The shower was a silent, shared cleansing, the warm water washing away the remnants of the day's intensity. Levi's touch was gentle as he applied the soothing ointment to my marked skin, his apologies murmured and sincere. The arrival of the servants with fresh, clean clothes signaled a return to the normalcy of the mansion.

By the time we finally left the room, the last vestiges of daylight were fading, painting the sky in hues of twilight. Cassiel had prepared a rather exquisite feast for us in his back garden. To call it a garden felt like an understatement. It was a sprawling landscape, more akin to a private estate: intricate hedges forming a verdant maze, a shimmering pool reflecting the soft evening light, numerous marble sculptures standing like silent sentinels midst vibrant flower gardens that perfumed the air with a delicate fragrance.

Then, the servants presented my dinner. It wasn't an elaborate, ostentatious display, but something far more poignant: a traditional Cyrusian meal. It was the kind of food you'd find on a family table, simple yet deeply comforting. Fuck… the first bite hit me with a wave of nostalgia. The subtle blend of spices, the delightful, familiar heat… it tasted exactly like my mother's cooking. Beef stew. A lump formed in my throat, a bittersweet ache for a home and a past that felt both distant and achingly present in that single, perfect mouthful.

Seven years. Seven long years since I had tasted anything that truly reminded me of home. The imported instant meals, while a small comfort, were a pale imitation, a ghost of the real thing. But this… this was different. This was the genuine article, a taste of my past, a connection to a part of me I had almost forgotten. Fuck… the emotions were a tangled mess – gratitude, longing, a sharp pang of homesickness.

"If you would like more, please do not hesitate to ask, Raphael," Cassiel said gently, his voice filled with a quiet understanding. "There is plenty." He gestured subtly towards the dishes.

Responding in Cyrusian, the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. "It's not just the taste, Cassiel… it's… it tastes exactly like my mother's. Fuck…" A bitter laugh escaped me, devoid of humor. "I feel this overwhelming bitterness, this resentment for all these years I've missed this. They abandoned me completely, with a single fucking letter. Only for me to be reduced to missing their goddamn home cooking."

"Is it just the cooking you miss, Raphael, or are there other aspects of your home, of your family, that you long for?" Cassiel asked softly, his gaze gentle and probing. I replied back in Cyrusian.

"They are still my family, are they not?" I asked, the words laced with a desperate plea for a truth I wasn't sure existed anymore. "I didn't just crawl out from under a rock into this world. Levi even offered… he offered to bring them here, to talk, to try and reconcile. But the thought of facing that again… that cold abandonment, that utter disregard… I don't think I can bear it. And yet…" My voice dropped, thick with self-loathing. "And yet, I feel this shameful longing, this ache for them. Their love… it was conditional, superficial. Their praise was only offered when I played the dutiful son, the perfect angel, never for who I truly am. But still… still I miss them. Fuck… why? Why do I miss them so much when they caused me this much pain? I fled countries, built a life for myself here, carved out a semblance of peace. Seven years of silence, and then a fucking letter to sever any connection, any possibility of return. They even shamed me, shamed me for marrying Levi, an Ascarian man, saying I made our ancestors weep. Their love was a weapon, and yet… I still crave it."

Cassiel listened intently, his gaze unwavering as I poured out the years of pain and conflicted emotions in my native tongue. When I finally fell silent, the air thick with unspoken grief and resentment, he responded in fluid Cyrusian, his voice gentle but firm.

"Raphael," he began, his tone imbued with a deep understanding that transcended mere politeness. "Family is a complex tapestry, woven with threads of love, obligation, and sometimes, profound pain. The fact that you miss them does not diminish the hurt they inflicted. Longing for connection is a fundamental part of being human, even when those connections have caused us suffering."

He paused, his eyes meeting mine with a profound empathy. "Their love, as you described it, was flawed, conditional. You deserved more. You deserved to be loved for who you are, not for who they wished you to be. Their inability to accept your life, your marriage, speaks volumes about their limitations, not yours."

Cassiel's gaze softened. "It takes immense strength to build a new life, to find happiness after such rejection. The fact that you feel shame for missing them is a testament to the enduring power they held over you. But perhaps," he suggested gently, "that longing is not for them as they are, but for the idea of a loving family, for the connection you were denied. You are not shameful for yearning for love, Raphael. That is a natural and beautiful part of you."

Cassiel's words resonated with a quiet truth that chipped away at the wall of bitterness I had built around my heart. His gentle understanding, spoken in the familiar cadence of my mother tongue, was a balm to years of unspoken pain. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to completely dissipate.

"Perhaps..." I echoed, the word feeling foreign on my tongue, a hesitant acknowledgment of a perspective I had stubbornly refused to consider. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it's the ghost of what could have been that I mourn, not what truly was."

A sigh escaped me, a weary release of some of the tension that had been coiled tight for so long. "It's just... it's hard to reconcile the longing with the anger. The memories of their disapproval, their judgment... they still sting."

Another deep breath shuddered through me, a physical attempt to expel the knot of conflicting emotions in my chest. "I watched Levi navigate his own treacherous reconciliation with the Conqueror and Cybil – two individuals who embody abuse and narcissism, cruelty and sadism. I even foolishly, naively tried to help him bridge that impossible chasm. But my family… that's a different kind of poison. There's no grand confrontation, no dramatic showdown. Just a cold, silent severing. And here I stand, bitter, resentful, longing, aching for a connection that was never truly healthy, a love that was always conditional."

A small, genuine smile touched my lips as I looked at Cassiel. "But thank you. Thank you for your kind words and for this meal. I hadn't realized just how deeply I missed this simple taste of home. And speaking in Cyrusian again after so long… it's a strange comfort in the midst of all this turmoil."

"It speaks to your inherent capacity for love and forgiveness that you still feel this longing, despite the pain. It is a testament to your strength, not a weakness. The important thing is that you found solace in this meal and in speaking your native tongue. Perhaps we can make this a more regular occurrence," Cassiel offered, his voice a soothing balm.

A genuine smile finally broke through my lingering melancholy. "Yeah? That would be lovely, Cassiel. I have a friend, Finn, who I think you'd vibe with instantly. He always has a penchant for… eccentric people. You two would probably get into all sorts of fascinating trouble together."

A curious smile touched Cassiel's lips. "Eccentric, you say? That is often where the most interesting conversations reside. I would be delighted to meet this Finn of yours. Perhaps we can indeed find some 'fascinating trouble' to explore." He chuckled softly, a spark of genuine interest lighting his eyes. "Please, do introduce us at your convenience, Raphael."

“You should come at our house one day. It was like a villain’s lair. Grey and white slob, in the middle of the woods, the closest neighbor is like 20 minutes away. I threw some photos and plants to the mix. Now it is more like a domesticated villain’s lair.”

"Consider me intrigued, Raphael," Cassiel replied, a thoughtful expression on his face. "A domesticated villain's lair... the juxtaposition is rather appealing. It reminds me a touch of Blake's own… theatrical inclinations. Ah, that reminds me," he chuckled softly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "That incorrigible man once managed to make the King piss himself, you know. The poor sovereign cried on my shoulder the entire evening, lamenting his lost dignity." Cassiel shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips.

I turned my head sharply towards Levi, my disbelief evident. "You made the King… piss himself?"

Levi merely inclined his head, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his lips as he took a deliberate sip of his scotch. "Ah, yes, pulla. It was a rather delightful day, indeed." He savored the memory, the amber liquid catching the soft garden lights. "One of my favorite tales to recount, in fact." A hint of wicked amusement danced in his eyes.

“Ah, yes. The King. A pompous, puffed-up peacock of a man, convinced of his divine right and the unwavering adoration of his subjects. Such fragile egos are always the most delightful to dismantle. This particular incident unfolded during his annual address to the Combined Houses – a tedious affair, usually filled with predictable platitudes and self-congratulatory pronouncements.

I had spent the weeks leading up to it painting subtle cracks in his facade. A whispered rumor here about his declining health, a planted anecdote there questioning his decisiveness. During rehearsals, a well-timed cough just as he reached a crucial point, a fleeting look of pity exchanged with a prominent ambassador. Nothing overt, mind you. Just enough to sow the seeds of doubt in his already fertile ground of insecurity.

On the day itself, I took my seat, ensuring my gaze was fixed upon him – not with overt hostility, but with scrutiny. Every stammer, every nervous twitch of his hand, I met with a barely perceptible sigh, a fleeting downturn of my lips that suggested profound disappointment. The weight of my silent judgment was a tangible thing, I could almost see it settling upon his shoulders.

The masterstroke, however, involved Lord Elmsworth, a man whose ambition outweighed his backbone by a considerable margin. A discreet word in his ear, a carefully fabricated tale of a perceived slight by the King against his ancestral line, and Elmsworth played his part with a trembling commitment. Midway through the King’s droning on about the strength of the realm, Elmsworth let out a theatrical gasp and clutched his chest, collapsing onto the marble floor. All eyes, of course, snapped to the King. His carefully rehearsed composure wavered. The unexpected disruption, coupled with the subtle erosion of his confidence I had orchestrated, proved too much for his delicate constitution. The strain, the sheer mortification of having his moment of glory shattered, manifested in a most… unfortunate way. A dark stain bloomed on his regal trousers. The collective gasp of the assembled dignitaries was music to my ears.

Later that evening, a tearful monarch, smelling faintly of his own humiliation, sought solace on Cassiel’s surprisingly broad shoulder. He lamented his lost dignity, the irreparable damage to his image. I, of course, offered my most sincere (and entirely insincere) condolences, all the while relishing the memory of that exquisite moment of royal incontinence. A delightful day indeed. Proving, once again, that sometimes the most potent weapons are not swords or spells, but the subtle art of psychological dismantling.”

"Levi…" I began, shaking my head slowly, a mixture of disbelief and reluctant admiration swirling within me. "You are… I don't even have the words to properly describe the sheer… audacity of that."

A knowing smirk played on Levi's lips. "Ah, pulla. You've hurled enough creative insults my way since the day we met, haven't you?" He took another leisurely sip of his scotch.

"I… yeah, but…" I stammered, still processing the image of a weeping, incontinent king. "Apparently, my vocabulary wasn't quite up to par for this level of… you."

"I thought it was rather evident from my general demeanor and life choices that I possess a slight inclination towards… unconventional methods," Levi purred, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "A touch of the theatrical, perhaps? A dash of chaos?"

"No, not just unconventional… more like… shit. I really do not have any cuss words potent enough to explain what I'm thinking right now," I admitted, a frustrated sigh escaping me. "Ascaria desperately needs a team of linguists dedicated solely to creating new and terrible insults specifically for you." The existing lexicon simply felt inadequate.

"Ah, my dear Raphael," Levi chuckled, a genuine warmth entering his voice. "To inspire the creation of an entirely new lexicon of insults? That would possibly be the greatest honor a man of my… talents could aspire to." He raised his glass of scotch in a mock toast, a twinkle in his eye.

I watched Levi, a smugly satisfied expression on his face as he savored the idea of inspiring new insults. Damn him. Where does one even begin to truly insult a man who takes such perverse pleasure in his own villainy? Even my rage-fueled brain, usually a wellspring of creative (and often crude) invective, drew a blank. The existing arsenal of swear words and insults felt utterly inadequate to capture the sheer… Levi-ness of him.

Cassiel chimed in, a hint of long-suffering exasperation in his voice. "I will never forgive Blake for that incident. Do you have any idea how long it took for that oaf of a King to calm down? I had to ply him with nearly two entire bottles of vintage wine just to cease his incessant whining and squealing like a distressed swine."

"Ah, but he was a well-fed monarch swine, my dear Cassiel, yes," Levi corrected smoothly, a fond smile playing on his lips at the memory. "Remarkably proficient at whimpering, he was."

"You guys are just… shit," I sputtered, shaking my head in disbelief. "I really do not possess the linguistic creativity to adequately convey the sheer audacity of your words and actions."

Levi chuckled, reaching out to gently take my hand. "My dear Raphael. Embrace the glorious tapestry of villainy. He was a pathetic, mewling swine, and I merely pruned a withered branch from a rather overgrown family tree. Now, now," he continued, his eyes gleaming with a conspiratorial light. "For the final, perhaps most delicious reveal, yes? Holden. My ever-efficient secretary. Holden was his cousin. I took Holden under my wing years ago, precisely because that short-sighted monarch pig didn't even begin to recognize how remarkably intelligent, competent, and utterly useful Holden truly was."

"Wait… Holden? Holden was a royal?" I asked, my mind reeling.

"Indeed," Levi confirmed, a smug satisfaction in his tone. "And you never quite warmed to him, did you, pulla? I believe that was precisely why I found it so… amusing."

"Yeah…" I admitted slowly, the pieces clicking into place. "He was always so… sly, so calculating. There was something about him I never quite trusted. Shit. He was a royal? And you… you made him your secretary?"

"Rather fitting title for a deposed monarch, wouldn't you agree, my dear?" Levi purred, raising his glass once more. "A subtle, everyday reminder of the delicious irony of fate."

"The layers of intrigue surrounding you, Blake, are truly dizzying," Cassiel remarked, a slight shake of his head accompanying a wry smile. "One almost needs a scorecard to keep track of the various manipulations and hidden connections in your orbit."

"Dizzying isn't even the right word, Cassiel," I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "It's more like… you know that idiom, like dropping a bombshell in your lap? Levi doesn't just drop a bombshell. He casually tosses a goddamn nuke at you. Every single time. Without fail. You think you've grasped the level of his… Levi-ness, and then BAM! Royal secretary!"

"My dear pulla," Levi purred, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "you wound me with your hyperbole. It was merely a well-placed firecracker of truth, detonated for maximum… dramatic effect."

"Firecracker? Firecracker, Levi?" I sputtered, my voice rising in disbelief. "Cassiel, do you even comprehend the scale of this man's 'firecrackers'? Do you know what he casually offered me? The crown itself, as if it were a trinket! Or perhaps governing some insignificant little nation? Oh, and let's not forget the casual suggestion of launching a full-scale war on Cyrusia, my homeland! And you know what his latest 'firecracker' was? His latest goddamn nuke? He asked me, while calmly stirring a cake batter in our kitchen, if I wanted to move the entire Royal Palace, Cassiel! The Royal Palace! As if we were rearranging the furniture!"

Cassiel let out a long, weary sigh, the sound carrying the weight of past experience. "Ah, Raphael, that is the Duke Blake persona asserting itself. You must learn to brace yourself; these… grand propositions are simply part of his repertoire. Though, I must admit," he added, a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes, "perhaps be grateful that he asked you. Had he truly desired it, he would likely have placed the crown upon your head by morning, effectively marking your coronation as King without so much as a by-your-leave. But moving the Royal Palace? The sheer administrative nightmare of it all… dreadful."

"Details, details," Levi waved a dismissive hand, his eyes twinkling. "Whether a crown rests upon a deserving head here, or a palace stands proudly there, it's all just a matter of logistics, wouldn't you agree, Cassiel? Though I must say," he turned his gaze to me, a genuine warmth softening his expression, "my pulla would look undeniably dashing in a crown. A kingly bearing suits him remarkably well."

A blush, traitorous and warm, crept up my neck. Damn him and his unexpected compliments.

"He would certainly look infinitely more dashing than that oafish swine ever did," Cassiel added smoothly.

My blush deepened, spreading across my cheeks. Damn it, Cassiel. You are undeniably hotter than I am; you don't need to compliment me like that. It's unfair. "Oh, shut up, both of you," I mumbled, trying to regain some semblance of composure, the warmth in my face betraying my annoyance.

"Ah, Cassiel, my dear friend," Levi purred, his smirk widening at my obvious discomfort. "I am so gratified that your discerning eye recognizes Raphael's inherent regal quality. As it happens, the former King's rather ridiculous crown and equally ostentatious royal cape are currently residing in the Royal Palace's treasure vaults. Perhaps," he mused aloud, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his glass, "I should bring them home one day. Just for a bit of… impromptu photography. Imagine the artistic possibilities." The thought clearly amused him immensely.

"Ah, please, Blake," Cassiel interjected, a hint of distaste in his voice. "Why drape Raphael in anything that sullied the skin of that monarch swine? There are countless talented artists who could craft far more suitable and aesthetically pleasing props for such an endeavor."

"Wait a minute," I said, turning to Cassiel, utterly bewildered. "So, your issue isn't Levi potentially pilfering a crown from the Royal Treasury, but the aesthetics of the previous owner?" The priorities of these two never ceased to amaze me.

"Pilfering? My, my, Raphael, such harsh terminology," Levi chuckled, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I could simply purchase the gaudy thing, you know. But…" he paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, "a little clandestine acquisition from the Royal Treasury would be undeniably more… stimulating. Don't you agree, Cassiel? A touch of rebellious flair always adds spice to life."

"Blake," Cassiel said, his voice carrying a hint of their shared, often complicated, history, "we have had enough 'stimulating' encounters with royal authorities in the past, wouldn't you say? Perhaps a less… eventful acquisition would be preferable this time."

Just when a sliver of hope flickered that Cassiel might inject some semblance of normalcy into Levi's chaotic tendencies, the conversation veered off into an even more bewildering direction. What in the absolute fuck was happening at this dinner table? One moment we were discussing the taste of home, the next we were contemplating grand theft of royal regalia. My head was spinning.

"Okay… okay…" I muttered, a desperate plea for normalcy escaping my lips. "I desperately need some nicotine before my brain completely short-circuits from this royal fever dream. You two can continue your fascinating discussion of pilfered crowns and palace relocations; I'll be just outside, attempting to ground myself in the simple pleasure of a smoke."

Before I could even take a step, Cassiel snapped his fingers. A servant, appearing as if from nowhere, stood attentively beside him. "Pick your poison, my dear Raphael," Cassiel offered with a surprisingly knowing smile. "Cigars? Perhaps a pipe with a fine blend? Or are you in the mood for more… conventional cigarettes? We have a variety of tobaccos, and of course, menthols are available."

"Something normal," I sighed, the absurdity of the situation still clinging to me. "Something utterly unremarkable. A cheap, disgusting, supermarket cigarette, please. The kind that tastes vaguely of regret and desperation. That's precisely what I need right now."

The servant nodded silently and glided away, returning moments later with a familiar, flimsy pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I snatched them gratefully, my hands slightly trembling.

"Thank you," I mumbled to Cassiel, already halfway towards the garden. The cool night air against my face was a welcome change from the bizarre intensity of the dinner table. I lit the cigarette, the harsh, familiar taste a small anchor in the swirling chaos of my thoughts. Royal cousins as secretaries? Moving palaces like furniture? Stealing crowns for photoshoots? What in the seven hells had my life become?

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Taking a long drag, I leaned against a stone balustrade, the scent of night-blooming jasmine mixing with the acrid smoke. Maybe a little distance, a little nicotine, would help me process the sheer strangeness of my husband and his friend. Or maybe, I thought with a sigh, this was just my new normal. A domesticated villain's lair, indeed.

The harsh bite of the cheap cigarette did little to soothe the chaotic symphony playing in my head, but it provided a temporary reprieve. After the last drag, I flicked the butt into a nearby planter and turned back towards the warm glow emanating from the dining area.

As I approached, the low murmur of conversation escalated into the familiar cadence of Cassiel and Levi either locked in fierce debate or engaging in their intricate game of subtle manipulation. Tonight, it seemed to be the former. Cassiel's usually smooth voice held a sharper edge, while Levi's was laced with a smugly self-satisfied tone. Snippets of their argument drifted towards me – something about a "bidding war," a "lost acquisition," and Cassiel accusing Levi of "unscrupulous tactics." It seemed even in the most mundane of financial dealings, their inherent eccentricities managed to surface.

Cassiel's voice, usually a model of calm composure, was tight with barely suppressed fury. "You are one gigantic, utterly shameless boulder of reprehensible behavior, Blake. I meticulously tracked down that painting, followed every lead, for five damn years. And you, with your usual disregard for anything resembling fair play, simply swooped in at the last moment and snatched it from under my nose in a single, ridiculously overbid auction."

Levi merely leaned back in his chair, a picture of smug contentment. "Ah, my dear Cassiel," he purred, swirling the remaining scotch in his glass. "Your rather dramatic pursuit only served to make the eventual acquisition of that masterpiece all the more… satisfying. And let's not forget your spirited reaction, dear. You did throw your rather lovely crystal glass at my head, if memory serves."

"And your 'spirited bidding,' as you so charmingly put it, Blake, exceeded the painting's estimated value by a factor of three. Sheer spite, nothing more."

"Ah, yes," Levi drawled, a picture of faux contrition. "My deepest apologies for my rather… inconveniently bottomless coffers of wealth, Cassiel. The sheer volume of it had become quite a storage issue, you see. One simply had to invest in something exquisite. And," he added, a truly wicked glint in his eyes, "hearing your delightful bitterness and lingering resentment on the matter, even years later, in such vibrant spirits, makes the acquisition all the more… profoundly satisfying."

Wow. Just look at Levi, basking in Cassiel's barely concealed fury like a cat in a sunbeam. It's almost… endearing, in a twisted sort of way, if he weren't radiating such an unbearable aura of smug self-satisfaction. The sheer audacity of his blatant gloating was actually quite breathtaking.

"And what about that magnificent obsidian jaguar sculpture, hmm?" Cassiel continued, his voice laced with a hint of lingering annoyance. "You outbid me with your usual exorbitant offer, securing it after weeks of my careful negotiation with the artisan. And what did you do with that exquisite piece, Blake? You promptly donated it to the Royal Art Academia, where it now sits gathering dust in some forgotten corner, likely admired by no one!"

"A strategic donation, my friend," Levi purred, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "One must cultivate relationships with the Royal Art Academia. You never know when a well-placed sculpture might open doors… or perhaps distract attention from other, more… private acquisitions."

"Ah yes, your legendary philanthropy, Blake," Cassiel replied, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. "Always with a hidden agenda lurking beneath the surface of your generous gestures."

"Philanthropy is indeed a pursuit for me, Cassiel," Levi agreed smoothly, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "As you well know, I am the Saint of Ascaria, having, if I recall correctly, personally extricated you from the clutches of that rather oafish swine of a monarch. Which, now that you mention it, brings a rather delightful thought to mind. I should have gifted that magnificent jaguar to my dear mother. You see, she harbors a rather… severe allergy to all things feline."

"Blake," Cassiel said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Sometimes your capacity for… pointed cruelty is truly breathtaking."

Finally.

"Finally," I murmured, taking a slow, deliberate sip of my wine. "Finally, something we can all wholeheartedly agree on at this… eventful dinner table. But," I added, a hint of amusement lacing my voice, "in all seriousness, your bickering is rather… captivating. Please, do continue. Spill more tales.”

"See, Cassiel?" Levi said, a playful smirk directed at him. "Even Raphael appreciates our… passionate exchanges. You're clearly the more entertaining when you're delightfully riled up."

Ah, shit. Was that a flicker of… attraction again? Fuck. Am I spiraling down that familiar rabbit hole of jealousy? Even after spending hours of having sex with Levi in Cassiel's own damn house? What the hell is wrong with me? They're both undeniably attractive, possess a history that stretches back years, and this constant push-and-pull dynamic between them… it's a potent cocktail. Shit.

My knuckles were white as I gripped the stem of my wine glass. Years. They had years of this. This barbed wit, this underlying tension that somehow crackled with a strange sort of energy. They knew each other's triggers, their weaknesses, the precise way to rile the other up, and there was a twisted intimacy in that knowledge. An intimacy I hadn't been privy to for… well, years myself, in a different way.

It wasn't just the physical attraction, though gods knew they were both breathtaking in their own ways. It was the shared history, the inside jokes I didn't understand, the comfortable way they could fall into this antagonistic rhythm. It made me feel like an outsider, a newcomer in a play that had been running for decades.

And the worst part? A tiny, shameful voice whispered in the back of my mind that there was something undeniably… compelling about it. The fire in their eyes when they clashed, the sharp intelligence that fueled their arguments. It was like watching a perfectly choreographed dance, even if the music was a discordant symphony of insults and one-upmanship.

I took another large gulp of wine, the alcohol doing little to extinguish the burning knot of insecurity tightening in my chest. Get a grip, Raphael. You're being ridiculous. He chose you. He's with you. But the insidious tendrils of jealousy were already wrapping around my thoughts, whispering doubts I couldn't quite silence.

Gods, I sound utterly pathetic, even in the privacy of my own head. Obsessing over their dynamic like some lovesick teenager mooning over a crush. I'm better than this.

Except, a harsh voice in my mind countered, of course I'm not. These two men. Sharing a history that predates me. One of them is Levi, the man I love, yes, but the other is Cassiel – a king's consort, for fuck's sake. Powerful, undeniably attractive, with a personal wealth that likely dwarfs mine and years, years of this intricate rivalry, this charged bickering. Shit… Cassiel even casually offered a three-way. Was that attraction towards Levi? Levi would undoubtedly say yes, if I wanted him to. Thank gods, in that moment I'd managed to stammer out a no. And they're both older than me, more established, with a shared appreciation for art that feels leagues beyond my own understanding. What am I compared to them? An actor with a moderately successful career, a nice beach house, and a decent amount of money. Fuck. I feel so utterly, pathetically inadequate when I start comparing myself to their sheer… presence.

Stop this, you goddamn idiot. Stop this pathetic spiral into jealousy. Again. It's ridiculous. They clearly fit each other so well, though, don't they? That sharp wit, that shared history, that… No. Stop. Do not think that, you idiot. Do not even dare to let that poisonous thought take root. Levi is with you. Remember that. Remember his hands on your skin, his voice in your ear. Remember that.

"The sheer audacity of his offer to acquire that exquisitely bejeweled egg for what amounted to a handful of loose change!" Cassiel exclaimed, throwing his hands up in theatrical exasperation. "Clearly, his once-keen eye for true artistic merit has become tragically dulled by the relentless march of time."

"Nonsense, my dear Cassiel," Levi countered, leaning back in his chair with a smug smirk playing on his lips. "He simply recognized a shrewd investment opportunity, a chance to acquire beauty at a remarkably reasonable price. Unlike some," he added, his gaze flicking pointedly towards Cassiel, "I have always possessed a keen appreciation for a bargain, even when the object in question is… perhaps a tad excessively gilded."

I need to do something. Anything. I have to say something, anything at all, to yank their attention away from this relentless, subtly charged bickering. I cannot stand here and watch some imagined attraction bloom between them right in front of my eyes.

Then, a blessed interruption – Levi's phone began to ring, the shrill tone cutting through the tense atmosphere. Thank God. Please, Levi, answer it, get up, get away from this table and this suffocating dynamic.

"Ah, it appears to be my royal secretary," Levi announced, a hint of mild annoyance on his face. "Calling at this rather ungodly hour. Please excuse me while I attend to this urgent matter." He rose from the table, phone in hand, and finally, blessedly, walked away, leaving Cassiel and me in a strained silence. Thank heavens. A reprieve. A chance to breathe.

"Ah, but fear not, dear Raphael," Cassiel announced, his voice smooth as velvet, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "For it is now time for dessert. And I have curated some truly heavenly delights for us this evening."

Shit. Levi's going to be back any minute, and he's addicted to sugar. It's his one true weakness, his favorite indulgence besides menace and elaborate manipulation. Fuck… what do I do? What do I even say?

"Yeah? Oh, thanks," I replied, forcing a casual tone, my mind racing. "This wine was... a little bitter for me, actually." A blatant lie. The wine had been exquisite, a rich and complex vintage. But the bitter taste of my own insecurity still lingered.

"Bitter? Oh, dear," Cassiel responded, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Perhaps it wasn't to your taste. Allow me to offer you something else, then? A different vintage, perhaps?"

"No... no, that's alright," I stammered, a weak smile on my face. "I'll... I'll balance it out with the sugar from dessert. Thanks."

Fuck. How utterly pathetic am I? Lying about the wine, clinging to the impending arrival of sugar as a shield against my own ridiculous jealousy.

"Is something amiss, Raphael? You appear a touch flushed," Cassiel observed, his gaze sharp and perceptive despite his polite tone.

"Ah… yes," I mumbled, forcing a weak smile and touching my cheek. "The… the alcohol is finally catching up to me, I suppose." Another clumsy, transparent lie. Even when Cassiel is being genuinely considerate, my brain insists on painting him as a potential rival. You pathetic, insecure pig. Get a goddamn grip.

"Cassiel, before I manage to thoroughly embarrass myself with this sudden onset of tipsiness," I announced, pushing myself up from the table with a slightly unsteady motion, "I think I should just… wash my face. If you'll excuse me for a moment."

A servant materialized instantly, offering a silent escort towards the powder room. I caught my reflection in the ornate mirror as I splashed cold water on my face, staring back at the flushed, anxious eyes. Get a grip, you idiot. Control yourself. You insecure asshole. You're being rude and standoffish to Cassiel, who has been nothing but gracious. And you know damn well how difficult it can be for Levi to enjoy conversations with people outside of your relationship. Be thankful that Levi has someone in his life he can easily talk to, someone who understands his… eccentricities. Get a grip. Get a goddamn grip. Stop this ridiculous spiral into paranoid madness.

The cool water did little to soothe the burning shame of my thoughts. I was being irrational, possessive, and frankly, an asshole. Cassiel had been nothing but a gracious host, and here I was, stewing in my own insecurities like some petulant child.

I took a deep breath, trying to center myself. Levi chose me. Their dynamic, however intense or intriguing, was just that – their dynamic. It had nothing to do with me, nothing to diminish what Levi and I shared.

With a renewed sense of resolve, I dried my face and headed back to the dining room. Levi had returned to his seat, a satisfied look on his face, and Cassiel was just placing a delicate-looking pastry on his plate.

"Apologies for the sudden departure," I said, trying to sound light and unconcerned. "That wine definitely snuck up on me."

Cassiel offered a warm smile. "Not at all, dear Raphael. Are you feeling better?"

"Much," I lied smoothly, meeting Levi's gaze. He offered a small, knowing smile in return, and for a moment, the knot of anxiety in my chest loosened. Maybe, just maybe, I could navigate this bizarre world of eccentric aristocrats and complicated histories without succumbing to my own insecurities. I just needed to keep reminding myself what was real, what was ours.

"Ah, crème brûlée," Levi announced, his eyes gleaming with a peculiar mix of scientific curiosity and mischievous intent as he tapped the caramelized sugar crust with the back of his spoon. "I was rather excited about attempting to induce the Maillard reaction and achieve perfect caramelization through purely chemical means, without the vulgar necessity of external fire. The results," he declared, his brow furrowing slightly as the sugar yielded under the pressure, "were… disappointing, to say the least."

"You're diving headfirst into the realm of fusion and experimental cuisine now, Levi?" I asked, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "Our kitchen has basically devolved into a mad scientist's basement lately, hasn't it?”

"Ah, yes," Levi purred, his gaze meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch slightly. "I pride myself on being a meticulous individual in most aspects of my life, wouldn't you agree, pulla?" A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "But I find the intricacies of chemistry particularly… entertaining when there's that delicious little edge of potential, delightful explosiveness. It adds a certain frisson, don't you think?"

What? What the hell does that mean? A shiver traced its way down my spine, not from understanding, but from that familiar sting of inadequacy. Fuck. How pathetic am I? He looks at me with that knowing glint in his eyes, assuming a level of vocabulary I clearly don't possess. Ah, damn it, Raphael. Don't spiral. You're a high school graduate. You're not stupid. Just… ignorant of some obscure, word he picked up in some dusty old library. Don't let him see you falter. Don't let him see how small you suddenly feel.

"Indeed, Blake," Cassiel remarked, delicately spooning a portion of his own crème brûlée. "One must always appreciate a frisson. Though I personally tend to find its most exquisite manifestation in, say, the perfectly executed crescendo of a long-forgotten sonata, rather than the potential for spontaneous combustion within one's culinary domain."

How utterly pathetic am I? How incredibly small I feel right now. I can't even manage to open my mouth and form a coherent sentence while these two effortlessly parry and thrust with their sophisticated banter, their shared understanding a wall I can't seem to breach.

I took another sip of my wine. It now tasted like concentrated acid, burning a bitter trail down my throat. I spooned a generous portion of the supposedly "heavenly" dessert into my mouth. It felt like chewing on gritty sand, the sweetness completely lost on my suddenly numb taste buds. The vibrant flavors Cassiel had promised were utterly absent, replaced by the acrid taste of my own spiraling insecurities.

"Explosives, combustion, my dear Cassiel?" Levi purred, his gaze shifting from his crème brûlée to meet Cassiel's with a slow, deliberate intensity. "Such abruptness lacks a certain… finesse. My preferences lie in the slow build-up, the subtle crescendo of anticipation before the exquisite release. Wouldn't you agree, pulla?" His eyes flicked to mine, a knowing, almost possessive glint in their depths.

Okay, this is it. This is a door. He included me. Don't spiral, Raphael. Don't let the insecurity win.

"Ah, yeah, Levi," I said, meeting his gaze steadily, trying to project an air of casual confidence. "You definitely enjoy the slow burn. But… you're still a little impatient when you see a soft-serve chocolate ice cream in the fridge, aren't you?" I held his gaze, a small, hopefully teasing smile playing on my lips. Well… I think I managed not to completely embarrass myself. Maybe.

"There are exceptions to every rule, my dear. And the immediate gratification of good chocolate is a temptation few can truly resist. You, I imagine, understand that impulse quite well." Levi said while chuckling.

"No, no, Levi," I countered, a playful glint in my eyes. "None of that sophisticated palate nonsense. I know for a fact the only reason you tolerate that frankly revolting scotch is because it provides a socially acceptable excuse to indulge your true love: copious amounts of dark chocolate."

"You see right through my constructed facade of sophisticated adulthood. Very well, I confess. The prospect of a rich, dark truffle does occasionally… influence my beverage selection." He chuckled again, a warm, genuine sound that eased some of the tension.

Yes. Gods, yes. Fuck yes. Ah, a triumphant grin threatened to split my face. I would probably punch the air with childish glee if I weren't currently in the presence of two impeccably composed adults. Gods… thank you. Thank you for this small, sweet taste of victory. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't entirely out of my depth here after all.

"It's quite refreshing to see Blake occasionally relinquish his more… elevated pronouncements for a bit of relatable honesty." Cassiel said.

"Yeah," I agreed with a small chuckle. "It's almost… humanizing to see him drop the sophisticated act for a moment. Though, fair warning, if you ever prank him by replacing his sugar with salt, he transforms into an actual evil villain. I'll always keep that particular card up my sleeve for potential retribution, though I do live in constant fear that his retaliation might involve a meticulously planned attempt at world domination."

"My dear Raphael”, Levi said with a dangerous glint in his eyes, “you wound me with such accusations. While I appreciate a well-executed prank, such… culinary sabotage would be met with a response of equally epic proportions. World domination might be a touch ambitious, but let's just say your life would become… significantly less sweet."

"Did you hear that, Cassiel?" I said, a nervous laugh bubbling up despite the thinly veiled threat in Levi's tone. "He's threatening me with a significantly less sweet life over a tiny little prank!”

"Oh, my dear Raphael, you haven't yet grasped the delicate ecosystem of Blake's ego. It thrives on a steady diet of perceived superiority and the occasional, albeit controlled, act of minor tyranny." Cassiel let out a dry chuckle.

"Ecosystem, you say, Cassiel?" Levi chuckled, a low rumble that sent a faint shiver down my spine despite myself. "Perhaps. And every ecosystem requires a dominant species. Though in this particular habitat," his gaze flicked to mine, a sudden intensity in his eyes that made my breath catch, "the dynamics are… constantly evolving."

My heart did a little flutter-kick. Dominant species? Was he… was he talking about us? About our relationship? It was a strange, almost possessive way of putting it, but… gods, there was something undeniably thrilling about it. I swallowed, trying to meet his gaze without betraying the sudden rush of… anticipation? Was that it? This man, this infuriating, brilliant, occasionally terrifying man, was looking at me like I was the most fascinating creature in his bizarre little ecosystem.

"Blake," Cassiel sighed, a weariness creeping into his usually smooth voice, "your penchant for dramatic pronouncements has, once again, rendered the poor child quite flushed. Do you perhaps starve him of affection in private, necessitating such… intense reactions to your mere presence?"

My cheeks burned hotter. Starved of affection? What a loaded question. It wasn't that exactly. It was more… the intensity of Levi's attention, the way he could zero in and make me feel like the only person in the room, even when he was just being his usual theatrical self. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of… well, yeah, maybe I did crave those moments of focused affection a little more than I let on. Gods, this was awkward. I busied myself with my dessert, hoping they'd move on.

"Cassiel, your understanding of interpersonal dynamics remains as rudimentary as your taste in modern art," Levi drawled, completely ignoring the weary sigh. "Raphael's reactions are… nuanced. A delicate interplay of amusement, exasperation, and, dare I say, a touch of burgeoning adoration."

Burgeoning adoration? My spoon clinked softly against the porcelain. Amusement and exasperation were definitely in the mix, on both sides, probably. But adoration felt like a stretch, a word Levi would use with a theatrical flourish rather than genuine sentiment. Still, the way he dismissed Cassiel, like our relationship was some complex equation only he had the answer to, sent a strange little thrill through me. It was possessive, maybe even a little manipulative, but it also felt… secure. Like I was his, in some weird, intense way that no one else could quite understand.

"After spending the better part of eight months navigating his world – and witnessing the sheer chaos he unleashed upon that noble circle he 'dissolved' – I've developed a certain… resilience to his flair for the dramatic. Immunity might be too strong a word, but let's just say you build up a tolerance after a while.” I said to Cassiel.

"The 'Blake Effect,' as I've come to term it. A potent, often bewildering force that reshapes the very fabric of one's existence. Eight months is a significant immersion. You must have some rather… colorful anecdotes." Cassiel said with a thoughtful nod.

"Reshape the fabric of existence'?". Fuck. Was that attraction flickering again between them, that subtle spark of shared intellectualism that always made me feel like an outsider looking in? 'Blake Effect'. Shit. No, Raphael, you pathetic pig. Levi just… well, he sort of implied our relationship was something unique and understood only by him. Don't let this elegant turn of phrase send you spiraling back into that poisonous swamp of jealousy. Get a grip. Breathe. It's just words. It doesn't mean anything more.

But the thought clung to me like a persistent burr. "Reshape the fabric of existence." It sounded so… significant. Like they shared some profound understanding of Levi that I, despite being his partner, could only glimpse. Cassiel, with his refined vocabulary and air of quiet intelligence, probably did understand Levi in a way I didn't. They moved in the same circles, spoke the same esoteric language of art and history and… whatever "frisson" meant.

My fingers tightened around the stem of my wine glass. Levi's reassurances, however oddly phrased, should have been enough. But this insidious little seed of doubt had been planted, and Cassiel's seemingly innocuous comment was watering it.

The crème brûlée in front of me suddenly looked unappetizing. The sweet scent now felt cloying, suffocating. I wanted to get out of here, away from their subtle intellectual dance, away from the constant reminder of the invisible walls that seemed to separate me from their world.

They were bantering again, their words a sophisticated dance just beyond my comprehension. It didn't even feel like they were intentionally excluding me anymore; it was simply the natural rhythm of their interactions, a language I hadn't learned. Their voices faded into a dull hum, punctuated by the occasional sharp buzz of a word I almost grasped but couldn't quite hold onto. Like flies swarming just out of reach, their conversation prickled at my skin, an irritating reminder of the space between us. The edges of the room started to blur, the sounds receding further, and that familiar, unsettling feeling of dissociation began to creep in, threatening to pull me under.

The buzzing of their voices, the elegant dance of their incomprehensible banter, sent a tremor through my hand, a tiny, involuntary twitch of my fingers. It was quickly followed by a more insistent shaking in my legs. Why was I letting this get to me? Why was their effortless banter making me feel so utterly insignificant? It was pathetic. Utterly, shamefully pathetic. I was supposed to be his partner, not some bewildered bystander in his sophisticated life.

"Raphael!" Levi's sharp voice cut through the buzzing fog in my head, his fingers snapping inches from my face. "Are you alright?"

"Sorry…" I mumbled, forcing a weak smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "I think I just got a little sleepy after everything. The wine was a bit stronger than I realized." A blatant lie. Each word felt like a grain of sand in my mouth. The truth was a suffocating wave of jealousy that had threatened to pull me under, leaving me adrift and disconnected. But admitting that felt far too vulnerable, far too pathetic. So, I offered the flimsy excuse of the wine, hoping Levi wouldn't see through the transparent falsehood.

"Is that so?" Levi murmured, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes before softening. "Alright then, we can leave in a few minutes. You can sleep in the car, yes?"

"Yeah…" I mumbled, feeling a fresh wave of guilt wash over me. "Sorry, Cassiel. I've been terribly rude."

"Nonsense, child," Cassiel replied, his tone surprisingly gentle. "You seemed a little distressed. No apology necessary." His understanding gaze, however, only amplified my shame. He saw it. He saw the crack in my constructed facade.

Levi rose from his chair with a fluid grace and then, surprisingly, reached down and gently helped me up as well. "Good night, Cassiel," Levi said, his tone smooth and polite. "This has been a delightful day. Thank you for everything. If you'll excuse us." He offered a curt nod, his hand now resting lightly on the small of my back, guiding me away.

"Yeah… thanks… Cassiel… Sorry," I managed to stammer out, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate. Not even a complete, coherent sentence. My brain felt thick and slow, still struggling to catch up with the reality of the situation. All I wanted was to escape the weight of their knowing gazes and the suffocating grip of my own insecurities.