For weeks now, Levan just lies in bed. Complete apathy. He refuses to eat regularly. Probably back to underweight. Usually he has two packs of Synth per day, but now it is one pack every second day. At least he still hydrates enough. He does not care for a daily routine anymore, and yet he still showers, gets dressed, and then just goes back to bed. He barely talks. Mostly just complaining about how cold it is - in the middle of summer - and asks to be left alone every now and then.
He hasn't been downstairs a single time in the past weeks. Didn't leave the Den. Didn't socialize with anyone except Monique and me. And that only because we share a bed. Of course we knew why he was like this, and despite our best attempts to distract him, console him, or even seduce him, his mood remains unchanged. Deeply depressed, to the point where his detachment from reality makes me wonder if his other issues are going to resurface. He once told me about something that could be best described as Multiple Personality Disorder. Something he said that was no longer an issue. I didn't want to dig deeper, simply because he is my boyfriend, not my patient.
Right now, I am wondering if he is either of that.
The least I can do is be here for him. So, that's what I do. While he just lies there, I am next to him, with a little space between us, and read my books. I thought about getting back to the university, so I grabbed all the books I knew would be relevant for the next semester. And then I realized that nothing of it matters, and switched to slightly more amusing belles lettres. "My completely normal daily chaos", "Fame", "Small Town Manhattan", then "Why not?" and "The Frenchman". I must admit finding myself in a back and forth between wanting to do more with my life and questioning why. Sure, stories are amusing, but in the end, they describe situations just as well as memes do. It all boils down to catering to my intellectual needs. Fake needs. My parents were always proud of my intellect, and so was I. There is something satisfying to standing out from the crowd. Yet, the more I grasp the reality of things, the more it feels unreal. My entire life was turned upside down when I met Levan, and now nothing makes sense anymore.
I spent my life on this little planet. Denver is... blessed in many ways. Low crime rate, mostly ignored by previous wars and conflicts. A good mix between suburban living and the giant facilities run by Ageira, LPI or Cryer directly or indirectly. Many smaller companies, some tiny family companies. Denver might not have the reputation, but in reality it is the Cambridge of Liberty, just with corruption instead of buckteeth and alcohol instead of tea. Living here in David's Hollow was certainly sheltering me from all the horrors up there. A few miles higher in the sky, laws barely matter anymore, and someone as docile and cute as Levan turns into a murderer, just like that. Give a man a weapon and suddenly he feels empowered.
Not that it was his first time.
Nothing is as it seems. Governments are corrupt. Companies want people to buy their products, no matter the cost. Even the most idealistic people seem to corrupt with power. It all follows the same pattern. Fate handed Levan a gunboat, and this seemingly innocent kid murdered criminals left and right. Not for justice, not for self defense. Not even for the money. Out of anger.
I wonder, if I choose the pursuit of improving my skills, studying, becoming a certified psychologist, with degree and title, where would it get me? With Levan having shared his fortune with me, money will never be a concern to me anymore. Going back to the university would not be required to make a living. It would be nothing more than to indulge myself. I wish I could claim that the prestige of having a title wasn't appealing.
But nothing good would come from it. Intellect is not a blessing but a curse. That's why I'm here. The Den provides me a home without worries. And if circumstances would be different, Levan would tend to my desires and needs. Here, I can spend day by day without progress in any direction. Without worries. Without goals. Without ambitions. I merely exist, with my basic needs covered. The truth is, this is what I desire the most right now. A simple life. A pretty boyfriend. Simple meals, simple lecture, simple life style.
Middle of the night. Clear sky. Hot. I don't know how Levan manages not to sweat despite being fully clothed. I had to go downstairs to get a can of cold O-Fizz. A honest blessing. The hot air began to condensate, a layer of cold moisture forms on the can, with little pearls of water getting conjured out of nowhere. As I walk upstairs again, I can't help it. Had to hold the cold can against my cheek, slowly rolling it across my forehead. Opened the door to the balcony wide. I knew Levan would complain, but he has to cope with it.
I move back to the bed and get on it. Monique is sleeping on the other side, behind Levan. He just listens to music on his PDA, ear buds in. Blanket covers his lower half, shirt and leather jacket his upper half. At least he didn't wear his beanie in bed. I scoot a bit closer to him as I open the can and let the cooling liquid surf down my throat. The can ends up empty sooner than I imagined and I put it on the night stand. It was only natural that I felt the immediate urge to burp, so I turned away from Levan to ungracefully release the gas from my mouth. I never knew whether he cared for it, but I certainly appreciated that he never burped. Obviously, not because he finds it as disgusting as I do, but because his water-and-synth-paste-only diet didn't really give him anything to burp out in first place.
I lay down and tried to close my eyes. No need to cover my body with the blanket in this heat. If anything, the warm wind was refreshing to the touch. What a good life. When the summer heat is my only concern, I am blessed. And all it took was being at the right place, at the right time, to fall in love with the right person.
I turn my head to the side, and slowly open my eyes again. Levan looks at me. I can hear the music blasting from the ear buds right into his ears. His expression was impossible to read. A true pokerface. Obviously to me, he was still depressed. The forced separation from Kris was a huge deal to him. There was no way to solve the situation, and the only thing he could do to help that poor sod was to stay away from him. And Levan couldn't help but feel guilty for how things ended up like this.
I ran out of things to say to make him feel better. Out of things to do to make him feel better. He wasn't in the mood for intimacy lately. Monique and I tried it several times in various ways to distract him, but it never worked. When a man doesn't give in to seduction, something is seriously wrong. It was the only thing he did for joy. No alcohol, no drugs, no expensive food. Any other guy in his age would play video games, but even those aren't interesting to him. The only other passion I knew about was his interest in stargazing. And that passion lead to the escalation with Kris.
He hasn't touched his harmonica in a long time, and his violin flew out of his ship when he fought this Rogue gunboat and barely survived it. In a way, the only thing he did was existing. I sometimes thought that Monique and I did just that now, given we don't need to worry about basic needs anymore. But the two of us still indulge in our passions. He, on the other hand, doesn't. Pure apathy.
And I have no idea when it's going to change.
Nevertheless, the least I can do is show him that I am here for him. I place my hand on his, intertwining my fingers with his. My guess is that with his reduced calory intake, his body doesn't heat up too well. The only way his fingers can be cold like that, and the only way he avoids sweating while being fully dressed. Of course it was his natural defense mechanism. Something he learned to do on Pittsburgh. His clothes are his armor, and being dressed means he is prepared to act immediately. On Pittsburgh, he wasn't allowed to show any weakness, as others would immediately exploit it. He never fully revealed what horrible things were done to him over there, but he hinted at enough to make me understand why he feels incredibly uncomfortable when being naked for longer than the duration of a shower or a bath.
I take his hand and lead it up to my lips, placing gentle kisses on his fingers. He blinks shyly in response, as if awakened from a stupor.
I keep his hand close to my lips, warming it with my own hand. Then I lead it right between my clavicles, placing my hand on the back of his hand to warm it up from both sides. Once again, he averts his eyes sheepishly.
His other hand vanishes in his jacket pocket for a moment and the ear buds stopped emitting music. Once again, it turned out to be another night of us staring into each other's eyes for a while, not saying anything. I didn't expect him to do anything beyond that with his current mood. I rolled on my side to face him better. He freed his hand from my grasp to pull me even closer, placed his lips on mine for a second, his hand on my side. The sudden touch made me shudder involuntarily. Not in a bad way, though.
I am sorry for being such a bad boyfriend.
Him saying that made me blink a few times. To say this relationship was within my personal ideal parameters would be a lie, but it was not bad at all. He was not bad at all. Not perfect, but not bad. Levan was a good boyfriend. In a way. If one didn't mind sharing.
You'renotabadboyfriend.
Or being with a murderer. There is a phenomenon among spacefaring people. Planetside, people have a lot more respect for the law and the value of a human life. In space, where people hide behind shields and armor and big guns, without being able to see who they are fighting, the value of human life equals nothing. Everyone thinks they are justified in what they do up there.
I know that Levan did the right thing. Liberty Rogues are dangerous and evil. I don't think there is a single unquestionably morally good thing coming from them. They pirate, they extort, they murder and enslave. When he blew up the Brutal Capitalist, he even saved the lives of the crew on that LPI ship. That is a morally good thing, right? A win for the good guys. Less bad guys to cause harm, assuming they all died. So, why would one have an issue with it? With Levan going around, playing hero.
This cute guy. Handsome face, big naive eyes. An entire head shorter than me. I think my cognitive dissonance about it stems from the fact that I can't help but think he didn't do it for the right reasons. He wanted to kill Rogues. Have his katharsis. What happened on Pittsburgh made him lust for revenge, and that was one of the opportunities to enact revenge. And just like that, he killed who knows how many people were on that cruiser. And we all celebrate it in ecstasy.
If one was going around planetside and killed dozens of criminals just like that, that person would be considered a criminal and a murderer. If one does that in space, they become a hero. And in space, this happens every week, if not every day. And more often than not, the criminals win. Levan had another fight with a Rogue gunboat with a funny name in New York and barely won. He almost died there. He could have died there. Now he is here, in bed with me and Monique, staring at me, kissing me as my legs slip under the blanket to intertwine with his.
His sense of morals is chaotic at best. He has no idea about the value of things. On Pittsburgh, he never learned about the value of a credit. He had no money. The only currency he had were water and synth packs. WaSPs, as he keeps calling them. Then he escaped Pittsburgh, and suddenly he has more money than most people would be able to accumulate in ten life times. I went to the supermarket with him and he looked at things and often asked me "Is this supposedly expensive?" - and we usually laugh it off.
We don't have jobs like the common person has. No need for that, since we are both financially independent now. I think he still doesn't comprehend that a regular person would never be able to even get to see Curacao from space, especially not from the surface. The common person doesn't have a gunboat. A hovercar at best. The common person doesn't run his home like a club. The common person doesn't have two girlfriends and a boyfriend. The common person wouldn't sleep fully dressed.
But he does. And I can't help myself but find him so much more interesting than the common person. Apart from him being attractive and adorable, I think this detachment from regular values made me fall in love with him. It fascinates me. Most people have their thinking limited by rules, be it the law or what media and society indoctrinate us with. Get good grades in school, study, get a job, have one partner, marry, get a car, build a house, make babies, go to class reunions, show off what you got. The pattern of society. Fulfill all expectations.
I don't like the pattern. And he doesn't follow it. I kiss him again, more passionately. He reciprocates. The spark was returning.
My biggest fear is that he could end up like Kris. A chain of bad decisions without any way of turning back. The poor guy has a bounty on his head now and vanished. And Levan can't do anything about it. He simply can't. The only good thing about Levan being depressed about this forced break up is that he hasn't been to space since then. But frankly, even with my selfish desire of wanting to keep him here, there is no benefit in him being depressed like this. My only hope is that he will recover, and ideally, still stay here, planetside, and not run off to go on new space adventures, or even get himself into even more trouble because of Kris.
Our breathing gets more unstable. The sounds of our kisses were quite loud. Monique would probably wake up if this escalated. Not that either of us cared.
Biochemistry is quite the interesting topic. I toyed with the tought of studying it at the university, for good measure. Since I met Levan, the psychological aspect of intimate relationships became a fascinating topic. To think that the established trust of two, or more, lovers results in a mutual appreciation of the combined perception of the other with, literally, all senses, is quite intriguing. I never thought about it this way before. I guess my previous boyfriend really failed at making me appreciate such things.
I hear Levan talk and feel warmth. I take in his scents and feel familiarity. His shampoo, his perfume, his comparatively weak body odor, the scent of his tooth paste, the scent of his clothes. The sound of his little moans and his laughter. The taste of his lips and his tongue. The touch of his fingers on my skin. The way he blinks at me, looks at me in the middle of the night or when we lie on the balcony. My appreciation for him engulfs every sense, to the point where I can't think straight and do things I wouldn't do normally.
We stop kissing. His arms are wrapped around my body, my legs around his legs.
I don't know what the future holds for us. No idea, really. He'll probably go to space again at some point. Probably still chase for Kris. Probably end up being with other women again. Probably kill more Rogues. Probably get himself painted as target. Possibly die way too early. Possibly without a notification. He will just disappear from my life. Nothing I can do about it.
I guess I can really just appreciate the time we still have.
I have no idea whether she'll come back. We had an argument about him. She doesn't know how to handle him in this state. One morning we woke up and our hands slid under his clothes, and where used to be a slim layer of muscles, we felt bones instead. He shrugged it off.
Whatever.
His underweight is getting worse and worse every day. He barely touches his synth packs at all. Monique got mad at him for not eating anything, yelled at him, told him he'll die like that.
Maybe it is better that way.
She left the bedroom and went downstairs. I remained at his side, reading my book. He merely rolled on his side, facing away.
I went downstairs to get a cold soda from the fridge. Monique was crying in the kitchen, so I hugged her from behind. She quickly broke away and yelled at me.
You'reapsychologist,dosomethingaboutit!
If only I knew what to do. I told her just that. I have no idea how to fix this issue. He is heavily depressed, and nothing I tried worked. Of course I am not a psychologist. I read a lot, and tried to get opinions from people who are. And nothing worked. In fact, I am about to force professional help upon him.
She was, of course, referring to this relationship. It worked well for years, and even when Kris returned into Levan's life, we somehow made it work. But then they took him away from Levan, and the efforts of the past years were all in vain. He met his heroes and found out about them not being heroes at all. The Alliance Commander is nothing but a spiteful extremist, just like the Order fanatics he allows to puppeteer him. A bounty on Kris' head, instead of bountying someone who both deserves it and is an actual threat to their causes. Tilted maniacs.
When things are just not fun anymore, what is the point in continuing? Monique said that, but it might as well be Levan's exact thought for the past weeks. What's the point in continuing?
LeaKaufman.
I know he opened his eyes for a moment, but he pretended to not hear me. I sat next to him as he was facing away from me, pretending to sleep. His PDA in my hands. It blinked when her message came in, and I opened it.
No response from him. I let the message play. Casual small talk.
Don'tyouwanttorespond?
I cannot give her what she wants.
Andthatis?
But he didn't elaborate. Sighing, I look at her profile image. Then I put his PDA on the night stand. Despite the heat outside, the new AC cooled down the bedroom considerably. Of course he complained about the cold temperature, still preferring to sleep fully dressed in bed, his body refusing to sweat while I can't get through the day without devouring one popsicle after another. Maybe they replaced his blood with supercoolant. No idea how he defies physics like that.
Come.
I pulled him out of the bed and dragged him downstairs and outside. He didn't complain. It's in the middle of the night again. I take him to the train station. We enter, and sit down. Not a single other soul. And the train moves.
The train ride was soothing. At first, that is. Later some rowdy teens got on the train, clearly inebriated at best. Couldn't help but tense up. I'm not sure how conscious of an act it was, but Levan put an arm around me while his other hand vanished in the pocket of his jacket. He didn't have a weapon with him. Right? Those youngsters were rather loud, armed with bottles of Duskville's, one of them had his PDA play some loud quote-unquote music. Real kids from the street here. It's weird, really. We have these types of people at the Den, too. But there, everyone respects the rules. With the occasional incident, obviously. We've certainly given up on buying glass tables for the living room.
I leaned against Levan, keeping these people in the corner of my eyes. One of them spilled their drink all over a seat next to them. One of them laughs it off, one other gives the guy a shove. Foul language. Just like at the Den. Maybe going out in the middle of the night like this was not the best idea. It usually turned out to be nice. The thrill of the night. The lack of a destination. Just going with the flow. Should have put on some... more adequate clothes, though.
Yoooo, you two look super sweet, man!
Here we go. One of the guys had walked up to us, his beer can in one hand, his other hand in the pocket of his baggy jeans. Long jersey, cap backwards, peach fuzz, brown boots. Quite tall guy.
Seriously, nice catch! She into leather?
No.
Yes.
Damn dude! There's one for everyone!
At least he didn't think he was my little brother, as people usually do.
Like, seriously, I hope I get a gee-eff like her one day! My last one was such a bitch, but in the bad way, really just about the money! Wanted me to get a second job, man, didn't even have one herself. Like, man, we're not in the medieval times anymore, man. Like, look at you. Small guy, tall lady? And. It. works! Like, really, you two look so fucking cute, man, I could just watch you all night there, but like, not in a creepy way but more like, y'know, take in the scene, man!
And without hesitation, he sat down in the seat on the opposite side, leaning forward while spreading his legs, looking at the floor, then at us.
So, what's your names? I'm Donny!
Levan.
I'mMadeleine.
So nice to meet you, Leon and Mad Lynn! Badass name, man. I really got the short end of the stick with Donald, so everyone just calls me Donny. Tried to go for Don, but didn't catch on, everyone just goes for Donny, so what gives, man. But Leon and Lynn, those are cool names, man. So what are you two pretty ones doing in the middle of the night on a train? Getting home from a party or what?
Wecamefromone.
Looking for the next one right now.
Levan...
Man, really? You two should totally come with us, man, we're like a mobile party, for real, man! We can get to know each other better, I'm like a thousand percent sure you'll fit right in.
Ithinkwe're-
Sure.
And just like that, my horribly depressed boyfriend dragged me into an improvised party group of drunk young rowdies. Donny lead us over to the rest of his troop. One worse than the next. Didn't take long for one to throw up right before we got off the train. A colorful mix of Denver's youth - the people, not the vomit. No idea what Levan's M-O was, but the way I see it, it might have prevented a negative encounter with these guys. Two of them had a spontaneous fight, and instead of trying to mediate, everyone just started to chant "Fight Fight Fight!". One got knocked out, the other got a bloody lip. Reminded me of the time when Shane rammed a fork into Kyle's neck.
We went to a corner shop and Levan got them more drinks. Hard drinks. Short time later we found a playground and the drunk boys must have felt that the attractions for toddlers were just adequate for their current mental state. Donny got on the swing and almost broke his neck when he fell off, followed by him throwing up, and some other guy named Jimmy climbed up the slide, only to piss down the slide.
Two others had another fight, yelling at each other over a bottle of Duskville's, accusing each other of stealing it. Two others laughed at their rather powerless attempts at a brawl. They pretty much fell into the sand and remained on the ground, angrily yelling at each other.
I remained next to Levan, who still seemed rather passive the entire time except when anyone talked to him. Donny offered him drinks, over and over again, but Levan refused, saying he tries to give up on alcohol. Donny respected that, so did the others. One of the three girls kept trying to get a conversation with Levan going, and to my surprise, his responses got more and more shorter over time, as I assume he understood what she was going for, with the final result being him placing a hand on my thigh and kissing me in front of her. She undestood and left, obviously not too happy.
It was the first time he kissed me like that in weeks. And it was nice.
From there on, the night only kept on escalating further, but it didn't seem to bother any of these people. They were happy. They had their alcohol, their silly fun, their venting and mending. We went to the store again, got even more drinks and snacks and moved on until we found the tunnel of an apartment complex that lead to the inner yard. And instead of going to the inner yard, we remained in the tunnel. Lots of wooden pallets, some neatly stacked, some others already having gotten victimized by other rowdies. Levan sat down on one and invited me to sit in his lap. An invitation I happily accepted. His arms around my mid. We watched the others. Donny came over to us, told us over and over again how sweet we look together, eventually asking why we are still with them and not in some cozy bedroom to make sweet love with another. Valid question.
Eventually, the sun threatened to rise, and with more and more of them passing out on the pallets, Levan and I simply left, without saying a word. He lead the way, all confident. I still don't know what exactly lead to this, but I really didn't mind the sudden change. The sky slowly turned from black to orange, with a hint of blue getting stronger and stronger. My feet hurt. Cool breeze, and yet I felt very warm. Might have had a drink or two, too. We didn't bother getting back home, and instead he lead us to a hotel. I quickly fell asleep as we got our room.
Weird to think about it. My many approaches to tickle him out of his depression failed. The only thing that managed to get him out of it, at least for now, was a night with young strangers who gave into violence and alcoholism, broke things left and right, decorated the streets with their vomit, spit and blood and probably wouldn't even remember any of it by the time they would wake up.
Positive psychology always was one of those subjects that interested me, but unfortunately, the professor of that particular lecture was so boring, I ended up skipping the course in favour of... well, going to the Den. And while that seemed like an universally good idea, I can't help but wonder what I was missing out on, and how it would have affected my, let's face it, otherwise sober and nihilistic perception of the world and my surroundings.
Especially now, as I find myself in the center of this space storm.
The news are that Levan is feeling better. Somewhat. He eats regularly again, regained some of the lost weight, generally looks healthier again. His libido returned, too, and it is quite addictive. The bad news is that he also regained his interest in flying around in space with his danger magnet of a gunboat. He got in touch with a few space people again. This girl from Rheinland that was chasing after him for years, Lea. And of course, he also ran into Kris again. And realized what everyone else seemed to be obvious: They are no longer a couple. The utter lack of closure to that particular matter left him thinking they still were together, despite two months of complete silence and lightyears of distance.
And while Levan doesn't admit it verbally, that realization devastated him more than the entire phase of depression of the past two months. The only positive thing so far is that he didn't fall back into starving himself out again. Instead, he seems to try out new coping mechanisms, and that is how we ended up here, trapped in the eye of the storm.
Naive, and bored, as Monique is, she proposed it would be a "fun" idea to have both of us tag along with him, as he seems to have picked up a short term contract to move supplies from Denver to this research station here in Kepler. He made it sound like flying back and forth was actually a cake walk. Despite his initial doubts and warnings, he accepted and allowed us to join him. And that's where things started to go downhill.
The moment we entered this system, a stray asteroid got in our way and knocked us into the storm. Navigation systems got damaged, and despite telling us that everything is fine, it was obvious he was fighting his own panic, trying to hide it from us. Had it not been for two other vessels leading the way, we probably would have gotten into serious trouble.
Stray asteroids, lightnings, dust and constant bombardements of pebbles hitting against the shields and the armour, as well as some, for the lack of an adequate term, space tornados. This system has it all, and for some reason, Levan seems to enjoy it. I would assume it is his version of sitting in a dark room with music in his ears as he watches the heavy, rainy thunderstorm outside. Most definitely a coping mechanism, as no sane mind would come to this place over and over again, except for the money. He doesn't do it for the money. He's already rich.
A while later, we arrived at Ames, and the turbulences ceased. They have this shield situation going on here. Quite fascinating, actually, as the area around the station allows for a mostly clear view before at the end of the field, the storm awaits us with a thick, almost impenetrable wall of gas and dust and radiation. We had to take these pills. I wonder how many years of life expectancy I gave up on when I set a foot on this ship.
We do the stupidest things for the ones we love.
Upon arriving, we found out that Ames had given out a warning to all pilots to avoid Kepler for the coming days. A warning that got completely swallowed by the storm. Apparently, the connection to the neuralnet is sketchy at best right now. So, here we are. Stuck on a space station in the center of a deadly storm, with no idea for how long we have to stay here. Escaping death once, only to be surrounded by it.
Hey. What you got there?
Hotchocolate.Wannatry?
He's sitting on a couch in one of the outer hallways. The light is rather dim, and the windows show the horrors waiting out there, occasionally flooding the station with the red flash of these ominous electric discharges in the distance. On Denver, when lightnings strikes, it is followed by thunder. Out here, you hear nothing. What an odd thing to observe.
I hold my cup with both hands, absorbing the heat of this water-cocoa-powder mixture, even through the polymers of these space people outfits. These space stations are weirdly cold. Shouldn't they be cooking from the inside? They can radiate heat off only so much, while all these machines are running all day and night. I once asked Levan about it, but he never questioned it. The Kay, however, is a lot warmer.
There is a gentle smile on his lips as I sit down next to him and Monique, who had fallen asleep while leaning against him.
Pass.
Ofcourse.
Are you good?
AsgoodasIcanbe,consideringthecircumstances.
Yeah...
His PDA is on the little table in front of us, along with a bottle of water and an open can of soda, an ashtray and some pamphlets of the various projects the nerds here are running and trying to promote for investors. I know he's frequently checking the PDA for new messages. A habit that reemerged when he found out that Kris is alive.
His lips slightly open to leave out some air. His typical mute sigh. I place my hands on his, in his lap. Red lightning dances in the distance, occasionally lighting up the storm.
Admittedly, stargazing is a bit different here. But at least I do not run into people who want to kill me. Out here, people think twice about that.
So,thatiswhyyoucomehere?
No Rogues, no Technomancers, no Caliban, no creeps. And no aliens.
Just a bunch of scientists and a few daredevils. And some scrappers.
Hadanyrun-inswithanyofthemagain?
... Technomancers, yeah. Caliban, too. You would think space is huge and dangerous, but you always run into the same people, and they apparently never die, or cheat death.
Levan sneezes. One of the things I sometimes hate him for is that he can do literally anything and look incredibly pretty and cute at it. When he sneezes, it is like a movie star performance. There is no snot or spit, just an unfair amount of grace in something that makes other people look like they are dying. I'm not exaggerating. His way of sneezing could be considered photogenic.
Less photogenic is how the sleeping Monique slipped off his side, resulting in her head sliding down his chest, face-first between his legs. Even less graceful, it didn't wake her up, so she remained like that. Levan slowly turns his head in my direction, his eyes wide open, his lips forming an awkward, uncomfortable smirk.
