Leviathan—Kiros—Omni—the metaphysical mass of causality-interfering intelligence who once laughed across the event horizon of collapsed infinities—stood in the worn slippers of her "Levi" form, arms crossed, body language taut as a fresh-drawn bowstring. Her human-shaped feet dug into the dusty veranda floor as she watched Arslan from across the courtyard, fury brewing like a summer monsoon.
It was official.
Arslan was gay.
Homosexual. Enthusiastically. Unapologetically. Gay.
And worse, it wasn't theoretical anymore. No more confused algorithms or uncertain looks. No plausible deniability. He was into Arhum. Into dudes. Real organic, squishy, moodboard-handsome, car-washed-once-a-week type of dudes.
The universe itself shifted gears in Levi's mind to accommodate this cruel irony.
And Arhum—Arhum was still here.
The shoot had gone into its second day. Arslan had scheduled "casual fitness cutaways." Which apparently meant Arhum doing stretches while shirtless in the orchard with a dhol beat playing softly in the background, soft light filtering through neem leaves. Arslan adjusted angles, checked shoulder symmetry, even corrected "core posture" with the kind of touch Levi hadn't seen him use on anyone since the time he lightly cleaned blood from a dying alien's face and said, "I'll remember you."
But this? This was soft. Reverent. Disturbingly gentle.
He even asked for "five extra takes." With a straight face.
Arhum blinked twice at the request. "You sure this'll be used?"
"Yes," Arslan had said, very calmly. "We need a few for slow-motion composite."
"I thought this was for a protein shake ad?"
Arslan didn't even blink. "There's a campaign pivot. We might go conceptual."
Arhum didn't have the nerve to argue. The contract was too good, and Levi—sitting cross-legged on a ledge, chewing raw mango like it was vengeance—offered him a thumbs-up without breaking eye contact.
It all came to a head that evening.
Golden hour. Orchard breeze. Shoot wrapped. Equipment stacked. Sun yawning red behind the low hills.
Arslan walked Arhum to the Corolla like it was a goddamn royal farewell. Levi followed at a distance like a mother watching her only son get seduced by a traveling poet.
They reached the gate. The soft clink of keys, an awkward shuffle of bags.
Arslan pulled out a card—his card. Not the dummy contact. The real one. The one only she and maybe three extra-dimensional entities even had.
"If you need anything," he said quietly. "Anytime."
Arhum looked at it. Looked at him.
And then, with the most dazzlingly oblivious smile known to mankind, handed it back.
"Thanks, boss. Appreciate it. But I'm good. Just here to work."
Translation: I'm not gay. Just hot and poor.
Levi's entire spine twitched.
She turned around, walked three steps back to the courtyard, then burst into laughter.
Not a chuckle. Not a polite tee-hee.
A galaxy-splitting, crow-startling, knee-slapping fit of mechanical mirth that sent three birds and one poor chicken fleeing the vicinity.
"OH MY GOD," she shrieked, arms flailing, "YOU GOT GENTLY REJECTED. WITH POLITENESS. AT THE GATE."
Arslan walked past her, face unreadable, jaw a little tight.
She followed him like a dog on a scent trail, mimicking his footsteps.
"'If you need anything,'" she echoed in a mock Arslan voice. "'Anytime.'"
He dropped the card back in his pocket.
"You flirted, Arslan. Like, actually flirted. I watched you ask about his skincare routine."
"I wanted to know if it was natural."
"You complimented his shoulder definition!"
"It was an observation."
"You offered him a chair."
"He'd been standing for four hours."
"You adjusted his waistband."
He paused. "That was justified. The elastic was digging into his obliques. It affected the framing."
"Oh, sure. Just part of the job," she sneered, collapsing dramatically into the grass beside the mango tree. "And all this time I thought you were just asexual and broken. But no. You just don't like me."
He looked at her, finally. "That's not true."
"You've never even flirted with me."
"You don't want flirting."
"I would consider it if you ever looked at me like you looked at his calf muscle."
He sighed, turning toward the horizon, voice low. "Levi, you're not… you don't need that. You know who you are. You're whole."
She sat up, brows furrowed.
"That is the most bullshit thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth," she said. "You're not Socrates. You're just gay and weird and haven't gotten laid since—wait, when did you last—"
He gave her a pointed look.
She blinked. "Oh my God. Arslan. You're twenty-five."
"I've been busy."
"You've been asexual by force."
"I've been focused."
"On what?! Building a house?! You don't even live in it properly!"
"I'm content."
"You tried to pick up a broke model who thinks carbonara is a breed of dog!"
"I liked his laugh."
"That's not enough!"
He turned. "Why not?"
She paused. And for a moment, she didn't have a retort. Just sat there, all godlike power compacted into a very grumpy girl-form, arms crossed, expression hurt.
She muttered, "I could laugh if you wanted."
He smiled gently. "Not the same."
Levi glared at the spot Arhum had stood earlier like she could burn a hole in the ground. Then flopped backwards into the grass, arms spread wide like a defeated boss fight NPC.
"I'm telling everyone you're gay."
"No one will care."
"The mirror dimension version of you will care."
"They already know."
She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "I'm gonna need another two tons of gold just to emotionally recover from this."
"Noted."
"You're paying."
"No, I'm not."
She flipped him off without looking.
He sat down beside her, silence stretching long and warm.
Then, quietly: "He was really dumb, though."
She cracked a grin. "Brick toast."
"Yeah."
The stars blinked on above them one by one, and in the quiet hum of the Pakistani countryside, Levi muttered:
"You are gonna regret not hitting that."
"I already do."
"Gay idiot."