Silent Vows • LevixReader

Chapter 7

The fire in Levi's hearth burned low, its soft crackles filling the quiet room. We sat together on the floor, side by side, our shoulders touching. Neither of us spoke, and yet the silence between us felt heavy with unspoken things.

I stole a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His face was turned toward the window, the faint light casting shadows across his sharp features. He looked tired—more than tired, really. Worn, like a man carrying the weight of too many memories.

And yet, despite the heaviness between us, something fragile lingered in the air. A tension I hadn't noticed before, as if the space separating us had grown smaller without either of us realizing it.

He hadn't moved away when I sat beside him. If anything, he seemed to lean into my presence, just enough for me to feel it. His shoulder pressed lightly against mine, grounding me in a way I didn't expect.

I shifted slightly, the movement drawing his attention. Levi's gaze flickered toward me, dark and steady, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fall away.

"You didn't have to come," he murmured, his voice low and rough, like the embers of a fire burned too long.

"I know," I whispered, holding his gaze. "But I wanted to."

Something shifted in his expression, just a flicker of emotion beneath the surface—something raw and uncertain, as though he wasn't used to anyone staying when things got difficult.

The space between us felt impossibly small now, like a thread stretched taut, waiting to snap. My heart thudded in my chest, each beat loud in the stillness. I wasn't sure who moved first—if I leaned in or if he did—but suddenly, the air between us was charged with something electric, something fragile and real.

His gaze flicked to my lips, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. Levi wasn't a man who acted without thought, but in this moment, I saw the hesitation in his eyes—the brief war between what he wanted and what he thought he should hold back.

I could feel the warmth of him, the subtle brush of his breath against my skin, and for a heartbeat, it was as if everything had narrowed down to just this—just us, here in the quiet of his small apartment.

My heart pounded in my chest, the moment hanging in the air between us, delicate and fleeting. He was so close now that I could see the faint scars along his jaw, the subtle shift in his expression as his walls faltered, just for a moment.

And then, the space between us vanished entirely.

It wasn't a kiss—at least, not quite. His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm and uneven, and the proximity was almost overwhelming. My heart raced, the air thick with unspoken emotions, as if every unsaid word and lingering glance had led us here.

Levi closed his eyes briefly, as if grounding himself. I could feel the tension in him—years of restraint and careful control teetering on the edge of breaking. His hand lifted, hovering near my face as though he wasn't sure if he should touch me.

I tilted my head slightly, my breath catching as his fingers brushed against my cheek—light as a whisper, cautious and hesitant. It was such a small thing, barely even a touch, but it sent warmth curling through me, spreading from the point of contact and settling deep in my chest.

"Levi," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His eyes opened, and the raw intensity in them made my heart stutter. For a moment, we stayed like that—foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the stillness. It wasn't a kiss, but it felt just as intimate, as if we were both standing on the edge of something neither of us knew how to name.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the moment shifted.

Levi exhaled sharply and pulled back, his hand falling away from my face as though the touch had burned him. The space between us grew again, filled with all the things we weren't ready to say.

"I shouldn't..." he muttered, his voice low and rough with emotion. "I can't."

The words hit me like a splash of cold water, but I understood. Levi wasn't someone who let people in easily, and whatever had just passed between us—whatever it was—scared him in a way he probably couldn't explain.

"It's okay," I whispered, though my heart ached with the unspoken tension still lingering between us.

He gave me a look—one filled with too many emotions to name—and then glanced away, as if retreating back behind his walls. But the crack was still there, visible in the way his hands trembled slightly, in the way his breath came unevenly.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, the silence between us heavy but not uncomfortable. It was a pause—a moment to collect ourselves, to pull back from the edge of something we weren't ready to face just yet.

"I should go," I whispered, though part of me didn't want to leave.

Levi gave a slight nod, his gaze still averted. "Yeah."

I rose slowly, brushing the dust from my clothes. As I turned toward the door, Levi's voice stopped me, soft and uncertain.

"Thank you," he murmured.

I glanced back at him, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Anytime."

And with that, I stepped out into the cold night air, my heart still pounding in my chest. The almost-kiss lingered between us like the memory of a dream—beautiful and fleeting, leaving behind the unmistakable ache of something unfinished.
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