Silent Vows • LevixReader

Chapter 5

The first real crack in Levi's carefully controlled exterior came without warning, like a sudden shift in the weather—unexpected and impossible to ignore.

It happened on an ordinary day at the infirmary, the same way most things between us did. The morning had passed quietly, with Levi and I moving in sync as we sorted supplies, checked on patients, and shared tea during our break. But then, in the late afternoon, a familiar face strolled through the door—a former soldier I recognized in passing.

He was someone I'd met a few times before, charming in that practiced way some people get after years of learning how to disarm others with a smile. His words were smooth, too smooth, and his gaze lingered on me just a little too long, making my skin crawl.

At first, I brushed it off. Politeness had always been my default, and I figured he'd make small talk, offer a few compliments, and leave. But the conversation dragged on longer than it should have, and his words grew bolder, slipping beneath the surface of courtesy.

"You've got a kind heart," he said, his smile too easy, his eyes sweeping over me in a way that felt anything but kind. "Must be tough working here all the time. Bet someone like you could use a break."

I kept my smile polite, trying not to let my discomfort show. "I'm fine, really. There's always work to do."

But the man didn't seem inclined to take the hint. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering just enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "If you ever need someone to show you a good time, you know where to find me."

Before I could respond—before I could decide whether to laugh it off or tell him to leave—Levi's presence shifted in the room.

He hadn't said a word the entire time, standing off to the side with the kind of stillness that made him easy to overlook. But now, that stillness felt dangerous, like the quiet before a storm breaks.

I glanced toward him and saw the tension in his posture—the way his shoulders had drawn tight, his jaw clenched hard enough to crack. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, and though he hadn't moved a muscle, his entire presence radiated a quiet, simmering threat.

The man must have felt it too, because his easy smile faltered. He gave me one last lingering look, as if trying to gauge whether the interaction had been worth it, then muttered something about being on his way.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, the silence in the infirmary felt oppressive, like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Levi didn't move, didn't say a word, but I could feel the tension radiating from him in waves.

We finished the rest of our work in near silence. Levi's hands moved with their usual efficiency, but his movements were sharper than usual, the tendons in his forearms standing out as he gripped and folded supplies with more force than necessary.

When the last patient had gone and we began tidying up, I couldn't stand the weight of the silence between us any longer. As Levi folded a stack of blankets with precise, angry motions, I stepped closer and brushed my hand lightly against his arm.

He stilled immediately at the contact, his gaze flickering toward mine.

"You didn't like that," I said softly, my voice low, testing the waters.

His eyes darkened, the storm still lingering just beneath the surface. But he didn't deny it. "No," he muttered, his voice rough around the edges. "I didn't."

The admission felt heavier than it should have, like something unspoken had finally cracked through the walls he kept so carefully in place.

"Why?" I asked gently, not in accusation but in curiosity. I wasn't sure what I was expecting him to say—if he'd brush it off or tell me it didn't matter.

For a long moment, Levi just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

"Because he looked at you like you were something he could take," Levi said quietly, his voice low and controlled. "Like you were... available."

His words surprised me—not because of what he said, but because of how much they revealed. There was no jealousy in his tone, no possessiveness. Just anger, cold and quiet, at the way the man had treated me like an object instead of a person.

I felt a strange warmth bloom in my chest, a mix of gratitude and something deeper that I wasn't ready to name. "I can handle guys like that," I said, trying to ease the weight in his expression.

Levi gave me a look, one that said he knew that as well as I did—but it didn't make a difference to him. "Doesn't mean you should have to."

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that settled between us. Levi wasn't the kind of person who got involved in other people's business unless he had to. And yet, here he was, standing beside me, his protective instincts slipping through the cracks in his usual stoicism.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't entirely sure what I was apologizing for. For the situation? For the discomfort? For not noticing how much it bothered him until now?

Levi shook his head, a small, almost imperceptible motion. "It's not your fault, Y/N."

We stood there for a moment, the only sounds in the room the soft crackle of the fire and the quiet rustle of the blankets we hadn't yet folded.

Then, slowly, Levi reached out and rested his hand over mine. The touch was brief—barely a second—but it was enough to send a flicker of warmth through me. It wasn't much, but it was Levi's way of saying I'm here.

And in that moment, it was more than enough.

"You ready to head out?" he asked quietly, his voice gentler now, the storm in his expression beginning to clear.

I nodded, gathering the last of the supplies. "Yeah. Let's go."

As we locked up the infirmary and stepped out into the cold night air, Levi fell into step beside me, his presence steady and grounding. We didn't talk much as we walked, but the silence between us felt different now—easier, lighter.

The city around us was quiet, the streets empty except for the occasional flicker of lantern light from the windows above. Snow crunched softly beneath our boots as we made our way through the dark, the cold air sharp but not unpleasant.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me. Levi might have his walls, and I might not always understand the way he handled his emotions, but in this moment, we were in sync—two people navigating the complexities of connection, one small step at a time.
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