Sugar, Secrets and Upheaval

That morning, on Sunday, my therapist and I had a lot to talk about. My entire backstory from the start, my parents’ conditional love and their expectations for me to be an angelic son, and lastly, that final, painful conversation.

After my session ended, I walked out of the bedroom, intending to refill my coffee. But… there was a strange, acrid scent in the air. It wasn't the bite of a cigarette; what the fuck was that?

That’s where I saw Levi and Holden. They were sprawled on the couch, melted into the cushions, a thin plume of smoke curling lazily above them. In Levi’s hand, unmistakably, was a lit blunt. My eyes widened in disbelief.

“Levi, what the fuck? It’s illegal to smoke that!” I yelled, my voice sharp with incredulity.

He slowly lifted his gaze from the glowing screen of his laptop, his expression as flat as ever.

“And? It is an experiment on my physiological state. My neurodivergent therapist and I were, shall we say, quite curious about its effects,” he said, gesturing with the blunt towards Holden, who was now grinning widely, eyes unfocused and a little droopy. “We are, in essence, testing the neuronal divergence between a typical brain, such as our friend Holden's, and ours.”

“What the fuck? Are you... smoking a blunt with your therapist and your secretary right now? Am I hearing this correctly?” I demanded, my voice climbing an octave.

“I was going to extend the invitation to you, but you are quite the straight edge.”

I rubbed my eyes, needing to clear my vision, to process the scene once again. Levi, with a lit blunt in his hand. Holden, that sly, impeccably dressed, fucking King’s cousin of a secretary… smoking weed in our living room! Was this an alternate universe? Was the emotional turmoil of the day finally breaking my brain?

“Gods… W-Why? Or what? I mean…”

“Also, dear, you wound my villainous pride; do you genuinely believe the police possess the audacity to arrest me? I am the Saint of Ascaria. And, even if they dare to attempt such a thing, I am quite capable of orchestrating a very entertaining chase sequence.”

The fact that he was even thinking about a chase sequence, right now, with a blunt in his hand, was just... peak Levi. Unbelievable.

“What about your rehab? You shook twelve years of addiction! And you decided to throw all of this away?!”

“Shh,” he cautioned as he exhaled a stream of smoke. “It is once again evident that you are straight edge. I was an opioid addict. The sensations produced by cannabis and opioids are not as physiologically similar as you might perceive. I employed opioids as a means to inhibit destructive urges, permitting the sustained illusion of normalcy. Now, we will observe what cannabis does,” he stated, his gaze briefly flicking to me before he gently poked Holden. “Hm… I assume it is taking longer than we anticipated,” he murmured, turning his attention to his laptop, ostensibly addressing his therapist on the screen.

“I am… officially removing myself from this conversation. If you cannot comprehend the drawback of… this, then I have nothing more to say,” I declared, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Holden?” Levi inquired, turning his head slightly towards the secretary. “What is your professional assessment regarding Raphael’s optimal course of action? He appears a little ‘uptight’.”

Holden, whose gaze was fixed on the ceiling as if observing an elaborate carnival, slowly brought his focus back to us. “He needs to smoke some weed.”

This was Holden, the man who handled Levi's entire empire, reduced to a grinning, weed-addled zombie spouting clichés.

“Holden, you idiot, just go drink some water or something! What? Did you decide to leave the company for a day? Is this… what this is, a vacation?” I demanded of Holden, who simply blinked slowly.

Levi chuckled in return. “Oh, my dear, you possess no conception of what transpires within those furnished oval offices known as stockholder meetings, do you? Most of the time, it is an assembly of rich, old, and highly aesthetically unappealing men snorting cocaine, but I find my straight and singular nasal structure quite advantageous for avoiding that particular depravity,” he said, his gaze briefly flicking to his prominent nose before returning to me.

Right, because that's the casual insight I needed.

"Only you would turn 'avoiding a drug habit' into a self-congratulatory statement about your nose. Not because it's, you know, a highly addictive illegal drug," I retorted, shaking my head.

“Do call the police if you must,” he deadpanned. “I would, in all likelihood, achieve a state of intoxication with a considerable number of them in return.” He then tilted his head. “Ah, perhaps I should indeed advocate for the legalization of cannabis consumption, dear, if it is going to render you minimally less distressed.”

The thought of him getting high with police officers was so absurd, so utterly Levi, that a laugh bubbled up despite myself. It wasn't about public health or individual liberty for him; it was about managing my emotional state like a quantifiable variable. He was a menace, a chaos agent, but damn it, he was my chaos agent. And honestly, after the shitshow with my parents, the audacity of Levi was... refreshing.

"So, your solution to my problems is to get the police force high? And legalize weed? You truly are a menace, but I'll give you points for originality."

“I am a dutiful and attentive husband,” he replied, taking a deliberate puff from the blunt. “I am also capable of incinerating every cannabis cultivation facility, if that is your expressed desire. Only after I have concluded my current experiment, however.”

"I appreciate the offer, Levi, but I think I'll pass on the planetary arson. And maybe the blunt, too. I'm getting coffee," I said, turning and walking towards the kitchen. Gods… Levi Blake, reduced to marijuana smoking… shit. I don’t even have the right words to end that thought.

Holden started to walk from the couch towards the kitchen, moving with a sluggish gait, his eyes wide and searching around the room as if he'd never seen it before.

“Second cabinet over the oven, you idiot! Where the hell are you even looking?” Levi boomed from the living room. Yeah… Munchies, I guess. That cabinet is where Levi stashes his handmade cookies. Before Holden could begin to wreck the cabinets in his dazed state, I retrieved the ceramic jar for him.

“Thanks,” Holden mumbled, a big, sheepish smile spreading across his face. That was literally the first time I'd seen this man genuinely smile.

"And just like that, the King's cousin is reduced to a cookie monster. Never thought I'd see the day," I muttered, shaking my head.

“Thanks.”

Was he in a loop? I poked his shoulder, and he blinked twice, clearly trying to focus.

“Do you want a glass of water?” I asked, holding up the jar of cookies.

Levi boomed again from the living room. “Holden! Where are you? I need to start recording; move!”

Holden, clutching the cookie jar with both hands, started to walk towards the living room, still moving with that sluggish, swaying gait. I grabbed some more of his handmade cookies, a few muffins, and two large bottles of water. I landed them on the coffee table with a loud thud.

Assholes, not even taking care of themselves, making me do their work.

Levi was fumbling with a voice recorder. “T-The fuck? Are you gonna record yourself?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.

“I informed you it was an experiment, dear. What is the point if I possess no tangible data? I cannot rely on memory alone. Furthermore, we are going to cross-reference our experiences.”

Yeah. Because that's what this was: a lab experiment, not a glorified smoke session.

Holden, who had successfully retrieved a cookie from the jar, sprawled back on the couch, actively attempting to push a piece of the treat towards Levi’s mouth. “Stop touching me, Holden. You are going to spread your overly aggressive neurotypical attributes to me,” Levi said, leaning back to escape the cookie assault.

Poor high Holden, was trying to share a cookie, and Levi was recoiling like he was being attacked by a pathogen.

“The hell? Are you implying neurotypicality is… an ailment or something?” I asked, my brows furrowing.

“Ooh,” Levi mused, a low sound in his throat. “Excuse my minority rights to contend with the oppressive confines of your neurotypical society. Do not appear wounded; you are not the victim here,” he stated, then took a crisp bite out of a cookie he himself retrieved from the jar, pointedly avoiding Holden's still-outstretched hand.

Unbelievable. Now he's pulling the 'minority rights' card?

Holden was… really sad? He turned his body away from Levi, slumping on the couch like a spouse in a domestic dispute.

“Oh my god, did you get high or something, why the sudden jab? Should I apologize for being born?” I asked, seated on the couch, looking at Holden for… very dark amusement. I mean, yeah, this scene was bizarre, and I was angry at them, but… it was, admittedly, entertaining.

“No, it has not impacted my cognitive functions, yet. Should I perhaps amplify the dosage?” he mused, looking down at the packet of cannabis they had purchased. “Holden, here, consume this,” he instructed, extending the blunt to him. Holden, still turned away from Levi, took a puff, a little grumpy but still compliant. And Levi took a puff, too.

The asshole was trying to make sure they both had the same quantifiable consumption. Mad scientist through and through.

Holden grumbled. “I want something… salty.”

I snorted. Gods… the fallen dynasty’s maybe last known and alive relative was asking for chips.

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Levi rolled his eyes. “Holden, what exactly has transpired with you? Has your entire cognitive state decided to abscond and run far away? Go retrieve whatever you desire,” he said, his voice flat, edged with a distinct, Levi-esque disdain. Gods, he was being such a bitch.

“Levi, you are being so rude to him! Look at him,” I said, gesturing towards the slumped figure of the secretary. “He looks like a scolded dog.”

“We keep eating sugar,” Holden grumbled again, his voice still thick and despondent. Yeah… I could imagine what he meant by that, looking at the very obvious evidence spread across the table. Cookies, muffins, various other sweets… Nothing with any sodium.

“Ask Raphael for that indulgence, my palate is quite absolved of that sin,” Levi stated, taking another puff. Sin meaning… fucking salt. My god, this snob piece of shit. Since Holden was looking so slumped, and somehow I felt a pang of pity for him, I went to the kitchen again to retrieve some chips. Holden reached out for the chip bag, holding it like a teddy bear for a moment. I wanted to laugh, but I figured I’d feel guilty afterward. Levi himself described him as a hound, even appreciated his intelligence, and explicitly told me that if Holden hadn't sided with him, it would have taken far longer to dismantle the monarchy. Gods, this man was now reduced to a chip-eating, wet-puppy-looking stray.

Then Levi’s phone rang. “Yes?” he answered, listening for a beat longer. “Holden is high, and occupied with me, Annie. If there is something of actual importance, come to the house and bring more chips,” he instructed.

Oh my god, is he planning on burning his entire company to the ground today?

"You realize 'occupied with me' means 'currently a drooling, chip-clutching mess,' right? You're going to give Annie an aneurysm," I said, giving Levi a pointed look.

“Annie, Raphael says you might acquire an aneurysm, so I am raising the stakes. If you procure chips, and some caramel ice cream—specifically not the sea salt variant, but the one with the cookie crumbles—you are receiving one paid vacation day,” he stated, a smug smirk spreading across his face. “Good girl,” he added, before terminating the call.

This bastard mentioned it before. Annie had almost a pathological need for vacation; these assholes were always utilizing this as a method to prevent her from entirely shutting down when confronted with their machinations. The patronizing asshole. He knew exactly how to make people jump through hoops, all for a fucking ice cream and chips.

Before I could open my mouth to give Levi a very deserved reprimand, Holden turned his face towards him. “Annie is coming?” he asked, a little hopeful.

Wait. My senses are tingling. Is this attraction?

“Indeed, but you need to bring your cognitive functions back; we apparently have a hundred pages to sign,” Levi said, utterly blindsided by Holden's sudden shift in focus.

I leaned back on the couch, a little grin playing on my lips. “Holden, why are you so curious?”

“She is so… smart,” Holden said, his voice laced with genuine awe. Gods, it wasn't attraction, at all. It was possibly just reverence. Levi started to type something on his laptop, not even looking up.

“Unlike you right now, Holden. Drink some water if you must.”

“Water? Water…” Holden repeated, then slowly, painstakingly, rose from the couch, gripping the side of the couch as if it were a lifeline. It took him at least a full minute to open the bottle cap, and when he finally started to drink, he dribbled a significant amount all over himself. I snorted again.

Levi turned his face to him with a look of utter disdain. “Gods… Do we need to wipe you, too?”

When will the blunt hit Levi? It's not everyday he expresses his misanthropy this openly. It's usually more subtle.

“I am sorry,” Holden mumbled, his shoulders slumped even further, the very picture of dejection. The poor man couldn't even manage the untethered joy of being high, not with Levi's relentless verbal assaults.

“Levi, you are being so rude,” I interjected, my voice sharp. “He looks so sad.”

“Ah… yes. He is sad,” Levi acknowledged, his gaze briefly flicking to Holden before he took a long inhale from the blunt. “Smoke a little more, give yourself a good inhale,” he instructed, extending the blunt back towards Holden. Asshole was experimenting again!

Holden complied.

“Tell me, Holden, how do you feel?” Levi asked, his gaze already turned to the laptop, presumably addressing his therapist. Orıginal content can be found at n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net

“I don’t… know,” Holden mumbled.

Levi rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Perhaps I should have chosen another subject for this experiment.”

“I can’t witness this sadness anymore. I’m putting Holden down for a nap,” I declared, already moving towards him.

“He needs to smoke a little more. I procured some cannabis oil, too, but I assume it might be a tad much for his current state,” Levi said, typing away on his laptop, completely unfazed.

“Levi, if you want to get high, get high! Why are you dragging this man into this?” I asked, my voice rising in exasperation.

“It’s not as if I shoved a blunt down his nose. He consented, quite enthusiastically. And he knew what he was getting into, although your assessment of my perceived rudeness is, appreciated,” he said, before returning to his screen.

As if anyone could ever truly know what they were getting into with Levi.

“Holden, just close your eyes and try to sleep, yeah?” I said softly, attempting to guide his head to a comfortable position on the cushion.

Levi gave me a pointed look. “He won’t sleep.”

“Why? Because you said so?” I demanded, already frustrated.

“No, because he quite literally, can not,” he articulated, taking another slow inhale of his blunt. Holden blinked twice, then suddenly his eyes widened.

“Blake… You know what I’m thinking… we are applying too much pressure to the research labs regarding the pesticide experiment. We should just let them… chill,” he said, his gaze flickering to the ceiling.

Levi gave him a sharp side-look. “Do not let those lab techs hear this, then my employees might have lung cancer less curable than pancreatic one. Safety protocols are applied for a reason.”

Holy hell. The drug was working, but not in the way anyone expected.

"Just... a thought. For the lab techs' general well-being," Holden said, staring at the white ceiling.

“Well-being means not smoking dense vapors of literal poison, Holden. Do you even comprehend what the chemicals we store in the research laboratories do? They are quite capable of turning a lung into popcorn, and that is not a hyperbole,” Levi said, completely devoid of emotion.

“W-What? What are you saying?” I stammered, my blood running cold, causing me to sink back onto the couch.

“Pesticides, Raphael. They are poison, highly reactive chemical compounds. The ones you procure at the markets are diluted; they may cause ulceration if ingested, which is certainly not advisable, and are lethal in the long term. Now, imagine, if you will, those chemicals in their purest, industrial-grade form. Do you comprehend what it means for a vessel to be corroded? Those vapors, heavier and denser than air itself, would literally eat away whatever other chemical vessels are comfortably nesting in the vicinity, compromising their integrity, possibly causing a cascading, lethal chain reaction of explosions or toxic gas releases. Now, extend that thought. What if it reaches the soil? The ground beneath the facility? The subterranean water table? It would undoubtedly kill every butterfly, every plant in its path, every fungi, perhaps even unfortunate stray cats and rats. My employees, on the other hand, if they decided to be utter imbeciles and not acquire proper masks for this endeavor—despite the clear signage and mandatory safety briefings—might acquire throat and lung cancer. And, I would have to significantly increase my employees’ health insurance premiums for radiation and chemotherapy, simultaneously paying the largest fee this nation has ever witnessed regarding the ethical breach, and irreversibly contaminating the soil and water for decades to come,” Levi explained, taking a deliberate inhale from his blunt, his eyes still fixed on me with that disconcerting intensity.

My stomach dropped. The normalcy of it all, for him, was the most disturbing part.

"Forget the high, Levi, you just gave me an existential crisis. This is your day-to-day?" I asked, gesturing at Holden, who was now pressing his knees to his chest.

“No, not day-to-day, obviously. That particular lab is currently endeavoring at creating a less destructive pesticide. If something goes wrong, Raphael, in science, it is always the human error. Tests do not lie; numbers do not deceive, but humans… Those little vermin. They might forget about their ethical boundaries, their safety protocols, all over a wife they do not share a marital bed with, or over a child that was a mistake, and drive all of us to ruin. My almost obsessive ethical regards are, firstly, my reverence to science and its applications to humanity. Secondly, it is so we do not shrivel and die.”

Gods, he went from casual apocalypse to a philosophical diatribe on human fallibility and the sanctity of science, all without missing a beat.

"You call humans 'little vermin,' but you're trusting them with chemicals that could turn lungs into popcorn. Do you see the flaw in your logic?"

He chuckled with a dark amusement, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh? If I could, I would replace every single squishy meat and bones now occupying my company with puppets, and pull every string myself. They do not matter; they are a collective serving their purpose. Also, do you know how hard it is to get even an entry-level job at my company? Every single employee of mine is a bright individual with their equally bright future ahead of them,” he said, a hint of genuine pride in his otherwise flat voice.

My jaw nearly hit the floor.

“Okay… This is too much. Just smoke a lot more and get happy high, not this… unfiltered high,” I said, turning my gaze away.

“Please, as if you do not comprehend the depths of profound detachment from my fellow… sapiens.”

He could not even bear to say the word ‘human’. He forced it out, almost like a gag reflex.

"That hesitation, Levi. That's your brain fighting the urge to admit you're one of us, isn't it?" I pressed, still averting my gaze, though I could feel the tension ratcheting up in the air.

“One of you?” he echoed, the words drawn out, as if tasting something foul. A sound I rarely heard, devoid of humor, an utterly blood-freezing laughter broke out of him. It was like hearing the gears of some ancient, dark machine grinding to life.. “Ah, look at your self-absorbed point of view. Did you get sad over my philosophy? Did you take a look at yourself and wondered about what I think of you? How… predictable,” he said, the word dripping with disdain. The smoke completely masked his face for a moment, making him a shadowy, indistinct figure.

When he exhaled, a thin plume snaked towards the ceiling, and his chilling monotone, continued, "As much as I clash constantly with the divine architect for giving birth to this soul," he paused, as if savoring the words, "I am quite proud of my mind. It is nothing but a curse on the relevant days, other days a complete blessing. So, do not attempt to paint me as in the same category of any other sapiens, vermin, swine, and insects constantly buzz around my vicinity to practically lament about how ‘tragic’ their life are. Their trivial concerns are an irritating static in the profound silence of true thought."

"Stop with your tortured god complex, Levi. You're just a very smart man who smokes too much and hates everyone. Stop with this very chilling… and making hairs on my skin prickle at me speech. Ugh…” I said, rubbing my arms, trying to shake off the cold sensation his words had evoked.

“My therapist got high, too,” he said, his gaze flickering between the laptop screen and Holden, who was crumpled on the couch. “Maybe because it is my first time, it is taking longer. Which means, Holden, the little monster, secretly, shamefully consumes cannabis,” Levi declared, and poked a finger at Holden’s shoulder.

"Where is Annie?" Holden asked, slurring slightly.

“Agreed, where is she? She was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Did I not permit exclusive rights to my chopper to both of you? Why does she bother with traffic on a Sunday afternoon?”

Gods, this man’s complete… arrogance? Blindness? Megalomania? What even is the exact adjective to stick to that declaration?

The front door’s bell rang. “Oh?” Levi murmured as gestured vaguely with his head. “Go open the door, Holden. Do not break your bones in the process, and please refrain from causing a harassment case within the confines of my domicile.”

I took a long, long, long breath, feeling my chest tighten. Harassment case? Was he being… considerate of Annie, as a person, or was he just… being a complete asshole? I guess… both?

Holden, mustering the last of his strength, pulled himself from where he was glued. He sluggishly walked towards the door. A short while later, Annie—who clearly smelled the acrid scent of marijuana, and was witnessing her usually unflappable, impassive, complete ice block of a boss smoking a blunt—was visibly confused and perhaps a tad distressed. Her eyes darted from the blunt in Levi's hand to the crumpled form of Holden, then back to the faint, tell-tale haze in the air.

“S-Sir?”

Levi, repositioned the blunt between his lips, exhaling a thin stream of smoke before he spoke. “I am experimenting. Do not bother with the nuances of my methodology. And for the sake of professional integrity, maintain a respectful distance from Holden; he tends to become… ‘touchy’,” he said, his voice flat as he beckoned his pointer finger towards Annie’s black bag. “Procure the files and a writing instrument.”