The clock had long surrendered to midnight when Levi returned. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, and silence stretched across the apartment — but not the kind he was used to.
There was... color in the air.
Literally.
He stopped at the edge of his room, his boots clicking against the floor.
His eyes narrowed.
The wall — one side of it had been attacked. Not by enemies.
By paint.
Blues, reds, streaks of yellow, chaotic yet strangely emotional, like someone had tried to wrestle their heart onto the walls and ran out of canvas halfway through.
His gaze shifted.
There, curled up on his bed, her legs tucked in awkwardly, one arm dangling off the edge, lips parted in sleep—was Alexa.
Dried paint stained her sleeve, even her cheek, like she'd touched her face mid-brushstroke.
She looked... worn out. But peaceful.
His jaw tightened, but his hand moved before his mouth did.
On the table — right where she knew he'd find it — sat a folded letter.
There was a piece of candy taped beside it. Strawberry. The cheap kind.
He picked it up, unfolded the paper slowly.
The writing was uneven in places, like she wasn't sure how to say everything at once.
> "Levi,
I don't know how to say thank you without sounding dumb.
For the soup. The drugs for the fever.
For the bunny. I sleep with it now, okay? Don't tease me.
For not leaving me out there...
I didn't deserve the candy. But I kept one, just to remind me someone was actually kind to me once. Even if it was you.
I painted the room because a devil doesn't deserve a pretty rom like yours
Thank you.
—A
Levi read it twice. Then again.
He didn't smile.
He didn't frown either.
He just stood there for a long minute, the paper still in his hand, staring at her — at the paint smudged on her elbow, the way her brows twitched mid-dream like she was still arguing with someone in her sleep.
He placed the letter back gently. Left the candy there
He stood at the edge of the bed for a while, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on her sleeping form.
Paint on her cheek. Candy beside the letter.
Only Alexa.
He exhaled through his nose and muttered under his breath — just loud enough for her to maybe catch it if the universe wanted her to.
"Why do you keep doing this?" His voice was low, tired. "Making me care... without asking permission."
Her fingers twitched. He froze — but she didn't wake.
"Bunny. Soup. Candy," he whispered, glancing at the letter again. "That's what got to you?"
He scoffed lightly to himself. Shook his head.
"You're not ready for the real monsters in me, girl."
He looked at her again. Slumped sideways now, like a tired child after a long tantrum.
Still not stirring.
Then, softer — a confession that tasted like a truth he hadn't said out loud yet:
"…But I'll protect you anyway."
He pulled the blanket up, not over her face, just enough to cover her legs.
Then he sat down beside the door. Not on the bed. Never too close.
Back against the wall. Eyes on the letter.
And for the first time in days, Levi let himself blink slower, let his body rest — not because the night was safe…
But because she was here.
*****
Her eyes opened slowly, heavy with sleep.
It took a second to register where she was — not her room, not the cold floor or that awful mattress. The scent of paint lingered in the air. Her knees ached. Her hand was smudged blue.
Then she saw the edge of the note still on the table.
And then him.
Levi.
Sitting against the wall, legs stretched out, head tilted slightly back. Not asleep, not really. But quiet.
She blinked again, unsure if she was dreaming.
"…Levi?" her voice cracked.
He didn't move much — just turned his head lazily in her direction. His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable.
"You're awake," he said, like it was obvious. Like he'd known the second she stirred.
"I—" she sat up too fast and winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sleep here. I was just— I was drawing. The wall. I didn't—"
"I saw it," he said. "It's awful."
She blinked, lips parted. "I know."
"Ugliest thing I've seen in this house."
"…Still not as ugly as your attitude."
His brow lifted, just a bit. She bit her lip to stop the smile, then paused.
"You read the letter?" she asked, voice softer now.
"I saw it."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't answer stupid questions."
She frowned. "It wasn't stupid."
Silence.
Then, after a moment:
"I read it."
Her heart jumped. "And?"
He didn't look at her when he spoke. "You forgot the part where you promised not to act like a child again."
"I—"
"And where you stop painting walls you don't own."
"Okay, that's fair…"
"But." His eyes finally returned to hers. "You also said thank you."
Her throat tightened. "Because I meant it."
He stood, quiet and slow, brushing invisible dust from his hands.
"You're still annoying," he said simply.
"But you stayed," she whispered.
He paused at the door, one hand on the knob. Then he turned, just slightly — enough for her to see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"You're lucky I was bored.
Levi turned away from the bed, his coat sliding over his shoulders. The moonlight brushed across his back as he reached for the doorknob.
"Instead of walking out of a room like a complete barbarian," Alexa said groggily, her voice still husky from sleep, "why don't I teach you something useful for once?"
He paused, turning his head halfway, that familiar smirk already forming. "A lesson? From you?"
"Yes," she said, pushing herself upright on his bed, hair a mess, paint still smudged faintly on her hands. "Something you'll probably gain from. If you don't act like a scaredy-cat."
Levi raised an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"
She stretched, rubbed her eyes, then gave him a crooked little smile. "Fly with me."
For a second, silence.
Then he laughed—deep, unfiltered. A sharp, almost mocking sound as he leaned back against the door. "That's your lesson? Is this supposed to be a punishment... or an indirect request?"
Alexa rolled her eyes. "You think too highly of yourself. I'm just trying to help a land-bound devil taste a little freedom."
He tilted his head, amused. "You're cute when you pretend to have the upper hand."
"And you're annoying when you pretend not to care."
Their eyes held, the tension soft but electric. Levi didn't say yes. He didn't say no either.
But he dropped his coat back on the chair.
Alexa tossed the covers off and slid off the bed, wobbling slightly before she straightened up. "Come on," she said, padding toward him barefoot. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Levi folded his arms, watching her like she was a puzzle he'd already solved but liked taking apart again. "You do realize dragging me anywhere will cost you."
She narrowed her eyes. "Cost me what?"
He stepped closer, towering as always, voice dipping low. "Something valuable. Something personal."
Alexa raised her brows, not backing down. "Like?"
He smirked. "Surprise me."
"Oh, please." She reached for his wrist and started pulling. "You think you're so mysterious. Just move."
"You're really doing this," he said, letting her tug him toward the window. "Flying at midnight. How romantic."
"Not romantic. Therapeutic," she muttered.
He leaned in slightly. "Still sounds like a date."
"Only if you stop talking."
Levi let her drag him all the way, his steps lazy but cooperative. When she unlocked the glass doors and the cold breeze hit, he clicked his tongue.
"You better not make me regret this."
"You won't," she whispered, eyes glinting with something wild. "Just try to keep up."
Levi stopped just as they reached the edge of the balcony. His arm yanked slightly, halting her mid-step.
She turned to glare at him—but froze.
He was staring at her, serious now. All the teasing gone. His eyes gleamed like cold silver under the moonlight, and when he spoke, his voice was low and final.
"I'm not doing this," he said.
Alexa blinked. "What?"
"I don't fly humans. Not for fun. Not for therapy. Not for anything."
She stepped back a little. "But you said—"
"I let you pull me. That's not the same as agreeing." He took a slow step toward her, then another, until she had to tilt her head to keep his gaze. "You think this is some fairytale, that I'll carry you across rooftops and the stars will clap for us?"
"I didn't—"
"I'm not your soft escape, Alexa," he said, voice colder now. "And I'm not going to be your personal drug when you can't sleep."
Her throat tightened.
He reached out, gripped her shoulder—not harsh, but firm, like holding something fragile he didn't want to admit he cared about. "No more flying. No more stupid stunts."
Then, without waiting for her protest, he turned her around gently and walked her back inside.
She didn't resist. Just followed.
His hand stayed on her shoulder the whole way. Warm. Steady. Dangerous.
"You're tired," he muttered behind her. "Don't think I didn't see you half-passed out on my bed like a sleep-deprived squirrel."
"I wasn't—"
"You were." His tone was flat. "And if you collapse again, I'm not making any more soup. Or tucking you in. Or buying you any more damn bunnies."
Her lips twitched.
At her bedroom door, he stopped. "Now sleep. And if I catch you trying to play hero in your condition again, I'll clip your imaginary wings myself."
He let go of her and turned to leave.
But just before he walked off, his voice floated back—quiet, and not entirely heartless.
"…You'll fly one day. Just not tonight."
Then he was gone, leaving her in the doorway with a racing heart and eyes that refused to close.
*******
The storm came without warning.
A loud crack of thunder split the sky, followed by a cascade of rain that slapped hard against the windows. The wind howled like something cursed had been set free.
Alexa jolted upright in bed.
Her chest was tight. Not with fear—but with something that clawed deeper. An urgency she couldn't explain. A name she needed to say.
"Levi…"
She tossed off the covers and rushed out of her room barefoot, the cold marble biting at her skin as lightning flashed again and again through the hall.
Her feet skidded slightly as she reached his door—but stopped.
It was half-open.
The storm outside gave just enough light to cast eerie shadows inside.
And Levi stood at the center of it all.
Bare-chested, soaked with sweat and rain, as if he'd just come in—or maybe never left. His black pants clung to him, and his hair was slightly damp, messy, wild.
In one hand, he held a dagger.
Not an ordinary one.
It pulsed with violet energy—dark and twisting, like smoke laced with electricity. The blade looked alive, hungry. The kind of weapon that wasn't forged by man but birthed by darkness itself.
On the table beside him were more. The secret weapons.
A staff wrapped in bone. A ring that glowed like a dying star. A curved blade with runes that whispered in a tongue the rain couldn't drown out.
Levi didn't look at her.
He was staring at the dagger—like he was arguing with it in his head. Like it was talking back.
Alexa pressed a hand to her chest.
The wind pushed the door open just a little more, creaking loud enough that he finally looked up.
Their eyes met.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Only the thunder dared to interrupt.
He didn't turn at first.
Just stood there, the sound of thunder growling in the background, his shadow stretching across the floor like a warning.
But then his voice slid through the air—low, deliberate.
"It seems," he said slowly, "you're more curious than cautious, Alexa."
He finally turned, his silver eyes locking on her.
They trailed down—over the messy strands of her damp hair, the way the storm had plastered her shirt to her skin, and the slight gap in her pajama top where a button hung loose. Not too exposed… but just enough for someone like Levi to notice.
His gaze returned to her face.
He stepped forward.
And then he reached—fingers grazing her waist, slow, deliberate, like he was testing if she'd flinch or lean in.
"Curiosity," he murmured, tilting his head, "always leads to something dangerous. Especially when it ends on my bed."
Her breath caught.
He leaned just a little closer.
"Tell me…" his voice dropped as his eyes flicked to her parted lips, "did you come here to entertain me, Alexa? Or are we still pretending this is about the weather?"
She opened her mouth, but the words tangled in her throat.
He smirked. One of those dark, knowing ones.
"What should we do now?" he whispered, brushing his thumb gently over the fabric near her open button. "Something tells me you already have idea."