Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 118: Too Late for the Truth

Chapter 118: Too Late for the Truth

The house had never felt this still.

Billy sat alone, fingers grazing the edge of the pillow where Artur’s warmth still lingered.

The scent of woodsmoke and fresh herbs clung to the air—familiar, grounding, comforting.

He stared at the door, waiting, thinking Artur would be back any second.

The room still smelled faintly of warmth—like Artur’s shirt and the leftover sweetness of their kiss.

Billy sank deeper into the couch, fingers brushing over his own lips as if he could press the moment back into reality.

He didn’t want to move.

Didn’t want to think.

Didn’t want tomorrow to come.

Click.

The door creaked open.

But when the door opened, it wasn’t him.

Mark stepped inside, his shirt slightly rumpled, collar loose, sweat glinting faintly on his neck from the walk. He looked around once before catching Billy’s eyes.

"You’re alone?" he asked, voice low.

Billy nodded. "Artur stepped out to help someone. He’ll be back soon."

Mark walked past him slowly and reached for the clay pitcher on the table. He poured himself a glass of water and drank, eyes never fully meeting Billy’s.

Then, setting the cup down with a soft clink, he exhaled. "I heard you’re leaving tomorrow."

Billy’s lips pressed into a line. "Yeah."

Mark sat beside him—not too close. Just enough for the silence to stretch between them, heavy and uncertain.

"You tell Artur?" Mark asked, gaze fixed on the floor.

Billy tilted his head. "He knows."

"I’m not talking about the leaving," Mark replied.

A pause.

Billy turned toward him, uncertain. "What then?"

Mark’s voice dropped, quieter but sharper. "I didn’t want to say this, but he deserves the truth."About your fiancée."

Billy blinked. His throat caught. "...You know?"

Mark gave a dry, crooked smile. "Mm. Mr. Frank told me a while ago. I didn’t say anything—I figured it wasn’t my place. But now... are you really planning to leave without telling him?"

Billy’s chest tightened. "It’s not like that."

"You know it’s not fair," Mark said, more firmly now, turning to face him. "You should’ve trusted him. Trusted what you two have. What do you think will happen when he finds out later—and not from you?"

Billy lowered his head. "I’m not marrying her."

"You might not mean to," Mark said quickly, cutting him off. "But what if you go back to the city and don’t remember this place anymore? What if you don’t want him anymore, Billy?"

His name landed like a weight.

"I’m not that person," Billy said, voice strained. "I’m not the man who agreed to that arrangement. I don’t even know who he was."

"Exactly," Mark whispered. "And that’s what scares me. That person might come back when your memories do."

Billy swallowed hard, his fingers curling against his knees. "Then I’ll fight it."

"Will you?" Mark asked. "Because right now, it doesn’t feel like it."

The words dropped heavy.

Billy stood abruptly, pacing a few steps before stopping at the edge of the rug. "I didn’t plan any of this, Mark. I didn’t even know I had a family, let alone some stranger I’m supposed to marry—"

"But you know now," Mark said, cutting him off. "And you’re still not telling him."

Billy turned, voice rising, "What do you want me to say? That I’m scared? That I don’t want to hurt him? That if I say it out loud, I’m afraid I’ll lose everything I’ve found here?"

Mark stood now too, not angry—just firm. "You already are. Bit by bit, with every word you’re not saying."

Billy’s lips parted—he was about to speak.

But he didn’t have to.

Because outside the door, Artur stood frozen.

He had come back quietly, hoping to catch Billy alone again—just to sit, to talk, to hold him before the night settled.

But the words had found him first.

Every word.

He stepped back once.

Twice.

His back pressed against the frame.

Eyes closed.

And everything inside him slowly, quietly, beginning to shake.

The quiet tick of the clock mingled with the faint creak of the floor as Artur stepped in, unnoticed at first.

His eyes flicked from Billy to Mark, lips pressed tight, chest rising slowly — waiting.

He didn’t say a word.

Billy sat there, hunched slightly, thumbs brushing his knees, caught somewhere between the weight of Mark’s words and the ache in his own chest.

Artur stayed by the wall, arms crossed, watching, not speaking. Waiting for the truth to come from the man he loved.

Mark stood, his face unreadable. "I should go," he said quietly, glancing once at Artur before heading for the door. "Take care of yourself, Billy."

The door closed behind him.

Silence.

Artur’s eyes remained on Billy. He waited... one minute, two... five. Nothing.

Billy tried to smile. "Hey. I didn’t hear you come in."

Artur’s jaw tightened, I was out there for a while," he said quietly.

"You’re really not going to say it?" he said, voice low and steady — too steady.

Billy blinked. "Say what?"

Artur took a step forward, still keeping his distance. "I heard everything, Billy. The fiancé. The city. The part where you were going to leave without telling me."

Billy’s lips parted, but no words came. The words landed between them like thunder.

"I waited," Artur continued, bitterness creeping into his voice. "I thought maybe you’d trust me enough to say it. I was standing right there, hoping you would."

"I didn’t mean to—" Billy started, getting up, reaching for him.

But Artur stepped back.

"No. Don’t do that." His voice cracked. "Don’t make it worse by pretending it’s nothing. You were going to leave, and you were going to let me find out some other way."

Billy’s breath hitched. "I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared. I didn’t want to hurt you."

"Well, too late for that."

A sharp silence fell between them.

Artur swallowed hard, blinking fast as if holding back something heavier than tears. "Was I just a distraction to you? A countryside memory you’d bury the second you step back into your real life?"

"No—God, no," Billy said, stepping closer. "I love you."

But Artur’s face twisted — somewhere between pain and disbelief.

Then why didn’t you tell me?" His voice cracked—not angry, but aching. "Why’d you let me stand there waiting... hoping you’d choose me over silence?

Billy reached for him again, but this time Artur didn’t pull away.

"I didn’t want to lose you," Billy whispered.

"But you didn’t think hiding it would do the same thing?" Artur said, stepping back.

Silence again.

Billy’s voice trembled. "I’m not marrying her."

"That’s not the point." Artur laughed bitterly, eyes glassy. "The point is, you didn’t tell me. I thought maybe—maybe you’d say something. That you’d trust me enough to say it to my face."

Billy swallowed. "It’s not what you think."

"Then what is it?" Artur’s voice cracked, low and raw. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you were just going to leave. Without saying a word."

"No—Artur, I wasn’t going to—"

"You had time." Artur’s voice rose slightly, but it wasn’t anger. It was hurt. Deep, disappointed hurt. "You had so many chances."

Billy reached out. "Artur—"

But Artur took another step back. "I need space," he said, voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "I need to breathe before I break."

He turned and walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the frame.

And just like that, he stepped out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Billy stood frozen. The click of the door echoed louder than anything he could’ve said.

He stood in the center of the room, unmoving, staring at the spot where Artur had just been.

The air was still, painfully still, like the calm after something shattering.

His fingers twitched at his side.

He didn’t sit.

He didn’t lay.

He just stood there — as if sitting would mean accepting it, as if moving would make it real.

His eyes were glassy, but no tears came. Not yet. Just that dry, cracking weight pressing against his chest, so heavy it felt like breathing was betrayal.

Artur was angry.

And worse, Artur walked away.

Billy took one slow step, then another. He wandered toward the couch, stopped, turned back around.

His arms wrapped around himself instinctively, as if trying to hold himself together. As if that could stop the trembling that had started in his hands.

He walked toward the door but didn’t open it.

His fingers hovered near the handle.

And dropped.

The silence was unbearable.

His heart screamed for Artur’s voice, for the warmth in his gaze, for the way he always knew what to say when Billy couldn’t find the words. But now he was gone — not far, maybe, but far enough that the space felt endless.

Billy leaned against the wall, sliding down slowly until he sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest.

His voice came out in a whisper, cracked and small.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you... I just didn’t know how to keep you."

A sound escaped him — something between a sigh and a broken sob.

The world hadn’t just shifted.

It had cracked open.

And Billy was left staring at the pieces, not knowing where to begin.