I woke up late, a line of drool crusted on my pillow. "Gods," I muttered to myself, pushing tangled hair from my face.

After dragging myself to the shower, I scrubbed away the last remnants of the night. Cleaned and slightly more awake, I shuffled to my recording studio.

After practice, I was tired, but a new kind of ache settled in: I was missing Levi. I had dinner without him. He must be having a tough time at the company party, surrounded by employees, having to mask so much of himself. I could only hope they weren't making him eat something he genuinely disliked.

How late was he going to be? It was well past midnight. Should I wait up? I shot him a text, asking when he'd be back, but he didn't reply. Was he drunk?

As I battled with whether I should call him again, or just go to bed without him, I heard a car pulling up to the driveway. "Ah, I guess he's here," I murmured, and headed to the hallway, only to find Holden half-carrying a very red-faced, and overly dressed Levi. Levi was wearing a coat? Oh gods. Don't tell me he tried to take his clothes off because he got tipsy, so Holden had to make sure he didn't do that again.

Holden maneuvered the heavily intoxicated Levi inside, and I quickly moved to accompany them to the guest bedroom. He absolutely reeked of booze. Holden explained that the employees had pressured Levi into drinking from a jug. Apparently, they'd all poured whatever alcohol they could find into it and made him drink it.

Luckily, Levi hadn't ripped his clothes off in public, but he'd definitely tried in silence, which had alarmed Holden and Annie. Their solution? They'd put multiple layers of clothes on him, so even if he managed to shed one piece, he'd still have others to contend with. Can't argue with that logic, I guess. After depositing Levi on the bed, Holden left, leaving me alone with the muttering Levi. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but it sounded like something about chemistry... Gods, this mad scientist. I sighed, then started to take his ridiculous layers of clothing off.

He suddenly stiffened, his eyes snapping open wide, filled with a disoriented alarm.

"Levi, it's alright," I said as I eased the heavy coat off his shoulders. "I'm just taking your clothes off, okay? You're really sweaty."

“Who… are you?” he mumbled, his words slurring together. Gods, was he really this gone? The scent of booze from the 'jug' hit me even stronger as I leaned in.

“I am Raphael, Levi, your husband,” I said, shedding the booze-soaked coat from him.

“I am… married?” he mumbled, his voice thick and disoriented. Gods, what did they even make him drink?

“Yeah,” I said, starting to unbutton his vest. Vest? Whose vest was this? Where did Holden even find this?

“But… I got divorced,” he mumbled, his brow furrowed slightly. Oh… He was remembering Julia.

“Yeah, then you got married again,” I said, finishing the last button of the vest.

“Why?”

That's a long, long story, and he probably won't even remember this conversation. No need to confuse him further.

“It doesn’t matter, Levi,” I said, pulling the vest completely off him. I tossed it onto the floor with the coat. “Why don’t you help me with your clothes, so you can actually sleep? Hm?” I said, trying to coax his clumsy fingers towards a shirt button.

His slender fingers barely found them. “My head hurts,” he mumbled. I mean, it doesn't surprise me; who would drink that concoction? Especially Levi… No wonder he dreaded going to that party.

"I'll give you some water," I said, peeling the shirt off him. Gods, he was sweaty as hell. He felt like a furnace. Now I knew why he'd try to rip his clothes off the moment he got tipsy. I quickly offered him the glass of water I'd brought.

He took a clumsy gulp, but most of it dribbled down his chin and onto his chest. This must have sparked a thought in his very compromised, alcohol-addled brain, because without hesitation, he poured the remaining water over his head and body. A shudder ran through him, and then he let out a drawn-out sigh of contentment.

“Well, I’m glad you’re… relaxed, but now you’re drenched, Levi. We can’t sleep here now, we’d catch a cold,” I said, sighing as I looked at the dripping mess on the bed.

His eyes fluttered open for a second, then he looked at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Then we do not sleep here.”

Gods… There was no way I could carry his drunk body all the way upstairs to his bedroom. I'd have to change the sheets here, right now, with a very drunk, very wet Levi sitting on the bed.

“Okay, big guy,” I said, placing my hand on his arm and pulling him so he could leave the bed for a minute. I could barely budge him. He looked at me with those hazy eyes, like I was nothing but a small mouse trying to move a mountain. “C’mon,” I urged, and yanked him harder. “Help me a little, we can’t catch a cold.”

He sluggishly pushed himself off the bed. For a second, he lost his balance and in doing so, he bumped me hard against the wardrobe. He pillowed his head onto my shoulder. “I am off the bed,” he mumbled.

Yeah, you are. And now he was pinning me to the wardrobe. The wood pressed uncomfortably against my back. If I pushed him, he’d definitely fall. Do I make him sit on the ground?

I placed my arms on his back. “Levi, can you stay still here?” I asked, my voice as calm as I could make it. He made a low sound that conveyed something positive. I pried myself off him. He remained standing, head pressed against the wardrobe, eyes closed. Gods, I hope he doesn't just sleep like that.

I quickly pulled open the lowest drawer of the dresser, grabbed a fresh set of clean sheets, and then yanked the wet ones off the mattress, tossing them in a heap.

Once the bed was remade, I went back to Levi, who was still completely still, head pressed against the wardrobe. I hastily took his pants off, and with another effort, helped him stumble the last few steps to the freshly made bed. "Thank god," I sighed as he finally collapsed onto it. His eyes were already closed, but he was still dirty, smelling of spilled water and booze. I grabbed some wet wipes from the bedside table and began to clean his neck, then his wet chest and abdomen.

I guess I was done.

I placed the wet sheets into the clothing bin, the used wet wipes into the trash, and then settled next to Levi on the bed. I wished I had the power to make him take a proper shower.

He opened his eyes, his gaze still a little hazy, and looked at me. “I feel… so hot,” he mumbled. “Let’s sleep, Levi, you’ll feel better in the morning,” I whispered, rubbing his feverish cheek with my thumb.

He nuzzled into my hand, his flushed cheek pressing against my palm. “You are warm,” he mumbled. I couldn't deny how absolutely adorable he looked with his red cheeks, delightfully disheveled.

“Yeah? You’re like a furnace, too,” I said, chuckling softly.

He rubbed his cheek against my palm. Aw, look at this magnificent lion acting cute.

“Come closer,” he slurred, and I leaned in, my heart doing a soft flip. He then placed a kiss on the tip of my nose. Was he aiming at my lips? I chuckled nonetheless. He followed it with a brief, soft kiss on my lips, then another, then another, pecking away like a drunken woodpecker.

"Acting all cute when you're drunk," I murmured, as I lowered my hand from his flushed cheek to his shoulder. He replied with another small, wet kiss on my lips. Then my cheek, then my cheek again. Why was he doing this, though? This was a habit he’d only recently picked up.

He blinked twice, slowly, his hazy eyes clearing just a fraction. "Ah… Pulla," he slurred, a faint sigh escaping his lips. Well, hello. He finally remembered me and, even better, called me rabbit immediately.

"Oh? So you were kissing a stranger, you cheating drunk?"

"Hm…" he mused, his brow furrowed. "I would not… do that."

Yeah, I was just joking, but he had taken it completely seriously.

“I know you wouldn’t,” I said, chuckling softly as I buried my face closer to him. I pulled back just enough to look at his flushed face. “Did you miss your Pulla?”

“I did,” he replied, and then he placed his very warm hand on my waist, pulling me closer. Gods, his hands were scorching hot against my skin.

“I missed you, too,” I said, a smile playing on my lips, the flutter in my chest growing. Levi’s very warm hand traveled down from my waist to my butt. Oh. I knew exactly where this was going. There was no way I could make this very drunk Levi be gentle; he would probably just tear me apart. So I needed to stop this right now.

I placed my hand on his wrist, pulling his hand back up to my waist. “Be good, Levi, we are not having sex,” I said, my voice firm despite the warmth spreading through me.

“But, my Pulla is… warm,” he mumbled. He didn't lower his hand; it remained firmly on my waist.

“Yeah, but you’re drunk, so, no.”

He responded by placing his head onto my shoulder, inhaling my scent deeply, a soft sigh escaping him. “I want it.”

Gods, even drunk, he was demanding. He was like a big, hot, purring cat, rubbing against me, without a single thought for logic or consequence. A part of me wanted to give in, to just let him have whatever he wanted, to drown in the heat and the closeness. But the responsible side, the husband side, knew better.

"You're adorable when you're demanding," I chuckled softly. "But it's still a no."

He rubbed his forehead against my shoulder. "Once," he murmured, and he placed his thigh between my legs.

"Levi," I said, my voice a little strained now, my own arousal stirring. "Accept the no."

He sighed, then nodded slowly against my shoulder. He pulled his thigh back, the warmth between my legs fading.

My breath hitched slightly, a quiet exhalation of relief and… disappointment. Even as I celebrated my responsible decision, a part of me, felt a distinct pang of longing. It was a messy, contradictory feeling—wanting to protect him from his drunken impulses, but also selfishly wanting to indulge my own, especially when he was so uncharacteristically affectionate. Gods, even completely inebriated, he knew how to get under my skin.

He burrowed his face deeper into my neck, his hot breath warm against my skin. Despite the heat radiating off him, and the slight stickiness of his skin, he felt incredibly soft and vulnerable in my arms. I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, the soft murmur he occasionally made, and the faint, persistent throb behind my own eyelids from the late night. I just let the warmth soak into me, and slowly, surely, drifted off to sleep, curled around my very drunk, very demanding, and very warm husband.

His deep slumber was disturbed close around the dawn. His eyes snapped open. He started to smack his mouth, a grimace forming on his face. "Gods…" he muttered, a rough sound of utter misery. Without another second's hesitation, he reached for the water jug and drank in big, desperate gulps.

Oh, morning-after Levi. Here we go.

He placed the now empty jug back onto the bedside table and glanced at me, his eyes wincing slightly at the movement. I was already awake by his restless stirrings and the desperate gulping. "Sorry, dear," he murmured, his voice raspy. "Did I wake you up?"

"It's fine," I mumbled, burying my head deeper into the pillow, trying to escape the encroaching morning light.

He didn't get back into bed. Instead, he stiffly rose up, and took a few wobbly steps towards the bathroom.

"W-Where are you going?" I asked, a little worried, pushing myself up on an elbow.

"Dear, I am alright." He paused at the bathroom doorway, glancing down at his naked body. "I need to take a long shower."

“Are you sure you won’t hit your head somewhere? Will you be okay?” I asked, pushing myself up to a sitting position.

His hands went to his chest, then rubbing his fingers together. "I… feel disgusted."

"Well, that's what happens when you let them pour a 'jug' down your throat," I said, getting out of bed and walking towards him. "And I'm worried you might snap your neck off." I took his arm, my hand warm on his still-heated skin. "So, wake up a little more, then take a shower."

"Ugh," he groaned, the sound raw and miserable. "I did not want to… do that. They made me drink that; it was revolting." A shudder went through him. "At least I did not puke in front of them," he added, then paused, his eyes widening slightly. "I hope."

“I don’t know if you puked, but you definitely tried to take your clothes off, just as I suspected,” I said, a smirk playing on my lips.

“Gods, did I?” he groaned, rubbing his face with his free hand. He looked even more miserable. “I am going to get sued for harassment,” he added, the words muffled by his palm.

That was his first thought, not embarrassment, not shame, but the legal repercussions. Only Levi.

"Relax, you didn't assault anyone. Holden and Annie were there, they made sure you were just... overdressed," I said, gesturing towards the heap of bizarre garments on the floor.

He followed my gaze to the coat and vest. "Ugh," he groaned again, the sound more guttural this time. "Those clothes are not even mine. Why did they bring me here? They should've left me in the hotel room."

“The hell? You’d rather be left in some random hotel room than be brought home?” I asked, my voice rising slightly.

“You… completely misunderstand me.” He sighed, pushing a hand through his disheveled hair, his gaze still fixed on the rumpled bed. “What if I hurt you? What if I tried to push myself onto you, or something equally harmful? I don’t even remember when was the last time I drank this much. It was irresponsible for Holden to bring me here.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"You didn't hurt me, Levi. We were just... cuddly," I said, my fingers wrapping around his warm bicep. "Holden knew you'd be safer here." I squeezed his arm reassuringly. "You were fine."

"I am glad to hear that," he rasped, almost invisible smile touching his lips. It was barely there, but it felt like a monumental expression of relief. "Now, if you will excuse me," he continued, already trying to extract himself from my grasp, "I have a concoction to purge which destroyed my liver and kidneys."

…

As Levi disappeared into the bathroom, I let out a soft sigh. The sound of the shower kicking on soon followed, a confirmation that he was indeed beginning his self-purification ritual. I knew he'd be in there for a while.

I padded into the kitchen. The early morning light was still soft, painting the counters in pale gold. A mug of hot chocolate wasn't going to cut it for a hangover of Levi's magnitude. He needed something substantial, something comforting, and most importantly, something he'd actually eat.

Just as I was pulling the warmed muffins from the microwave, Levi emerged from the hallway. He was in his charcoal silk house robes, looking remarkably composed, his damp hair slicked back from his face. He walked over to me, placed a soft kiss on my hair, and the faint scent of his soap, replaced the last traces of party booze. "Thank you for the breakfast, dear," he murmured, his voice now clear and smooth.

We settled at the small kitchen island. Levi took a tentative sip of his hot chocolate, his brow still slightly furrowed in concentration. He then picked up a muffin, inspecting it before taking a small bite.

"Regarding last night," he began, his voice flat, his eyes fixed on his muffin. "I apologize for any… inconvenience my state may have caused. My recollection is fragmented, but I trust your judgment that I did not cause any repercussions."

I chuckled softly. "No repercussions, Levi. Just a very cuddly, very warm, very persistent husband." I reached across the island and gently squeezed his hand. "You were fine. Just a little enthusiastic."

"So, was I 'enthusiastic' enough that you had to physically push me away, or did I simply comply?" he asked, his voice flat, his gaze still fixed on his muffin as if it held the answers.

"Gods, Levi, you were fine," I chuckled softly, taking a sip of my coffee. "You just hugged me and placed small kisses on me." I paused, the question finally bubbling to the surface. "Which reminded me… why are you, you know, giving me small kisses like that? It's a new thing."

He paused for a second, his chewing slowing. "Ah, it is the niceness rule. I remember your surprised reaction over me placing a small kiss on your cheek after we made a deal, so I assume I was trying to be 'nice'."

"I guess that explains the woodpecker technique. Very scientific," I said, a sigh escaping me. The thought that his affection, even when drunk, was just a calculated 'niceness rule' pricked a little.

He rolled his eyes. "You are projecting your own emotional landscape onto me, Raphael," he said, as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. "Do not do that."

"Fine, fine. Just try not to break me with your logic so early in the morning," I said, a playful edge to my voice despite the underlying truth of his observation.

He rubbed his temples, a faint grimace still on his face. "Ah…" he exhaled. "It is not impossible for me to grasp what is going on in your endlessly emotional mind. You, in your infinite sentimentality, possibly imagining I only did that because I was adhering to a code. It is not. I wanted to kiss you, and I did. Which I do not remember, since I was drunk."

A flush spread through me.

"You always find a way to be both insulting and incredibly sweet, don't you?" I said, a soft smile playing on my lips as I met his gaze across the island.

"My intent was not to be insulting," he said, as he took the last bite of his muffin. He pressed his fingertips to his temples again. "My head is… throbbing."

No, his intent is never to be insulting. It's just a byproduct.

“You want some pain-killers?” I asked, pushing myself up from the counter.

“A lot more water, and a lot more aspirin.”

I went to the medicine cabinet, retrieving the bottle of aspirin and a fresh glass of water. When I returned, he took them from my hand without a word, downing the pills with a large gulp of water.

He clenched his fists on the counter, his knuckles stark white. “I have a skull-crushing migraine.”

I walked around the counter and began to rub his temples with my thumbs. "I know. Just try to breathe."

“My mouth is still dry,” he murmured, smacking his mouth again. "I am currently experiencing a migraine, the sensation of which is comparable to cerebral expansion and percussive force against my parietal bone.”

“My dramatic lion,” I murmured, a soft smile on my face. “It’s going to be alright soon.”

“Ah…” he sighed again, a shaky breath. Then, he opened his deep blue eyes, blinking slowly against the lingering pain, and looked directly into mine. “Perhaps we should go and have a deep-tissue massage, dear?”

It's not his usual solution for anything, let alone a hangover. He usually just powers through.

“Will you be okay with a massage, though? I mean, I know you don’t really enjoy unsolicited physical contact.”

“There is a distinction between trained professionals and individuals, regardless of acquaintance, who engage in physical contact without explicit permission, dear. If you desire a massage, communicate this, and I will book the closest available option.” His hand reached for his hot chocolate, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug.

"You know, for someone who doesn't like 'unsolicited physical contact,' you were pretty clingy last night. But yes, book it," I said, a slight teasing note in my voice as I stopped rubbing his temples.

"I never said I did not enjoy physical contact with you," he countered, his voice smooth and clear. "Why do you consistently compare yourself to other humans?"

Because I am human, Levi. Because I'm trying to understand you, and the only framework I have is how most people operate. But he's right. I shouldn't try to fit him into a mold he doesn't belong in.

"Why do you consistently categorize me outside your usual parameters? It's flattering…" I said, a slow smile spreading across my face.

He shrugged. "Is that not obvious? You are my husband, my partner. Why would I categorically place you in the same box with your fellow humans? I thought I articulated consistently that you are singular to me."

It's just so easy to forget when he's being so clinical about everything else. I keep looking for the conventional signs of affection.

"Well, consider me appropriately categorized. Now, about that massage reservation for your singular partner…" I said, the slow smile turning into a wide grin. I leaned against the counter, watching him.

He grabbed his phone from the counter, his thumb already flying across the screen. "Do you prefer a domicile appointment, or shall we visit an establishment?" he asked, his voice returning to its usual composed tone.

“Yeah, let’s go to a spa, and get pampered.”

“Hm…” he mused, already tapping a few more times on his phone screen. "I have secured a booking for lunch time, dear. We could also consider visiting a restaurant subsequent to the massage."

"It would be lovely."

The morning, which had started with a hungover Levi and his bizarre, endearing confessions, was now shaping up to be quite pleasant.

...

The spa Levi booked was, predictably, nothing short of opulent. 'An establishment,' as he'd called it, was a vast understatement. Nestled in a quiet, upscale district, the building was a sleek blend of modern design and natural elements—polished dark wood, trickling water features, and an abundance of soft, indirect lighting. The air itself felt different here, infused with subtle, calming scents of eucalyptus and lavender.

We were greeted by a serene woman who guided us through hushed corridors to our respective changing rooms. Levi was out first, already in his robe, looking less like a man recovering from a skull-crushing migraine and more like a CEO on a wellness retreat. I emerged shortly after, feeling the immediate relaxation that the soft fabric and tranquil atmosphere afforded.

Our therapists, two quiet figures, soon appeared and led us into a couple's suite.

I watched as Levi's therapist began kneading the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders. Within minutes, his rigid posture began to soften. His breath deepened, evening out, and I could feel the tension seeping out of him. My own therapist, with incredibly strong, knowing hands, started on my back, and I melted into the table.

When the massages concluded, I felt like a completely remade man. Every knot in my back had surrendered, and my mind felt clear, light, and utterly serene. I could hear Levi's soft, even breathing beside me; he seemed to be in an equally profound state of relaxation.

Our therapists quietly left the room, leaving us in the scent of essential oils and the hushed calm. I slowly pushed myself up, stretching luxuriously. "Well, that was divine."

“It truly was,” he murmured beside me. He didn't move from his prone position, clearly still savoring the after-effects.

“Gods, maybe we should hire a masseur,” I mused, the thought blossoming in my newly relaxed mind. “You know, weekly appointments, it was amazing.”

“You can if you wish so,” he murmured, his eyelids heavy. A slight chuckle escaped me at his typical response.

“You wanna go to the sauna?” I asked, thinking of the steaming heat and how it might further loosen any lingering stiffness.

He finally opened his eyes. “Dehydration, dear? A definite negative for my current physiological state.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, conceding his point. "I wanna get pampered a little more," I added, grabbing a glossy pamphlet from the small table beside the bed. "Mud bath, face masks, mani-pedi, exfoliation…" I murmured. "Anything you want?" I asked, looking over at Levi, who was still reclined on his table, eyes closed.

“I prefer laying down,” he murmured, a picture of serene inertia.

“Gods, you look like a cat who ate a particularly big mouse,” I said, chuckling softly. You'd think he'd spent hours running, finally collapsing in utter exhaustion, rather than simply having a massage.

A soft hum escaped him. “Mouse would be… a little unenthusiastic, but an apt analogy.”

“You are ego is… unbelievable, but I am getting facial treatments,” I said, already reaching for the spa's tablet to browse the menu of services.

Levi’s phone blared to life. The bliss of the massage instantly evaporated. He snapped his eyes open, a definite flicker of frustration crossing his face. "Yes?" he answered. A long pause followed, filled with a tinny, urgent voice from the other end that I couldn't quite decipher. "Ugh… Alright," he finally said, the single word conveying a world of annoyance. "You just handle the funeral."

"Uhm… My condolences… Who died?"

“My butler,” he said, his fingers already flying across his phone screen.

“B-Butler? The hell, you don’t have a butler,” I stammered, my mind scrambling to reconcile the information. Then, a memory, old and dusty, resurfaced—fourteen months old. The day I married him, I'd casually dismissed the idea of some stranger living in our house, a quiet assumption that he'd let the man go. So… he hadn't fired the guy? He'd just relocated him? And that butler… died?

“He was in the familial mansion, and died of old age.”

I rubbed my face, processing this new layer of Levi's intricate personal logistics. “So you didn’t fire the guy, you just made him stay at your family mansion, the Blake mansion, instead of our house?”

“He was my mother’s spy. I was going to dismiss him, on the grounds that I was married, but you did that for me instead,” he stated, still engrossed in his phone.

“Spy…” I rubbed my temples this time, a gesture that seemed to be becoming a shared habit this morning. “Care to explain further?”

“Not much to tell,” he began, his voice flat and factual, though he finally looked away from his phone. “He was feeding information to my mother, possibly concerning a second arranged marriage for me, or perhaps data regarding my corporate ventures. My direct dismissal of him would have created unnecessary ripple effects within my mother’s noble social circles, hence my inaction. Instead, I mostly provided him with strategically fabricated data. However, subsequent to our marital union, you expressed a preference for his removal from our shared domicile. As I still required an overseer for the inexplicably expansive and four-century-old familial mansion, I initiated his relocation to that property.”

Two birds, one Raphael.

"Sometimes I forget just how... you your life is. I thought I was just being a normal husband. Turns out, I'm a counter-intelligence agent," I said, a dry chuckle escaping me.

He snorted. "Please, as if you did not know that. How many people do you think would survive a confrontation, not once, in which he hurled you across your room and broke your ribs, with the Conqueror, but twice? Or my mother?" he stated, with an underlying current of pride. He finally put his phone down. "I assure you, if you did not possess formidable mental resilience, you would be completely broken by now."

It's not a calculated survival strategy, it's… just me. I react, I adapt, I survive.

"You say 'formidable mental resilience,' I say 'stubborn refusal to let your family win.' Potato, Potahto," I said, waving my hand dismissively.

Fuck the Blake family and their legacy of abuse and torment. Every single one of them sucks.

"Oh, no dear, it is respect. One must acknowledge when they are in the presence of a monster."

Monster? Ah… He had said something similar, when we were at the Conqueror’s cabin. He really does respect me, in a… fucked up way, I guess.

"And you, are simply too polite to acknowledge your own reflection. We make quite the pair of 'monsters,' don't we?" I said, a playful challenge in my voice.

"Birds of a feather flock together," he countered, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "And no, I do not deny my villainy, I embrace it."

"I guess that means my job is to make sure your villainy comes with a side of ethical considerations," I said, a dry chuckle escaping me.

“On multiple occasions, I have indeed trimmed instances of villainy on the grounds that such actions might precipitate a marital dissolution. But Raphael, do not endeavor to present yourself as a creature of pure virtue. How many individuals, do you postulate, possess the capacity to stomach the sheer force of my nature?”

Most people wouldn't last five minutes.

"I'm not presenting myself as a creature of pure virtue, Levi. Just a creature with a very high tolerance for your particular brand of chaos," I said, a dry tone in my voice.

“Tolerance?” he echoed, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. He finally pushed himself up fully on the massage table, leaning back against the propped-up headrest, his eyes piercing mine. “Cease the fabrication. Do not attempt to persuade me that you do not derive satisfaction from the surge of adrenaline coursing through your system. The elevated experiences inherent in our existence have, without doubt, rendered your other fellow humans… pale? Are they not? They are tedious. Not a single one of them possesses my unique attributes. And you are acutely aware of this. Even if you do not enjoy my amoral nature, even if your stomach churns at my ruthlessness, you know for a fact that you would eventually experience boredom with anyone else.” His gaze intensified, unwavering. “Oh? This is not jealousy, as I am fundamentally incapable of such an emotion. This is a factual declaration. Regardless of your efforts to deny it, you cannot. Despite abandoning me on two occasions, severing all contact entirely, you returned. Do not assert that this was merely a singular emotion termed ‘love.’ It was, I submit, your pursuit of heightened stimulation.” He settled back, a triumphant glint in his deep blue eyes.

The sheer, unmitigated audacity of this man. The thrill, the rush, the sheer, undeniable vibrancy of a life lived with Levi—it does make everyone else feel… dim.

“Obviously, other people… and their attention felt boring after meeting you… I don’t deny that. But I also love you. Who could deal with you as a person, if they were not in love with you?”

“That is not my concern, is it?”

Gods... He truly saw it as an irrelevant point.

“Yeah, you are kinda right about that. Love belongs to the person to give… But, I have something else in my mind… Do you want to go to your… familial mansion?”

I really wanted to know more about him, more about the place that shaped such a complex man.

“Ah,” he responded, a smile completely devoid of humor gracing his lips, unsettling sight. “I would require a particularly potent alcoholic beverage for that endeavor, but certainly.”

“We… don’t have to go, I was just curious about you,” I said, feeling a pang of concern.

“What is a little familial trauma between husbands, dear?” he countered, that unsettling smile still gracing his lips. “Although, we will necessitate the use of my helicopter; I refuse to navigate the terrestrial route. The property is situated within a densely wooded region, at least two hours' driving distance from the capital.”

“Because nothing says 'marital bonding' like shared intergenerational trauma and a helicopter ride,” I muttered. “But, yeah, I am definitely curious. Before that, can we eat something? My stomach started to digest itself,” I grumbled, patting my belly.

“Surely, let us have lunch,” he replied, already reaching for his phone. “Prior to that, I must apprise the domestic staff, considering their extended five-year sabbatical due to the absence of direct lineage residency.”

The staff of a four-century-old mansion, just waiting patiently for someone from the "direct lineage" to grace them with their presence again. It's a level of old-money absurdity that never ceases to amaze me.

After our serene escape at the spa and Levi's unexpected confessions, we found ourselves at a quiet bistro for lunch. I, of course, indulged in a hearty meal of red meat and other protein-fueled dishes, savoring every bite. Levi mostly ate desserts, occasionally taking a forkful from my mashed potatoes. It was a quiet victory, perhaps, before the impending descent into his past.

And now, we were on our way to the very place where that aversion, among other things, likely began: the familial mansion.

As the chopper lifted off, the vibrant sprawl of the city quickly dwindled beneath us, replaced by unbroken tapestry of green. With each passing minute, the air inside the cabin seemed to grow heavier. He sat beside me, utterly composed, staring out at the receding landscape, his profile unreadable.