Sugar, Secrets and Upheaval

“There is nothing utopian about a society, Raphael,” he said, his voice flat. “You cannot mold them into a singular shape; it never yields successful outcomes, hence the perpetual existence of politics. And you are already acquainted with my perspectives regarding potential authority over the species.”

Yeah. When Levi was completely high, he had, in fact, detailed his complete ‘farm method’ for human governance. It was either a systematic purge or husbandry for his fellow Homo sapiens. Yeah. A truly perfect, Levi-esque solution.

“I appreciate the honesty, Levi. Most people wouldn’t admit their vision of a ‘perfect’ world involves either mass extinction or absolute dominion.”

“Mass extinction is merely a rather fancy word for asteroids, Raphael; it holds no particular meaning for us as of right now,” he said, dismissing the concept with a wave of his hand in the water. “About the dominion, however, that presents a rather novel concept.” His gaze drifted slightly, as if picturing a biological diagram. “You see, I would create the perfect environment for every bug in the ecosystem, and then observe them as they breed and are born into that engineered existence. That would be… quite the puzzle.”

“What about the purge then? That’s more you.”

“Why do you suppose we implement elections with sealed ballots, Raphael? It is so that citizens do not proceed to murder one another. Furthermore, a purge is… boring. What, truly, is enjoyable about violence, beyond a transient rush of endorphins?”

He found a purge — mass violence, bloodshed, total annihilation — boring.

“That’s a new level of detachment, even for you,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

His face held a frown. “Gods, Raphael. Must every single concept possess one neat, singular reason? Fine. Let us consider the downsides of a widespread purge.”

He began counting off on his fingers. “First, and most fundamentally, there is the devastating impact on population demographics. Second, a mass event of that nature would invariably lead to the widespread dissemination of endemic diseases, causing the economy to collapse, bringing the entire nation to a complete standstill, thereby ensuring the country’s inevitable disintegration within the subsequent two decades. Third, who is designated to cleanse the streets of the countless corpses? Are we to expect municipal waste collectors to manage such an undertaking? This would, by necessity, result in wild animals freely roaming the urban centers, feasting upon delectable pieces of human carcasses.” His expression remained utterly detached. “Fourth, who is then tasked with the responsibility of nurturing and educating the next generation of an already drastically diminished population? And fifth,” he concluded, a shudder running through him, “the pervasive stench would be so utterly intolerable that I would, most likely, be compelled to flee the country.” He concluded, his earlier smirk returning with full force. “Therefore, Raphael, a purge is boring.”

“The complete breakdown of society, the end of civilization as we know it… and the final, decisive factor is the stench? Stench, Levi? Stench?” I asked, my voice rising in disbelief, almost making me laugh.

Levi reached up and touched the bridge of his prominent, straight nose. “I possess a rather large nose, Raphael.”

I nearly laughed.

“Fine. Tell me about your ‘bug’ ecosystem. You have infinite of everything, how would you plan it?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his olfactory preferences.

Levi’s faint smirk resurfaced. “No, no, tell me, dearest,” he countered, the amusement evident in his tone. “You are the sovereign of a hypothetical country. Within this nation, you desire to abolish the death sentence, yet your citizens are opposed to its cessation. How, precisely, do you resolve this particular predicament?”

I couldn’t just dismiss the citizens’ opposition, nor could I betray my own moral stance. This was a puzzle I actually wanted to solve.

“Alright, Levi. First, I’d start with a massive, transparent public education campaign. Not propaganda, but open discussions about the irreversible nature of the death penalty, the potential for error, and its proven ineffectiveness as a deterrent. I’d bring in legal experts, criminologists, and families of victims,” I said, feeling a hopeful surge of conviction.

“Hm, an educational framework and the endeavor to alter public opinion,” he mused, his voice laced with dry mockery. “Marvelous. But, if mere education were the definitive answer, I would scarcely have posed the question, would I? Do endeavor to be a modicum more cunning for me, dear.”

“Alright, fine. If I can’t persuade them directly, I’d make the death penalty economically unfeasible. Dramatically increase the legal aid budget for death row appeals, introduce mandatory extensive psychological evaluations for all involved, stretching out the process and making it so financially draining that the public demands its abolition simply to save money,” I said, feeling a flicker of pride.

Levi nodded, his eyes gleaming with approval. “Excellent, dear. Individuals do, indeed, express concern regarding their tax contributions, yet they rarely undertake definitive actions concerning them, do they? I appreciate the approach; however, it most certainly aligns with the existing proceedings of capital punishment.” He leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips, signaling his contentment with my strategic pivot.

He actually approved. That fleeting look of pride in his eyes... I wanted it again. Gods, this was a problem.

“It feels a bit... devious, to be honest. But I’ll take your approval, even if it comes from the strategic manipulation of human shortcomings.”

Why did I say that? Go away, daddy issues. Just go away. Not when we’re both naked in a bathtub.

“I would, by the way, opt for the legal angle. Transform capital punishment into a bureaucratic tangle of nightmares, thereby ensuring the convict succumbs to either advanced age or a shiv in the prison yard, rather than through the formal mechanisms of capital punishment.”

“And the convicts would still die, just by neglect or violence from other prisoners, rather than a state-sanctioned method. You always find a way to achieve the end goal without ever getting your hands directly ‘dirty,’ don’t you?” I said, a note of accusation in my voice.

The faint smirk was absent, replaced by a look of severe conviction. “It is not fundamentally about the death itself, Raphael. It is entirely about the sanctity of the act. What occurs, I pose, when the government, purportedly the paternal figure of its citizens, elects to utilize murder as a form of punitive measure? The children, which is to say, the citizens, will observe this precedent and begin to apply their own interpretations of justice.”

“And if the government never ‘murders,’ then the citizens will simply not murder each other? That’s a very simplistic view of human nature,” I challenged, pushing back against his logic.

“No,” he stated, his voice tinged with frustration. “It is you, Raphael, who is consistently simplistic. Did I assert that simply because there is no capital punishment, the act of murder would magically vanish from comparative statistics? No. I presented you with the most fundamental explanation for a potential societal collapse, and you subsequently fixated upon the… non-existent part of that premise, deciding that I was ‘simplistic’?”

The words cut, because there was a kernel of truth to them.

“I suppose I’m used to people implying more than they say. You, on the other hand, mean exactly what you articulate,” I said, trying to distill our constant communication breakdown.

“It is not about that, at all, Raphael; you are missing the point, once again,” he said. “Your problem is, if you are unable to comprehend a concept, you either cling to the sentimental aspect, knowing perfectly well my nature, which leads to dispute between us, or you lash out without any discernible justification.”

When faced with his logic, his lack of warmth, I did retreat to the comfort of emotion. I did lash out when I felt stupid or misunderstood.

I wanted to grasp things the way he did, to be as effortlessly brilliant, as unaffected.

But I just... wasn’t.

“I suppose you’re right. It’s frustrating to try and understand a mind that operates on such a different wavelength. It makes me feel... inadequate,” I admitted.

“So… You compare yourself to me? Why would you undertake such an endeavor? We are entirely disparate individuals, Raphael; we do not even share the same country of origin.” He leaned back, a look of bewilderment on his chiseled face.

How could he not understand the insidious way his brilliance, his absolute self-possession, made me feel? He was everything I wasn’t. And he was the closest thing I had to… to that figure who sets the standard, even if that standard was terrifyingly high. The daddy issues were buzzing, making me want to impress him, to be like him, even when my entire being rebelled against it.

“Because I’m constantly trying to understand you, Levi. And when I try to process the world through your lens, I feel inadequate. It’s not a conscious choice to compare, it’s a consequence of being close to you,” I explained.

“Why, Raphael, should you even endeavor to process the world through my particular lens? No one should, and indeed, none can. It is not a matter of being ‘inadequate.’ It is exclusively a matter of neurology and biology. Let us set aside the usual suspects for a moment: the lack of empathy, the absence of guilt and remorse, and the inability to experience shame. What, then, of my age? What of my childhood? What of my family background? What of my academic distinctions? What of my professional occupation? What of the specific social circles I have frequented? Or the myriad of other contributing reasons?”

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“You think I compare myself to you because I see a gap in my own ‘performance’ based on your standards. But it’s not a competition, Levi. It’s about wanting to be understood, and sometimes, feeling like I’m not smart enough to understand you.”

Levi blinked, his composure faltering. “You…” he began, before trailing off and splashing water onto his face. “You don’t have to. It is not a matter of intelligence, which you possess.” He exhaled slowly, the rose petals swirling around him in the agitated water. “Raphael. I genuinely enjoy our conversations, our shared silences, our intellectual sparrings. An intellectual sparring session does not necessarily have to concern molecules or celestial bodies; it can encompass… anything. I find myself capable of discussing any subject with you. Precisely as you are with me.”

“That’s... comforting to hear, Levi,” I admitted, a genuine softness entering my voice.

“Obviously, I do,” he stated, his voice a low, precise murmur. “We are in a bathtub, entirely unclothed for the Gods’ sake, engaged in discourse about… why the Minister of Internal Affairs harbors an aversion to my person, or hypothetical scenarios concerning capital punishment.” He paused, the smirk fading as his expression grew serious. “However, Raphael, I must issue a warning: you… you need to stop applying sentiment, or morality, or human cost to my perspective. It merely instigates further resentment, anger, and frustration. It… changes nothing.”

“I can try, Levi, but I can’t promise my mind won’t still scream at the lack of humanity in it,” I said, my voice tight.

“No, Raphael. What I wish for you is to cease antagonizing me.”

“I… I know, and I understand. I really do have a self-sabotaging communication problem, specifically with you.”

“Fire your therapist; she is an utter idiot,” he said. “Wine, or do we leave the bath?”

“Which option do you prefer to facilitate, then?” I asked, a wry smile playing on my lips.

“I prefer leaving the bath, the water is cold, and I do not enjoy cold.” He rose, the petals swirling around his body.

I left the tub, the rose petals clinging to my skin as well. “So, even you get cold?” I said, a playful accusation in my voice, a shiver running through me.

Levi regarded me, his brows holding a subtle frown. “My body temperature is consistently high, which renders me more susceptible to the ‘cold.’” He then glanced down at his naked form, noticing the petals clinging to his skin, and muttered, “Gods…”

Aside from his dramatic flair, my gaze lingered on the scar across his lower abdomen. “You know, when you were high, you told me that your scar felt ‘ticklish’,” I recalled, watching his reaction closely.

He looked at me, his eyebrow arching in disbelief. “Ticklish? I used that specific word, ‘ticklish’?”

“Oh yeah,” I affirmed with a nod.

“But I do not feel ticklish,” he countered, confusion entering his cadence. “I do not know that particular sensation. Why would I have employed that specific word?”

“Maybe it’s proof that deep down, even your brain has a file for ‘ticklish,’ even if it doesn’t know how to access it normally. Or, more likely, you were just making words up based on context clues,” I said, my voice gaining a playful edge as I reached for a plush robe and slipped it on.

Levi, now standing, began to dry his body with a towel, the rose petals scattering from his skin onto the marble floor. “The latter explanation is undoubtedly more probable. And you are permitted to tickle me in bed, to thoroughly test that particular hypothesis.”

“Challenge accepted. Prepare to giggle, Levi,” I declared, a mischievous glint in my eye as I tightened the belt of my plush robe.

Levi paused in the act of drying, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Giggle? Dear, if you manage to elicit a single giggle from me, even for a mere second, I assure you I will bequeath my entire pharmaceutical company to you.”

“I don’t want your company, Levi, what the hell?” I exclaimed, the absurdity of his wager making me gape.

“Then you may employ me as the head of the company,” he said. “You would then occupy the position of my employer. Consider the prospect with greater ambition, dear.” He gestured towards the door with a languid hand.

The idea of being his boss, of giving him orders, was so utterly preposterous, so completely upside down from our usual dynamic, that it was almost… enticing.

“Must you always, always make those big wagers?” I asked, shaking my head as I walked towards the adjoining bedchamber.

Levi followed, wearing his underwear. “I can certainly wager my very existence,” he said, “but you would not, in fact, assassinate me, so, there you have it, my company.” He lay down on the mattress, settling onto his back, his face calm and expectant. “Make me giggle, Raphael, and you will own the most prominent pharmaceutical company in the entire nation.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Lying there, so confident. It’s almost cute. But I promise you, I’m going to make you laugh, Levi. And then I’ll probably just make you head of your own company anyway, because I don’t want the paperwork,” I said, a grin spreading across my face as I sat down on the bed beside him.

“Let us establish the parameters. Grunting or groaning does not constitute a valid reaction. It must be an unrestrained giggle. Are we clear?” he inquired.

“This feels sketchy, but okay, we are clear,” I conceded. I then placed my hands on his bare sides and began to tickle him. His face remained impassive. He gave me a bored look.

I moved my hands from his sides to his ribs, digging my fingers in, even knowing it was likely futile. Nothing. Not a twitch, not a gasp, not even a sharp intake of breath. My hands moved to his armpits. I wriggled my fingers, applied more pressure, even blew a little air, something guaranteed to make anyone squirm. Still nothing.

I tried the back of his knees, another classic. I even tried to surprise him, pulling my hands away, then suddenly digging them in. He barely registered it. It was like tickling a statue carved from marble.

My company-owning dreams, fleeting as they were, vanished like smoke.

My fingers hesitated for a moment before I placed them on the scar. The raised tissue felt different under my touch. I applied the barest pressure, tracing the line of it.

For a fraction of a second — so brief I almost missed it — the very tip of Levi’s nose twitched.

“Is that your version of a giggle? A microscopic nose twitch? You’re a hard man to win a company from, aren’t you?” I said, pulling my hands away with an exasperated laugh.

“I do not care about the company, Raphael.” He gestured to the scar with his finger. “Touch that scar a little more; I am curious.”

“Okay, I am just gonna touch,” I said, placing my fingertip.

His right eye crinkled at the corner. “A little more pressure,” he said, eagerness in his tone. I traced the raised tissue, applying a tiny pressure.

“So this is the ticklish sensation, is it?” he queried, entirely absorbed by the tactile input. “This feeling of nerves being touched…”

Well, no.

When people tickle you, they don’t touch your nerves at all. But I understood; he was attempting to categorize and comprehend a new, baffling sensation within his framework.

“It’s just an involuntary reaction. No ‘nerves being touched,’ just a funny feeling,” I clarified, watching his focused expression.

“Funny feeling?” He tilted his head slightly. “What does that… mean?”

It wasn’t pain, or pleasure, or even discomfort. It was… a tickle.

“It’s like a mild, sudden irritation that your brain interprets as amusing, even though it’s not painful. It’s more of a reflex,” I clarified, still tracing the scar.

“Oh,” Levi mused, his eyes widening slightly in understanding. “I comprehend. Kindly permit me to test a hypothesis.”

He moved swiftly, pinning me beneath him on the plush bed. “Now now, I wagered my company; surely, my dear can spare me his… waist?” He then placed his fingers on my side, poised and ready.

“Fine. But if I combust from it, you’re responsible for the clean-up,” I quipped, a nervous laugh already bubbling up.

“Oh, dear, you are quite aware of my diligent aftercare, are you not?”

Well. I was not like Levi. At all. The moment his touch registered, a gasp escaped me, and I was already squirming and giggling, an undignified mess. I writhed beneath him, trying to escape. My laughter was loud, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. Levi remained serene, focused on my thrashing form. He moved his hands, tracing circles, then lines, then random patterns, each touch eliciting a fresh wave of uncontrolled, breathless giggles from me.

“Stop, stop,” I gasped. “I can’t breathe!” I exclaimed, my entire body flushed from the exertion.

“Truly, dear?” he asked, tinged with a hint of genuine surprise. “This left you breathless?”

“My abs are going to ache tomorrow. And yes, it left me breathless. Now you know what an unrestrained giggle truly looks like,” I said, still breathing heavily.

Levi’s eyes gleamed with tender amusement. “Yes,” he said, “it is… interesting, and quite adorable, in fact.” He then leaned down, his dark hair brushing against my forehead, and placed his forehead against mine.

“Is this part of the ‘aftercare’ you mentioned?”

“You know I can be quite affectionate, dearest.” He brushed the tip of his nose against mine. “It is only a matter of the mood,” he added, his gaze holding mine with an unusual depth.

“You are… being cute,” I replied, a soft smile on my face, a warmth spreading through me.

“Would not be my preferred term,” he replied.

“You’re still cute. Especially when you’re all soft like this, acting like a giant, affectionate cat,” I said, a playful smile on my face as I lay beneath him.

“Does my dearest enjoy… softness more?”

I… I enjoy everything. Whether it was the gentle, affectionate moments like this, or his intense, dominant demeanor.

“I like the contrast, Levi. The way you can be clinical one moment and then… this. It makes everything you do incredibly captivating. I like everything,” I confessed, my eyes searching his.

“Ah, my dear Pulla, how sweet you are,” he said, his gaze softening. He then lowered his head and placed his lips gently upon mine. My lips parted slightly, inviting him in, and the kiss deepened, becoming more languid, more profound. I could feel the low hum of his contentment against my forehead, the quiet satisfaction in the way his body softened against mine.

One hand drifted to his waist, feeling the skin beneath his underwear, the shift of muscle. The other reached up, tracing his jaw, before my fingers threaded into his hair. His hand slid lower, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip.

“Levi,” I breathed out as a deep heat began to bloom in my belly. He responded by loosening my bathrobe, the soft fabric falling open, and then his warm hand began to trace my chest. His other hand moved to cup my face, allowing him to deepen the kiss further, a demand that I eagerly met.

Levi stilled. “Dear,” he said, his gaze fixed on the windows, “the rain has ceased. If we wish to depart the mansion and return to our house, this is possibly the most opportune moment.”

“Are you serious right now, Levi?” I asked, gesturing at our bodies. “We’re literally in the middle of something. The rain can wait.”

“I am afraid it cannot.” He then offered, with utter composure, “Also, we can continue in the chopper.”

“What? No, we are not having sex in a helicopter, what the fuck, Levi?”

“I was joking.”

Joking. The god-complex in full, playful effect.

“So, we’re not continuing in the chopper, then? Just checking. Because for a second there, I thought you’d finally lost your mind.”

“Elevated altitude, muscle contraction, oxygen deprivation… Having sex in a moving helicopter is a poor strategic choice, dear. I would not engage in such an endeavor. However, do remind me when we have landed; I am perfectly content with that.”

He was the most perplexing man, able to be both a dispassionate scientist and a supremely seductive presence in the span of mere seconds.