a flicker of consideration replacing the earlier disgust. "Yes… that would be… acceptable."

Thank god for small victories in the realm of Levi's post-operative digestive system.

I headed into the kitchen. I began mashing the peeled apple and banana with a fork, the resulting puree looking… well, less than appetizing. A pale, lumpy concoction. But needs must. As I returned to the living room, the spoon in my hand, I noticed Leo was intently examining Levi's abdomen, his gaze focused on the area around the surgical stitches.

"Blast," Levi muttered, his usual stoicism momentarily cracking. "Not now."

A fresh wave of anxiety washed over me, and I rushed to their side.

"W-What's wrong?" I asked, my voice tight with worry.

"A mild infection, it seems," Levi said, his voice surprisingly calm despite the underlying tension. My eyes followed his to the area Leo was observing, and I saw it – a distinct redness spreading around the edges of his stitches. Gods… no. He had only just started to show signs of real improvement. Leo had already turned and was swiftly heading upstairs to gather his medical equipment and a course of antibiotics.

"Will you be okay, Levi?" I asked, my hand hovering near his arm, wanting to offer comfort but unsure how.

"Yes, dear," he reassured me, though I could see a flicker of annoyance in his eyes at this setback. "A course of broad-spectrum antibiotics, and perhaps a few cool packs on my forehead to manage any potential fever, will suffice."

I sank back onto the couch beside him, my hand reaching out to his forehead. A wave of heat radiated beneath my palm. "Oh, Levi…"

His hand covered mine, a weak but reassuring squeeze. "Dearest, calm yourself, hm? This is a minor inconvenience. I will be quite fine."

I desperately wanted to believe him, to latch onto his calm reassurance. Just then, Leo returned downstairs, a small medical bag in hand. He efficiently retrieved a vial and a syringe.

"Thigh, sir?" Leo asked.

"Since assuming a prone position is currently… inadvisable," Levi replied dryly, "indeed, the thigh will have to suffice."

While Leo efficiently prepared the syringe, I helped Levi maneuver his pajama bottoms, just enough to expose his thigh. Then, I turned my face away. That white of his exposed skin, the needle… it all too vividly recalled the hospital, the brutal image of his convulsing body, the raw, agonizing yell that had ripped from his throat when the electricity surged through him. The memory still had the power to make my stomach clench. Then, the brief pressure of Leo's hand, the swift injection of the antibiotic, and the placement of a cotton ball on the injection site brought me back to the present. There was no vocal reaction from Levi, only the faintest tightening of his lips.

"I will contact Dr. Nora, to inform her of the infection and the administered antibiotic. Following her guidance, we will likely transition to oral antibiotics in the coming days."

"That, while a necessary logistical step, is not the crux of the matter," Levi countered, his brow furrowing in thought. "The paramount question is: how and, more importantly, where did this infection originate?"

Well. The possibility of an external source for the infection hadn't even crossed my mind.

“I’ll review the dressings changes and our hygiene protocols, sir. I'll also check your temperature logs for any earlier spikes we might have missed."

"Good enough. Now carry me to the bed before my brain melts from this infernal heat," Levi declared.

What? Was… something like… actually possible?

Leo positioned his hands carefully beneath Levi's shoulders, preparing to lift him. Was this his usual method of transport? Like a precious, albeit heavy, toddler? Levi, despite his current weakened state, was still a solid mass; how could Leo lift him with such apparent ease? Then, Levi reached up, his hands gripping Leo's broad shoulders for support, his head barely reaching Leo's shoulder height. Damn. They shifted their weight in practiced coordination and began the slow procession towards the master bedroom, Leo bearing the brunt of Levi's weight. I trailed behind them, the bowl of now lukewarm apple and banana puree clutched in my hand. Reaching the bedside, Leo slid one hand beneath Levi's back and the other under his legs, easing him down onto the mattress with remarkable tenderness.

The entire process was strangely disorienting and utterly bizarre to witness. Since our separate sleeping arrangements had become the norm, this intimate ritual of assistance was something I had never seen before.

Leo checked Levi's temperature, his brow furrowed in concentration as he examined the angry redness around the stitches, before administering a dose of fever-reducing medication as a precautionary measure. Apparently, Levi's dramatic pronouncements weren't entirely hyperbole. High fevers… that intense heat could indeed cause irreversible brain damage. What the actual fuck? The human body, was a truly morbidly fascinating, and often alarming, creation. Leo left the room to relay the situation to Dr. Nora. I turned my attention back to Levi, who was now visibly sweating, his brow slick with moisture, and whose eyelids were beginning to flutter and droop.

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"Wanna try to eat a little something, Levi?" I asked softly, gesturing to the bowl of now tepid puree.

"Other than… the rather compelling urge to rip… these infernal… clothes off…" he mumbled, his words slightly slurred, his eyes barely open, "I have… absolutely no desire… for anything else."

I swiftly retrieved a stack of soft towels from the en suite bathroom. Instead of wetting them, I decided to use them dry for now, focusing on absorbing the beads of sweat that were now beading on his forehead and neck.

"Take my… shirt… off," Levi mumbled, his words thick and slurred. My fingers fumbled slightly with the buttons of his pajama top. As the fabric parted, the sight of the stitched wound – a stark, curved line, larger than the span of my palm – made my stomach clench. "Don't let the… towel… touch it…" Levi instructed.

I nodded quickly, as I dabbed the sweat from his chest and abdomen, keeping a respectful distance from the traumatized area. Just then, a sight that brought a wave of relief: Leo returned, carrying a bowl of water and several cooling blankets. With a practiced efficiency that was almost startling, he swiftly divested Levi of his pajama bottoms, leaving him in just his underwear before I could fully process the movement. Then, he submerged the towels in the water, wrung them out quickly, and began placing them strategically on Levi’s fevered body: one on his neck, another across his forehead, one on each elbow, and even one gently across his chest, being careful to avoid the surgical site. With each placement of the cold towels, Levi drew in a sharp intake of breath.

"Raphael, this is not effective," Leo stated, his voice firm and decisive. "We need to lower his core temperature more rapidly. Go to the shower, now, and turn on the water to lukewarm."

Lukewarm? Leo knew what he was doing. Shut up, idiot, stop thinking and do as you are told. I didn't hesitate, rushing into the bathroom, twisting the shower control to what I hoped was the correct temperature, the lukewarm spray soaking my clothes.

Just minutes later, Leo reappeared, carrying Levi in his arms. What the actual fuck? How was this even physically possible? I vividly remembered the time Levi had draped himself across my chest, and the sheer weight had nearly winded me. And now, Leo was carrying him as if he weighed nothing. On a far more alarming note, Levi's teeth were chattering, his body shaking. Leo, applied a large, waterproof bandage over the angry red stitches. I quickly stepped out of the still-running lukewarm shower, water dripping from my clothes, as Leo practically collapsed onto the nearby stool, cradling Levi in his lap.

Gradually, blessedly, Levi's shivering subsided, his breathing became less ragged, and the oppressive heat radiating from his skin began to lessen. Thank god, that terrifying fever-induced brain boil seemed to have broken. Before extracting Levi from the shower's gentle deluge, Leo instructed me to fetch a fresh supply of towels. Apparently, to prevent a post-fever chill and potential illness, immediate and thorough drying was crucial. As Leo once again scooped Levi into his arms and rushed back towards the bed, I followed suit, laden with large, fluffy body towels. We both set about the task of drying him. Leo's movements were series of swift, practiced dabs and rubs that seemed to wick away the moisture with speed. Knowing I was out of my depth in this particular aspect of caregiving, I focused on drying Levi's damp hair.

Leo instructed me to fetch some water, specifically emphasizing not the chilled water from the fridge. I nodded quickly and hurried to the kitchen, filling a large glass with cool tap water before returning to the bedroom. Leo was already helping Levi put on a clean set of pajamas. I offered the glass to Levi, who grasped it and drank the entire contents as if he had been stranded in the desert for days. Leo lifted the waterproof bandage, his brow furrowed in concentration as he examined the surgical site.

"No purulent discharge, no discernible odor, sir," Leo reported.

"Good… enough," Levi murmured, his voice still weak but clearer than before.

"There is still some minor swelling and persistent redness," Leo observed. He retrieved his phone and stepped out of the room to call Dr. Nora. I remained seated on the edge of the bed, continuing to dry Levi's damp hair.

"I… am… sleepy," Levi murmured, his eyelids droopy.

"Let's just wait until Leo gives you the next medication, okay?" But Levi's eyes had already drifted shut, his breathing becoming slow and even.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. If Leo hadn't been here… could I have even managed to lift Levi, let alone carry his dead weight to the shower? And let's say, by some miraculous feat of adrenaline-fueled strength, I had. Would the thought of lukewarm water have even registered in my panicked brain? No, the impulsive idiot that I am would have likely turned on the coldest setting, potentially sending his already stressed body into shock. And the drying? Or even the simple act of offering water? I don't know jack shit about this kind of acute medical care. Thank the Gods, in their infinite wisdom, or perhaps more accurately, that persuasive doctor at the hospital somehow convinced Levi to agree to a live-in nurse. Leo was a godsend, an absolute necessity I hadn't even fully grasped until this terrifying episode.

I leaned my head back against the headboard, the memories of the past weeks, though receding, still sharp and tender around the edges. That bastard, that careless, drunk truck driver… this was all his fault. Yes, my own body still bore the mottled hues of a rotten potato. But Levi? Was there even a physical act violent enough, a head slammed against a wall with enough force, to even begin to comprehend the sheer depth and complexity of his suffering? This overwhelming myriad of emotions, a tangled knot of anger, sorrow, and a fierce, protective love, slowly lulled me towards sleep, my body instinctively gravitating towards Levi's, yet maintaining a careful distance. Three long weeks later, and we could finally, tentatively, share the same bed again.

...

Later that afternoon, a throb pulsed in my neck, a painful reminder of my awkward slumber against the unyielding headboard. Yeah. Definitely not repeating that mistake. Levi was now awake, his gaze soft as he gently placed his hand on my cheek. "Pulla."

"Mmph…"

"Sleep properly, dear," he said, his voice laced with a newfound softness. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and reached up to knead the tight knot of muscle that had formed in my neck.

"How are you feeling, Levi?" I asked, my voice still a little groggy.

"I am alright, Pulla," he replied, a reassuring smile gracing his lips as he rubbed my cheek with his thumb. "No fever, and the pain is a manageable 2 out of 10."

"Thank god," I echoed, a lingering tremor in my voice. "That was really scary, Levi. You gave us quite a fright." Then, a completely different thought surfaced, fueled by genuine bewilderment. "And, shit. How did Leo carry you like that? You're not exactly a featherweight."

Levi chuckled softly. "He is, shall we say, significantly larger and possesses a considerably greater mass than myself."

"But… is that how he… routinely carries you around?" I pressed, the image of Levi cradled in Leo's arms still feeling surreal.

"Hm…" Levi's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Is that a touch of possessiveness I detect, Pulla?"

Possessiveness? Maybe a little. It just looked so… odd.

It's more about my own uselessness, I think. I was just fetching towels and looking panicked. And yeah, maybe a tiny sliver of… something. Levi is mine. In a completely different way than Leo is his caregiver. He's teasing me, of course. The little shit.

"Alright, maybe a little bit," I conceded, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. "But only because the image of you being carried like a particularly grumpy parcel was… jarring. It rather disrupted my established mental image of you as the perpetually self-sufficient and unflappable Levi."

Levi chuckled, a touch more robust. "Can't a man have his moment of reliance, dearest?" he countered, a theatrical air of mock offense in his voice. "I can scarcely believe you harbor such a… misandric notion."

"My god, where did you even conjure that word up your butt," I said, shaking my head. "No, you being carried like a princess, clad only in your smalls, by a man who could probably bench-press a small car? That's an image that's going to be permanently etched onto my retinas, I'm afraid."

"Ah, but did you notice the grace with which I was transported? The dignity? Clearly, a natural-born royal, regardless of the mode of conveyance.”

Natural-born royal? More like a natural-born drama queen. But a beloved drama queen. And yes, even in his underwear, there was a certain… Levi-esque air about him.

“I might have been momentarily swayed by your regal pronouncements,” I countered dryly, “if you hadn’t been raving about the compelling urge to tear your pajamas off mere minutes prior.”

“I would tear my very skin off if it would alleviate that infernal heat, dear. Fever is a beast in its own right,” he conceded, then abruptly shifted the subject. “Which reminds me, how fares the painting?”

I lifted my shirt, revealing the latest evolution of my abstract tie-dye experiment, the vibrant hues now leaning more towards a chaotic blend of greens and yellows, the initial purple having largely surrendered. His intense gaze lingered on my creation for a fleeting moment before, with a mischievous grin, he pinched my nipple.

"Ow!" I yelped, recoiling. "What the hell was that for, Levi?"

He merely shrugged again, that infuriatingly smug little smirk plastered on his face.

"It hurt, you know," I grumbled, rubbing the slightly tender spot.

"You liked it anyway," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he offered another nonchalant shrug. Damn him straight to whatever inferno awaited smug, convalescing patients with a penchant for nipple-pinching. He's testing me, pushing my buttons. Seeing just how much he can get away with while playing the invalid. And damn it, the little shit, it's working. I'm fighting a losing battle against the smile that wants to break free.

Then he placed his warm hand carefully on my ribs, his fingers deliberately avoiding the still-tender bruises. “I would lick away every last mark, if I could, but I simply lack the… structural integrity to lean in at the moment,” he said, his voice a low, suggestive murmur.

"Your sheer audacity, Levi," I said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as a blush crept up my neck, "will be the cause of my next fever."

"Only a fever, Pulla?"

Is he even medically cleared for… intimacy of any kind? No, scratch that. Given his current state, is even self-pleasure advisable?

“Levi, have you completely lost your mind?” I exclaimed, my voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “Even though you are stitched up, through your entire abdominal wall, like… how could you even contemplate such a thing?”

“Ah, my Pulla's mind is racing faster than his heartbeat again,” he said, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Me, engaging in sexual congress, dearest? While I harbor a potentially raging infection? No, forget the infection for a moment. While I still carry a significant risk of clotting and hemorrhage? Please, my dear. Even I possess a modicum of self-preservation.”

Oh, thank the gods. For a moment there, I thought the fever had fried his last remaining brain cell. So, he's just teasing. The fact that his mind even went there, so soon after being practically at death's door… the man is incorrigible. Utterly, wonderfully incorrigible.