Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 110: I’ll Be Around

Chapter 110: I’ll Be Around

The path leading to Tomas’s farm was lined with wildflowers swaying in the breeze.

Dew still clung to the grass, and the sun sat low behind the hills, turning everything gold.

Billy and Artur walked side by side, the silence between them soft, not awkward—filled with thoughts too deep for small talk.

Billy kicked a pebble on the road, hands shoved in his pockets. "I didn’t think he’d look so... normal," he said after a while. "Mr. Frank. I thought he’d show up angry. Yelling."

Artur glanced at him. "He didn’t. He looked relieved. Like someone who finally found what he lost."

Billy kept his eyes ahead. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. It’s weird. I know he cares, but... I don’t remember him. Not really. He talks like I’m someone I don’t know."

"You’re not the only one feeling lost in this," Artur said gently. "He came all this way for you.

Maybe he doesn’t expect you to remember everything at once. Maybe he just wants to know you’re okay."

Billy slowed his steps, his jaw tight. I am okay. I’m happy here. I don’t want to go back not yet.

"I know," Artur said, stopping with him. He turned to face Billy, his tone calm but steady. "I’m not asking you to.

No one should drag you into something you’re not ready for. But Billy... don’t ghost him. He’s your uncle. You don’t need your memories to see that he’s hurting."

Billy looked at him, eyes clouded. "What if talking to him changes things? What if it makes me feel things I don’t want to feel?"

Artur’s gaze didn’t flinch. "Then feel them. That’s the only way you’ll know what’s real."

Billy looked down, a breath catching in his throat. "You make it sound easy."

"It’s not," Artur said, stepping closer, "but it’s honest."

Billy met his eyes. There was something in Artur’s expression—open, unwavering, warm without expectation. And suddenly, Billy didn’t feel pushed. He felt understood.

He gave a faint smile. "You’re too wise for someone who still puts salt in tea when he’s distracted."

Artur laughed, the tension lifting slightly. "That was one time. One."

Billy nudged him with his shoulder. "It was disgusting."

They resumed walking, side by side again, but lighter now. The path ahead was still uncertain—but the company made it easier.

The clang of tools and low hum of conversation greeted them as they reached Tomas’s land.

Smoke curled lazily from the chimney of the nearby shed, and Tomas was already bent over a cartwheel, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

You’re late, he muttered without looking up.

"

Morning to you too, sunshine, Artur replied, dropping his satchel near the workbench.

Billy gave a short wave and moved to help without needing direction.

The routine had sunk into him like second nature now—gather the tools, sort the crates, check the fenceposts.

It didn’t matter if he used to be someone else. This, here, made sense.

As he crouched to tighten a latch on one of the crates, he could feel Artur’s gaze every now and then, not hovering, just... watching.

And that strange, quiet comfort filled the spaces where his thoughts wandered too far.

You ever feel like this is the only thing that’s real? Billy asked after a stretch of silence, still focused on his hands. Like... right now.

Artur didn’t look up from hammering in a loose plank. "Yeah. All the time."

They worked in rhythm, speaking when they needed to, letting the wind and hammering speak between them the rest of the time.

Tomas grumbled at a few crooked boards, muttered something about fixing the barn roof next week, then wandered off to inspect the chicken coop.

Billy paused under the shade of a fig tree nearby, wiping his hands on a cloth. Artur joined him, drinking water from his flask before handing it over.

"You’ve been quiet," Artur said.

Billy took the bottle, sipped slowly, then leaned against the tree. "Just thinking."

Artur gave a dry smirk. "Dangerous habit."

Billy chuckled. "I was wondering... if I used to work this hard in the city. Or if I just got soft here."

"I think you got real here," Artur said plainly.

Billy didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let the weight of those words settle into him, like dust on a windowsill—quiet, familiar, and hard to ignore.

They kept working, the sun slowly climbing higher, warming their backs and brightening the worn tools in their hands.

And beneath it all, something steady pulsed between them—not spoken aloud, but felt in how they moved around each other. How they looked. How they stayed.

As noon neared, Tomas called them over for a short break, gruff as ever but appreciative in his way.

Billy leaned close as they walked, nudging Artur’s elbow with his. "You always talk like some poetic mountain man, you know that?"

Artur grinned. "You always deflect when something hits too close."

Billy’s smile faded just slightly, but the warmth in his chest didn’t.

The afternoon light had softened, casting long, golden shadows across the field. Tomas gave a short nod as he stood back, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

That’s enough for today, he said. We’ll finish the rest tomorrow—assuming you two don’t decide to sleep through the morning again.

His voice gruff as ever, but the glance he gave Billy lingered longer than usual—wordless approval.

Artur raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Billy chuckled under his breath, brushing dust off his shirt.

"Thanks, Tomas," Artur said, giving the man a small wave as he reached for his pack.

Billy did the same, then fell into step beside Artur as they made their way down the narrow trail that wound past the fields and back toward the village.

The quiet was comfortable, a kind that didn’t ask to be filled.

The path beneath their feet was well-worn, the kind only made by repetition and familiarity.

The kind that somehow made Billy’s chest ache a little—he didn’t know why.

Artur glanced over once, then again.

You tired? he asked casually.

Billy shook his head. No. Just thinking.

Still dangerous, Artur teased.

Billy grinned at the echo. I know.

They passed by the small wooden fence that separated Tomas’s land from the road.

The trees rustled gently above them, the air filled with the smell of dirt, leaves, and the faint scent of smoke from someone’s kitchen in the distance.

Billy looked ahead, then slowed his pace just a little.

He watched a leaf fall from the fig tree. Maybe nothing came back. But maybe something needed to be let go, too.

I think I’ll meet Mr. Frank later this evening, he said softly, without looking at Artur.

Artur didn’t speak right away. Then, simply, "Alright."

Billy glanced over, his tone light but edged with something quieter. "You’re not gonna say ’finally’ or something smug?"

Artur’s lips twitched into the smallest smile. "Nah. I figured you’d get there. On your own time."

That silence returned, only now it was thicker, heavier with things unspoken. But not heavy in a bad way.

Billy turned his face toward the fading sun. "Thanks, for earlier. I mean it."

Artur nudged him lightly with his shoulder. "Anytime."

They reached the curve of the road where the rooftops of the village came into view, orange light stretching over the houses like a slow blessing.

Billy slowed again. "Hey... Artur?"

Artur looked at him.

Billy hesitated, then asked, "Would you wait for me? Just tonight. After I meet him."

Artur’s gaze lingered on him for a beat. "Yeah. I’ll be around."

By the time they reached the house, the sun had dipped just behind the trees, casting everything in a warm, amber glow.

The kind of light that made even silence feel like something worth keeping.

Artur opened the door and stepped inside first. Billy followed more slowly, his fingers brushing the worn frame for a second longer than usual.

The scent of something familiar—soup, maybe—hung in the air, and the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath their boots broke the quiet.

Mr. Dand’s coat was gone from its usual spot. The house felt still, but not empty. Just... waiting.

Billy stood in the hallway for a moment, hands in his pockets, then exhaled and looked toward Artur, who had already kicked off his boots and was disappearing down the hall toward his room.

"I’m going to clean up," Billy said quietly.

Artur nodded without turning. "Take your time."

Billy washed up slowly, each movement deliberate. When he finally looked at himself in the mirror, he took a moment to study the man looking back—hair tousled, eyes thoughtful, lips pressed together in something between uncertainty and peace.

There were no memories rushing in—just a quiet steadiness in his chest. The man in the mirror wasn’t who he used to be, but maybe that didn’t matter anymore.

He stepped back into the hallway with damp hair and a clean shirt. Artur was waiting by the door now, arms folded across his chest.

"you’re going now?"

Billy nodded. "Yeah. I won’t be long."

Artur didn’t speak, but the weight in his eyes did.

Billy smiled gently. "I’m not leaving. Just... talking."

Artur gave a slight nod. "I’ll keep a fire going."

"Thanks," Billy said, then stepped outside into the evening.