That morning, on Sunday, my therapist and I had a lot to talk about. My entire backstory from the start, my parents’ conditional love and their expectations for me to be an angelic son, and lastly, that final, painful conversation.

After my session ended, I walked out of the bedroom, intending to refill my coffee. But… there was a strange, acrid scent in the air. It wasn't the bite of a cigarette; what the fuck was that?

That’s where I saw Levi and Holden. They were sprawled on the couch, melted into the cushions, a thin plume of smoke curling lazily above them. In Levi’s hand, unmistakably, was a lit blunt. My eyes widened in disbelief.

“Levi, what the fuck? It’s illegal to smoke that!” I yelled, my voice sharp with incredulity.

He slowly lifted his gaze from the glowing screen of his laptop, his expression as flat as ever.

“And? It is an experiment on my physiological state. My neurodivergent therapist and I were, shall we say, quite curious about its effects,” he said, gesturing with the blunt towards Holden, who was now grinning widely, eyes unfocused and a little droopy. “We are, in essence, testing the neuronal divergence between a typical brain, such as our friend Holden's, and ours.”

“What the fuck? Are you... smoking a blunt with your therapist and your secretary right now? Am I hearing this correctly?” I demanded, my voice climbing an octave.

“I was going to extend the invitation to you, but you are quite the straight edge.”

I rubbed my eyes, needing to clear my vision, to process the scene once again. Levi, with a lit blunt in his hand. Holden, that sly, impeccably dressed, fucking King’s cousin of a secretary… smoking weed in our living room! Was this an alternate universe? Was the emotional turmoil of the day finally breaking my brain?

“Gods… W-Why? Or what? I mean…”

“Also, dear, you wound my villainous pride; do you genuinely believe the police possess the audacity to arrest me? I am the Saint of Ascaria. And, even if they dare to attempt such a thing, I am quite capable of orchestrating a very entertaining chase sequence.”

The fact that he was even thinking about a chase sequence, right now, with a blunt in his hand, was just... peak Levi. Unbelievable.

“What about your rehab? You shook twelve years of addiction! And you decided to throw all of this away?!”

“Shh,” he cautioned as he exhaled a stream of smoke. “It is once again evident that you are straight edge. I was an opioid addict. The sensations produced by cannabis and opioids are not as physiologically similar as you might perceive. I employed opioids as a means to inhibit destructive urges, permitting the sustained illusion of normalcy. Now, we will observe what cannabis does,” he stated, his gaze briefly flicking to me before he gently poked Holden. “Hm… I assume it is taking longer than we anticipated,” he murmured, turning his attention to his laptop, ostensibly addressing his therapist on the screen.

“I am… officially removing myself from this conversation. If you cannot comprehend the drawback of… this, then I have nothing more to say,” I declared, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Holden?” Levi inquired, turning his head slightly towards the secretary. “What is your professional assessment regarding Raphael’s optimal course of action? He appears a little ‘uptight’.”

Holden, whose gaze was fixed on the ceiling as if observing an elaborate carnival, slowly brought his focus back to us. “He needs to smoke some weed.”

This was Holden, the man who handled Levi's entire empire, reduced to a grinning, weed-addled zombie spouting clichés.

“Holden, you idiot, just go drink some water or something! What? Did you decide to leave the company for a day? Is this… what this is, a vacation?” I demanded of Holden, who simply blinked slowly.

Levi chuckled in return. “Oh, my dear, you possess no conception of what transpires within those furnished oval offices known as stockholder meetings, do you? Most of the time, it is an assembly of rich, old, and highly aesthetically unappealing men snorting cocaine, but I find my straight and singular nasal structure quite advantageous for avoiding that particular depravity,” he said, his gaze briefly flicking to his prominent nose before returning to me.

Right, because that's the casual insight I needed.

"Only you would turn 'avoiding a drug habit' into a self-congratulatory statement about your nose. Not because it's, you know, a highly addictive illegal drug," I retorted, shaking my head.

“Do call the police if you must,” he deadpanned. “I would, in all likelihood, achieve a state of intoxication with a considerable number of them in return.” He then tilted his head. “Ah, perhaps I should indeed advocate for the legalization of cannabis consumption, dear, if it is going to render you minimally less distressed.”

The thought of him getting high with police officers was so absurd, so utterly Levi, that a laugh bubbled up despite myself. It wasn't about public health or individual liberty for him; it was about managing my emotional state like a quantifiable variable. He was a menace, a chaos agent, but damn it, he was my chaos agent. And honestly, after the shitshow with my parents, the audacity of Levi was... refreshing.

"So, your solution to my problems is to get the police force high? And legalize weed? You truly are a menace, but I'll give you points for originality."

“I am a dutiful and attentive husband,” he replied, taking a deliberate puff from the blunt. “I am also capable of incinerating every cannabis cultivation facility, if that is your expressed desire. Only after I have concluded my current experiment, however.”

"I appreciate the offer, Levi, but I think I'll pass on the planetary arson. And maybe the blunt, too. I'm getting coffee," I said, turning and walking towards the kitchen. Gods… Levi Blake, reduced to marijuana smoking… shit. I don’t even have the right words to end that thought.

Holden started to walk from the couch towards the kitchen, moving with a sluggish gait, his eyes wide and searching around the room as if he'd never seen it before.

“Second cabinet over the oven, you idiot! Where the hell are you even looking?” Levi boomed from the living room. Yeah… Munchies, I guess. That cabinet is where Levi stashes his handmade cookies. Before Holden could begin to wreck the cabinets in his dazed state, I retrieved the ceramic jar for him.

“Thanks,” Holden mumbled, a big, sheepish smile spreading across his face. That was literally the first time I'd seen this man genuinely smile.

"And just like that, the King's cousin is reduced to a cookie monster. Never thought I'd see the day," I muttered, shaking my head.

“Thanks.”

Was he in a loop? I poked his shoulder, and he blinked twice, clearly trying to focus.

“Do you want a glass of water?” I asked, holding up the jar of cookies.

Levi boomed again from the living room. “Holden! Where are you? I need to start recording; move!”

Holden, clutching the cookie jar with both hands, started to walk towards the living room, still moving with that sluggish, swaying gait. I grabbed some more of his handmade cookies, a few muffins, and two large bottles of water. I landed them on the coffee table with a loud thud.

Assholes, not even taking care of themselves, making me do their work.

Levi was fumbling with a voice recorder. “T-The fuck? Are you gonna record yourself?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.

“I informed you it was an experiment, dear. What is the point if I possess no tangible data? I cannot rely on memory alone. Furthermore, we are going to cross-reference our experiences.”

Yeah. Because that's what this was: a lab experiment, not a glorified smoke session.

Holden, who had successfully retrieved a cookie from the jar, sprawled back on the couch, actively attempting to push a piece of the treat towards Levi’s mouth. “Stop touching me, Holden. You are going to spread your overly aggressive neurotypical attributes to me,” Levi said, leaning back to escape the cookie assault.

Poor high Holden, was trying to share a cookie, and Levi was recoiling like he was being attacked by a pathogen.

“The hell? Are you implying neurotypicality is… an ailment or something?” I asked, my brows furrowing.

“Ooh,” Levi mused, a low sound in his throat. “Excuse my minority rights to contend with the oppressive confines of your neurotypical society. Do not appear wounded; you are not the victim here,” he stated, then took a crisp bite out of a cookie he himself retrieved from the jar, pointedly avoiding Holden's still-outstretched hand.

Unbelievable. Now he's pulling the 'minority rights' card?

Holden was… really sad? He turned his body away from Levi, slumping on the couch like a spouse in a domestic dispute.

“Oh my god, did you get high or something, why the sudden jab? Should I apologize for being born?” I asked, seated on the couch, looking at Holden for… very dark amusement. I mean, yeah, this scene was bizarre, and I was angry at them, but… it was, admittedly, entertaining.

“No, it has not impacted my cognitive functions, yet. Should I perhaps amplify the dosage?” he mused, looking down at the packet of cannabis they had purchased. “Holden, here, consume this,” he instructed, extending the blunt to him. Holden, still turned away from Levi, took a puff, a little grumpy but still compliant. And Levi took a puff, too.

The asshole was trying to make sure they both had the same quantifiable consumption. Mad scientist through and through.

Holden grumbled. “I want something… salty.”

I snorted. Gods… the fallen dynasty’s maybe last known and alive relative was asking for chips.

Levi rolled his eyes. “Holden, what exactly has transpired with you? Has your entire cognitive state decided to abscond and run far away? Go retrieve whatever you desire,” he said, his voice flat, edged with a distinct, Levi-esque disdain. Gods, he was being such a bitch.

“Levi, you are being so rude to him! Look at him,” I said, gesturing towards the slumped figure of the secretary. “He looks like a scolded dog.”

“We keep eating sugar,” Holden grumbled again, his voice still thick and despondent. Yeah… I could imagine what he meant by that, looking at the very obvious evidence spread across the table. Cookies, muffins, various other sweets… Nothing with any sodium.

“Ask Raphael for that indulgence, my palate is quite absolved of that sin,” Levi stated, taking another puff. Sin meaning… fucking salt. My god, this snob piece of shit. Since Holden was looking so slumped, and somehow I felt a pang of pity for him, I went to the kitchen again to retrieve some chips. Holden reached out for the chip bag, holding it like a teddy bear for a moment. I wanted to laugh, but I figured I’d feel guilty afterward. Levi himself described him as a hound, even appreciated his intelligence, and explicitly told me that if Holden hadn't sided with him, it would have taken far longer to dismantle the monarchy. Gods, this man was now reduced to a chip-eating, wet-puppy-looking stray.

Then Levi’s phone rang. “Yes?” he answered, listening for a beat longer. “Holden is high, and occupied with me, Annie. If there is something of actual importance, come to the house and bring more chips,” he instructed.

Oh my god, is he planning on burning his entire company to the ground today?

"You realize 'occupied with me' means 'currently a drooling, chip-clutching mess,' right? You're going to give Annie an aneurysm," I said, giving Levi a pointed look.

“Annie, Raphael says you might acquire an aneurysm, so I am raising the stakes. If you procure chips, and some caramel ice cream—specifically not the sea salt variant, but the one with the cookie crumbles—you are receiving one paid vacation day,” he stated, a smug smirk spreading across his face. “Good girl,” he added, before terminating the call.

This bastard mentioned it before. Annie had almost a pathological need for vacation; these assholes were always utilizing this as a method to prevent her from entirely shutting down when confronted with their machinations. The patronizing asshole. He knew exactly how to make people jump through hoops, all for a fucking ice cream and chips.

Before I could open my mouth to give Levi a very deserved reprimand, Holden turned his face towards him. “Annie is coming?” he asked, a little hopeful.

Wait. My senses are tingling. Is this attraction?

“Indeed, but you need to bring your cognitive functions back; we apparently have a hundred pages to sign,” Levi said, utterly blindsided by Holden's sudden shift in focus.

I leaned back on the couch, a little grin playing on my lips. “Holden, why are you so curious?”

“She is so… smart,” Holden said, his voice laced with genuine awe. Gods, it wasn't attraction, at all. It was possibly just reverence. Levi started to type something on his laptop, not even looking up.

“Unlike you right now, Holden. Drink some water if you must.”

“Water? Water…” Holden repeated, then slowly, painstakingly, rose from the couch, gripping the side of the couch as if it were a lifeline. It took him at least a full minute to open the bottle cap, and when he finally started to drink, he dribbled a significant amount all over himself. I snorted again.

Levi turned his face to him with a look of utter disdain. “Gods… Do we need to wipe you, too?”

When will the blunt hit Levi? It's not everyday he expresses his misanthropy this openly. It's usually more subtle.

“I am sorry,” Holden mumbled, his shoulders slumped even further, the very picture of dejection. The poor man couldn't even manage the untethered joy of being high, not with Levi's relentless verbal assaults.

“Levi, you are being so rude,” I interjected, my voice sharp. “He looks so sad.”

“Ah… yes. He is sad,” Levi acknowledged, his gaze briefly flicking to Holden before he took a long inhale from the blunt. “Smoke a little more, give yourself a good inhale,” he instructed, extending the blunt back towards Holden. Asshole was experimenting again!

Holden complied.

“Tell me, Holden, how do you feel?” Levi asked, his gaze already turned to the laptop, presumably addressing his therapist.

“I don’t… know,” Holden mumbled.

Levi rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Perhaps I should have chosen another subject for this experiment.”

“I can’t witness this sadness anymore. I’m putting Holden down for a nap,” I declared, already moving towards him.

“He needs to smoke a little more. I procured some cannabis oil, too, but I assume it might be a tad much for his current state,” Levi said, typing away on his laptop, completely unfazed.

“Levi, if you want to get high, get high! Why are you dragging this man into this?” I asked, my voice rising in exasperation.

“It’s not as if I shoved a blunt down his nose. He consented, quite enthusiastically. And he knew what he was getting into, although your assessment of my perceived rudeness is, appreciated,” he said, before returning to his screen.

As if anyone could ever truly know what they were getting into with Levi.

“Holden, just close your eyes and try to sleep, yeah?” I said softly, attempting to guide his head to a comfortable position on the cushion.

Levi gave me a pointed look. “He won’t sleep.”

“Why? Because you said so?” I demanded, already frustrated.

“No, because he quite literally, can not,” he articulated, taking another slow inhale of his blunt. Holden blinked twice, then suddenly his eyes widened.

“Blake… You know what I’m thinking… we are applying too much pressure to the research labs regarding the pesticide experiment. We should just let them… chill,” he said, his gaze flickering to the ceiling.

Levi gave him a sharp side-look. “Do not let those lab techs hear this, then my employees might have lung cancer less curable than pancreatic one. Safety protocols are applied for a reason.”

Holy hell. The drug was working, but not in the way anyone expected.

"Just... a thought. For the lab techs' general well-being," Holden said, staring at the white ceiling.

“Well-being means not smoking dense vapors of literal poison, Holden. Do you even comprehend what the chemicals we store in the research laboratories do? They are quite capable of turning a lung into popcorn, and that is not a hyperbole,” Levi said, completely devoid of emotion.

“W-What? What are you saying?” I stammered, my blood running cold, causing me to sink back onto the couch.

“Pesticides, Raphael. They are poison, highly reactive chemical compounds. The ones you procure at the markets are diluted; they may cause ulceration if ingested, which is certainly not advisable, and are lethal in the long term. Now, imagine, if you will, those chemicals in their purest, industrial-grade form. Do you comprehend what it means for a vessel to be corroded? Those vapors, heavier and denser than air itself, would literally eat away whatever other chemical vessels are comfortably nesting in the vicinity, compromising their integrity, possibly causing a cascading, lethal chain reaction of explosions or toxic gas releases. Now, extend that thought. What if it reaches the soil? The ground beneath the facility? The subterranean water table? It would undoubtedly kill every butterfly, every plant in its path, every fungi, perhaps even unfortunate stray cats and rats. My employees, on the other hand, if they decided to be utter imbeciles and not acquire proper masks for this endeavor—despite the clear signage and mandatory safety briefings—might acquire throat and lung cancer. And, I would have to significantly increase my employees’ health insurance premiums for radiation and chemotherapy, simultaneously paying the largest fee this nation has ever witnessed regarding the ethical breach, and irreversibly contaminating the soil and water for decades to come,” Levi explained, taking a deliberate inhale from his blunt, his eyes still fixed on me with that disconcerting intensity.

My stomach dropped. The normalcy of it all, for him, was the most disturbing part.

"Forget the high, Levi, you just gave me an existential crisis. This is your day-to-day?" I asked, gesturing at Holden, who was now pressing his knees to his chest.

“No, not day-to-day, obviously. That particular lab is currently endeavoring at creating a less destructive pesticide. If something goes wrong, Raphael, in science, it is always the human error. Tests do not lie; numbers do not deceive, but humans… Those little vermin. They might forget about their ethical boundaries, their safety protocols, all over a wife they do not share a marital bed with, or over a child that was a mistake, and drive all of us to ruin. My almost obsessive ethical regards are, firstly, my reverence to science and its applications to humanity. Secondly, it is so we do not shrivel and die.”

Gods, he went from casual apocalypse to a philosophical diatribe on human fallibility and the sanctity of science, all without missing a beat.

"You call humans 'little vermin,' but you're trusting them with chemicals that could turn lungs into popcorn. Do you see the flaw in your logic?"

He chuckled with a dark amusement, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh? If I could, I would replace every single squishy meat and bones now occupying my company with puppets, and pull every string myself. They do not matter; they are a collective serving their purpose. Also, do you know how hard it is to get even an entry-level job at my company? Every single employee of mine is a bright individual with their equally bright future ahead of them,” he said, a hint of genuine pride in his otherwise flat voice.

My jaw nearly hit the floor.

“Okay… This is too much. Just smoke a lot more and get happy high, not this… unfiltered high,” I said, turning my gaze away.

“Please, as if you do not comprehend the depths of profound detachment from my fellow… sapiens.”

He could not even bear to say the word ‘human’. He forced it out, almost like a gag reflex.

"That hesitation, Levi. That's your brain fighting the urge to admit you're one of us, isn't it?" I pressed, still averting my gaze, though I could feel the tension ratcheting up in the air.

Unlawfully taken from NovelBin, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“One of you?” he echoed, the words drawn out, as if tasting something foul. A sound I rarely heard, devoid of humor, an utterly blood-freezing laughter broke out of him. It was like hearing the gears of some ancient, dark machine grinding to life.. “Ah, look at your self-absorbed point of view. Did you get sad over my philosophy? Did you take a look at yourself and wondered about what I think of you? How… predictable,” he said, the word dripping with disdain. The smoke completely masked his face for a moment, making him a shadowy, indistinct figure.

When he exhaled, a thin plume snaked towards the ceiling, and his chilling monotone, continued, "As much as I clash constantly with the divine architect for giving birth to this soul," he paused, as if savoring the words, "I am quite proud of my mind. It is nothing but a curse on the relevant days, other days a complete blessing. So, do not attempt to paint me as in the same category of any other sapiens, vermin, swine, and insects constantly buzz around my vicinity to practically lament about how ‘tragic’ their life are. Their trivial concerns are an irritating static in the profound silence of true thought."

"Stop with your tortured god complex, Levi. You're just a very smart man who smokes too much and hates everyone. Stop with this very chilling… and making hairs on my skin prickle at me speech. Ugh…” I said, rubbing my arms, trying to shake off the cold sensation his words had evoked.

“My therapist got high, too,” he said, his gaze flickering between the laptop screen and Holden, who was crumpled on the couch. “Maybe because it is my first time, it is taking longer. Which means, Holden, the little monster, secretly, shamefully consumes cannabis,” Levi declared, and poked a finger at Holden’s shoulder.

"Where is Annie?" Holden asked, slurring slightly.

“Agreed, where is she? She was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Did I not permit exclusive rights to my chopper to both of you? Why does she bother with traffic on a Sunday afternoon?”

Gods, this man’s complete… arrogance? Blindness? Megalomania? What even is the exact adjective to stick to that declaration?

The front door’s bell rang. “Oh?” Levi murmured as gestured vaguely with his head. “Go open the door, Holden. Do not break your bones in the process, and please refrain from causing a harassment case within the confines of my domicile.”

I took a long, long, long breath, feeling my chest tighten. Harassment case? Was he being… considerate of Annie, as a person, or was he just… being a complete asshole? I guess… both?

Holden, mustering the last of his strength, pulled himself from where he was glued. He sluggishly walked towards the door. A short while later, Annie—who clearly smelled the acrid scent of marijuana, and was witnessing her usually unflappable, impassive, complete ice block of a boss smoking a blunt—was visibly confused and perhaps a tad distressed. Her eyes darted from the blunt in Levi's hand to the crumpled form of Holden, then back to the faint, tell-tale haze in the air.

“S-Sir?”

Levi, repositioned the blunt between his lips, exhaling a thin stream of smoke before he spoke. “I am experimenting. Do not bother with the nuances of my methodology. And for the sake of professional integrity, maintain a respectful distance from Holden; he tends to become… ‘touchy’,” he said, his voice flat as he beckoned his pointer finger towards Annie’s black bag. “Procure the files and a writing instrument.”

Annie, after hearing the 'touchy' comment, uncomfortably walked away from the threshold. She pulled out documents one by one from her sleek black bag, extending them to Levi with a hesitant hand.

Holden, was also interested in the bag, but for completely wrong reasons. He was rummaging for… chips.

“Annie… where are the snacks?” he mumbled, his voice thick and slurred, his fingers fumbling against the bag.

“Uhm… at the big section, not there,” Annie said, her voice strained, as she reached past his outstretched hand to open the correct zipper. While this bizarre scene was unfolding, Levi, a pen in one hand, a blunt in the other, was dissecting through the highly-sensitive pages with alarming speed. His eyes darted across the text.

“Do I have to establish a waste disposal company? Is this the most sane method of managing this particular deficiency?” Levi started, his pen tapping impatiently at the top margin of a financial report.

“Sir, my primary function is administrative support. Waste management falls outside my purview, unless you're referring to… ‘this’ situation?” Annie said, her voice tight with professional restraint as she pointedly gestured at Holden, who was slumped back on the couch, happily eating chips.

“Please, as if I do not know you both shamefully consume illicit substances behind my back. I am quite wounded that you would insult my intellect with ‘this’,” Levi retorted, making a sweeping gesture back at Holden. Gods, the pettiness of this man was endless.

“No, sir, I wouldn't… I just meant… I didn't mean anything by 'this,' I assure you,” Annie stammered, her eyes darting between Levi and Holden.

Levi, meanwhile, was engrossed in the documents, either signing them with swift strokes or discussing them further with Annie, occasionally casting a look of severe disapproval at Holden. Well, the business talk had begun, and frankly, I was bored. I hadn't even managed a single sip of my coffee because of Levi being a rude bitch to Holden, then making me shiver with his chilling coldness, so I went to the kitchen and brewed myself a fresh cup, all over again.

From the kitchen, I could still hear Levi and Annie, their voices a low drone, discussing the ‘waste’ budget once more.

“Isn’t Annie so smart, sir?” Holden asked, his voice thick with a genuine awe, echoing slightly in the living room.

Levi and Annie both stopped. The clink of Levi setting down his pen was audible, followed by synchronized turning of their heads towards Holden.

“Gods… Does he always get like this when he is stoned, Annie? What exactly is going on with him?” Levi asked, his voice sharp.

“H-He…” Annie stammered, unsure how to articulate the situation without further displeasing Levi.

“Admit it, Annie,” Levi pressed, as he leaned forward slightly.

“He gets talkative, usually,” Annie admitted, her shoulders slumping slightly in resignation.

Levi rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered, his gaze already sweeping back over the budget documents laid out before him. "Just explain to me why we are incurring such significant expenditure for… water disposal. Did we not install advanced water purification vats, approximately…” he said, his fingers flickering through the pages, pulling up a specific report, “...twenty months ago?”

"That's correct, sir. The vats handle most of it. But certain highly corrosive or volatile waste streams from the research labs still necessitate external, specialized disposal protocols due to their unique composition," Annie explained, her finger tracing a line on one of the files.

“I am obviously aware of that. My questioning was over the ‘budget’. Why does this company charge us this much for one metric? It is inexplicably high compared to other equally adequate services,” he said then paused. His eyes unfocused slightly. “Ugh… Wait… My… brain… is getting slower…” he mumbled, and started to blink slowly.

The blunt finally hit Levi. In the middle of this? Not when he was talking about ice cream, or his misanthropy, but now, during a budget review? Whatever, I was just observing, not even inserting myself into the conversation anymore. I calmly took a long sip of my fresh coffee.

“The… summer season, lay offs?” he mumbled, the words dragging, each syllable an effort. He was actively trying to fight the haze that had suddenly descended upon him, his brow furrowed in concentration. I guess he was trying to connect the price with the disposal company’s policies.

"That's a different line item, sir. This expenditure is purely for the safe and legal elimination of the most hazardous byproducts from the lab, irrespective of the disposal company's seasonal staffing," Annie clarified.

Levi blinked slowly in return, his eyes struggling to focus. “Ugh… I don’t like… this…” he mumbled, a genuine note of discomfort in his voice. “Speak… slower.”

Holden, his previous oblivion shattered, suddenly perked up. His eyes, still wide and glazed from the cannabis, fixed on Levi. “Are you gonna fire us, Levi? After spending a decade together?” he asked, his voice thick with profound sadness and complete despair.

What the fuck? A laugh, which I instantly shut off by pressing my lips together, escaped me.

Levi, seemingly oblivious to Holden's emotional distress, simply groaned, his brow furrowed in a battle against the haze. “Ugh… Shove something… in your… mouth Holden… Annie… tell the thing,” he slurred, gesturing towards the documents.

“The thing, sir?”

“The… thing,” Levi repeated, then groaned again, shaking his head slightly. “Thing with…” he stopped, utterly dumbfounded, the thought escaping him. “Ugh… call that… garbage…”

"Do you mean the disposal manifest, sir? The document listing the waste type and quantity for legal transport?" Annie pressed, her voice slightly softer.

“What? No…” Levi snarled. He was trying to point, but his hand waved vaguely in the air. “The… company… the… garbage… company…” he stammered, unable to form a full, coherent sentence.

Well. Who knew? It was both funny and kind of hard to witness. I calmly took another sip of my coffee.

"The disposal company, sir? Is it about their quarterly invoice?" Annie asked again, her voice a little more hopeful this time, a sliver of light at the end of the muddled tunnel.

“Yes… Finally… Gods…” Levi said, his eyes a little wide, blinking slowly as if seeing clearly for the first time in minutes. "Is this what… you guys… feel? It’s… static… blocking,” he mumbled, pointing at his head.

He actually thought this was what it was like for us, all the time?

"Not quite, sir. This is more of a temporary cognitive impairment due to the… substance," Annie clarified, staring pointedly towards the half-smoked blunt in the ashtray. "Our baseline thought process is generally more linear."

“Line…” Levi echoed, blinking slowly as if trying to connect the sensations swirling behind them. A strange expression crossed his face. “Gods… What am I… feeling? Is it… sadness? I feel… something…”

...

“What? You feel sad?” I asked, a little—no, very curious.

“Ugh… I definitely feel… something… I do not know what it is,” he mumbled, his wide eyes fixed on his own hands, turning them over.

He can’t even know what he feels, even if he does feel it, does he? Because… he rarely, and it's a big 'if,' if he even felt it before.

"You're actually asking what sadness feels like?” I pressed, a pang of sympathy stirring within me.

“I… maybe? It is…” He slowly placed a hand flat against his chest, right over his sternum. “Does it… feel… in your chest?” he asked, utterly bewildered, as if pointing to a foreign object within himself.

Gods. He was genuinely confused. It wasn't an act. It was heartbreaking, in a way, to see such a brilliant mind so utterly bewildered by something so fundamentally human.

"Yeah, Levi, that's usually where it hits. Or your gut. Or your throat. Welcome to the full-body experience of emotions."

“I am… not… joking. I feel… something… but… maybe it is not… sadness?” he asked, mostly to himself. Which made me see I was also being kind of a cold bitch, responding with my usual sarcasm to his genuine bewilderment. So, I turned to Annie, who was watching her boss with a mix of confusion and a little sympathy.

“I think he’s out of commission for today, Annie. You should leave,” I said, trying to infuse my voice with a softer tone.

“Y-Yes, sir. He seems so,” Annie agreed, her gaze shifting to Holden, who was now sprawled almost entirely across the couch, a little sad but mostly adrift in his own haze. She hesitated, then asked, “Do you want me to take him, too?”

“Yeah, that cookie monster, no, leave him. I’ll take care of him.”

Annie then started to gather her files. She left the untouched tub of ice cream she’d brought on the coffee table. After giving us quick, polite nods, she slipped out the front door, leaving a slightly less acrid scent in her wake.

Levi was now experiencing a weird… trance? Not exactly a trance, more like he was trying to decipher the alien feeling that had gripped him. He was still staring at his hands, turning them over, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.

“Raphael… I feel… bad.”

Bad?

He couldn't even name the nuances of the emotion. It almost made me laugh again, but there was a fragility in his voice that stopped me.

I gently approached Levi, and sat next to him on the plush couch. “Talk to me, yeah? What do you mean by bad?”

Levi slowly looked at his laptop screen, then rubbed his wide eyes, trying to clear his vision enough to read the document. “Ah… It is… cognitive empathy… amplified,” he mumbled, the words dragging. He paused, then his gaze returned to me, still clouded. “I feel… bad.”

“You feel sad for Holden? Or… something else?” I asked, my voice probing gently.

“Maybe…” he said, his gaze drifting towards Holden’s crumpled form on the couch. “Maybe… I do… I cannot explain it.”

He was trying, though.

“But why do you feel ‘bad’?” I pressed.

“I… do not know. Maybe because I think… I did something bad? Maybe because I was rude? Maybe this is not sadness… it is self-reproach? I truly do not know… I think… I was… bad?” he mumbled, the last word trailing off into a questioning whisper, his eyes still wide and searching.

“Wow, I think the Gods are going to smite us, you thinking you did ‘bad’? I’m glad you’re recording it, you know, I’m gonna make you listen to it tomorrow,” I said, a dry chuckle escaping me.

Levi didn't give a single fuck about my sarcasm. His eyes were still wide, his gaze distant, lost in his internal struggle. “Maybe… I should focus on the moment? I feel… bad, Raphael… As if I… did something… bad…”

"It's not about 'focusing on the moment,' Levi. It's about how your actions affect other people. That 'bad' feeling? That's your brain finally trying to tell you that," I said, my voice firm, trying to cut through his drug-induced haze with a dose of harsh reality.

“Gods, Raphael, how is your perception this small? Cannabis did not magically grow mirror neurons in my brain. It is not like that,” Levi retorted, his voice still slurred but regaining a hint of its usual dismissive edge. He waved his hand vaguely, almost as if trying to swat away my perceived ignorance. “I can easily dismiss my very diminished spectrum of maybe seven emotions, and I can’t right now. I can’t dismiss… sadness? Disappointment? Or even worse, heartbreak? I do not know what I feel… It is… bad.”

"No, it's not mirror neurons, it's called being uncomfortable

. You are acknowledging the ones that already exist, and a little amplified, maybe,” I said, trying to simplify it for him.

“Maybe…” he murmured, his voice laced with genuine distress. “Gods… It is… so bad. Like touching something sticky, and not being able to wash it off. I do not… like this. Ugh… I do not enjoy this…” he said, rubbing his face vigorously with both hands. “And I can see that my cognitive capabilities are also diminished slightly… I do not… want this at all,” he finished, a note of frustrated despair.

"Yeah, it's not exactly a pleasant ride when your brain decides to go off-script, is it?”

“Ugh… It is so… different then opioids… So different. This is… static, this is… bad…”

Oh. Shit. He rarely, if ever, openly talked about his opioid use. Also, I was honestly quite a virgin about drugs and their sensations, so I truly had very little idea what he was even trying to compare this to.

“Okay…” I said, my voice a little tight. “Try something to eat, maybe? The ice cream Annie brought? Or cookies?”

“That would be… nice,” he mumbled, a little silent, still trying to quantify his feelings, I presumed. I then reached out for the cookie jar on the coffee table, took one, and extended it to him. He took a small bite right out of my hand. Well, at least he didn't give me the same touch-aversion reprimand he'd given Holden.

Speaking of him, Holden was now fully napping, utterly content with chip crumbs scattered all over his face and shirt.

Don’t people usually, I don’t know, enter into a profound state of bliss? Why was Levi wrestling with sadness, and not even exactly a sadness I could understand. I kinda understood Holden; he was sad because Levi was being an asshole to him, so he removed himself from the emotion of it all and chose the safety of slumber. I leaned into Levi’s laptop, where I saw his therapist…

“W-why is your therapist so happy, Levi?” I asked, my voice a confused whisper.

He looked at me, then back at the screen. “Different types of neurodivergency… He is able to feel joy… So, he is experiencing his… euphoria, where I feel like… walking at molasses,” he mumbled.

One man found bliss in the same substance that plunged the other into an agonizing self-reflection he couldn't escape. The sheer isolation of his experience, even in a shared state, was suddenly, painfully clear.

"So, it's not just about what the cannabis does, but about what your brain is capable of doing in the first place. That's... quite the distinction," I said, looking from Levi to his therapist on the screen, who was now, I noticed, very much exhaling smoke rings.

Levi snapped his fingers. “Yes… It took you,” he said, his gaze drifting towards the recording device on the coffee table, “an hour and half to understand that.”

Gods, this arrogant snob piece of shit, high-roading me while literally whining over feeling bad.

“Do you need to insult every single intelligence in your road? Why this pathological need of trying to feel superior?” I pressed, the words coming out sharper than I intended.

He turned his face to me, his eyes blinking slowly. “Hm… I do not… need external validation, at all… It comes from… inside. I… am confident, because of that.”

He was a universe unto himself, and I was just a lesser, emotional being trying to explain basic gravity to a celestial body.

"Must be nice, being your own biggest fan. Most of us have to, you know, earn confidence from external sources," I said, feeling a tiny bit jealous over his unwavering confidence.

He took another small bite of the cookie, chewing slowly. “Not a fan… Also… it is exactly…” he mumbled, then paused, his eyes unfocused, waiting for his brain to literally put the words together. “…a fault of your neurotypical mind… Approval… Colony…”

A pathological need for external validation, like some parasitic organism.

“So, neurotypicals are one giant hive mind? Is that it?” I asked, a tiny, disbelieving laugh escaping me. I wasn't even trying to convince him otherwise at this point.

“Are you… not?” he asked, his head tilted slightly. “It is… always… same. Good. Bad. Right. Wrong… what was the thing?” he mumbled, leaning in a little, clearly struggling to recall the precise phrasing. “The… Ah… yes, societal need for perceived… goodness.”

He wasn't entirely wrong. He was just stripping away all the nuance, all the messy, contradictory human reasons for those categories. It was a bleak, utterly detached worldview, and he was explaining it with the slurred certainty of a prophet.

"You're seeing the strings, I get it. But those 'strings' are why society doesn't completely devolve into chaos. We call it morality. And, not judging, but as an amoral person, you don’t get to act enlightened about society while high, Levi. What would happen if a completely logic-driven person like you sat on the world?”

“Either a great… purge, or completely automated system. Humans would… graze and breed… like the bugs they are… And, Raphael… we can see… very well when… ‘moral’ people sit on the… world.”

He wasn't wrong, again. History was littered with the horrors committed by those claiming moral high ground. But his solution... that was pure, unadulterated Levi. A chilling, clean, efficient dystopia. It was terrifying, because for Levi, this wasn't some hypothetical; it was a logical conclusion.

"You're not wrong about history, but your answer is always the most extreme, isn't it? No middle ground for the 'efficient' mind. Genocide or total enslavement.”

“No, no. Not genocide,” he mumbled, and now leaned in, trying to reach for the water bottle on the table. Gods, he couldn't even manage it right. I took the bottle, twisted open the cap for him, and handed it over. He took a big gulp, then, offered me a small smile in return before placing the bottle back on the table.

“Genocide would mean… specialized,” he said, drawing a circle in the air with his two pointer fingers. “I meant as a collective. And… I am a very… meticulous person, my supposed cattle farm… would ensure… ‘happiness’. Lastly… I already committed… half genocide.”

“Yeah… You, dissolving the nobility…” I said, taking a sip of my now cold and bitter coffee. “Do you… feel ‘bad’ right now, because of your past, Levi?”

He turned his face to me, a little blank stare. “No. My decisions… my manipulations… were always optimized for the… outcome. They were… never sullied by… sentimentality. I did not have a rage… I had a conviction… to put an end to… ruling of the nobility, and monarchy… That is… it.”

“I… sometimes get scared of you, Levi, when you say things like that,” I confessed, the words slipping out.

He in return placed his warm hand on my cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle, and an innocent smile played on his lips. “Why would you? I have… no desire to… inflict any harm on you.”

To him, 'harm' was a tangible, physical act, or perhaps a direct, calculable detriment to my existence.

“It is not… ‘harm’ as you think it is, Levi… I get scared of what you might do, if you want to,” I clarified, trying to explain the abstract nature of my fear.

“Oh?” he mused, now rubbing slow circles on my cheek with his thumb. “That is… understandable, but… I have no interest in… harming people, it does not… elate me. It does not give me… joy. There is no point…”

“Then does… anything give you ‘joy’?” I asked, leaning into his touch, curious about what, if anything, could fill that void.

“No,” he stated simply. “That is highly… serotonin… bound feeling. I do not feel it. Like… adrenaline, or oxytocin.”

“D-does… that make you… feel sad?” I pressed, hoping for a flicker of something, anything, beyond his usual detachment.

His eyes searched mine for a minute, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. “Barely. Very… barely. Dear, I am not the fragile person… you think I am. Yes, I was an addict, and yes, I nearly committed suicide… but they were not out of… sadness. And… yes, sometimes… I feel envy, of the… easy bond of others… but I do not dwell on it.”

“I know it was not exactly the sadness for you… but I feel sad when I hear you say these things, Levi,” I said, my voice quiet.

He placed his forehead onto mine. “Shh… Dear, is it because of love? Or more… general? Pity for your fellow human?”

“Both, Levi. I do love you, and yes, I feel sympathy for you… I know you are lonely. And every interaction must be… traumatizing for you.”

Levi kept rubbing my cheek. “Dear, trauma for you, and me… are different. I only have the physical reactions of it, emotional… state is fleeting and discernible. But, it is true that I do have trauma...”

“Your body remembers, but your mind just... doesn't hold onto the emotional component, yeah?” I asked, trying to confirm my understanding.

“Hm… Am I confusing you? I thought… I was quite clear,” he mumbled, his brow furrowing slightly. “It does have the… emotional, it is… just tiny? Small? Barely there?”

“Fine, fine, I understand, don’t treat me like a toddler,” I grumbled, a little self-conscious.

He chuckled softly in return. “My Pulla, why the sudden defense?”

Oh. I guess he was getting relaxed.

“Are you feeling better, Levi? Like, proper high now, not the molasses high?”

“Hm… Maybe,” he said, shifting his gaze to the laptop screen where his therapist was still in a state of pure bliss. “Not as strong as him, but, yes.”

"So, the cannabis is finally starting to work for you, just in a more... Levi-approved way?" I asked to clarify, a slight smile tugging at my lips.

Levi placed a chaste kiss on my lips. “Yes… A side effect, now I realize, dear,” he said, then placed another one. “Not euphoria, but definitely subtle elation,” he clarified, and kissed me again.

“L-Levi… Holden is right there,” I whispered, feeling a blush creep up my neck at his sudden bashfulness.

“Do not mind him,” he murmured, and placed another small kiss.

“How can I not mind another person, whose butt is literally inches away from yours, Levi? What if he wakes up?”

Levi simply closed the laptop. Then, with a casualness that both startled and amused me, he reached out and poked Holden’s waist. There was no acknowledgment from Holden.

“See? He is gone,” Levi said, and placed another kiss on my lips.

“L-Levi, at least let’s go to the bedroom or something,” I stammered, pulling back slightly.

He pulled back fully, a flicker of disappointment crossing his eyes. “Not feeling experimental, dear?” he mused, his voice losing some of its softness. Then he reached for the lighter, retrieved the now extinguished blunt, lit it, and took three deep inhales in quick succession. “Ah… Yes, focusing on the moment, works indefinitely better.”

“Acting like a petulant kid because I rejected having sex with you, right next to your secretary?” I said, my voice still low, but laced with a hint of accusation.

“Would you prefer if I kept pressing? Betraying your open consent on the matter?” he asked, taking another drag from the blunt, his eyes now seeming to focus a little more intently on me.

“I appreciate that, but I was not not consenting to kissing or sex, I was not consenting to… voyeurism,” I clarified, gesturing pointedly at Holden.

Levi shrugged. “Ah… I understand, it is the shame and embarrassment. Quite a constricting concept. I can promise on your complete silence, which will not wake up Holden, or wait for me to finish this, then we will look further into my subtle elation,” he said, holding up the half-smoked blunt.

“D-Do you have to be so clinical about it?” I said, feeling… cold.

“Hm… Is this insecurity again? And what about the clinicality part? I offered you options, explicitly regarding both of our desired states, while adhering both to our consents… where is the ‘uncaring’?”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Yeah, logical as always… Fine. You smoke your shit, I’m leaving for the bedroom.”

There was just no need to argue; he was right from his point of view. I retrieved a blanket from the master bedroom and sprawled it over sleeping Holden. Levi gave me a look of ‘why?’. Then he took a puff again. Yeah, why make sure your secretary doesn’t get a cold? Whatever, I’m not focusing on that. I returned to the master bedroom again and changed into my comfortable pajamas.