Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 116: Remember Me(Until the Sky Forgets How to Rain)

Chapter 116: Remember Me(Until the Sky Forgets How to Rain)

The sunlight filtered in softly through the curtains, spilling a golden haze across the bedsheets. Artur stirred, hand instinctively reaching toward the other side of the bed— Empty.

His eyes blinked open slowly. The sheets beside him were still faintly warm, a quiet sign that Billy had been there not long ago. But now... gone.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, listening.

A faint clatter. Muffled laughter. The scent of something toasty—bread maybe? And... tomatoes?

Artur smiled faintly.

He swung his legs over the bed, standing with a low sigh before heading to the sink to wash up.

The cool water shocked him into full awareness, but it helped.

He stared at his reflection for a brief second, then turned and stepped out of the room.

The hallway glowed with early light, and the laughter from the kitchen pulled him closer.

Mr. Dand’s chuckle came first, warm and full. Then Billy’s voice—light, a little rushed, like he was trying to get something right.

"You’re folding it too early," Mr. Dand teased.

"I’m not! You said when the edge turns golden—look, it’s golden!"

"Golden doesn’t mean burnt, boy!"

Artur leaned against the wall just outside the kitchen doorway, smiling to himself.

Inside, Billy stood over the skillet, spatula in hand, glaring playfully at the omelet slowly surrendering under his not-so-gentle flipping.

Mr. Dand sat at the table outside the kitchen near window, peeling oranges and shaking his head with mock disapproval.

"I swear, you and the stove are at war," Mr. Dand muttered.

Billy grinned. "I’m winning, obviously."

Artur stepped in at last.

"Morning," he said, voice still thick with sleep.

Billy turned to him instantly, eyes lighting up. "Hey! Sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?"

"You didn’t," Artur replied, walking over and wrapping an arm loosely around Billy’s waist from behind, letting his chin rest lightly on his shoulder. "Though waking up to an empty bed is cruel."

Billy chuckled, relaxing into the touch. "I was trying not to burn breakfast. Not sure I succeeded."

"I told him to stick to the bread," Mr. Dand called, not looking up.

"I am doing the bread," Billy argued. "And eggs. And tomatoes. And... okay, yeah, it’s a mess."

Artur pressed a soft kiss to the side of Billy’s head. "Well, it smells like victory to me."

Billy smiled, then turned slightly in his arms. "Want coffee?"

"Only if you pour it."

"Then it might end up on your shirt," Billy warned.

They laughed, the air easy between them.

Mr. Dand cleared his throat behind them with exaggerated dramatics. "I’m still in the room, you two. At least wait until I leave to start flirting across my frying pan."

They pulled apart sheepishly, though their fingers still touched at the tips—just enough to feel each other there.

Artur moved to grab plates. "Let’s eat before it turns to charcoal."

Billy exhaled, nodding. "Yeah... before everything changes."

The words were quiet, nearly lost beneath the scrape of ceramic. But Artur heard them.

He looked at Billy—really looked.

Not just the smile, not just the tired eyes. But the boy who was trying to hold on to something he’d only just learned to name.

The table was warm with laughter and steam. Toasted bread lay stacked beside a bowl of soft tomatoes, glistening with olive oil and herbs.

The omelet—slightly charred on one side—had already become a running joke between Mr. Dand and Billy.

"Next time," Mr. Dand muttered as he finished the last bite, "I’ll supervise the eggs personally."

Billy raised a hand. "That’s fair. But I still maintain it was edible."

Artur chuckled quietly as he cleared the plates. "Barely."

"Keep talking," Billy said with a grin, nudging him with an elbow. "You’ll cook tomorrow."

Mr. Dand stood slowly from his seat, brushing his palms against his trousers and reaching for the old leather bag leaning against the wall.

"You two handle dishes. I’ve got to stop by the grain store and Tomas’ place."

He was just adjusting the strap across his shoulder when a knock echoed from the front door.

Billy turned toward it. "I’ll get it—"

But Mr. Dand was already crossing the room. "I’m closer," he said with a grunt, swinging the door open with practiced ease.

And there she stood.

Billy’s mother.

Hair pulled back in an elegant knot, soft lines of age just beginning to grace her face—but her eyes were warm, the same gentle shape as Billy’s.

Behind her stood Mr. Frank, holding a modest woven basket, the scent of baked bread and fresh fruit drifting faintly from it.

She smiled. "Good morning."

Mr. Dand blinked once, surprised—but he wasn’t the type to than that. "Well. That’s a face I haven’t seen before."

Billy stood frozen behind him, eyes catching hers—recognition flickering silently across the room. He didn’t move, but something softened in his expression.

Mr. Dand stepped aside. "Come in, then. Don’t keep us in suspense."

They entered the room quietly, like they were stepping into a space sacred. Mr. Frank gave Billy a nod before setting the basket gently on the table.

"I hope we’re not intruding," she said softly, her voice calm, graceful.

Mr. Dand shook his head. "Anyone bringing bread is never intruding. Sit."

She sat down across from him, and for a moment, there was just the sound of the kettle still clicking as it cooled.

"I wanted to say thank you," she said, turning to Mr. Dand with sincerity that couldn’t be faked. "For keeping my son safe.

For giving him a home when we didn’t know where he was. I—I can’t imagine the weight of that."

Mr. Dand waved a hand, as if brushing the praise away. "I didn’t do anything special. He just showed up half-dead and confused. I wasn’t going to leave him out there."

"He remembers nothing," she murmured, eyes flicking to Billy again. "But I remember enough for both of us."

Billy lowered his gaze, his fingers fidgeting slightly beneath the table. Artur, sitting beside him, subtly reached over and squeezed his knee under the cloth.

"I came to ask," she continued, glancing back at Mr. Dand. "If I may take him back tomorrow. Home. There’s... so much waiting for him. People who care. Family. A life."

Mr. Dand was quiet for a long moment. His eyes shifted to Billy, then to Artur.

Finally, he gave a slow nod. "If that’s what he wants."

Billy looked up, torn, but said nothing. His lips pressed together in thought. Still, the room didn’t push him. No demand. Just presence.

"I just wanted to say thank you," she said again, rising slowly to her feet. "I’ll stop by tomorrow. Just to say goodbye."

She walked toward Billy then, pausing in front of him. Her hand hovered before gently brushing his hair back from his forehead. The gesture was so natural—motherly in a way that made Artur’s chest tighten.

"You have my eyes," she whispered with a smile.

Then she turned toward the door, Mr. Frank silently following her out. No fanfare. No rush. Just quiet footsteps on wooden floors.

When the door closed behind them, the air inside remained still. Heavy.

Billy didn’t speak. Artur didn’t press.

But Mr. Dand stepped away from the table and muttered as he headed toward the back room, "I need to check the firewood. Seems like the house is colder than usual."

And then it was just the two of them, left alone in the soft hum of a morning that suddenly felt too real.

The door clicked shut. Outside, only the faint sound of distant footsteps and a bird’s cry folded into the silence.

Inside, time seemed to pause.

Billy remained seated, hands still on the table, eyes lowered—not in shame, but as if searching for something beneath the grain of the wood. Artur sat close, not touching him, not asking, simply staying... as he always did.

The warm scent of the bread in the basket lingered, untouched.

The soft ticking of the clock above the shelf was the only sound between them. For a long while, neither spoke.

Billy’s fingers twitched against the table edge, then stilled.

"I never thought..." His voice was barely above a breath. "...that I’d be found."

Artur turned toward him slightly, silent.

Billy blinked slowly. "They remember me. She remembered everything. I saw it in her eyes—she never stopped hoping."

Artur didn’t answer with words, just watched him quietly, his presence steady.

Billy inhaled through his nose, his throat tight. "But I don’t remember her. I don’t remember me."

He turned to Artur then, finally lifting his eyes. And what shimmered behind them wasn’t fear—it was something rawer.

The kind of ache that comes when your heart is caught between two homes. And neither feels complete without the other.

"If I go..." he paused, trying to find the right words. "If I leave tomorrow... not because I want to, but because I need to understand where I come from..."

Artur’s gaze softened, but he said nothing. His silence didn’t feel empty—it felt like safety.

Billy’s gaze drifted to the doorway his mother had left through. She had come with warmth and familiarity—but no memory could fill the hollow space inside him. And yet... leaving here felt like stepping out of his skin.

Billy’s voice trembled, but he held his chin steady. "Will you wait for me?"

A beat.

Then another.

Artur’s lips parted, not with grand declarations or poetic vows. Just truth.

"I’ll wait until the sky forgets how to rain," he said quietly. "I’ll wait even if you never remember me. Because I do. I remember us. And that’s enough for now."

Billy closed his eyes.

A tear slid down, silent.

Artur reached across the space and gently rested his hand over Billy’s.

They didn’t need to say anything else.

The morning moved on without them.

But for that one quiet moment, in that small wooden house in a fading village, the world stood still—and love stayed, without needing to ask for anything in return.

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