They were between missions. A three-day lull—rare, golden, and fragile.
Beatrice didn't waste it. She'd found the place by accident weeks ago. Beyond the far fence of the training grounds, nestled between a hollow in the earth and a bend in the trees. It wasn't marked. Not mapped. Just there—overgrown, sun-dappled, and quiet. She found Levi sitting alone outside the barracks, boots unlaced, elbows on his knees.
"You're coming with me," she said.
He didn't even look up. "No."
"Yes."
"I'm not going flower-picking with you."
"Not asking you to."
He raised a brow.
But an hour later, he followed her anyway.
The garden was alive with silence. Not emptiness. But that special silence—the kind that thrummed softly beneath birdsong and breeze. Wildflowers grew between ancient stone, roots tangled through what must've once been a greenhouse. Ivy crawled up rusted trellises. A patch of soft moss blanketed the corner beneath the trees.
Levi stepped cautiously into the space, eyes scanning the perimeter like a soldier still waiting for ghosts.
Beatrice dropped to sit in the moss and tugged her boots off.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"I think it was a greenhouse once. Or maybe someone's garden. Doesn't really matter."
He looked at her.
She smiled. "It's mine now."
He didn't sit. Not at first. But eventually, he lowered himself onto the grass beside her, one leg stretched, one knee bent, boots still on, cravat slightly loosened. The sunlight filtered through the canopy above, laying gold across his hair, his shoulders. He didn't speak for a while.
Beatrice leaned back on her palms. "You can breathe here."
"I breathe just fine everywhere."
She glanced at him, half-smiling. "No, you don't."
He looked away. But he didn't deny it.
She watched him—really watched him.
The slope of his shoulders. The set of his jaw. The way his fingers always fidgeted just slightly—blades or not. Always tense. Always calculating.
But here… Here, for the first time in maybe years, he wasn't planning. Or hunting. Or protecting. He was sitting.
And then, so quietly she almost didn't hear it:
"I used to think places like this weren't real."
Beatrice turned toward him slowly.
"That's sad," she whispered.
"It was practical."
"Do you still think that?"
He paused.
"No."
She smiled faintly. "Good."
Silence stretched between them again—but this time it wasn't space. It was thread. Connecting. Anchoring.
She looked down at her hands. "You know… it aches sometimes. After the battle. Not my body. Just… everything."
He glanced at her.
"I hide it. I always have. But you… you always know."
"I notice everything," he murmured.
"And you let me pretend you don't."
He didn't speak.
She leaned slightly toward him, her voice barely more than a breath.
"You're kind, Levi."
His eyes met hers then, and something in them cracked.
Not visibly. Not for anyone else. But for her. A small breath. A shift. A softness. And then he looked away.
But not before saying, low and rough:
"You make it hard not to be."
Her heart ached. In the best, most impossible way. She said nothing. Just reached over and rested her head against his shoulder. He didn't move. Didn't flinch. And for the first time since she'd known him— Levi let the world go quiet.
With her.
Time slipped gently past in the garden. Levi stayed still—shoulder just barely tensed beneath Beatrice's head, every breath from her slow and warm. The air around them had cooled. The sun dipped low through the trees. Somewhere, birds rustled back into the brush.
She'd fallen asleep. He could feel the soft weight of her against him. The quiet hitch of her breath when she exhaled. Her fingers had curled slightly near his coat, holding nothing—and everything. Levi didn't move. Not even when the wind picked up and brushed loose strands of her hair across his jaw. Not even when his legs began to ache from the stillness.
She slept, and he kept watch. And when the temperature dropped, when the sky turned from gold to lavender to deepening blue—he shifted. Slowly. Carefully. With a quiet that could kill. He crouched and eased her arms around his shoulders. She stirred faintly, murmured his name against his collar.
"I'm just carrying you."
She didn't fight it. Didn't fully wake. Her arms looped loosely around his neck, and her cheek settled against his back. He adjusted her weight, hands sure beneath her knees.
She fit there. Like she was always meant to.
The base was mostly asleep by the time Levi stepped through the quiet halls, boots muted, cloak wrapped over both of them.
No one saw them. No one had to.
She was warm against his back. He was warm around her.
And when he finally lowered her into bed, tucking the blankets high over her shoulders, she blinked up at him sleepily.
"Levi." Her hand found his.
And didn't let go until sleep claimed her again.