The same riot, the one that had nearly torn us asunder, persisted in the city. By all accounts, it remained relatively "peaceful," a strange descriptor considering the underlying unrest. Levi, seemed rather pleased with its progression as it entered its second day.

Later that afternoon, we found ourselves in the kitchen. Levi, was preparing two mugs of hot chocolate. He paused mid-stir. A hand, the one still bearing his self-administered stitches, rose to rub his temples, a look of frustrated concentration clouding his features. “I need to write and pass a bill for the agriculture sector…” he muttered under his breath.

It was a jarring juxtaposition, wasn’t it? Connect these disparate images: the tender act of making hot chocolate for his husband and the ruthless pragmatist capable of manipulating markets and navigating political minefields. Yeah. It was nearly impossible for me too.

“Hm…” I hummed, leaning against the counter, watching him add a generous swirl of whipped cream to each mug. “Why agriculture, Levi? So we can continue having our high-quality sugar?”

Levi paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “Yes. Also… more pragmatically… I require a sector with sufficient volatility to subtly influence currency valuation. Right now, the ongoing riot is… inadvertently providing a fleeting degree of that instability, offering a temporary effect. However, it is far too unpredictable and ultimately unsustainable. We need a more powerful, controllable source of fluctuation… Ah…” His eyes glazed over, lost in thought for a moment. “Powerful… What is the most consistently expensive commodity to export… Hm… Ah! Culture. I need to contact the Minister of Culture immediately. We need to aggressively pursue the international import of our films, television shows, books, music… our entire cultural output, in fact.”

Wow… He thought all of that over making hot chocolate… Selling culture is yes morally ambiguous but, it is not inherently wrong when you think about it, I guess.

Levi placed his mug down with a soft clink and leaned back in his chair, his gaze intent. "Engage with me, Raphael. A second perspective often clarifies the most convoluted equations. It doesn't need to be a fully coherent idea; simply keep the conversation flowing."

"O-Okay?"

"The Ministry of Culture," Levi mused, tapping a finger against his mug, "will undoubtedly attempt to push their own state-funded films. These will likely be… heavily imbued with nationalistic sentiment, which may lead to a negative perception by foreign audiences. Perhaps some minor tourism could be elicited… but it is insufficient."

"Instead of focusing on the Ministry, why not contact private agencies? The entertainment industry, especially television shows and music, generates some of the largest international revenues," I offered, trying to keep up.

A rare spark of genuine enthusiasm lit up Levi's eyes. "Brilliant, Raphael. Keep talking."

"Television shows," I continued, "especially 'soap operas,' are remarkably easy to sell internationally. People often don't watch them with their full attention; they tend to have them on in the background while doing other things. So, yeah… soap operas and music. They have a broad, often passive, appeal."

"Great, Raphael," Levi said, swirling the remaining hot chocolate in his mug thoughtfully. "The elegance lies in the subtlety. We are not dictating narratives; we are merely providing a readily digestible product for the masses. Now, elaborate on these 'soap operas.' Their appeal, their structural elements that lend themselves to international consumption."

I shrugged, taking another sip of my drink. "Soap operas? Ah, it's remarkably simple, Levi. Pure garbage, most of it, if I'm being honest. 'Love, betrayal, more love, another betrayal' – that's the cyclical nature of about ninety percent of them. Which, ironically, makes them incredibly easy for consumption. The plots are rarely complex enough to get lost in translation, and the sheer volume of episodes creates a continuous demand."

"And music?" Levi prompted, his gaze unwavering.

I hesitated. "I'm not exactly an active listener, my knowledge is… rudimentary at best. My insights into soap operas come from the fact that, as you well know, I am an actor.”

Levi tilted his head slightly, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Hm… Would you, perhaps, wish for your… critically acclaimed, award-winning cinematic masterpiece to be among the initial cultural exports?”

A genuine laugh escaped me this time, the sound lighter than it had been in days. “Oh, Levi. Well, considering your… generous compensation, the entire mountain range in Ascaria, I essentially print my own money these days, so the financial incentive is negligible. And besides,” I added, “instead of you pulling the strings, I would much rather have my own agencies handle any international distribution, should they deem it… artistically and financially necessary.”

"Interesting…" Levi mused, a thoughtful expression returning to his face. "I cannot exert any undue influence over your artistic endeavors. Which reminds me," he continued, his gaze softening slightly, "I watched your film in rehabilitation. The one about the Lumin painter."

"You did?"

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice taking on a tone I hadn’t heard in a long time, a tone of genuine admiration. “It was exactly as captivating as the first time I saw you on screen. That performance, that unwavering intensity… it was a significant factor, you see, in my… rather unconventional pursuit of you for our contractual arrangement. You possess a remarkable quality, Raphael. Everyone who watches you, myself included, were moths drawn to your unwavering light.”

A deep crimson flush now spread across my cheeks and up to my ears. "Shut up, Levi…" I mumbled, trying to suppress a smile that threatened to betray my flustered embarrassment.

Then, a revolting wave of emotion washed over me… Fuck… Pride. No, not this ridiculous need for validation, this ingrained daddy issues bullshit rearing its ugly head again. No, no, no. Levi, Levi, had just called me brilliant. And mesmerizing. Shut up, brain, shut up. A mortifying heat flooded my entire body, a burning tide of shame and a confusing, unwelcome swell of… something else. I pressed my lips together tightly, clenching my fists beneath the table, fighting the urge to either melt into a puddle or lash out in a desperate attempt to extinguish this warmth.

Then I saw it – a subtle crinkle around his right eye.

“This is the third time this week. A fleeting expression of… happiness, elicited by my compliment, followed by this rather dramatic descent into… shame. A remarkably colorful display of contrasting emotions, all within the span of approximately ten seconds. And yet,” he added, his voice softening slightly, laced with a hint of genuine curiosity, “you still don’t tell me why, Raphael.”

I rather swallow my own tongue than saying it loud.

“Y-yeah?” I managed, avoiding his piercing gaze. “Well, then. Figure it out on your own, Levi.”

Levi’s lips curved into a knowing smirk. “Hm… Quid pro quo, Raphael.”

“Okay…” I hesitated for a moment, the question I’d long suppressed finally escaping my lips. “When did your… addiction… truly start, Levi?”

“At eighteen,” he answered without a flicker of evasion. “Quid pro quo, Raphael. Is that… ‘shame’ you experience a reaction because of me?”

"Not entirely," I managed, trying to sound nonchalant, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "What... happened to your pet?"

"It was a rabbit. The Conqueror killed it and then... made me eat it for dinner. Quid pro quo. Is the shame you feel... sexual in nature?"

"Not always," I mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Do you still actively seek the... rush? The high of the endorphins?"

"Not yet," he replied, his voice flat. "Quid pro quo. Is the shame you feel... greater than the fleeting happiness my words elicit?"

"Happiness comes first, a fleeting warmth," I admitted, my gaze dropping to the cooling chocolate in my mug. "But the shame… it often lingers, a colder, heavier weight. Quid pro quo, Levi. Beyond the fleeting 'rush' you used to chase, what is it you truly seek?"

"Feeling… normal," he replied, the word sounding foreign and almost painful on his tongue. "Is the most intensely arousing, the most… illicit feeling you experience… pride?"

Normal. He had mentioned wanting to feel normal before, hadn't he? But… damn him. Pride? How could he even ask that? How could his mind make that connection? It felt like a violation, a cruel probing of my deepest insecurities.

"Yes," I choked out, the shame burning anew. "Despite everything that has happened, all the pain and the conflict… what is one thing you still genuinely value about our time together?"

"Being seen... the mundane moments," Levi echoed softly. "Final question, Raphael. Did you often feel a need to earn praise or affection in your upbringing?"

"Yes," I admitted. Damn it all.

A specific memory assaulted me: the raw intimacy, followed by Levi’s hand on my head, a gesture accompanied by a clipped word of praise, and the utterly humiliating, primal urge that had surged through me – a desperate, tail-wagging desire for his approval. Fuck. He probably saw it all, observant bastard.

Levi tapped his fingers on the table. “Why deny yourself pleasure, Raphael, simply to protect pride?”

Three times he’d circled back to this. My pathetic yearning, the subsequent shame – all laid bare in the span of five deceptively vague questions. The analytical asshole.

"Why do you ask that, Levi?" I countered.

"Since I do not personally experience this… 'shame' you describe, I do not fully comprehend the nature of your reluctance. If a sensation brings you pleasure, a desirable chemical reaction in the brain, why would you actively deny yourself that experience?"

"Pleasure is fleeting, Levi," I explained. "A moment of sensation, and then it's gone. But shame… shame is different. It can linger, a shadow that follows you for years, coloring your memories and shaping your future interactions."

"Hm… I see," Levi murmured, his gaze thoughtful. "Long-term negative consequences and the fear of external judgment, of being perceived negatively by others. I am not referring to my own perception of you, of course. This is simply my logical deduction based on your emotional responses."

"And yet, you keep asking. So, on some level, even your logical mind recognizes that there's more to it than just 'negative consequences and external judgment.' What is it you're truly trying to understand?"

"The truth is, Raphael," Levi admitted, his gaze softening slightly, "your emotional landscape is remarkably rich and complex. Your attempts to articulate these feelings, even when tinged with your characteristic defensiveness, help me to understand their intricacies… logically, of course. Also," an almost shy smile touched his lips, "it is… unexpectedly endearing to hear you speak so openly about your own emotional experiences. Since mine, in comparison, are often fleeting, ephemeral. In a perhaps inaccurate analogy, your emotions are like a full glass of water. Mine are more akin to a single, quickly evaporating droplet."

That's actually a surprisingly apt description. His emotions always seem so controlled, so fleeting, while I'm constantly drowning in a tidal wave of feeling.

“Can you…” I asked softly. “Can you describe it further, Levi? What those fleeting emotions actually feel like to you?”

He paused, his gaze drifting inwards for a moment. “Mostly… nothing. Truly. A void. Then… boredom. Often, a profound sense of boredom. Then, occasionally, satisfaction upon the completion of a task. Amusement at an unexpected outcome. Humor, usually intellectual in nature. Interest in a new problem to solve. Curiosity about a novel concept. Contentment when a system functions optimally. More boredom. A mild… sadness, perhaps a recognition of inefficiency. And fury… a type that is not hot and impulsive, but calculating. That is possibly the entire spectrum of what I experience. But it is not a vibrant rainbow, Raphael. It is… muted. Like colors seen through a thick fog.”

Void and his boredom mantra. A muted rainbow… yes. That’s it exactly. Where I feel everything in vivid, overwhelming hues, his world is a palette of grays, occasionally punctuated by a pale blue or a muted red.

“Okay…” I murmured, a knot of concern tightening in my chest. “Do you… do you ever feel fear, Levi?”

“Hm… Over the course of my entire existence, I can recall experiencing a sensation that aligns with what humans categorize as ‘fear’ on only two distinct occasions. The first, as you are already aware, was in the presence of my grandfather. You witnessed my… frozen state during that recollection. The second… was you, Raphael.” His gaze returned to mine. “I felt a distinct physical reaction, my knees unbuckling, in the sterile environment of the rehabilitation center when you arrived and… dismissed my progress. I am not entirely certain whether the primary component of that sensation was fear… or a profound sadness at your rejection.”

Fear… and I was the second person to ever evoke it in him? My dismissal at the rehab… I was angry, hurt, convinced he hadn't changed. I didn't see his vulnerability then. And he's not even sure if it was fear or sadness?

“I am… truly sorry about my behavior at the rehabilitation center, Levi. But… I would still like to understand more about what you feel, if you’re willing to share.”

He considered this for a moment. “There truly is not a vast reservoir to draw from, Raphael. But I assume that question was, at its core, about my feelings for you. The answer is… I care about you. Not perhaps in the way a neurotypical individual would define that emotion, but I do. You see, when you remove the element of emotions from a relationship, there is arguably not a great deal remaining for many people, I think. But my internal architecture is different. I desire your continued existence within my life, and as a logical extension of that desire, I prioritize your safety and overall well-being. Since verbal apologies do not particularly resonate within my cognitive framework, I tend to… what were they called in the human behavioral studies? Ah, yes. Acts of service, I believe. I presume my actions serve as a more accurate representation of my… regard.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from NovelBin. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He cares… in his own way. He may not feel the way I do, but he values me, my presence in his life. And perhaps, for Levi, that is the highest form of care he can offer.

"Acts of service... right. Like making me hot chocolate while simultaneously plotting economic strategies?" I offered a wry smile. "I suppose that's your version of care.”

"Yes, Raphael. It is my version of care," Levi confirmed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Furthermore, consider the level of trust inherent in our arrangement. You are privy to some of the most discreet and sensitive information concerning the entire nation. Allowing you access to my study is a tangible manifestation of that trust."

"Your study is like entering another world, Levi," I admitted, a slight shiver running down my spine. "No windows, just endless stacks of unlabeled boxes and towering bookshelves crammed with who-knows-what. I always feel a little suffocated in there."

"Ah, yes," Levi mused. "Those boxes initially contained the documented crimes of the fallen nobility. Over time, their contents evolved to encompass the sensitive files of the burgeoning democracy. And frankly," he added, his voice dropping, "the files of many, many, many other… things."

Oh. That was a warning. A carefully coded message.

"Yeah," I said, trying to keep my voice even, "so that my delicate moral compass doesn't completely shatter into a million irreparable pieces, right?"

He offered a wink. "Exactly, Raphael."

Damn him. Why was that single, conspiratorial wink sending a ridiculous flutter through me while he was casually alluding to what was likely a treasure trove of blackmail material? Fuck my hopelessly compromised senses.

But beneath his usual detached demeanor, I sensed a subtle undercurrent.

"Levi," I began slowly, my brow furrowed with suspicion, "they're not just blackmail material, are they? They're actual evidence of their crimes?"

"Indeed, Raphael," Levi confirmed. "Please. I am not so crude, so… inefficient as to resort to exploiting personal information as mere 'blackmail,' a messy and often unreliable tactic. Instead," a faint smile touched his lips, "I utilize the demonstrable evidence of their actual crimes and systemic abuses. Far more effective, wouldn't you agree?"

"Using the very evidence of their corruption to… incentivize their cooperation," I murmured, a wry smile twisting my lips. "What a quintessential Levi approach. It's almost… admirable, in a twisted sort of way. Amidst all the pragmatism and calculated manipulation, you really do possess a surprisingly strong, albeit ruthlessly applied, sense of justice."

"Yes," Levi confirmed, a flicker of something akin to pride in his eyes. "It is a rather potent and efficient motivator. In fact," he added, his voice taking on a weightier tone, "that very principle, the unwavering pursuit of accountability for their abuses, was a significant factor in my decision to… eradicate the monarchy and the nobility entirely."

"Yeah. I know, you explained that to me," I conceded, the memory of his almost detached recounting of societal upheaval still vivid. "But you also mentioned… that a part of it, at least initially, was for… fun."

"It was," Levi confirmed, his gaze momentarily distant, a ghost of that past thrill flickering in his eyes. "I enjoyed the intellectual challenge, the intricate strategy, the… thrill of the chase, if you will. But that particular game has concluded. The board is clear. Now," he sighed, "there is no longer any significant thrill in the day-to-day execution of my… 'job.' It has become rather tedious."

“You know, Levi,” I mused, the contrast between him and his grandfather becoming increasingly clear, “your almost ruthless sense of justice is possibly the single biggest reason why you two are so fundamentally different. Even though he was also neurodivergent, you still possess this… visceral reaction to injustice, this inherent need to correct it.”

“Injustice disgusts me, Raphael,” Levi stated, his voice firm. “It truly does. I experience a profound… revulsion towards those who abuse their power to stroke their own fragile egos and insecurities. Or those entitled individuals who cling to their pride and inflict harm simply for the sake of it. I do not necessarily feel sympathy for the sufferers, no. But I possess an overwhelming desire to incinerate every single insignificant insect who dares to misinterpret the true nature and responsibility of their authority.”

Maybe that's why, despite everything, despite the fear and the confusion, I can't completely write him off. There's a core of something... not good, not kind, but undeniably principled in his own warped way.

"Did you… ever… directly murder someone, Levi?"

"No, not in the direct, physical sense that word typically implies," Levi replied. "Neither have I ever employed what you would categorize as 'brutal violence.' I am not a savage, Raphael. The very thought of resorting to crude force to… what? Convey some base notion of 'strength'? Are we mere animals, driven by instinct? It… abhors me. My methods are invariably more… nuanced."

Well, he did admit to altering the medication of dying members of the nobility, rationalizing it as an "act of mercy." So… in his twisted logic, is he somewhat right? It's not as if he directly ended their lives with his own hands; he merely… expedited the inevitable, nudged them gently towards their preordained end. A subtle acceleration of fate, perhaps?

"Okay," I pressed, the implications of his "nuanced" methods still unsettling, "even harder question, Levi. Why haven't you ever… directly killed someone yourself?"

He tapped his fingers. "Hm… There are multiple contributing factors. Firstly, it would be rather… pedestrian. Surprisingly boring, actually. Secondly, if I were widely perceived as a common murderer, it would undoubtedly hinder my ability to convince the populace of my ideology, to garner support for the eradication of the nobility and monarchy. My moral authority, would be compromised. Thirdly, it would shatter the image of the 'Saint of Ascaria,' a persona that has proven remarkably effective. And fourthly, many of my most valuable informants were noble women. Their primary objective was not necessarily the violent demise of their fathers and husbands; they simply desired… a more expeditious path to personal freedom, shall we say. So… hm. Yes, I believe that encompasses the primary reasons."

"You are being… remarkably honest today, Levi," I observed, a strange mix of unease and a perverse sense of relief washing over me. "Knowing full well that these… confessions… will likely drive me even further away."

"Indeed," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "It is, our fundamental chasm. If you genuinely desire a more comprehensive and unvarnished account, you are welcome to visit my study and examine the contents of the boxes. They contain meticulously documented evidence of my… 'wrongdoings,' every single 'immoral' act I have deemed strategically necessary over the span of the past decade. You see, my initial plan involved releasing that entire compendium of evidence to the public shortly before my intended suicide. A final, comprehensive accounting. However," a frown creased his brow, "I reconsidered the potential ramifications. Shattering the hope of so many individuals, whose livelihoods have become linked with the philanthropic image of the 'Saint' and my charitable endeavors… it seemed unnecessary."

“You were going to release this… this comprehensive evidence of your crimes, to the entire nation?” I stammered. “W-why, Levi? Why would you do that?”

“For the same fundamental reason I divested myself of every single penny I possessed, Raphael,” he replied, devoid of any emotion. “To sever every last vestige, every lingering connection to that pathetic existence I once inhabited.”

"Scorched earth?"

"Scorched earth."

Fuck… Just one day. If I hadn't felt that urge to rush back home from that award ceremony a day early, he wouldn't be here. Thank gods, thank the stars, thank whatever cosmic force compelled me to come home when I did.

A painful lump formed in my throat. The reality of how close I’d come to losing him, to a silent, irreversible void, threatened to overwhelm me. My eyes stung, and I had to swallow hard to keep the tears at bay.

Levi’s phone buzzed. He glanced down. “Finally,” he murmured, a hint of weariness in his voice. “Finn has located a rather… substantial group of ten unfortunate souls to assist me, Raphael.”

“Did he?” I managed, my voice a little shaky. “You can finally alleviate some of that ridiculous workload you’ve been carrying…”

“I sincerely hope so,” he admitted, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “Because I am remarkably exhausted.”

“Hm…” I hesitated, wanting to hold onto this fragile moment of connection. “Want to… perhaps do something else? Like watching a movie? I’m not entirely sure what you consider a suitable form of… pass time, but…”

A small smile touched his lips. “Watching a movie sounds… agreeable. However, I require a remarkably large tub of ice cream to effectively silence my inevitable commentary regarding the plot’s numerous deficiencies.”

“Sure, Levi,” I agreed readily, a genuine smile finally breaking through. Anything to keep him here, in this moment, with me.

…

It was the third day of the unrest. The initial ripples of protest had steadily grown into a significant wave, yet the demonstrations remained largely non-violent. The movement had spread beyond the capital, reaching into several neighboring cities, a trajectory that seemed to satisfy Levi's calculations. I even overheard him muttering to himself, whether he should… hire individuals to further swell the ranks of the protestors. Yeah. My mind short-circuited when attempting to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of his moral ambiguity.

"Not enough," he muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed as he vigorously whisked the cake batter. "It is not enough. I need something else... But what? Something… something…" He repeated the last word, restless hum escaping his lips. I watched him from my perch behind the kitchen counter.

"Hm," I interjected gently, the warmth of the chamomile tea mug seeping into my hands, "are you perhaps referring to the current economic situation?"

"Yes," he confirmed, his movements with the whisk remaining. "The current measures are… insufficient. There must be a more impactful policy I could implement, a more elegant solution to stimulate growth and stability. But the optimal approach… it eludes me at the moment."

"Distribution…" he whispered to himself, his eyes suddenly alight with a focused intensity as if a complex equation had finally resolved itself in his mind. "Ah… why did it take me this long to see it?"

Apparently, my penniless Levi, was contemplating a rather… thorough re-evaluation of how the economic pie was sliced. It seemed the rich were about to experience a significant shift in their dietary plan.

"Then some strategic trade alliances… Yes, that could work. Then what follows… Then… Ah… Energy and transportation… No, I cannot implement significantly higher taxes on those sectors, the backlash would be… inefficient. Something else… what could provide the necessary leverage? Automated labor, a complete overhaul? No, the social unrest… I would likely be facing public execution. Urban planning, a complete restructuring of infrastructure? Possible… but the impact, while long-term, is still not the immediate, large-scale shift I require. Something else… something truly significant… something big… What?"

The sheer disconnect is staggering. He can be so domestic, so focused on the minutiae of baking, and then in the next breath, be contemplating economic shockwaves that would redefine society. It's terrifying and utterly… Levi.

"Ah, my dear Raphael," Levi announced, a disturbingly cheerful tone, "it appears the most… expeditious method to address our current economic instability involves a brief but impactful series of… private consultations with certain excessively wealthy individuals, encouraging them to redistribute a significant portion of their assets. That should provide a temporary stabilization, perhaps another week or so. Because, as you astutely observed, with the current volatile currency situation, implementing widespread taxes would likely result in… spirited public demonstrations, shall we say. Wait… riot… riot… ah, blast it all. A substantial tax on non-essential importations, particularly cosmetics and luxury goods. Yes. That will generate the necessary revenue without immediately inflaming the more… economically sensitive segments of the populace." He finally ceased his whisking and smoothly poured the batter into the cake tray.

"So, your grand plan involves summoning a procession of terrified plutocrats to our humble abode and… extracting their wealth through sheer intimidation, Levi? Is that the chosen course of action?"

"No, no, my dear Raphael, calling them to our house? Please. They scarcely warrant the inconvenience," Levi replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Besides, nearly every single one of them is, in some capacity, an acquaintance. Instead… we could host a charity gala."

Ah, shit. Here we go again. It felt like we were being dragged back months ago. The era when Levi, the lauded 'Saint of Ascaria,' was orchestrating elaborate charity events with the regularity of the tides. He'd always referred to them as 'political maneuvering disguised as philanthropy.' Yep. Full circle. The Saint was back in business.

"Gods..." I sighed, shaking my head. "Where do we even begin to untangle the knot of your moral ambiguity?"

Levi merely smirked. "Let us not be so quick to cast stones. I currently possess nothing beyond the clothes I am wearing. You, on the other hand, are one of the wealthiest individuals in the entire nation. Not only do you own vast tracts of land, including those rather picturesque mountains, but you also happen to possess the nation's largest and most significant art collection. Hm… one might be tempted to inquire: who truly occupies the more morally ambiguous position in this particular scenario?"

Shit…

Levi just casually delivered the most eloquent, albeit unsettling, ‘check your privilege’ I’ve ever encountered.

"So," I asked, "do I… should I sell that art collection, Levi? Use the proceeds to actually help people, to address some of this… inequality?"

Levi scoffed. "No. That would be… remarkably naive. Art, you see, benefits from significantly lower tax rates. It is, in fact, a favored instrument among the wealthy for… optimizing their fiscal responsibilities. Selling it would merely transfer a tax-advantaged asset into readily taxable currency. A rather inefficient approach to your newfound moral awakening, wouldn't you agree?"

Did I just… did I just receive a morality lesson? From Levi? From Levi? The man who casually discusses terrorizing the wealthy and orchestrated the downfall of a monarchy is now… schooling me on the complexities of ethical financial decisions?

"Did… did you just give me a morality lesson… Levi? Is this actually happening right now? Did I just get my privilege thoroughly checked… by you?" My hands were shaking so badly the tea in my cup sloshed.

Levi was openly amused. Before sliding the cake tray into the oven, he dipped his finger into the remaining batter. He dabbed the dollop of batter right on the tip of my nose.

"Isn't the irony… simply delicious, Raphael?"

"Y-you know…" I stammered, a reluctant smile twitching at the corner of my mouth, "it actually… kind of is. Being judged on my privilege, my wealth… by a former revolutionary who once plotted the violent overthrow of the entire social order…"

Levi closed the small distance between us, that infuriatingly playful smirk still etched on his lips. His smug look was almost… charming, in a devilish sort of way. Then, his eyes locked on mine, he slowly licked the smear of cake batter from my nose.

My heart decided to stage a frantic drum solo against my ribs.

"My, my," Levi purred, his eyes gleaming with amusement, "I was merely appreciating the… artistic application of my bakery skills. What a delightfully perverted angel you are, Raphael."

Damn him and his uncanny ability to fluster me with the most casual of intimacies. Of course, a ridiculous wave of arousal washed over me.

Levi leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting against my ear. "Since your eyes are such a crystalline ice blue, it makes observing your pupil dilation rather… illuminating. And it seems," he murmured, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, "that our virtuous angel is currently entertaining some unholy thoughts."

I placed my hand on his forearm. "It's been two months, Levi, okay? Just… shut up."

He slowly lifted his gaze from my lips to my eyes, his irises seeming to pierce right through my skull. "Why deny yourself pleasure?" he purred. "Hm? Does your oh-so-rigid morality clash with the desires this devil stirs within you?"

Of course I knew. Every fiber of my being remembered. I missed him far too much.

"Are you trying to seduce me right now, Levi?"

"Yes," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "But I have a distinct feeling you require just one little… reminder, don't you?" He punctuated his words with a sharp nip on my earlobe.

My entire body erupted in a tremor of arousal.

"My little angel doesn't truly crave gentleness, does he?" Levi murmured, his thumbs stroking the sharp angles of my jaw. "He wants to feel the blood coursing hot and fast through his veins, that delicious, aching burn in his lungs, to be pushed further and further to that intoxicating precipice where desire and madness become indistinguishable. Doesn't he?"

Yes, there was a part of me that craved the edge, the thrill of pain, the surrender of control to him. But it wasn't the whole story, not anymore.

"Levi, you're half right. Yeah, the adrenaline… there's a part of me that still enjoys that. But that's not the core of it. What I truly enjoy… is you. Whatever you choose to do to me."

Two months. Two long months. We either closed that damn gap right here, right now, or I feared it would become a permanent divide.

"Hm…" he murmured, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "Well then, Pulla. I will be in my room after I finish baking my cake."

Pulla. He finally said it. Thank God. Ah, thank gods…