That morning, before Levi left for his company, he told me he'd be back early to discuss strategy for dinner.

The real question was, what could I even talk about regarding my life?

The very start of my marriage? Definitely not a good point. Since it was fake, that would surely poke at their homophobia. My struggles? Maybe, but ultimately, they might just say, "then you should have come back." I guess there really is no right or wrong answer, let alone a viable strategy.

But one thing I absolutely had to remember: I couldn't let my anger get the better of me, possibly leading to an intense confrontation. I needed a drink. No. Bad, bad idea. Alcohol would definitely make me explode.

Levi returned in the afternoon. I was on the living room couch, nursing a mug of coffee, having wisely abandoned any thoughts of wine. He approached me, his gaze perceptive as it swept over my tense posture. "You seem distressed, dear. Did something happen in my absence?"

"No. Nothing happened," I mumbled quickly. "I was just trying to form a strategy, and I couldn't find anything."

Levi smoothly shed his jacket, draping it over the back of a nearby armchair before settling onto the couch beside me. He didn't look at me directly as he spoke, his gaze instead fixed on the coffee table. "I brought a flower bouquet. And some artisanal chocolate, a bottle of vintage wine, and a gin made from the Royal Palace’s Garden."

"Alcohol is a bad idea, but… isn't the Royal Palace a museum now?"

"Indeed," he replied, his tone even. "But they still preserve the gardens, and the museum needs revenue aside from the entrance fee. They also sell honey, wine, swan eggs… the standard vanity."

"Swan eggs? Oh my god," I blurted out, genuinely bewildered.

"Even I'm not entirely sure why anyone would buy swan eggs. Possibly not for consumption, but for showcasing them," he replied, his tone as even as ever. "And, I did some research regarding Cyrusian traditions." He cleared his throat. Then, in a very obvious clumsy accent, he uttered, "O' the Father in the sky..."

It was a prayer. A Cyrusian prayer. Where the fuck did he even memorize that?

"That was... unexpected. Are you trying to make them spontaneously combust or just confuse them into submission?" I asked, a mix of genuine shock and wry amusement in my voice.

"Confusion..." Levi mused, his fingers beginning a tap against his thigh. "Yes. That would be... useful

." He then looked directly at my face, and to my utter disbelief, he started speaking in Cyrusian. "Hello," he said, the word delivered with exaggerated effort.

"You... are a literal war commander, Levi. I have nothing but respect," I said, a reluctant chuckle escaping me.

Levi tapped his fingers on his thighs again. "Is your family deeply entrenched in politics, dear? If they are, I may share anecdotes of my past engagements, perhaps detailing instances of me welcoming Cyrusian ambassadors and envoys. Alternatively, I might regale them with tales of my grandfather." He shook his head. "Oh... no, not a good approach. The possibility of them knowing my grandfather's status is high, and since he conquered some of the borders of Ascaria, possibly brushing with Cyrusia, it might create unnecessary conflict."

"The hell, obviously do not talk about that tyrant, especially if he conquered some of the Cyrusian lands."

"Yes, yes," Levi said, his attention already shifting. "Obviously, a romantic, head-over-heels lovers act would not be effective, dear, as it rarely is with individuals holding homophobic views." He paused, then his gaze fixed on me. "Provide me with data, dear. Tell me about your mother, your father, their occupations, their hobbies, what did they typically engage in during their free time? What were their usual points of contention, or what did they bond over? Articulate their common dynamic within the household."

Gods, I almost laughed. After all this time, I was still surprised by his clinical approach in these situations.

“'Data?' Whatever,” I scoffed, but then supplied the information. “Lirael and Aelion, those are the names. My dad was a carpenter; he's taller than you. He was a little emotional, not overtly so, but the kind who might cry at your graduation. My mom is very religious, and she’ll never back down from that; she’s more emotionally reserved. They're both patriotic. Mom used to have a food truck but had to stop because of her back pain. They didn’t really fight much; it was mostly my dad being a little… loose, and my mom being strict.”

Levi began to tap his fingers. “Hm… Emotionally absent mother, not emotionally absent, but possibly physically absent father…” He mused. “They had conflicting personalities, and I assume your mother was the one who had the highest say in conflicts or events regarding the family.” His gaze sharpened. “So, let me start with the father: carpenter, physically strong, possibly intellectual capacity is not high, therefore mostly susceptible to my emotional manipulation. I can work with that.” He paused, then a subtle shift in his expression. “Ah… Hm… Your mother might catch on to my act. An overly wounded soldier act will not work. Back to the peasant act then. Humble, hard-working, respectful… Yes,” he concluded, a hint of satisfaction in his tone.

“That… was cold, Levi, even for you, calling my father like that… And are you sure you can pull off a humble man act?” I asked, a tremor in my voice.

“Accept my apologies for my perceived rudeness, dear, but it was not an insult. He might be quite intelligent; I am simply cross-referencing the data you provided,” Levi replied, his tone utterly devoid of offense. "And, bear witness, Raphael, you conveniently forgot who I am. I, a void, am known as the Saint of Ascaria because of my extensive philanthropic endeavors."

“Are you going to charm my parents, then? Is this our strategy?”

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“No, it is my strategy," Levi corrected, his tone flat. "We still need to find yours.” He reached for his jacket and retrieved a small bottle of pills. "These are exceptionally potent sleeping pills. In the moment of intense conflict, I am very open to spiking their beverages. Then, we can put the blame on them for being drunk and volatile. The choice is entirely yours, dear," he stated, his voice utterly calm.

He wouldn't bat an eye. And for a split second, a dark, desperate corner of my mind considered it. But no. Absolutely not. That was a line I couldn't cross. Even if he could.

“Gods, Levi, yeah, obviously let’s not roofie my parents’ drinks. But, I admire the lengths you’re willing to go,” I said, a tremor still in my voice. “I don’t know about my strategy… Do you have any ideas?”

He placed the pill bottle carefully back onto his jacket. “Several. You are the first and only son of a deeply traditional and religious family. Even if you are a runaway, you are still important, not only in their eyes, but in the eyes of their culture. You being righteously furious at their ingrained homophobia is a high possibility, so, I suggest you take a deep breath; do not try to defend yourself.”

“Not defend myself?” I scoffed, incredulous. “So I should rewrite my existence to soothe them, Levi? How can someone like you, who has a very strong sense of justice, even say that?”

“Raphael, it would be an ultimately futile gesture. We are aiming for a truce, not for a war. You already had a conflict with your mother over the phone; no amount of yelling, screaming, or shouting will change their minds. But, we can utilize what we possess.”

“So what? We’re going to act like best friends, not husbands? Not people who are in a relationship?” I pressed.

“Not even heterosexual couples explicitly discuss their love life, Raphael. Why walk into a raging inferno with turpentine? We will be husbands, obviously; no one on Earth, literally, can deny that. But, we will be… strategic. Our lives, our relationship, is built on a strong foundation, with mutual respect and understanding. We are both able to provide for ourselves and each other. If we desire a very tiny sliver of acceptance, that is the most effective approach.”

“And if they still don’t give us that ‘sliver’? Then what’s the next ‘effective approach’?”

“Now, let us discuss you, dear. Sadness, despair, and other negative emotions are quite fine, given it will be your first time seeing your parents. However, I must insist upon absolutely no anger, no fury, no cold cynicism. Such expressions would only create a rift. I am a raging atheist, yes, but from the very fabric of my existence, I believe you deserve at least one peaceful dinner with your family. To achieve that, dear, we will both play to our strengths. You are quite adept at diffusing emotional situations. Be focused, Raphael. The moment you sense a negative emotion direct the conversation another way. Be static, Raphael, always. Change the topic, throw the attention back at them. They'll most likely lament your absence, and you'll feel anger—justly so—but no. Listen. That is your approach. You need to shatter their perception of you as a child adrift and succumbed to 'sin,' or whatever they believe it is. Focus on the overlapping narratives: a lost family, missing culture, cuisines. Even better if you inquire about your cousins, your uncles, your aunts. Show them you still cared, even though you left that life behind.”

“Levi… I appreciate you believing I 'deserve' a peaceful dinner, even if it means acting like someone I’m not. It feels like I’m betraying myself by not defending my life, but you’re probably right that it’s futile,” I said, the words heavy with defeat.

He placed his warm hand on my thigh. “I am quite capable of vengeful approaches, too, dear. I am simply complying with you, offering you the most optimal solution.”

It was ... strangely comforting. Knowing he had those options, that he could scorch the earth if I gave the word, meant that this path of quiet diplomacy was a choice.

I placed a kiss on his soft lips. “Thanks, Levi. It was really nice of you to say that… So, do you want more data on my parents? Or are we done?”

He gave me a tiny smile. "I am always open."

"They love protein, just like I do."

“Hm… If I had more time to prepare, dear, I would bring a high-quality ham, or perhaps a dry-aged steak,” he mused, a faint hum of consideration in his voice. “Hm… Give me something else. What about jewelry, or other conventional things we can gather along the way?”

"Just to be clear, you're looking for luxury goods to soothe their potential homophobia?" I asked, a bitter smile twisting my lips.

“No, dear. I am literally attempting to ensure their neurotypical brains release high quantities of serotonin and oxytocin; it might, by extension, influence their disposition towards us,” he replied, his expression serious.

It was so utterly detached, so profoundly not how humans usually operated, and yet... with Levi, you never quite knew.

"Are you going to inject them with oxytocin before dinner too?" I asked, a strained laugh escaping me.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Forgive my rather detached approach," he said, his tone softening only marginally. "I suppose I should have simply said, 'I am trying to make them happy.'"

"You don't have to sugarcoat your brilliance for me, Levi. I can handle it. It just takes time for me to catch up. But... we need to leave soon. Let’s change our clothes... And let’s pick wine, not Royal gin... Chocolate is good, flowers are good. Gods... Levi, do I hug them when they open the door? Or do we shake hands... I don’t know..." I said, my voice trailing off as I felt myself beginning to spiral.

“Hm… You would get a hug, I assume, dear, but I think I would get a handshake from your mother. I am not entirely certain about your father’s reaction, though.”

Oh. Right. Because he snatched my dad’s only son, so my dad might be hostile.

“Yeah… He might blame you,” I said, a faint sigh escaping me.

“Do not fret, dear. I have dealt with my part of homophobia and xenophobia in noble circles for three decades; I assume I can handle myself,” he replied, his tone perfectly steady. “If the situation gets dire, I might employ the fact that my private jet’s fuel, which saved them from a civil war, costs more than what this capital spends on electricity in a day. But yes, that is on the very bottom of my list.”

“So you’re going to make them feel indebted to you, because you saved their lives? Is this what this is?” I asked, the realization dawning with a twist in my gut.

“Indeed, dear, but once again, it is not my usual repertoire. I prefer mutually beneficial and subtle emotional manipulation. That option is frankly insulting to the hours I spent learning to explain my entire food aversion in Cyrusian. Why does your language not possess proper terms for anything close to mental health, Raphael? Now I have to say something along the lines of, ‘Here you go, this is my sob story, this is why I only consume oatmeal.’”

The sheer Levi-ness of that statement. Only he would be frustrated by linguistic deficiencies when preparing to meet my homophobic parents.

“Mental health? They still have the ‘pray the gay away’ bullshit in shrines and temples, Levi, do not expect much. But, stop your whining; we need to go,” I snapped, rising from the couch and heading towards the bedroom to change.