Silent Vows • LevixReader

Chapter 11

The snow kept falling, and with it, the days slipped quietly by. Levi and I continued our slow, unsteady dance, learning how to be together without words, without promises—just gestures, glances, and moments that felt too fragile to name. It wasn't perfect, but it was real.

Levi wasn't someone who changed overnight. Even after that kiss—after the moments where he let himself be close—there were days when he pulled back, retreating into himself. But he always returned. Slowly, carefully, like a man feeling his way through the dark. And I stayed, because I knew that love wasn't a straight path; it curved and dipped, sometimes painfully. But every time Levi came back, it felt like another piece of him was mine to keep.

One particularly cold night, the wind howling outside like it had a grudge against the world, I found myself at Levi's apartment again. It had become something of a routine—quiet evenings by the fire, sitting together on the couch while the storm raged outside. Levi's place wasn't much, but it was starting to feel like home in a way I hadn't expected.

When I arrived, he was already stoking the fire, coaxing it back to life. His expression was calm but distant, the weight of something unspoken resting on his shoulders.

"You're early," he murmured as I stepped inside, shaking snow from my coat.

"I didn't feel like waiting," I said with a small smile, closing the door behind me.

He gave me one of those almost-smiles, the kind that flickered across his face so briefly you'd miss it if you weren't paying attention. But I had learned to catch those moments, to tuck them away like treasures.

We settled into the quiet, side by side on the couch. Levi's hand brushed against mine once, twice, before he finally laced his fingers through mine, holding on with that quiet determination that felt so distinctly him.

For a while, we sat in silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound between us. I could feel Levi relax by degrees, the tension in his body easing as he leaned back against the worn cushions. These were the moments I cherished most—the ones where neither of us had to say anything, where just being together was enough.

After a while, I rested my head on his shoulder, the warmth of him seeping into me like the fire's heat. His thumb brushed absentmindedly along the back of my hand, a small, repetitive gesture that felt like both a comfort and a promise.

"I never thought I'd have this," Levi murmured suddenly, his voice low, almost as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. "Have what?"

"This." He gestured vaguely between us, his eyes soft but shadowed. "Someone. Something that's... normal."

My heart clenched at the rawness in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. I shifted closer, squeezing his hand gently. "It doesn't have to be perfect, Levi."

He exhaled, his breath shaky, and I could see the struggle in his eyes—the fear of holding onto something good, as if it might slip away the moment he allowed himself to believe in it.

"It's not you I don't trust," he admitted quietly. "It's me. I'm not used to... this."

"I know," I whispered, my free hand brushing lightly against his cheek. "But we'll figure it out. Together."

Levi closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into my touch in a way that felt like a surrender. When he opened them again, there was something softer in his gaze—something almost like hope.

The wind outside battered against the windows, but in here, it was warm. Safe. Levi's thumb traced slow circles over my hand, grounding us both in the moment.

"Stay tonight," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

I smiled, my heart swelling at the quiet invitation. "Okay."

We didn't move right away. We just stayed there, tangled together on the couch, the firelight flickering around us like a cocoon. And in that moment, I knew that whatever storms might come—whatever ghosts Levi still carried—we would face them together.
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