"She couldn't lift a spoon, but he held up the world for her—and made it feel light."_Unknown
The maid entered quietly, carrying a bowl of warm water and a soft cloth. Maeve couldn't bathe yet—the bandages wrapped tightly around her body made that impossible. As the maid began to gently dab her skin, Maeve flinched, muscles tensing at the touch. Unwelcome memories clawed their way back.
The maid paused, looking concerned.
"Don't worry," Maeve said with a small, strained smile. "Please continue."
She tried her best to stay rooted in the present, gripping the edges of her thoughts like they might slip at any second.
Once she was cleaned, the maid returned with a thick gown—plush and soft, fur-lined at the collar and cuffs. The warmth of it made Maeve pause.
Where exactly are we going…? she wondered.
Her heart fluttered unexpectedly as her mind flicked back to Levi in his black robe. She still could not believe she was in his room, being cared for like this.
Was all this pity? That thought lingered too long.
"Done," the maid said gently. "I'll go let him know."
Maeve nodded.
A few moments later, Levi stepped inside. He moved slowly, respectfully.
"I'm going to have to carry you downstairs, Maeve," he said gently. "You're not able to walk yet. I would've used a wheelchair, but… the stairs."
His eyes searched hers—asking for permission.
She nodded. "I understand."
He carefully removed the IV from her hand and bent down, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. She fit perfectly against him, cradled like something precious.
Maeve's heart thudded hard in her chest. Up close, she noticed a tiny mole under his chin. It was such a small detail, but somehow made him even more beautiful. More real.
He carried her down the stairs and out to the waiting car like she weighed nothing. In the backseat, he gently lowered her into the plush leather seat and sat beside her.
Anton, already at the wheel, glanced at her through the mirror.
"I'm glad you're well, Ms. Maeve," he said warmly.
"I'm glad too," she replied, offering him a small but genuine smile.
Levi gave Anton a nod, and the car began to move.
It took only twenty minutes to arrive at what Maeve realized was a private hangar. Levi stepped out first, then carried her again—this time into a sleek, stunning private jet.
Maeve gasped. She had never been on a plane before, let alone one this luxurious.
The entrance opened into a stylish sitting space: two plush gray-and-black couches bolted to the floor, a glass center table, and a minibar tucked behind. It was quiet, elegant, and impossibly clean.
Anton made himself comfortable on one couch. Levi, still holding Maeve, walked past him to a closed door and nudged it open with his shoulder. It revealed a cozy, beautifully designed bedroom tucked within the aircraft.
He laid her down gently on the bed.
"You can rest here," he said, straightening to leave—but her voice stopped him.
"P-please stay," she whispered. "I don't want to be alone… Not now. It makes the memories louder. Or—or send someone else. I Just… don't want to be left alone."
He looked at her, then quietly nodded.
"It's fine. I'll stay," he said, settling on the couch across the room.
"Thank you," she murmured.
She hesitated, then peeked at him again.
"Am I still not going to be told where we're heading?"
Levi opened his eyes, it moved lazily to her, a small smile spreading across his face.
"Be patient, Lyubopýtnyy kótik," he said.
Maeve blinked.
"…What does that mean?" she asked.
"It means Curious Kitty," he replied calmly, head resting back, eyes closing again.
Her cheeks burned pink as her lips pressed into a small pout.
Levi didn't say anything else, and after a while, Maeve's own eyes closed. Her body may have been healing slowly… but for the first time in weeks, her mind was quiet enough to rest.
---
Some time after she had drifted into a light sleep, the subtle clink of porcelain stirred Maeve awake. The hum of the jet was steady, soothing. She opened her eyes slowly.
Levi sat beside her on the bed, a small tray balanced in his hands. On it was a bowl of steaming porridge, its aroma soft and sweet, laced with something warm and spiced—like honey and cinnamon.
She blinked at the sight, her throat tight.
"You need to eat something," he said gently, almost like a question.
She looked at her hands, still bandaged and weak. She couldn't lift them even if she wanted to. Levi didn't wait for her to speak—he dipped the spoon into the porridge, then blew on it softly before lifting it to her lips.
She hesitated, just for a second, then opened her mouth and let him feed her.
It was warm, silky, comforting.
The silence stretched, but not uncomfortably. He simply fed her, one spoon at a time, his movements slow and careful. There was no awkwardness. Just quiet focus, like she was something delicate he didn't want to damage.
"Is it too hot?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"It's okay," she whispered.
Something about the way he looked at her—calm, unwavering—made her chest ache.
Not once did he look away or grimace or act like it was a chore. He just… stayed. Present.
When the bowl was half-finished and she began to look drowsy again, he paused, set the tray aside. He lifted the glass of water and fed it too her.
"You don't have to finish it all now. Just rest."
Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment longer than she meant to. The cold weight of what she'd gone through still sat in her chest, but something warm had cracked a little through it—just enough to breathe.
"Thank you," she murmured.
He didn't say anything back. But his hand brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face before retreating again, gentle as a whisper.