In the aftermath of that conversation with Levi, a sense of unease settled within me. I found myself unable to meet his gaze, and even my reflection in the mirror seemed to hold accusation. Seeking a way to reconcile with the weight of his revelations and my own past failings, I recalled his earlier suggestion about contributing financially. I donated a substantial portion of the wealth I had accrued – wealth directly derived from Aether Bloom mountains. I channeled the funds through anonymous pathways. Even in choosing the recipients, I felt adrift, unsure of where my contribution would be most meaningful. Ultimately, I opted for the least funded causes, dividing the sum equally amongst them. Perhaps it was a clumsy attempt to soothe my conscience, or perhaps a nascent stirring of genuine empathy; the true motivation remained elusive. Regardless, the money would reach those in need, flowing through the established infrastructure of Levi's charity. Following my substantial donation, I received a series of digital missives from an individual tasked with curating the charity's fundraising galas, extending a personal invitation to attend an upcoming event. However, the thought of public acknowledgment, of even being in the same room as those whose suffering Levi had so vividly described, proved too overwhelming.

I politely, yet firmly, declined.

Days bled into one another. The desire to finally confront the 'yellow' files, to bear witness to the unfiltered reality Levi had described, gnawed at me incessantly. Yet, a powerful hesitancy held me captive. Perhaps it was a primal fear of the darkness they contained, a subconscious dread of the true extent of the cruelty. Or perhaps it was a deep-seated belief that I had not yet earned the right to know such suffering, that my past ignorance disqualified me from bearing witness. My shame and guilt made me avoid Levi with the same instinctive aversion one might feel towards a predator. I became a creature of constant motion, flitting from one task to another, unable to settle, unable to face him.

Even my weekly therapy sessions offered no respite. The words caught in my throat, unable to fully explain the profound and unsettling conversation I had shared with Levi. It felt sacrilegious to dissect his raw honesty with someone who hadn't been there, who hadn't seen the weariness in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Levi's physical recovery continued its steady progress. The external signs of infection around his stitches had completely vanished. Now, the focus shifted to the internal sutures within his abdominal wall, which had begun their slow process of dissolving. This natural process, however, brought with it a slight but noticeable increase in Levi's pain levels. He reported it as a 3 out of 10 to Leo, a step up from the previous day's manageable 1.

Leo, remained a constant presence in Levi's recovery. He continued his attentive care, patiently assisting Levi with movement and offering soothing massages to his calves, acknowledging the toll that enforced immobility on the 'potato couch' was likely taking on his muscles. Their days were often punctuated by spirited philosophical debates. Levi, with his ingrained misanthropy and nihilistic worldview, would frequently spar with Leo's more empathetic and existentialist perspectives. Books, particularly those delving into the complexities of philosophy, formed another significant part of their daily interactions.

They were seated at the kitchen table, bathed in the warm afternoon light filtering through the window, while I observed them from the shadows of the living room, a lukewarm chamomile tea clutched in my hand. Levi, leaning slightly back in his chair, gestured with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Gods, Leo… are we truly revisiting this tired debate? Again? No, obviously not. The very definition of perception dictates that you interpret others through the flawed lens of your own being. A basic, rather tiresome example: if you are inherently a liar, you will invariably suspect deceit in everyone you encounter."

A liar sees liars... what does a man steeped in comfortable morality see in someone who had to navigate a world without it? Just a monster? Just someone 'wrong'?

Leo took a slow sip of his hot chocolate, a small sigh escaping his lips. Damn it, Levi is corrupting him with sugar too.

"So, sir," Leo continued, his brow furrowed slightly, "if I'm understanding you correctly, you're asserting that true objectivity is an unattainable ideal? That we are all, by the very nature of our consciousness, forever confined within the walls of our individual, subjective realities, perpetually unable to truly perceive or understand one another?"

Levi finally stirred the dark liquid in his own mug, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic. "Objectivity," he stated, his voice low and measured, "can only be rigorously pursued within the controlled parameters of science, Leo. And even there, as humanity, our collective intelligence and available resources are woefully inadequate to grasp even the simplest, most seemingly universal truth. Water boils at one hundred degrees Celsius," he said. "'A truth,' we declare. No, Leo. That is not even scratching the surface of a truth. It is a conditional observation, dependent on atmospheric pressure, purity, and a myriad of other variables. True objectivity, in any meaningful sense beyond the narrowly defined confines of a laboratory, remains a fanciful illusion."

Is that why I struggled so much to understand Levi? Because my reality, my experiences, were so fundamentally different from his?

"If even the seemingly immutable laws of science are subject to conditions and variables, how can we ever truly hope to decipher the intricate complexities of human behavior and morality? These are so deeply interwoven with individual experience, with the unique tapestry of a person's life and the specific context of their choices."

Exactly. That's the question that has been haunting me. If even the bedrock of scientific truth is conditional, how can my simplistic moral code, built on absolutes, ever hope to grasp the tangled web of human motivations, the desperate calculus of survival Levi had to perform? Human behavior and morality aren't neat equations with black and white answers; they're fluid, ever-shifting, shaped by the unpredictable storms and unexpected calms of a person's life.

Levi tapped his fingers. "Ah," he began, a hint of intellectual challenge in his tone, "this is where one of my more… controversial opinions might be applicable. To my mind, psychology, as it currently stands, is not a science in the conventional sense. Yes, it is categorized as a 'soft science,' but I believe it remains at least five decades away from achieving true scientific validity. You see, the fundamental obstacle lies within the very subject of its study: human beings themselves. Consider my own recent experience. I was involved in a significant car crash, and despite the extensive surgical repairs I'm still undergoing, I harbor no trauma from the event, nor did I experience fear during its occurrence. Yet, another individual in the exact same circumstances might develop severe, lasting trauma. This inherent inconsistency undermines the very foundation of predictable scientific principles. Furthermore, factors such as trauma, abuse, addiction, and suicidal ideation demonstrably and fundamentally alter the very wiring of the brain, creating an entirely different neurological landscape. And what of neurodivergent individuals, such as myself? Even something as seemingly minor as left-handedness versus right-handedness can lead to fundamentally different experiences of the world. In many workplaces, designed and built by and for right-handed individuals, being left-handed can even constitute a functional disability. How can we hope to establish universal laws of human behavior when the very substrate of that behavior – the human brain – is so incredibly diverse and constantly being reshaped by individual experience?"

Left-handedness as a disability in a right-handed world

... it's a small example, but it perfectly illustrates his point about inherent bias and the limitations of a one-size-fits-all approach. How can we apply rigid moral laws to such a fluid, diverse, and constantly changing entity as the human psyche?

Leo, encouraged by Levi's simplified explanation, pressed further. "So, if psychology isn't yet a true science in your view, sir, what path do you envision for its advancement? What fundamental shifts in its methodology or in our understanding of the human brain would be necessary to achieve that higher level of validity you described?"

Levi remained silent for a moment, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow before he finally spoke, his tone losing its detachment and gaining a certain intensity. "Justice and equality. In its simplest, most fundamental form. Racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, and countless other vile prejudices consistently impede our progress, not just as a society striving for ethical coexistence, but also in our very pursuit of 'understanding' the human brain. How can we hope to unravel the intricacies of the human psyche when vast swathes of the population are subjected to systemic oppression, discrimination, and the constant psychological burden of prejudice? These forces warp development, induce trauma, and create fundamentally different lived experiences that are often pathologized or ignored within existing frameworks. Until we dismantle these pervasive injustices and create a truly equitable world, our understanding of the human brain will remain fundamentally incomplete and biased, forever tainted by the very inequalities we claim to study."

It's a radical idea, but it resonates with the inconsistencies he pointed out about psychology. It's like trying to study the natural behavior of a caged animal. The cage itself becomes a defining factor.

Leo swirled the remaining hot chocolate in his mug, his gaze distant and troubled. "It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How much of the established research, the foundational understanding we have of the human brain and behavior, is actually skewed, subtly or perhaps even drastically colored by these pervasive societal biases?"

Levi took another slow sip of his own hot chocolate, his misanthropy beginning to simmer beneath the surface. "Ah, no bother, Leo. It is mostly vile upon vile, that research. If anything deviates remotely from the perceived 'norm,' it is usually deemed unworthy of funding, relegated to obscurity. And even if a study manages to secure financial backing, the findings are typically locked away behind exorbitant paywalls, inaccessible to most. I've devoured countless books on cognitive empathy, on the nuances of neurodivergence, on the vast spectrum of human experience. And what do they overwhelmingly focus on? Not the rich tapestry of individual experience, not the subjective reality of a single human being, but rather what can be quantified, what can be observed and measured by their precious 'bugs' – their standardized tests, their limited metrics, their attempts to force the messy, unpredictable reality of human consciousness into neat, easily digestible categories."

"So, if the established research is so fundamentally flawed and limited, how do we even begin to bridge that seemingly insurmountable gap in understanding? The chasm between neurotypical and neurodivergent individuals, or between those whose life experiences have been shaped by vastly different realities?"

Levi fell into a deep silence, his gaze drifting towards the window. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer. "You cannot truly bridge that gap, Leo. Not in the way one might connect two separate landmasses with a physical structure. It doesn't happen like that. And furthermore," he added, a note of weary emphasis in his tone, "every single neurodivergent individual is as distinct from another as any two neurotypical individuals. Everyone's needs, their sensory sensitivities, their ways of processing information – they are all uniquely their own. But," he continued, a flicker of something akin to hope, or perhaps just a resignation to the simplest truth, in his eyes, "if I were to offer my rather ignorant perspective, I would say once again, with perhaps a touch more conviction this time: equality and acceptance. Not tolerance."

Not a bridge, but… what? Parallel paths, perhaps? Respectful coexistence?

"So," Leo reiterated, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow, "the fundamental shift in perspective lies not in attempting to 'fix' or 'normalize' neurodivergence, but in simply recognizing and validating its existence as another natural and equally valid way of being human?"

Levi recoiled, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "Ugh," he grunted. "Never use those words again, Leo. Never. Do you attempt to 'fix' homosexuality?" he challenged.

Leo's eyes widened slightly at Levi's sharp correction, a flush creeping up his neck. "I am so sorry, sir," he stammered, his voice contrite. "I was attempting to summarize our conversation, but I clearly chose my words poorly and completely missed the mark. And yes," he added, nodding slowly, his gaze now fixed on Levi, "your analogy… it powerfully highlights the inherent prejudice and deep-seated wrongness in attempting to 'fix' something that isn't inherently broken."

Levi, waved the empty ceramic mug in his hand. "Good boy, Leo. Now, be a dear and go wash these mugs, would you?"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Hold on. Good boy? No, no, no. That possessive little endearment is mine. Only I get to be called that. Levi, you absolute bitch. And knowing your mind, since apologies are like water off a duck's back to you, you're practically making Leo apologize to himself through these acts of service, aren't you? You devilish, conniving… whore. Gods. Am I seriously spiraling into jealousy again? Over a twenty-two-year-old boy? But wait, I'm twenty-five. That's... arguably within the realm of acceptable jealousy, right? Oh, for fuck's sake. He calls government Ministers vermin, his own dedicated staff bugs, and now he's bestowing "good boy" upon Leo? Levi, you absolute whore.

I watched Leo gather the mugs, completely unaware of the internal tempest brewing in the living room. Levi, leaned back in his chair, a subtle smirk playing on his lips, no doubt fully aware of the effect his casual words had.

Does he have a pet name for every unfortunate soul in his orbit? Levi, you manipulative, pet-name-bestowing whore. It's not even the endearment itself, it's the principle of the thing. That's my thing. Our thing. A tiny, possessive flag planted in our relationship, and he's just casually waltzing over and planting his own right next to it. The nerve! Is this some kind of dominance display? A subtle power play disguised as a harmless remark? Gods, I'm overthinking this. It's probably just a thoughtless comment. But still… good boy? Leo is a grown man, a kind and insightful one at that. He doesn't need Levi's patronizing pronouncements. And neither do I, apparently, if I'm reacting this strongly. Shit. This is ridiculous. Utterly, completely ridiculous.

Yes, embrace the ridiculous. The swirling vortex of jealousy and possessiveness had reached its absurd zenith. There was only one logical course of action: confront the source. I rose from the couch, my tea sloshing precariously in the mug, and marched towards the kitchen. Levi, perched at the edge of the table, his gaze following my approach, greeted my entrance with that infuriatingly subtle smirk. Whore. And gods damn it, the reality of Leo always managed to derail my dramas. The man was a veritable titan, towering over Levi like a giant guarding a particularly sharp-tongued gnome. I couldn't even see the sink over Leo's broad shoulders as he washed the mugs.

"Ah, Pulla," Levi purred, that infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. Now he's resorting to calling me 'rabbit'? The audacity of this man. I narrowed my eyes, my resolve hardening, and moved closer to him, my shoulder bumping against something solid and unyielding. Fuck. Leo. He's so damn massive, that I can't even maneuver within a five-foot radius of Levi without making physical contact.

Moving with a crab-like sideways shuffle to finally position myself directly in front of Levi's chair, my grand, ridiculous gesture was immediately interrupted. Levi's phone blared to life. FUCK! God damn it! Fuck this timing! He smoothly answered the call. "Yes?" he inquired. A brief pause, then, "Ah, dear one, please don't cry. Bring a wheelchair and come to the house as quickly as you can."

My jealousy took an immediate backseat to a sharp, cold spike of… dread? Concern? Confusion? This was definitely not the dramatic confrontation I had envisioned.

"What? Who was that? And what about a wheelchair?" I blurted out.

"That was Annie. Apparently, the esteemed company stockholders have begun their ritualistic barking – demanding answers, no doubt. She was rather distressed. And as for the wheelchair," he gestured vaguely towards his still-healing abdomen, a grimace flickering across his face, "as you may have noticed, my ability to stand upright for any extended period is... compromised, and the discomfort is, shall we say, persistent. Therefore, a wheelchair seems like a prudent mode of transportation for a man about to face a pack of ravenous wolves. See, Pulla, the tyrant will finally bear his claws today."

This took a sharp turn. The possessive fury feels ridiculously small now in the face of... this.

"Gods, Levi… What exactly is going on with the company?"

Levi gave a subtle nod towards Leo, who, sensing the shift in the conversation's gravity, quietly placed the washed mugs on the counter and exited the kitchen, leaving us alone.

"Well, Pulla," Levi said, a sigh escaping his lips, "I have been… indisposed for a rather significant duration, wouldn't you agree? Two months in that ghastly rehab facility, followed by three months of this delightful government consultancy. While Holden and Annie are indeed competent individuals, capable of keeping the ship from sinking, they are, ultimately, just the heads of departments. The stockholders, those delightful vultures, are undoubtedly circling, their patience wearing thin with the prolonged absence of their… visionary leader. They'll be barking about stagnation, about missed opportunities, about the uncertainty of the future under temporary management. It's the predictable symphony of panicked capital."

"Shit…" I muttered under my breath. I reached out and placed my hand on his shoulder. "But… Levi," I continued, my voice softer now, "you're still in pain. You just asked for a wheelchair."

He hummed softly. A tentative smile touched his lips. "Did my Pulla finally stop avoiding me?"

My avoidance, my guilt... it hasn't gone unnoticed. And now, in the face of his own troubles, his own pain, he's reaching out. Not with anger or accusation, but with a quiet, almost hopeful inquiry. Shit, Levi.

"I... I am sorry. I needed some time to... process everything that's happened. But yeah," I affirmed, meeting his gaze. "I'm here, Levi."

His warm hand rose to cup my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my skin. A flicker of something akin to relief, or perhaps simply acceptance, softened his features. "Bring me a suit then, dear."

"Gods, Levi, are you seriously contemplating a wardrobe change right here in the kitchen?"

"It is my domicile, is it not?" he retorted, a perfectly straight face belying the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You shameless man," I hissed, glancing towards the doorway Leo had recently vacated. "We live with another person, remember? Come on… at least have the decency to relocate to the washroom or something."

Levi's brow arched dramatically. "Do you honestly believe I am currently capable of bending, reaching, and contorting to don my own trousers, Raphael?"

Oh my god. Leo. Helping him dress. Every day. That level of intimacy, of vulnerability... something I haven't been fully present for. Shame washed over me, sharp and hot. I'm fussing about him changing in the kitchen while Leo has likely seen him more... intimately than I have in weeks.

"Yeah, yeah, you're absolutely right. My brain clearly took a temporary vacation," I mumbled, nodding my head in self-reproach. "But I'll help you. Come on, let's go to the bedroom."

"Be prepared, dear," Levi said, as he placed his hands on my shoulders, using me for leverage as he began to lift himself. The reality of his weakened state hit me anew with each labored movement. As we began the unsteady walk towards the bedroom, a wave of gratitude washed over me for Dr. Nora's foresight in arranging Leo's presence in our lives. To be brutally honest with myself, my earlier reluctance regarding Levi's care hadn't stemmed entirely from obliviousness.

It was fear.

In the bedroom, Levi stood tall, albeit with a noticeable wince. "Pants first, dear," he instructed, his voice regaining a touch of its usual crispness. I complied, lowering his pajama bottoms. I retrieved one of his black suit trousers and carefully helped him step into them, his hands resting firmly on my shoulders for balance as he gingerly lifted one leg, a low grunt escaping his lips. Slowly, carefully, I pulled the fabric up his legs. "Do not button the pants," he instructed, then lowered himself onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. "Now," he said, his attention returning to me, "the shirt."

My fingers fumbled slightly with the small buttons of his pajama top as I carefully slid the crisp white dress shirt over his shoulders. As the fabric parted, the line of his stitches came into view. "Levi…" I began softly. "When did the doctors say they'll be taking your sutures out?"

He hummed thoughtfully, his gaze distant for a moment as he seemed to consult his internal calendar of medical woes. "Hm… given my rather… colorful journey thus far – the delightful interlude with the blood clot, the charming dance with the infection, that memorable high fever – I assume we still have some time yet. Not long, thankfully, but at least another week, I would wager." I continued to button his shirt, as I listened to his typically understated recounting of his recovery.

"I'll help you get dressed, Levi," I stated firmly. I tucked the crisp white shirt into the waistband of his trousers, mindful of his still-healing body.

"Oh?" he replied, a wry smile twisting his lips. "It is not exactly a joyous expedition, my dear. Especially now, with this delightful elevated pain level. Or, even better, those glorious mornings before the medication decides to grace my system with its presence." A faint grimace flickered across his face, a brief glimpse of the discomfort he so often downplayed.

And I offered to help like it was some simple, thoughtless task. It's not.

"Levi…" I began, my voice softer now, my gaze searching his face. "I haven't helped you with this until now, not because I wasn't interested or didn't care, gods no. But because I was acutely aware of my own limitations, my own… sometimes overwhelming sensory presence. Especially in those first few days, when you were in so much pain, the last thing I wanted was to be another bothersome element in your already overloaded system." I reached for his closet, my eyes scanning the array of organized ties, searching for one that would complement the black suit and crisp white shirt.

"I know, dearest," Levi said softly. "Me expecting you to cater to my every whim, especially in this… less than graceful state, would be utterly unrealistic and profoundly unfair, particularly considering your own encounter with the steering wheel, leaving your abdomen looking like a rather abstract work of art. And my dear," he continued, a hint of his usual pragmatism returning, "do you honestly believe your delicate frame would be capable of physically maneuvering my dead weight to the toilet, the shower, the bed, the couch, day in and day out? Of course not, Pulla. That is why we enlisted the capable assistance of professionals."

It’s a surprisingly grounded perspective, devoid of any self-pity or expectation. And it makes my earlier guilt feel even more… dramatic.

"I know that, Levi, and I am truly grateful for both Dr. Nora and Leo. Shit…" I paused, a painful memory surfacing. "You remember that day you spiked the fever? Leo told me to turn on lukewarm water to bathe you, and my idiot brain was fully prepared to douse you in ice-cold water, potentially sending your system into shock. I was terrified of putting you in further danger. And…" I continued, my voice softening with a touch of regret, "even though the distance I kept was a deliberate choice, born out of that fear and my own inadequacy, I still desperately wish I were capable of helping you in the ways you truly need." I laid the navy blue tie and the vibrant red tie on the bed.

"Navy and black, my dear? Such a sartorial faux pas simply won't do," Levi declared, a playful wrinkle creasing his nose as he reached for the vibrant red tie. "Also, Raphael," he continued, as he draped the tie around his neck, "while your sentiment is appreciated, I believe you would benefit immensely from learning at least basic care skills. Not solely for my sake, mind you, but for your own well-being in the long run, dear."

"Okay," I began, a touch of self-deprecating humor lacing my voice, "prepare for the sob story. Since I ran away from home when I was just eighteen, then proceeded to skip across several countries like a particularly anxious nomad, I never really had anyone around to teach me those basic life skills, you know? Cleaning, cooking, and yeah," I shrugged, "generally not being a complete disaster at taking care of myself."

Levi finished knotting his vibrant red tie. He then placed his hands on my arms, using my support to slowly lift himself from the edge of the bed.

"Dear," he said, his gaze direct and unwavering, "while your past circumstances are certainly… understandable, and undoubtedly shaped you in significant ways, from my pragmatic perspective, your current level of self-sufficiency is no longer acceptable. You are no longer a frightened teenager on the run, nor are you in a constant state of survival. You possess the time, the financial resources, and the means to educate yourself, even in something as seemingly mundane as cleaning. It is a matter of… efficiency and personal responsibility, wouldn't you agree?"

Ouch. The sob story was a bit of a deflection, wasn't it? A way to explain away my shortcomings. But he cuts right through the sentimentality, straight to the core issue: I’m an adult now. But 'unacceptable' coming from him… it stings.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close, a playful defiance in my eyes. "And what will you do if I refuse to learn the art of wielding a dust cloth?"

He leaned in close to my ear. "I know you are quite… sensitive to dust, my dear. I will simply have to… relieve the current cleaning staff of their duties." An amused smile played on his lips.

So, he's essentially holding my sinuses hostage. The bastard. This is his brand of twisted encouragement.

"Your calculated cruelty is truly breathtaking, Levi," I chuckled, a genuine smile finally breaking through the tension.

"Ah, merely ensuring my instruments are finely tuned," he purred, a matching smile in his eyes as he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to my lips. Gods, how I had missed that. The familiar warmth, the subtle hint of his favored cologne... it was a grounding force in the midst of all the chaos. I rose onto the tips of my toes, deepening the kiss, wanting to savor every moment of this reconnection.

His lips parted slightly, inviting a deeper connection, and I gladly accepted, my hands tightening around his neck. The world outside the bedroom faded away, all momentarily forgotten in the comfort of his embrace. His hands, still resting on my shoulders for support, now slid down my arms, a slow, deliberate caress that sent a shiver down my spine. My hands tightened on his neck, pulling him closer, wanting to erase every inch of space between us. A soft groan rumbled in his chest, a sound I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath to hear again. When we finally broke apart, a genuine smile bloomed on my face, mirroring the softened expression in his eyes.

I rested my head against his chest. "Gods, Levi, I missed you so much."

He gently stroked my hair. "I missed you too, Pulla," he replied.