Silent Vows • LevixReader

Chapter 4

It wasn't all easy. Levi wasn't used to having someone in his life, and I wasn't used to someone so guarded with their emotions. We moved through our days together like a quiet, steady rhythm—folding blankets, sorting supplies, drinking tea in comfortable silence. But there were moments, inevitable and sudden, when everything shifted. Without warning, Levi would retreat into himself, pulling away as if an invisible wall slammed down between us. He became distant, his expressions unreadable, and his words—if he spoke at all—were clipped and cold.

I learned quickly that trying to pry those walls open only made them higher. If I asked if he was okay, he'd mutter a vague response or change the subject entirely. If I stayed too close, he'd withdraw even more, disappearing into his thoughts like they were a fortress built for one. At first, I didn't mind giving him space—everyone needed time to themselves. But as those silences grew longer and the distance between us stretched wider, I started to wonder if maybe I was part of the problem.

On good days, it was easy to forget how hard it could be. We'd sit together during our breaks, sharing a quiet companionship that felt like home in a way I hadn't expected. Levi would hand me a roll of bandages without being asked, or refill my tea with the barest flicker of something like fondness in his gaze. In those moments, the connection between us felt natural, like something that had always been there, waiting to be uncovered.

But then there were the other days. The ones where Levi shut down without explanation, leaving me stranded in the dark, wondering if I'd done something wrong.

One evening, as winter's chill settled deep into the bones of the city, Levi went quiet again. He'd been distant for days, his words scarce and his expression even more guarded than usual. The silences between us, which once felt easy and comforting, now felt heavy and suffocating. I told myself not to take it personally, that this was just Levi's way—but knowing it and believing it were two different things.

That night, the weight of the unspoken words became too much to bear. We were sitting by the fire in the infirmary, the flames casting warm light across the room, flickering against the walls like distant memories. Levi sat beside me, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded loosely together. He hadn't said much all evening, and the distance between us felt palpable, like a chasm that kept widening no matter how much I reached for him.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I glanced down at the tea in my hands, the warmth grounding me, giving me just enough courage to ask what had been sitting heavy on my chest for days. "Do I... make things harder for you?"

Levi's head turned slightly, his brow furrowing as if I'd spoken in a language he didn't quite understand. "What?"

"Being around me," I clarified, my voice quieter now, hesitant. "Does it make things harder?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he sat there, still as stone, his dark eyes fixed on me, unreadable. My heart pounded against my ribs as I braced myself for the cold detachment I feared would follow.

"You don't," he said at last, his voice low and rough. "You make it... easier."

The honesty in those words hit me harder than I expected, a weight lifting off my chest. It wasn't grand or poetic—it was simple, understated, but it was Levi. And coming from him, that made it feel monumental.

I exhaled slowly, letting his words settle deep within me. "Good," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

He gave a small nod, as if to say that was all there was to it. The silence between us returned, but this time, it felt lighter—like we'd found a way to close the gap between us, if only by an inch.

After a long pause, I broke the silence, trying to ease the tension that still lingered in the air. "You're not exactly easy to figure out, you know."

Levi glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his expression dry. "I get that a lot."

I huffed a soft laugh, the sound surprising me. "I bet you do."

He didn't smile, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—a tiny gesture, so subtle most people wouldn't have noticed. But I'd come to recognize it as the closest thing to amusement Levi was willing to show.

"You ever think about making it a little easier for people?" I teased lightly. "Letting them in, maybe?"

Levi snorted, a low, quiet sound that carried more weight than I expected. "People are exhausting."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, they are." I nudged his shoulder lightly with mine. "But not all of them."

He gave me a look—a long, searching glance that made me feel like he was peeling away every layer of me, one by one. "You're persistent, Y/N." he muttered, though there was no bite to his words.

"I try." I grinned. "Someone's gotta keep you on your toes."

Levi shook his head, but I caught the flicker of something almost like fondness in his expression. It was fleeting, there and gone in a second, but it was enough to make my chest ache in a way I wasn't prepared for.

We lapsed into silence again, but this time it wasn't heavy. It was the kind of quiet that felt comfortable, like slipping into an old, familiar rhythm. The fire crackled softly, and outside, the city began to settle into the stillness of night.
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