Our dinner was pleasant. We shared some anecdotes from our own work, some playful teasing and banter. We were just two people sharing a meal, a comfortable silence occasionally punctuated by laughter.

He wasn’t the lion; I wasn’t the prey.

Between us, there was a silent acknowledgment and possibly understanding, which Levi clearly sought. A pleasant Sunday evening, with the man that terrified me.

We got inside our home. The exhaustion from the long day of filming hit me like a physical weight, and I immediately crashed onto the plush couch in the living room. Levi, continued upstairs towards his room, presumably to change out of his impeccably tailored suit. I chuckled softly at the predictable routine. Then, a deafening crash ripped through the quiet of the house. The long, wall-covering window of our living room imploded, showering the room in shards of glittering glass.

Instinctively, I scrambled to jump off the couch, to find some semblance of cover behind its bulk. It was a grave mistake. The moment I moved, a searing, white-hot pain ripped through my shoulder, sending a shock wave of agony through my entire body. I gasped, collapsing down to the floor, a strangled cry escaping my lips. Warm, sticky wetness bloomed against my skin, spreading rapidly. Through the ringing in my ears, I could hear Levi’s sharp, furious shout from upstairs.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The reality slammed into me with the force of the bullet that had just torn through my flesh. I got shot. Here. In our home. The pleasant evening, the quiet understanding with Levi—all of it shattered as violently as the window. My vision swam, the edges blurring. The ringing in my ears intensified, almost drowning out Levi’s frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs.

“No! Don’t come! Take cover!” I choked out, the words ragged and weak. Ignoring my plea, Levi’s voice, sharp with fury and laced with a raw fear I’d never heard before, cut through the shattered remnants of our peaceful evening.

“Raphael! Where are you?” His footsteps were still pounding down the stairs, closer now.

Before Levi could reach the bottom step, another sharp crack echoed through the room, followed by the sickening thud of something hitting the rug near my head. More glass rained down, and a fresh wave of terror washed over me. They weren't just shooting at the window; they were shooting into the room, targeting me.,

Gasping through the pain that lanced through my shoulder with every shallow breath, I focused on Levi’s frozen form at the bottom of the stairs, trying to convey the direction of the attack and the location of my injury despite the haze of pain threatening to overwhelm me. “Stay… there…” I managed, hoping he wouldn’t expose himself further.

Levi’s eyes darted around the shattered window, assessing the situation with terrifying speed. “Snipers, Raphael. If you can, crawl behind the wall. Don’t raise your head.” He remained crouched at the bottom of the stairs, a silent command in his gaze urging me to move.

Our living room was gigantic, like a poorly designed golf field, stretching far beyond the shattered window and flowing into an open kitchen. The best chance of real cover was indeed either towards Levi, which meant crossing open space, or going the complete opposite way, pressing myself against the wall where the window had been, hoping the snipers' angle wouldn't allow a clear shot from there. Both options felt impossibly dangerous with the searing pain in my shoulder.

Levi’s voice, sharp and urgent, cut through the ringing in my ears. “Don’t sleep, Raphael. Move!”

Ignoring the agonizing protest from my wounded shoulder, I twisted my body, pushing myself onto my knees. The shattered glass crunched beneath me. Dragging my injured arm, I began to crawl, inching my way across the open space towards Levi. Each movement sent jolts of searing pain through me, and the floor seemed miles away, but the unwavering intensity in Levi’s gaze, the sheer urgency of his voice, propelled me forward.

As I got closer, a deafening crack ripped through the air again, and with a terrifying cascade of sound, every remaining window in the living room exploded inwards, showering us with even more shards of glass. The force of the impact sent a tremor through the floor, and I instinctively flinched, trying to shield my head with my good arm, the pain in my shoulder screaming in protest.

That was probably what pushed Levi to the edge; with a guttural growl of pure fury, he moved, low and fast. He grabbed my wrists firmly and hauled me up, his grip like iron bands as he half-carried, half-dragged me towards the stairs. A searing, white-hot lance of agony shot through my shoulder with the sudden movement, and a raw scream ripped from my throat. The pain was so intense it momentarily blanked out everything else.

The rest of it was a black-out blur to me. I vaguely registered the sensation of being hauled up the stairs, Levi’s frantic movements, but then a dark curtain fell, and everything went silent.

...

When I woke up again. I was in Levi’s room, lying on the bed; the pain made me cry out again. Levi’s low, urgent voice filtered through the haze of pain as I slowly regained consciousness. He was pacing near the window, his back to me, talking intently on his phone.

“I’ll clean the wound, but I don’t know if the bullet is still inside. Yes, it was the job of a single sniper. He left after I descended downstairs.” Levi’s voice was tight, controlled, but I could hear the undercurrent of fury simmering beneath the surface. He paused, listening to the person on the other end.

“Lev…” My voice was weak and raspy, the simple act of speaking sending a jolt of pain through my shoulder. Levi’s head snapped around. He turned his phone off and came to the bed. “Raphael,” he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying an edge of urgency. He knelt beside me, his gaze intense as he assessed my condition. “You didn’t lose too much blood, thankfully, but your wound is still open. Do not move. I need to examine it properly.”

Levi’s voice was firm, as he began to peel back the makeshift bandage he must have applied. “This is going to hurt, Raphael,” he warned, his eyes meeting mine with a look of grim determination. “Do not clench your jaw; instead, bite down on this.” He produced a thick, folded piece of fabric and held it out to me.

“What… the fuck…” The words tumbled out of me, a disbelieving whisper at first, then rising in volume. “I got shot… I actually got shot…” The delayed shock of the event finally crashed over me.

Levi’s voice was a low, steady anchor in the storm of my panic. “Pulla, deep breaths for me. In… and out…” He demonstrated slowly, his gaze locked on mine, his presence a tangible weight beside me. “It is over now. You are safe. Sadly, the pain will be there for a little while, but the danger… the danger is gone now.”

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

“I got… Shot.” The words were still difficult to grasp, the reality surreal. “Shot by a sniper… in the… living room…” The image of the shattered window flashed in my mind, and a fresh wave of nausea rolled through me.

“Pulla, do not spiral. I need you to breathe and prepare yourself. I did some initial first aid, but I need to properly clean the wound and see if the bullet is still lodged in your shoulder.”

“Fuck… lodged in my shoulder?” My eyes widened in disbelief and a fresh surge of panic. Were there any words to calm me down? Well, I didn’t think there were, and judging by the determined set of his jaw, Levi didn't either.

He gently but firmly pressed my uninjured side against the mattress, carefully positioning me. Then, with a focused intensity, he examined my wounded shoulder, his fingers probing the area with a surprising gentleness despite the urgency of the situation. “Pulla,” he finally said, his voice a touch less tense. “Relatively good news. The bullet just pierced through the muscle over your shoulder. It didn’t hit any bone, pierce straight through, or lodge inside. But,” he added, his gaze serious, “the wound itself is rather deep. You will need stitches.”

“Did I faint? What happened? I don’t really remember much after you started pulling me towards the stairs.” The memories were fragmented, flashes of pain and Levi's fierce grip.

“You possibly fainted from the shock and pain,” Levi confirmed, his expression still tight with concern. “The blood loss itself wasn’t severe, thankfully. But my… home attempt at bandaging a bullet wound is not nearly enough. This needs proper medical attention to prevent infection and ensure it heals correctly.”

“I got shot… I got shot by a bullet…” My breath hitched, and a tremor ran through my body.

“Raphael, I do not know whether it would offer any consolation, but I might try to do something to distract you from the pain while we wait for the physician.” Levi's voice was measured, his gaze steady.

“What can possibly distract me from a gunshot wound, Levi?” My voice was laced with disbelief and a hint of hysteria. The throbbing in my shoulder seemed to amplify with every panicked thought. “Are you going to juggle?”

A ghost of a smile touched Levi’s lips, a rare and unexpected sight in the midst of the chaos. “No, Pulla, I will not attempt juggling. However,” he continued, his voice shifting to a more conversational tone, “I might share some anecdotes from my time as a college student. Would you be interested?”

“Shit. What?” My eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. Levi? Sharing college stories? This was unexpected. “Yeah, I am. Tell me.”

“Well, even as a child, I always had a keen interest in chemistry. My interest particularly stemmed from the immediate and often dramatic reactions one could observe in experiments. But,” he paused, his voice taking on a more somber tone, “on a more personal note, I sincerely wanted to create a drug that could help my now late sister. My dream of that specific cure shattered, but my interest in synthesizing drugs didn’t subside. So, I applied to the Royal Academy to study chemistry, specifically focusing on the synthesis of pharmaceuticals.” A hint of his characteristic determination returned to his voice. “They had the most rigorous program, despite the… occasional explosive incident.”

“Explosive?” I echoed, a wry smile tugging at my lips despite the throbbing in my shoulder.

“Yes, Raphael. The regulations at the Royal Academy regarding laboratory safety were, shall we say, comprehensive. Multiple protocols, emergency procedures, mandatory safety equipment. I, of course, adhered to all of them meticulously. Twice. The first incident involved a minor miscalculation with a volatile compound. The resulting exothermic reaction exceeded the capacity of the containment vessel. The sound, I was later informed, was akin to a small firework display. The second… involved a rather enthusiastic release of pressure during a synthesis. The primary containment failed, followed shortly by a secondary seal. The force was sufficient to dislodge several ceiling tiles. On both occasions, I promptly initiated the documented emergency shutdown procedures. Professor Armitage's feedback, while technically constructive, did carry a certain… weary resignation.”

“So, you basically blew up the Royal Academy’s lab, not once but twice, and made your professor age faster?” I chuckled again, the image becoming clearer and more absurd in my mind. “He probably started getting grey hairs after your first ‘minor miscalculation.’”

A hint of a genuine smile touched Levi’s lips this time. “It is… plausible. Professor Armitage did seem to acquire a more distinguished shade of silver in his temples during my tenure. Though I am certain it was purely coincidental and a natural progression of time.”

Just then, a discreet knock echoed from the door. “That will be Dr. Nora,” he said, his voice regaining its usual crispness. “She is prompt.” He moved swiftly to the door, opening it to reveal a woman carrying a medical bag. “Thank you for coming so quickly. He is in here.”

“Mr. Blake,” Dr. Nora acknowledged Levi with a respectful nod, her professional gaze then immediately turning to me on the bed. “I understand there has been an emergency.” Her voice was calm and reassuring, carrying a quiet authority. “Hello, Raphael. Let’s have a look at that shoulder.”

Dr. Nora moved towards the bed with a composed confidence. “My name is Nora.” She offered a brief, polite smile. “Can you tell me where the pain is most intense?” She listened attentively as I indicated the throbbing area. “Any radiating pain?”

“Alright, we’ll remove this dressing carefully. Please let me know if you experience any significant discomfort.” Her movements were precise and gentle as she unwrapped Levi's bandage.

After a closer look, her expression remained calm but firm. “Mr. Blake, as you suspected, it is a clean through-and-through, but the wound is deep enough to require sutures for proper healing and to minimize scarring.”

Dr. Nora nodded briefly before turning her attention back to me. “Raphael, I will need to administer a local anesthetic before I proceed with the stitches. It will sting momentarily.” She prepared the injection swiftly. “This will help numb the area. Afterwards, you will still feel some pressure, but the sharp pain should subside.” Once the anesthetic was given, she efficiently prepared her instruments. “Now, try to remain as still as possible while I close the wound.”

Once finished, she applied a sterile dressing. “There we are. A clean closure. I will also administer a mild analgesic and an antibiotic now to manage any residual discomfort and prevent infection. Try to rest and avoid putting any strain on your arm.” She gave Levi a direct, concise look. “Please monitor him for any fever or increased inflammation. Contact me immediately if you have any concerns.”

Levi gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. After a few brief, clear instructions to me regarding rest and the medication, Dr. Nora packed her bag. “Get some rest, Raphael,” she said with a final, professional smile before departing the room quietly.

I got shot, and I got stitches to remember this day for the rest of my life.

“Levi,” I said, the exhaustion coloring my voice, but the urgency clear, “we need to move out.”

“Please do not worry yourself with that, Pulla,” Levi said, his voice calm but firm. “We will leave this house first thing in the morning. At the same time, focus on your recovery.”

“Yeah… I am exhausted…” The pain medication was starting to take effect. My eyelids felt like lead.

I was lying down on his bed. Where was he going to sleep? “Wait, where are you gonna sleep?”

The thought of being alone right now was unsettling.

“Pulla, I cannot sleep right now, for the life of me,” he said, his gaze steady. “But I can rest in my study. It has a comfortable enough chaise lounge.”

“No,” I mumbled, the exhaustion making me sound petulant. “Just come here. Don’t leave me alone.”

“Surely, Pulla. Be careful of your shoulder; scoot over to the right side of the bed.” He moved with a quiet grace, carefully settling onto the edge of the mattress, giving my injured side a wide berth.

“This is a serious question,” I mumbled, my eyelids already feeling heavy. “Like, how can you be mindful of that in the middle of everything? Like, how?” The events of the day were a blur of pain and fear, and Levi's consistent awareness of my injury felt almost surreal. “You were just talking to someone about who shot me, and you still remembered my shoulder when you sat down. How?”

“The more immediate truth is, I do not know, Pulla. It has become… instinctive. But, on a surface level, your discomfort would distress me.”