Livia's eyes lingered on Marcellus's hand—still gently wrapped around hers, firm yet reassuring. Her heart skipped a beat. In the soft light, their shadows stretched along the wall beside the bed, wavering slightly as if echoing the tremble in her chest. She exhaled slowly, almost soundlessly, and stepped closer. Every movement she made was featherlight, like she feared even the quietest sound might shatter the fragile stillness between them.
She loosened the outer robe draped over her shoulders and let it slide down, the fabric rustling faintly against her skin. One hand unfastened her sash with quiet precision. She moved slowly, with the care of someone unsure if they were allowed this moment. Her every motion—removing each layer, folding her clothes, placing them neatly on the bench beside the bed—carried a sense of reverence, as though this small act of undressing held weight beyond its simplicity.
With a breath held, she lifted the blanket's edge and eased herself into the bed. The mattress dipped under her, just enough for her to feel it: the nearness of him. His warmth reached her before any touch did, subtle and constant, like a hearth long after the fire had gone quiet. Even without a word, his presence tugged at her, inviting, grounding.
Marcellus was watching her still. Not with the sharp, calculating gaze he wore in court or during meetings—but with eyes softened by something gentler. There was no demand in his look. Only quiet patience. As if saying, I'm here. If you want to come closer, I'll be here.
Livia didn't speak. Words felt too fragile, too sharp for this moment. She simply inched toward him, inch by inch, until her forehead brushed against the fabric of his hospital gown. Her hair splayed against his chest, and she could hear it now—the quiet, steady rhythm of his heartbeat, soft but unmistakably there. She let herself melt into the space between his arms, curling up like a kitten seeking warmth.
His breathing was slow. Calm. And real. He was here, alive, whole—even if not entirely unbroken.
But her own thoughts refused to quiet. Her body was still, but her mind churned. What now? she wondered. Do I say something? Is this really just a moment of rest, or will he… like before… She bit her lip. Even now, after everything, he might still…
A flush of nervousness crept up her neck. Her heart thudded louder in her ears, uncertain if it was anticipation or anxiety. Would he reach for her again? Would she stop him if he did?
But then, she heard it—a quiet inhale, followed by a long, steady breath. And then another.
He was asleep.
The realization struck her gently, almost like a breeze. She blinked and lifted her head slightly. Marcellus's features had softened in slumber—his brows no longer drawn in that familiar furrow of tension, his mouth curved ever so faintly. Peaceful. Vulnerable. The man who bore everyone else's weight was, at long last, at rest.
She looked at him for a long time.
By light, his lashes cast delicate shadows over his cheeks. He looked younger this way—less like the unwavering commander she knew, and more like someone human, someone real. This, she realized, was the man beneath the armor. The man who had taken wound after wound and still chosen to keep going. For her. For everyone.
Even injured, he'd refused to rest. He'd continued to plan, to delegate, to prepare. He had smiled for her sake, reassured her even as pain laced his words. All while carving out strategies and analyzing threats in between doses of painkillers. He had never once let himself fall apart.
Until now.
And in this quiet, in this moment, he finally had.
Livia felt something stir in her chest—soft and warm, something too tender to name. Without thinking, she leaned up, her hand braced carefully beside him. Inch by inch, she moved until her lips hovered just above his forehead. Then, as softly as a falling petal, she kissed him.
A kiss with no intent but care.
No passion, no urgency.
Only affection. Only gratitude. Only a longing she hadn't dared speak aloud.
He stirred slightly at the contact—his brows twitching, his shoulders shifting—but he didn't wake. Instead, his lips curved more deeply into a smile, and his body relaxed further, as if her touch had brought him comfort in sleep.
Livia let out the quietest laugh, barely more than a breath.
"Good night, Marcellus," she whispered, her voice so soft it melted into the dark.
She nestled back into his arms, her head resting once again against his chest. This time, she let herself fully sink into the warmth he offered, her fingers lightly curling around the edge of his sleeve.
No more words were needed.
There was still so much unspoken between them—fears unvoiced, truths left in shadows, feelings too fragile to name. But for now, those things could wait. In this fleeting, precious stillness, all that mattered was this:
They were here. Together. Breathing the same quiet air. Dreaming the same quiet sleep.
And in this small sanctuary carved out of a chaotic world, they had become—if only for a night—each other's peace.