I assisted Levi as he moved towards the master bedroom, helped him into his pajamas, and we settled on the bed. His surgery prevented him from turning sideways, so a proper cuddle was out of the question. Instead, I rested my head on his chest, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. He, in turn, would either gently rub circles on my back or idly swirl strands of my hair around his pointer finger.

“Ah, I can hear my Pulla’s heartbeat quickening, and can even sense a slight rise in his temperature. Is my Pulla perhaps experiencing the delightful pangs of guilt and shame?” Levi inquired, his voice laced with a knowing tease. The fucking asshole, with his uncanny laser focus and bloodhound-like ability to sniff out my distress.

“Shut up, Levi. And… yeah.”

He continued to gently rub my back. “My dear Raphael,” he murmured, his tone softening slightly, “as I explained in our rather… spirited last conversation, the issue is dear, not your inherent morality itself. It is the simplistic, binary framework of your thinking – this is ‘bad,’ this is ‘good.’ Now, I would venture to guess that even that deeply ingrained perception has been somewhat… challenged, wouldn’t you agree?”

Challenged is an understatement. Shattered might be more accurate. My neat little boxes of right and wrong have been kicked over, contents spilling out into a reality I never truly acknowledged before.

"Yeah…" I murmured into his chest, the words thick with remorse. "I am truly sorry for nagging you, for being such a self-righteous piece of shit, focusing solely on your actions and completely disregarding the consequences and the countless victims of that system…"

"My dear Pulla," he murmured, his voice low and steady,"life is not always about adhering to what we 'think' is inherently right or wrong. Sometimes, life boils down to survival. When you're adrift in a raging ocean, you cling to whatever driftwood you can find. You, as an individual, possessed the autonomy to make your own choices. I did not. Not even as a man, not even as the heir to a powerful dukedom."

I, standing safely on the shore, judged them for not swimming in a straight line.

"So," I began slowly, trying to reframe everything I thought I knew, "when you orchestrated… everything you did… during the revolution, it wasn't driven by some abstract desire for chaos or destruction?"

Levi chuckled. "Does your neurotypical mind truly believe there is always a singular, neat 'reason' behind every complex action? I did a multitude of things, driven by amusement, intellectual satisfaction, and a desire to dismantle that living hell we all inhabited. Hm… How to further challenge your ingrained morality? Ah, let me pose this. Consider the scenario: wealthy individuals or a corrupt governing body utilize charitable donations as a thinly veiled method of laundering illicit funds, simultaneously achieving tax evasion. Now, tell me honestly, do you believe the impoverished individuals who receive support from this system, those who might rely on one hot bowl of soup a day provided by such means, truly care about the origins of that assistance? I highly doubt it. I certainly wouldn't have."

In that kind of brutal reality, survival likely trumps abstract morality every single time. It's another layer of that "driftwood" analogy, isn't it?

I pressed my lips together, a clear answer eluding me as I grappled with the complexities he presented. Levi, ever the perceptive and infuriatingly insightful bastard, obviously sensed my internal struggle.

"Hm… Another question for your consideration then, my dear Raphael. Let us posit that the aforementioned wealthy individual did not engage in the act of laundering money through their charitable donations. Instead, their sole motivation for this philanthropy was a selfish desire to cultivate feelings of 'goodness' within themselves – not born of a genuine desire to alleviate suffering, but rather a self-serving act to soothe their own conscience. What say you then? Does the inherent taint of self-interest negate the positive impact of the charitable act itself?"

Gods, he's relentless. Selfish motivation… but still resulting in tangible good. My gut reaction screams that it's still somehow tainted, impure. But then I think of the soup, the one hot meal. Does the starving person really care why the rich benefactor felt compelled to donate? Their hunger is sated regardless.

"You are right about the consequence," I conceded. "Yeah, ultimately, it probably doesn't matter to the person struggling to survive. And even if it does, they would likely still accept the help… Yeah… But I still think intent matters, on some fundamental level," I added, a stubborn core of my ingrained morality refusing to entirely yield.

Levi chuckled softly, his arms tightening around me in a comforting embrace. "Ah, my Pulla," he murmured, a hint of affection in his voice, "nothing truly 'matters' in the grand cosmic scheme. We are, as I so often remind you, hairless primates clinging to a giant rock hurtling through an endless vacuum. If you insist on seeking something that holds genuine significance, at least direct your gaze towards the tangible results of our endeavors. The nobility dissolved, the monarchy abolished, a system of democracy, however nascent, instilled."

"First of all, Levi," I began, a touch of exasperation creeping into my voice, "your brand of nihilism is truly a mental mountain I'm constantly struggling to climb, okay? Please, just try to refrain from the 'hairless primates' pronouncements for a little while. Even if I were to embrace the void, I doubt my personal brand of bleakness would ever reach your… heights of indifference, I think. Second, I do understand your focus on the grand scale, the logical, the empirically verifiable tangible outcomes. But, as my partner, you must also understand that grasping the full weight of everything you've shared, everything you've lived, is not a simple task for me. I am not, and I haven't been, trying to sit in judgment of you, or the countless others who acted as they did within that horrific system. I mean… you were all backed into a corner, attacked, so naturally, you bared your claws and fought with everything you had. I get that. I also understand, with a growing and deeply felt shame, that I was not the one being attacked, that as an outsider, I had absolutely no right to cast judgment. But," I continued, my voice softening slightly, a plea entering my tone, "but, as your partner, you must also acknowledge that my inherent inclination towards morality, towards seeking the glimmer of goodness in everyone, towards the persistent pull of the light… that part of me, however naive or ill-equipped it may sometimes seem in this brutal reality, will endure."

Levi listened intently, his gaze unwavering, then the hand resting on my hair began to stroke it with a soothing rhythm. "I assume," he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful, "that this acknowledgment, this attempt to understand that our actions were not born from a capricious desire to watch the world burn, but rather from a desperate need to cauterize a deeply festering wound, represents a significant step for you. Still," he added, a flicker of his characteristic candor in his eyes, "I will not deny the fact that the systematic dismantling of the nobility, did provide a certain… 'fun.' My dear Raphael," he continued, his touch still gentle, "let me pose another question to you, then… Place yourself in that reality. What would you have done? Would you have waited for fifteen more years? Would you have stood idly by for the natural death of the monarch, all while being daily bombarded by the pleas of suffering noblewomen? My apathetic nature allowed me to play the long game. But what about you, Raphael? What would your inherent morality have dictated in such a crucible?"

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Fifteen fucking years of listening to their screams, their pleas for help? While that entitled prick of a king lived out his days in his gilded cage? My hands clenched just thinking about it. I'd have probably done something rash, something stupid, something that would have gotten us all killed in the first week. His apathy, as twisted as it is, might have been the only thing that allowed for a calculated dismantling, instead of a bloody free-for-all fueled by my rage.

"I wish I could say I would have been noble and strategic like you, but the truth is, my first instinct would have been rage. I probably would have tried to take down the whole damn monarchy with my bare hands, and failed spectacularly."

"Oh?" Levi murmured. "Do you truly believe those visceral urges never plagued my own thoughts? I assure you, they did. I still, on occasion, entertain vivid fantasies of digging a colossal grave, filling it with a searing acid, and then tossing every single member of that vile dynasty into its corrosive depths. Or perhaps, trapping them all within the suffocating confines of the Royal Palace and then… incinerating the entire edifice. These thoughts were my constant companions, Raphael. They haunted my every day, flickered through my mind every single minute. Your temper, your righteous anger, your incandescent fury – those were luxuries none of us could afford. We were forced to bow our heads to that swine, light his revolting cigars, plaster smiles on our faces at his pathetic attempts at humor."

"How in the seven hells did you manage to control yourself, Levi?" I asked, the raw curiosity and a touch of awe coloring my voice.

"Because," he replied, his gaze steady, "it would have been futile . You've read my notes, Raphael, you know I even entertained the idea of orchestrating acts of treason, all to ensure my own family was stripped of their titles, perhaps even condemned to life imprisonment. But even that act of destruction, would not have eradicated the core issue: the survival of the nobility and the monarchy. My anger and disgust at the injustice were not forged with empathy for the individual sufferers and victims, though I acknowledged their plight intellectually. It stemmed from witnessing firsthand the corrosive nature of unchecked power, observing my own grandfather, the Conqueror, day after day. Also," he continued, a subtle shift in his tone, "I assume my inherent neurological makeup fostered something you might call… objectivity."

"Ah!"I breathed, the pieces clicking into place. "So, your inherent sense of justice and equality… Is that why you actively sought out noblewomen as allies?"

"Hm…" Levi mused, a slight arch to his brow. "I confess, the notion of seeking out women being perceived as a weakness had not occurred to me. To be candid, the noblewomen, were demonstrably more capable of strategic long-term decision-making compared to their often useless and entitled male counterparts. Furthermore," he continued, his logic impeccable, "given the pre-existing sense of camaraderie and shared experience amongst the noblewomen, allying with them was simply the most logical and efficient course of action, was it not?"

"So, your decision to ally with the noblewomen wasn't some ideological stance rooted in feminism, but simply a pragmatic choice based on their capabilities?"

"Gods…" he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Are you genuinely asking me whether or not I am a feminist, Raphael? I am frankly offended that you would even think to pose such a question to me," he stated, a hint of indignation in his voice. "Although," he continued, his tone shifting back to his usual analytical cadence, "mine is, admittedly, a more radical form of feminism."

Offended? Yeah, he probably is. To even suggest he might not believe in absolute equality... it's like questioning his belief in gravity.

"What exactly do you mean by 'radical' in this context?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Levi looked genuinely perplexed. A single crinkle formed beside his right eye as he seemed to be assessing whether my question was serious or some form of elaborate jest. His left eyebrow shot up in a sharp arch. "Radical feminism is a recognized perspective within feminism, Raphael," he stated, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "I didn't invent the term… Did you… seriously not know this?"

Okay, so I'm officially an idiot. The look on his face! That mix of disbelief and the "are you for real?" arch of his eyebrow. Gods… I need to rectify this. Fast. Ask follow-up questions.

"What? No, no, that's not it at all," I blurted, a flush creeping up my neck. "I was just… curious about your specific interpretation of it."

Gods, what a pathetic attempt at a save. I could practically feel the lie clinging to the air between us. In my defense, I am not some misogynistic Neanderthal, okay? I just… my education in specific feminist theories is lacking.

"You are aware, I trust, my dear Raphael, that detecting even the slightest tremor of falsehood in your voice, the merest flicker in your eyes, is an exercise of almost comical ease for me, correct?"

"Shut up," I mumbled, burrowing further into his chest. "I am simply an uneducated idiot in this specific area. And I have a well-documented aversion to dense theoretical texts. That is the entirety of it. I am not a sexist."

"Oh? Is that your considered defense?" Levi inquired, a distinctly smug smirk now playing on his lips. "Hm… Ah, this reminds me rather vividly of Isolde's… spirited reaction to your display of mild condescension. Honestly, my dear, to adopt a patronizing tone with a former Duchess who has weathered storms that would sink lesser vessels…"

My foot-in-mouth disease is a chronic affliction, especially when I'm trying to process something complex and feeling insecure about my own ignorance. Patronizing a Duchess. The sheer audacity of it makes my stomach clench with mortification all over again.

"The urge to simply vanish beneath the table was almost overwhelming," I confessed, a lingering heat still prickling my cheeks. "I swear, my only intention was to inquire about the saloon, nothing more."

Levi continued to gently stroke my hair, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Ah, my Pulla, it was a rather… captivating spectacle to witness your descent into a puddle of delightful embarrassment."

"Shut up, Levi, or I will be tempted to pinch to your nipples."

"Oh? Retaliation? Such a delectable poison," he purred. "My stitches will be gone by the end of the week, my dear Raphael. Please, do retaliate with gusto. The ensuing retribution from my side… that promises to be rather delightfully inventive."

"Yeah, Isolde regaled me with tales of your rather… inventive retributions from your bored teenage years, you little terrorist," I chuckled, a fond exasperation in my voice.

"Ah, indeed," Levi replied. "My boredom truly reached its fever pitch precisely when the delightful throes of adolescence began to take hold. Which, I later learned through tedious biological texts, is apparently directly associated with the hormonal maelstrom of puberty. However, given my rather precocious experience with profound ennui, dating back to the tender age of a toddler, you can perhaps do the mathematical extrapolation for me, my dear."

"The fuck do you even mean by being bored as a toddler?" I blurted out, genuinely bewildered. "But… I would actually love to see you as a teenager, you know? It's difficult to conjure an image of a young Levi in my mind."

"Hm…" he hummed. "The ancestral mansion housed some rather unflattering oil paintings of my younger self. I also vaguely recall some familial photographic portraits being taken, although their current whereabouts remain shrouded in the mists of time and likely a considerable amount of dust."

Unflattering oil paintings of a teenager? That's a mental image I didn't know I needed.

"Ah, Levi…" I murmured, a soft smile gracing my lips as I lifted my head from his comforting chest. "Tonight, as I drift off, my dreams will be exclusively dedicated to you. Specifically, to conjuring vivid images of you as a mischievous teenager, a little terror wreaking havoc." I then busied myself with the ritual of constructing our wall of pillows, ensuring that none of my unconscious thrashing would aggravate his stitches.

"Alright, my dear," he replied, his eyes filled with affection. "Good night," he whispered, and we shared a goodnight kiss.