Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 109: The Warmth Between Us

Chapter 109: The Warmth Between Us

The morning crept in gently, with no rush—just golden light spilling through the woven curtains, painting soft lines across the wooden floor.

The air smelled faintly of pine, and somewhere in the distance, birds were already trading melodies.

Billy stirred first, not from any noise, but from the weight of warmth curled around him.

Artur.

His arm was still draped across Billy’s waist, his face buried against the crook of Billy’s neck, breath steady and warm.

Billy didn’t move. Not right away. He lay there, letting the quiet hum between them soothe whatever tension the past days had left behind.

His hand slid carefully to touch Artur’s, fingers tracing the lines in his palm.

It wasn’t just affection—it was a silent kind of gratitude, an anchor. A reminder of where he was... and who he was beginning to feel safe with.

Artur shifted then, his lips brushing against Billy’s shoulder, voice still gravelly from sleep. "You’re awake?"

Billy smiled softly. "Barely."

Artur cracked an eye open, blinking against the light. "Good. I was having a dream where you were running off with someone else."

Billy turned, brows lifted. "Was he handsome?"

Artur grunted, pulling him closer. "Not as handsome as me. But he had a horse."

Billy laughed quietly, leaning his forehead against Artur’s.Then maybe I backed the wrong horse.

"Too late now." Artur’s fingers slid along Billy’s spine, slow and certain. "I’m not letting you go that easy."

There was a moment—a lingering pause where nothing needed to be said. Just breath and warmth and the steady thrum of hearts in sync.

Billy closed his eyes again. "Can we stay like this... a little longer?"

Artur hummed. "We could stay like this forever. But your stomach will probably betray us in five minutes."

As if on cue, Billy’s belly let out a small, traitorous growl.

Artur laughed, kissed the top of his head. "There it is."

Billy groaned into his chest. "I hate you."

"You love me."

"...Maybe."

Artur nudged him back with a gentle smile. "Come on. We’ll make breakfast. Then I’m stealing you for myself the whole day."

Billy tilted his head. Is that a promise?

Artur stood, stretching with a low sigh. That’s a threat.

Billy sat up slowly, watching him with a lopsided smile. Good. I like your threats.

As the two of them slipped into their shirts and stepped barefoot into the morning air, laughter followed close behind them—light and unguarded.

The village waited. But for a little while longer, it could wait.

The kitchen welcomed them with its familiar coziness—mismatched mugs stacked on the open shelf, the faint scent of firewood lingering in the air.

Light filtered through the windows, casting amber reflections across the worn countertop where Artur had once scorched a kettle he swore he didn’t forget.

Billy rolled up his sleeves as he reached for the pan. What’s on today’s burn menu?

Artur raised an eyebrow. "Excuse you. Last time, it was perfectly edible."

Billy smirked. "Charred toast is not edible, Artur. It’s a weapon."

Artur leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him fondly. Then you do it, city boy.

I’m not a city boy, Billy said with playful defiance, cracking eggs into a bowl. I’m a man of the land now.

Artur came up behind him, arms slipping around his waist, chin resting on Billy’s shoulder. Hmm. Then prove it. Make something that won’t kill us.

Billy tried to ignore how his heart stuttered at the closeness, at the way Artur’s presence had become... grounding. "You’re very clingy this morning," he murmured, tilting his head slightly.

Artur nuzzled his neck. "Breakfast tastes better when I’m annoying you."

Billy chuckled under his breath and leaned into him for just a moment before nudging him away with an elbow. Fine, but you’re in charge of tea.

Yes, chef, Artur replied, mock salute as he grabbed the kettle and filled it.

As the pan sizzled with eggs and fresh herbs from the garden, their morning flowed in sync—like a practiced dance only they knew the steps to.

Artur handed Billy slices of bread, Billy reached for the honey, Artur caught the butter before it dropped. Laughter wove in and out, lazy and effortless.

By the time everything was plated, the table looked simple but full—scrambled eggs, warm bread, honey, two mugs of tea steaming between them.

Billy sat down and sighed with satisfaction. "Not bad for a man of the land, huh?"

Artur took a bite and nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in exaggerated seriousness. "Hmm. No food poisoning so far. Impressive."

Don’t push your luck, Billy warned, tossing a piece of bread at him.

They ate in a quiet rhythm after that, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words.

Just glances. Smiles. A foot brushing against the other under the table and staying there.

Billy looked at him over the rim of his mug. "Do you think mornings like this will always feel this... easy?"

Artur met his gaze, a softness settling behind his eyes. If you stay, they will.

Billy didn’t answer. Not yet. He just looked at Artur a moment longer—trying to hold onto something he didn’t want to name.

As Billy reached across the table to pour more tea, his hand brushed against Artur’s. Neither pulled away.

The silence lingered, warm like tea cooling between their hands—unspoken, but understood.

Then came the softest sound—a clearing of a throat, awkward and polite.

Billy turned his head.

Mark stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes glancing anywhere but at them.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, trying not to intrude, though something in his gaze had already seen more than they realized.

Morning, he said, voice casual, almost too casual.

Artur straightened slightly, brushing toast crumbs from his sleeve. Hey... didn’t hear you come in.

Billy offered a sheepish grin. You’ve got perfect timing. We were just about to invite you.

Mark stepped in slowly, the morning light catching the edge of his face.

Don’t worry, I wasn’t spying... not intentionally, anyway. He laughed lightly, scratching the back of his neck. You two looked... comfortable. I didn’t want to interrupt.

You didn’t, Artur said, pulling out a chair with his foot. Sit. There’s tea and eggs. We might’ve even outdone ourselves.

Mark eased into the chair with a soft sigh. You two always eat like this?

Only on mornings where the toast doesn’t catch fire, Billy said, sliding him a plate.

Mark raised an eyebrow, looking between them. So... once a month, then?

Billy let out a quiet laugh, while Artur shook his head, smiling despite himself.

They settled into a comfortable trio—conversation light, tea warm, and the table full.

But as Billy watched Mark laugh at something Artur muttered under his breath, he realized something had shifted.

The morning’s softness stayed—but now it had eyes. Not judged. Not intruded on. But witnessed.

And for some reason, that made it feel more real.

The three of them sat close, the air filled with the muted clinks of cutlery, the quiet sips of tea, and the low hum of shared presence.

For a while, they didn’t need to speak much. It was enough to be there—just being.

Billy glanced at Mark as he buttered his toast with slow, thoughtful strokes.

His expression was calm, but his eyes flicked toward the window every so often, as if his mind had already begun to drift somewhere else.

You’re quiet this morning, Billy said gently.

Mark looked up and smiled faintly. Yeah... just thinking.

About? Artur asked, chewing on a piece of bread.

Mark shrugged. Nothing heavy. Just... city stuff. Work stuff. Stuff that doesn’t matter right now.

There was a pause—soft, but loaded.

Fair enough, Artur said, sipping his tea. Some mornings are better left simple.

Mark pushed his chair back and stood slowly. He stretched, arms raised above his head, his shirt lifting just enough to catch the breeze before falling back down.

I should head out for a bit. Need to walk off some of that toast.

Billy raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his mouth. You had one slice.

One very heavy slice, Mark replied dryly. Besides, it’s too nice a morning to waste inside.

Artur nodded, watching him with quiet attention. You know where to find us.

Mark paused at the doorway, then turned back to glance at them—just for a second.

The sight of Billy and Artur, still seated close together, plates half-full, smiles soft and sleepy—it stayed with him.

You two... you’re lucky, you know? Don’t lose that. he said quietly, the weight of something unsaid lingering in his voice.

Billy blinked, caught a little off guard. Never.

And with that, Mark slipped out, the door clicking shut behind him. A gentle breeze followed in his wake, ruffling the edge of the curtain.

Billy sat still for a moment, eyes on the empty seat Mark had left behind.

Then Artur leaned over, nudging him playfully. We better clean up. Tomas’ll have our heads if we’re late again.

Billy chuckled. Right. Can’t have that.

They stood together, plates in hand, the silence between them now filled with something calm—something warm.

Whatever the day would bring, they’d face it side by side.

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