Sugar, Secrets and Upheaval

Adjusting the lapels of his suit, I asked, "Do you want me to come with you, Levi?"

He paused. "Hm… It is nothing but tedious, Raphael. I will descend into that den of vipers, unleash a carefully calibrated dose of villainy, and they will, predictably, fall into line. Then, I will return. Although," he continued, a hint of his detachment entering his tone, "while I am engaged in this… performance of corporate governance, I may need to attend to actual business. Therefore, my return may be delayed, dear." He gave a final tug to his jacket.

“I… I have a… question, Levi…” I hesitated, unsure how to phrase my lingering curiosity. “After the dissolving of the nobility, what became of the noblewomen?”

Levi paused, his gaze thoughtful for a moment. “Hm… Lady Isolde would likely possess a more comprehensive understanding of the specifics. The seized assets of the nobility were, as you know, largely acquired by my charity, which has been instrumental in aiding the victims of their… indiscretions. But, concerning the noblewomen themselves, under Lady Isolde's guidance, they established a sort of… cooperative, a saloon, for women. Since I haven't received reports of significant hardship, beyond the occasional financial difficulties or instances of domestic disputes arising from the now-powerless noblemen, I gather that most are faring reasonably well. And at least now,” he added, a hint of satisfaction in his voice, “those former noblemen are now subject to the full extent of the law, like any other citizen.”

I wonder what this saloon is like. Is it just for the women who lost their titles? Or others too? I should ask more questions. Stop just nodding along like a damn bobblehead.

"This saloon for women," I continued, my curiosity piqued, "what exactly is it like?"

"Given that it functions as a sanctuary primarily for women, I am not privy to the intricate details of its operation," he replied. "However, considering that the challenges faced by former noblewomen, even in their reduced circumstances, are likely distinct from those of the average woman, I surmise they desired to create a space tailored to their specific needs and experiences. But, if your interest extends beyond mere curiosity, I can certainly reach out to Lady Isolde for more information."

Still... I am curious. What kind of cooperative? What do they do? Is it actually helping? Maybe I should go there. See for myself. But... would that be intruding?

"Y-Yeah… That would be really nice, Levi," I agreed, a small seed of anticipation blooming within me at the prospect of learning more.

"Excellent. In that case, would you be so kind as to arrange dinner for tomorrow evening? And a small… note on Lady Isolde's preferences, she regrettably possesses a fondness for rosé wine. It would be appreciated if you included a bottle in the order." Just then, the front door's bell chimed, its sound echoing through the house. "Ah, that will be Annie," Levi announced, a note of finality in his voice. "I must depart, dear."

Wait, no! Not dinner. Gods, no. A phone call. Or… something less… confrontational. Isolde. Levi's biggest ally. That paints a terrifying picture all on its own. Scary doesn't even begin to cover it, does it? Tomorrow… tomorrow is going to be a spectacle.

Just as Levi moved out of the bedroom, Annie was already there, standing beside a wheelchair, ready for him. I followed close behind, the words about postponing dinner still on my tongue. But then I saw Levi, lowering himself into the wheelchair. The image of him, in a wheelchair, about to face down a room full of powerful, demanding stockholders… suddenly, my anxieties about a slightly intimidating dinner with Isolde felt utterly childish and self-absorbed in comparison.

"Annie, dear, the files, if you please," Levi instructed, his voice regaining its usual crisp authority. Annie retrieved a slim stack of documents from a pocket on the back of the wheelchair. Levi accepted them with and his eyes began to scan the pages with remarkable speed, his gaze tracking the lines. "Hm…" he murmured, a hint of steel entering his tone. "You both have performed admirably. Why, then, are those vultures screeching with such unwarranted fervor?"

Annie drew a deep breath, her shoulders tensing slightly. "Sir, their primary demand is the immediate appointment of a new Chief Executive Officer."

A slow smirk spread across Levi's face. "Is that so?" he said softly, and closed the files with a sharp snap. "Let us proceed, my dear," he commanded Annie, and she began to smoothly propel the wheelchair forward.

Like a king on his throne, even in a wheelchair. The sheer audacity of this man. Going to face them down, probably terrify them into submission, all while barely recovered from surgery Gods, I love this man. This infuriating, brilliant man. I just hope he doesn't push himself too hard.

…

True to his word, Levi's return was indeed late, the muted click of the front door latch announcing his arrival long after the city outside had settled into a hushed quiet. I was still in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating the pages of my voice acting scripts. I ran lines silently, mouthing the words, desperate to commit them to memory and perhaps make my next lesson a little less daunting.

Levi entered the kitchen, a white first aid kit clutched in his hand. My brow furrowed in confusion. A first aid kit? Had something happened at the stockholders' meeting? But then, my blood ran cold. He was unwrapping a syringe. Was he…? After all these months, after the detox, after the sheer willpower it must have taken… was he reaching for opioids again? No. Please, no.

Driven by a sudden surge of panic, I propelled myself off the couch and rushed towards the kitchen. "Levi!" I exclaimed, my voice tight with alarm. "What the hell are you doing?"

He glanced up, his expression calm. He gently patted the side of the syringe with his middle finger, his other hand rhythmically clenching and unclenching into a fist. "Calm yourself, dear," he said, his gaze steady and direct.

"Calm myself?" I repeated, my voice rising in disbelief. "You're preparing an injection! After everything... are you going back to the opioids?"

"Obviously not," he said, his movements deliberate and unhurried as he patted his left elbow, and injected the contents of the syringe.

"What in the seven hells was that?" I asked, my disbelief bordering on anger. He discarded the syringe with a dismissive gesture.

"Frankly, if I intended to indulge in narcotics, I wouldn't do so in the kitchen, under your watchful gaze. Secondly," he continued, a hint of dry amusement in his tone, "I've been administering injections for twelve years, while Leo has barely been a nurse for a single year. Experience, my dear. It's quite incomparable. This, however, was a simple non-narcotic analgesic."

"Solid logic," I muttered under my breath. Twelve years of addiction versus one year of nursing. As if those two things are even remotely comparable! Fuck his logic, his detached, clinical reasoning.

"My heart damn near leaped out of my chest, Levi," I exclaimed, my voice still trembling slightly. "Gods... why the syringe? You know what that looks like to me."

He sighed, a hint of weariness in his eyes. "Hm… My pain experienced a marginal increase, and given that Leo is currently indisposed in slumber, I elected to administer a non-narcotic analgesic independently. Therefore, Raphael, I reiterate: calm yourself."

He's not using. He says he's not. And logically… logically it makes sense. But gods, it's hard to shake the image. The fear. Just… breathe. He's here. He's okay. And he's managing his pain. Independently. That's… progress.

"Yeah, sorry if I sounded accusatory, Levi," I murmured, the residual tension in my shoulders easing slightly. "Do you... do you want to talk about your meeting with the stockholders?"

Levi arched a brow, a hint of his usual sardonic amusement returning. "The truly insulting aspect of this entire exchange, my dear Raphael, was your 'thinking' that I would choose the kitchen, of all places, for such a clandestine activity. Addicts do indeed relapse, a lamentable reality. However," he continued, gesturing vaguely towards his abdomen, "if I were inclined to such tendencies, why would I patiently endure weeks of recovery, waiting for my stitches to dissolve for a mere 3 out of 10 discomfort? Please, dear, employ some semblance of logic."

He then shifted. "As for the meeting… it unfolded precisely as anticipated. The wheelchair served its dramatic purpose. I presented myself as a wounded soldier, valiantly persevering despite being, sewed up like a doll. The message was clear: I am still capable, still in command. Therefore, it was, by all metrics, successful."

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I want to believe him. I really do. The stitches... that's actually a good point. Why wait? It is logical. Dammit. He's making sense again.

"So," I said, a reluctant chuckle escaping my lips, "you manipulative devil, you used the wheelchair as a theatrical prop?"

He shrugged, the gesture nonchalant yet undeniably smug. "While its primary function was to facilitate my mobility, its presence was hardly essential for the meeting itself. I could have occupied any chair. But the wheelchair, Raphael? In front of that gathering of vultures? Even they, in their avarice, were unprepared for such a spectacle. Their faces… the pity, the shock, the barely concealed horror… truly delicious." He practically purred the last word, a hint of his old, dangerous charm returning.

"Gods, Levi…" I breathed out, a reluctant admiration coloring my tone. "So, a wounded lion, still every bit a lion?"

He inclined his head. "You could certainly phrase it that way, Raphael. Although," he added, his gaze sharp and knowing, "one must never forget, my dear, that even the most seemingly docile of creatures, when cornered, possesses the instinct to lash out."

"What was that, Levi?" I asked, a knot of unease tightening in my chest. "Was that a warning? Or… something else?"

He sighed. "My dear Raphael, when, oh when, will you finally shed this persistent cloak of apprehension? No, it was merely an observation, devoid of any veiled threat. As much as I find the intricate complexities of human behavior fascinating – and you, my dear, provide ample material – I also harbor a fondness for the often-overlooked world of animal behavior. Useless pieces of trivia can be surprisingly illuminating. Did you know, for instance, that worker bees are entirely asexual?"

What the hell do bees have to do with anything? He's deflecting. He's good at that. But… asexual bees. Huh. That is kind of interesting. Damn him for being occasionally fascinating. It makes it harder to stay annoyed.

"Of course I get wary of you, Levi," I retorted. "Stop deflecting. But yeah, the bee thing... surprisingly captivating." A sudden thought sparked in my mind, a playful counter-offensive. "Oh, you nerd," I chuckled. "Was that your peculiar way of flirting, Levi?"

"You truly are a rather fickle creature, Raphael," he observed, a touch of dry affection in his voice. "What precisely did you expect me to do? Storm back into my company and hurl my wheelchair at their undoubtedly balding heads? No, my dear, I merely indulged in a subtle commentary on their intellectual shortcomings. Also…" He paused, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. "Hm… Yes. You could indeed categorize that as a form of… intellectual flirtation."

Fickle? Me? Well, maybe a little. One minute terrified he's relapsing, the next teasing him about flirting with bee facts. But it's him! He whipsaws my emotions all over the place. And "intellectual flirtation"? That's so him. So dry, so unexpected. It's actually… kind of endearing in a weird way. Gods, I'm a mess.

"Okay, I am going to give you an animal fact too, then," I said, trying to steer the conversation into lighter territory, searching my memory for something innocuous. "Ah! Yes, did you know that sea otters hold hands while they sleep to keep from drifting apart?" I asked, a hopeful smile on my face.

Levi regarded me with a thoughtful intensity, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. "Hm… So your chosen animal fact revolves around connection and preventing separation. A poignant observation, my dear. Allow me to offer a counterpoint, a more… somber illustration of connection, then." A shadow seemed to fall across his eyes, a darkness flickering within their depths. "Do you know the methods employed in the hunting of whales?"

A knot tightened in my chest. "Oh… No, I don't think I do," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

His voice took a clinical tone. "Given their immense size, corralling whales into a confined space proves a considerable challenge. Therefore, rather than directly engaging the formidable adult, hunters often target the young, the calves. Once a calf is isolated and strategically positioned, the mother's instinctual bond compels her to follow. Subsequently, a deliberate trail of blood is left, a lure to coax the mother towards a shore, or perhaps a shallow area where her immense bulk renders her vulnerable, limits her ability to maneuver. Well, my dear Raphael," he concluded, "you can undoubtedly surmise the inevitable conclusion."

My chest aches. It feels heavy, like a stone is lodged there. I wanted… I wanted to share something sweet. And he throws this… this horror back at me. Is this how he sees the world? Luring people in with something they love, something they need, only to… No. I don't want to think that. But that image… it's stuck in my head now. The blood in the water. The mother whale, helpless. It's so… sad. So terribly, terribly sad.

"Why would you tell me something like that?" I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. The image of the mother whale, lured to her death by her love for her calf, replayed relentlessly behind my eyelids.

He regarded me with a detached curiosity. "Hm… The experience of empathy towards animals and even inanimate objects is a documented phenomenon in neurodivergent individuals. I do not experience it. However…" He paused, his gaze thoughtful. "Certain studies have indicated the potential for a unique 'bond' to form between neurodivergent individuals and animals. It is, by all accounts, a connection distinct from the warm, affective feelings you would typically experience."

"Levi, you absolute idiot," I choked out, tears welling in my eyes. "Couldn't you have told me a story about, I don't know, happy little birds? I'm actually going to cry because of you! And what did you mean by… a bond?"

He sighed softly, his warm hand gently cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin. "Hm, I do possess a multitude of other narratives, my dear Raphael," he murmured, his gaze softening as he looked into my eyes. "But consider this: you consume red meat on a daily basis. Why this sudden deluge of tears over the plight of a whale? I find this juxtaposition rather fascinating." He paused, his gaze holding mine. "The reference to a 'bond,' my dear, stemmed from my recent research. I have been contemplating our earlier discussions regarding the acquisition of a pet. My exploration into the potential for such a relationship was, in part, an attempt to understand my own capacity for providing adequate care. That is all."

The meat thing… it’s logical, of course. He always defaults to logic. But it’s different. Whales… they’re intelligent, sentient. It feels… different. But he wouldn’t get that.

"So," I said, a watery smile finally breaking through my earlier distress, "you were actually being… sweet. In your own way. You were trying to gauge how you'd react if a pet got hurt, weren't you?" I still couldn't quite wrap my head around it. "But you absolute asshole," I added, "you still owe me at least a dozen other animal facts to make up for that whale trauma."

Levi chuckled softly, a genuine warmth spreading through his eyes as he looked at me. "Indeed, my dear Raphael, that was my intention." He then extended a hand towards me. "And I would be more than happy to regale you with a plethora of cheerful animal anecdotes, provided you would be so kind as to assist me in traversing the arduous journey to the bedroom and aiding me with a change of attire." Latest content publıshed on novel-fire.ɴet

I supported Levi as he slowly made his way to the bedroom. Once there, he guided me through the step-by-step process of changing his clothes, mirroring our routine from the morning. Yet, even with my careful assistance, a fleeting grimace tightened his features, and a subtle stiffness betrayed the discomfort in his stomach as he lifted his leg. Finally, clad in his silk pajamas, we both settled onto the bed.

"Hm," Levi murmured, his fingers tracing patterns in my hair, "does my dearest desire more… uplifting animal trivia?"

"Yeah," I mumbled into his chest, the lingering unease from the whale story still a faint shadow. "Definitely no morbid, gut-wrenching things this time, though."

"Understood, my dear," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Did you know that buffalo herds engage in a fascinating form of collective decision-making? When the herd needs to decide on a course of travel, individual buffalo will stand and face the direction they favor, or simply look intently in that direction. However," he added, a subtle emphasis in his tone, "the right to 'vote' in this manner is apparently exclusive to the females of the herd."

He's definitely steering clear of anything remotely upsetting. Good. I still have that image of the whale in my head. But... buffalo voting. It's almost... cute. In a massive, stampeding sort of way.

"That was indeed interesting, and surprisingly… sweet," I admitted, a genuine smile softening my lips. "What other fascinating tidbits does your encyclopedic brain hold?"

"Hm…" Levi mused. "Well, what about elephants? As you know, they exhibit complex rituals surrounding death, often appearing to 'bury' their deceased and even displaying signs of mourning. But there are also documented instances of elephants encountering a human sleeping beneath a tree. In these remarkable cases, some elephants have been observed gently stroking the sleeping individual with their trunk, and even carefully placing branches and sticks around them, as if performing a rudimentary 'burial' ritual."

It’s the opposite of the whale story. A connection, a form of respect, even across species.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? Well, it's working a little. Tell me another one."

"Indeed," Levi murmured, a small, knowing smile gracing his lips as I settled my head back onto his chest. He lifted his gaze thoughtfully to the ceiling, as if accessing a vast internal library. "Let me recall… Ah, yes. There was a rather compelling recent study concerning the investigation of empathy in rats. The researchers placed one subject, designated Rat A, within a confined and demonstrably uncomfortable enclosure, equipped with a small, manipulable hatch. A second subject, Rat B, was then introduced to the space outside this enclosure. Subsequently, in an attempt to divert Rat B's attention from the distress vocalizations emanating from Rat A, the researchers offered Rat B palatable treats. However, the experimental manipulation proved ineffective. Instead of succumbing to the distraction, the free rat, Rat B, actively worked to open the hatch, thereby liberating its confined counterpart. This, the researchers concluded, provided significant evidence for the presence of empathy in these creatures."

"That's fascinating. Do you… do you find that interesting, Levi? The idea of empathy in animals?"

"No," Levi replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "It is a biologically necessary component for the survival and cohesion of social animal species. They do indeed exhibit behaviors consistent with empathy and compassion towards conspecifics. However, my dear Raphael," he continued, a familiar glint returning to his eyes, "I personally find facts of a more… morbid nature to be considerably more fascinating. If you so desire, I could share some anecdotes that skillfully intertwine elements of both compassion and the macabre."

He can't help himself, can he? Even after all this, after trying to comfort me with the rat story, his mind veers back to the darkness. Compassion and the macabre. What twisted tale is brewing in that head of his now?