As the silence began to feel absolute, the door clicked again. I flinched, my heart leaping into my throat. Levi entered in his dressing gown. He carried a silver tray with a bowl of chicken soup, a glass of water, and a nondescript bottle. His eyes were devoid of the profound weariness I’d glimpsed earlier.
He walked, placing the tray on the bedside table. He didn't speak imdiately, simply observing , perhaps noting my changed attire and the puffiness around my eyes.
“You require sustenance and a therapeutic compound for your incipient respiratory affliction,” he said, gesturing towards the bottle. "This is a decongestant and analgesic. Your voice exhibits a certain hoarseness, and your physiological indicators suggest a susceptibility to illness after prolonged exposure to cold and damp conditions. The soup will provide necessary hydration and warmth.”
"You expect to just... take it? After you just called 'petulant' and a 'child' and implied my feelings are 'illogical'?"
Levi regarded with a look of profound bewildernt. “You do realize you are being impossible, right?”
He thinks I’m being impossible? Not the man who just called a child and then hauled across his mansion like a bag of wet laundry. I’m the impossible one.
"No, you're impossible! You don't get to just pick up, drop here, and then act like I'm the one with the problem!" I shot back, my eyes burning, the blanket clutched around like a shield.
Levi sat on the edge of the bed beside . He didn't touch , but his presence was a force. "Dear," he began, his voice carried an unusual softness. "I was, I concede, experiencing both frustration and anger."
"However," he continued, his gaze drifting briefly to my flushed face before returning to my eyes, "my primary objective was to prevent your unnecessary exposure to frigid temperatures. And, judging by the incipient fever I detected upon your skin, you have already succumbed to so degree of hypothermia." He took a shallow breath. "I also felt a degree of weariness and, as a consequence, temporarily withdrew. However, I have now returned to attend to your current requirents."
He’s not saying sorry for the cold bullshit, but for the outco of my exposure. He’s concerned about the physiological requirents that ca from my very un-Levi-like ltdown.
"You were 'weary'? Try being after that conversation in the greenhouse! And you just walked away," I said, pulling the blanket tighter around .
Without a word, Levi reached out. His hand settled gently on my cheek. The unexpected touch made flinch slightly.
"Dear, look at , hm?"
I turned my face sharply away.
"Shh," he murmured, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Look at , dear. So we can have a proper conversation, alright?"
Part of , the angry, humiliated part, wants to lash out again, to push his hand away, to refuse to look at him. But the other part, the exhausted, cold part that just cried itself out, feels a strange pull towards that gentleness.
What would happen if I just… looked at him? What fresh hell or bewildering act of non-empathy would greet there?
I squeezed my eyes shut, a fresh tear escaping, "I don't... I don't want to look at you right now."
He kept brushing my cheek. "It is alright, dear. I sincerely apologize for my recent blunt words. However, I must insist you permit to attend to your well-being."
I want to scream at him, to rail against his calm, his kindness. But the warmth of his hand, the unexpected apology — even if it’s Levi’s version of one — and the exhaustion are battling against my anger. I’m so tired of fighting. So tired of being the only one screaming while he just murmurs platitudes and offers logical solutions.
"I don't... I don't understand you, Levi."
"Dear, what is there not to comprehend about not wanting my husband to experience distress or hypothermia?"
He fras it as a logical equation: husband distress/hypothermia = undesirable outco.
He thinks he’s being clear. He thinks he’s being reasonable. But he’s missing the entire point. He’s offering a bandage for a gaping wound, and he can’t fathom why I’m not just gratefully taking it. And the worst part is, I can see that he’s not trying to be cruel. He truly, utterly, fundantally doesn't comprehend.
"What's hard to comprehend is why you think a little soup and a pill fix everything you said." I pulled away slightly from his hand.
His grip on my cheek remained firm, preventing from fully retreating. "Alright. Then tell how to do it better."
"Don't lie to . You're just asking because you think it's the logical next step, not because you actually care to understand," I said, my voice tight.
His right eye crinkled at the corner.
“Why do you hold this conviction that I do not care for you, Raphael? You are my husband. It is my profound aspiration to conduct myself appropriately in our union. Do I, in your estimation, present myself as an individual who would convey sustenance to another, outside of a very specific, strategic context?” He gestured towards the bowl of soup. “My concern, or as you perceive it, my care, may indeed be devoid of conventional emotional expression. However, my actions speak to its undeniable existence.”
A part of understands. This is how he cares. Through efficiency. Through problem-solving. Through physical provision. This is his version of trying. This is his version of showing .
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
"I understand you act. But your 'actions' are often cold and detached, Levi. They don't feel like caring."
"I cannot alter that, Raphael."
"You must co to terms with this reality," he continued, leaving no room for doubt. "This detached, calculating, manipulative individual, possessing rely seven fleeting, diminished emotions, will not simply vanish through wishful thinking or profound conviction. I was born in this state, and I will, with absolute certainty, perish in this state."
This is the deal. This is the man. And I have to either accept it or shatter completely.
"What about the person who feels everything, all the ti, and can't just 'co to terms' with this?" I challenged, the words tearing from my throat.
“Hm,” he mused. “Well, the available options are rather bleak, I concede. You are at liberty to initiate divorce proceedings. Or, Raphael,” he continued, his gaze unwavering, "instead of considering the most volatile and definitive course of action during every disagreent, you could endeavor to consider my inherent nature and constitution.”
His thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped my eye. “This current disagreent has not, as you perceive, culminated in the dissolution of our union, dear. We simply require the implentation of alternative thods of communication.” He took a shallow breath. “So, this ti, dear, let us both achieve a state of diminished distress, and subsequently engage in a more effective communicative exchange.”
Every ti, we go straight to the most explosive outco. Divorce. Abandonnt. Like children throwing a tantrum.
I took a shaky breath. "Okay," I said, my voice clearer now, though still fragile. "Okay, Levi. Let's try."
...
The soup was warm, rich, and delicious. I ate slowly, savoring the broth, feeling a tiny bit of my strength return with each swallow. When the bowl was empty, Levi handed the dicine and the glass of water. The pills were bitter, but I swallowed them obediently.
He simply observed as I finished. The silence in the room wasn't as oppressive now, just... present. I was no longer cold, no longer shivering. The dicine was already starting its work, dulling the edges of my headache.
“Good. Now I am warm, and fed, and dicated. So, what is the next step?”
Levi picked up the bowl and the dicine bottle, placing the tray neatly on the bedside table. He stretched out on the bed, settling onto his back. His dark dressing gown fanned out around him. He turned his head to face and, with a single, imperious flick of his finger, beckoned closer. Gods, this arrogant man. Even now, after everything, still so utterly, completely in command. But, despite myself, a smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I happily obliged, shedding the blanket and sliding under the dark covers beside him.
The warmth was imdiate, enveloping. I could feel the steady press of his body against my back, the firm muscle of his arm as he placed it around my waist, drawing closer. His breath, soft and even, stirred the hair at my nape.
"You're not going to try and have a 'proper conversation' right now, are you?" I whispered, a tremor of anxiety in my voice.
“Hm...” His breath was warm on my skin. “Not right now, no. I had other ideas regarding a conversation,” murmured, holding an undeniable note of anticipation. As he spoke, he pressed his lower body against my hips, a motion that left no room for misinterpretation. Gods, he was horny in the morning, too. I'd forgotten all about it. The thought of a slow, gentle... it didn't sound so bad after all.
I pressed back against him. "And what if I'm not in the mood for that kind of 'conversation,' Levi?" I teased, though the question lacked resistance.
“I am quite skilled in the art of persuasion.” The hand he had placed on my waist snaked under the too-large shirt I wore. His fingers spread across my chest. His pointer finger, with unnerving accuracy, found my nipple and began to rub gentle, deliberate circles.
“What are you trying to 'persuade' to do, Levi?” I murmured, knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it. My breath hitched as his fingers contoured my chest, sending shivers through .
“I am quite content with whatever you deem sufficient.” His teeth grazed the ridge of my ear, a delicate nip that sent heat through my veins.
"Oh, are you now?" I breathed, my voice unsteady as the pleasure built. "You're being awfully accommodating." My back arched subtly into his chest, every nerve ending alive under his touch.
“Yes, I exerted my Pulla considerably yesterday, thus I am exercising a greater degree of pliability tonight.” He pinched my nipple. The sharp sensation sent a gasp through , followed by a deeper tremor of heat that spread through my entire body.
"What if I don't want you to be 'pliable' tonight?" I challenged softly.
“Hm,” he humd. Without breaking the rhythm of his breathing, he pulled his hand back from my chest. My breath hitched, a tiny protest forming, but then his middle finger found the sensitive skin right below my entrance and gave a subtle, yet firm, push against the fabric. Fuck.
I bit my lip. "I know, I'm... I'm sore."
"Do you wish for to procure an ointnt now, dear?" he inquired.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a flush creeping up my neck. "No. No, thank you."
He pulled his hand away from my hips, relief washing over . "I need to procure lubricant anyway; it will only take a minute, hm?"
I knew he was lying. The basket from yesterday, undoubtedly filled with anything we could need, was still tucked neatly under the bed. But… it was nice.
With a soft rustle of sheets, Levi slid out of bed. He walked silently to the door, opening it just enough to speak into the hallway.
I felt the mattress dip as he settled back beside , his warmth returning to my back. He didn't speak, but his hand rested on my hip. Trousers slid down my legs, followed by my underwear. He carefully applied it. The chill of the cream was replaced by a soothing warmth as he worked it in.
I leaned into his touch. "You're being incredibly thorough," I murmured, a faint flush on my cheeks.
Levi capped the vial of ointnt and placed it on the bedside. He pulled my underwear and his trousers back up my legs, settling them around my hips. Once I was covered, he slid back into his earlier position behind , his warmth returning imdiately to my back.
“We should have applied it yesterday, dear.”
“Aftercare is your domain, Levi. I refuse to take part in it.”
He chuckled. “Yes, dear, I will endeavor to be more circumspect in the future.” He pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.
"Promise?"
His long fingers splayed across my stomach. "Promise, dear," he said, sincerely. He leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to my neck, just below my ear.
I sighed. "You're lucky I'm so sore, Levi."
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