Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 120: Not Tonight

Chapter 120: Not Tonight

Night had fallen like wet wool around Billy’s shoulders—heavy, scratchy, impossible to shake off—as he walked the trail home.

His shoulders drooped with every step, and his clothes clung faintly with the sweat of wandering too long.

The village lights glimmered dimly behind him, but none felt like they were waiting for him.

Only one remained lit—his home, but it didn’t feel like one tonight.

At the main entrance, Mr. Dand stood with a lantern in one hand and a quiet gaze that seemed to reach all the way through Billy’s chest.

Billy paused a few steps away.

Mr. Dand didn’t speak, not at first. He simply studied the boy’s face—the glassy eyes, the tired breath, the tightness in his jaw—and understood more than any words could explain.

"He’s not back yet," Mr. Dand said gently.

Billy nodded once.

"I looked everywhere," he murmured.

There was a long silence between them. Then Mr. Dand, with the ease of a man who’d seen his share of heartbreak, turned and held the door open.

"Come inside, son. You’ve done enough for tonight."

Billy hesitated, glancing into the darkness one more time.

He thought maybe—just maybe—he’d see Artur’s figure coming around the corner.

But there was nothing.

No footsteps. No voice. Just the sound of crickets and the wind brushing the quiet world.

With a silent breath, he stepped through the doorway.

Inside, the light was soft. Familiar. But his heart felt far away from everything.

As Mr. Dand quietly walked to the kitchen, giving him space, Billy sat down in the main room—on the same couch where, days ago, he’d kissed Artur like the world would never change.

Now the room felt bigger. Quieter.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers loosely laced. He didn’t cry.

He couldn’t.

He just sat there, staring at the door.

Waiting.

Billy stood there still—motionless in the hallway, the dim glow from the lamp painting soft shadows across his face. His eyes never left the door. He didn’t sit. Didn’t pace. He just waited.

The sound of footsteps came quietly at first, like the wind shifting through the village trail.

Then the latch turned.

The door creaked open slowly.

Artur stepped inside.

His shirt was damp from the cool night air, his hair tousled, eyes red-rimmed—not from tears, but from holding them back too long. He froze when he saw Billy standing there.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Artur shut the door behind him with a soft click, not looking directly at him.

He stepped past Billy, untying the scarf around his neck and hanging it without a word.

The distance between them in the small space felt wider than the village fields.

Billy turned slightly, watching him.

"Artur—"

But Artur didn’t answer. Not with words. He didn’t glance over either.

He walked toward their shared room and paused at the threshold, as though debating whether to speak or keep holding everything in.

Then he quietly stepped inside and left the door half open—not slammed shut, but not welcoming either.

Billy stood frozen for a few heartbeats more.

He wanted to go after him.

He wanted to explain everything.

But all he could do was lean against the wall, eyes lowered, heart pounding.

Some silences are louder than shouting.

And this one hurt the most.

Billy pushed off the wall as the silence grew heavier, pressing into his chest.

He stepped forward, his legs uncertain but his heart screaming not to let the night end like this.

His fingers curled lightly on the edge of the door Artur had left ajar.

He pushed it open, just enough to see Artur sitting on the edge of the bed, back turned, head slightly bowed.

He looked like someone who had spent all his words out in the cold and now had none left to give.

Billy stepped inside.

"Artur..." his voice broke before it even fully formed.

Artur didn’t look at him. He was still, his shoulders tight, jaw clenched.

Billy took a few slow steps closer. "Please... can we talk?"

A long pause. The room breathed silence.

Then Artur’s voice came, low and tired.

"Not tonight."

Just two words. Firm. Final. Not cold—but heavy with hurt.

Billy stopped like the words had built a wall between them. "Not tonight." He wished Artur had said "Not ever." At least then, he’d know where the edge was.

He nodded, even though Artur wasn’t looking.

He sat slowly on the other side of the bed. The mattress dipped, but Artur didn’t shift, didn’t lean, didn’t turn.

They lay down, back to back, a whole world of ache between them. Billy stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open, every blink heavy.

Artur’s breathing was steady, but not peaceful. His hand was balled beneath the pillow. Billy reached out—just a little—but stopped himself.

They were close enough to feel each other’s warmth. Yet far enough that it didn’t feel like home anymore.

Billy turned his face to the side, watching Artur’s back in the dim light.

"I’m still here," he whispered, barely a sound in the stillness.

Artur didn’t move.He could feel Billy behind him—the warmth of him, the quiet hesitation, the tension that always came with unfinished words.

But it wasn’t enough.

Just talk, Artur thought. Just say it. All of it.

But Billy hadn’t. Not when it mattered. Not when it could have stopped the ache before it started.

Artur clenched his jaw, staring blankly at the wall.

Why didn’t he trust me? Why did he let me find out like that?

The silence grew louder.

His thoughts kept racing.

What if he leaves tomorrow and doesn’t come back? What if he remembers everything and realizes this—us—was never supposed to happen? What if he marries that woman? What if I become just... someone he met during a mistake?

He swallowed hard.

What if he forgets me again—this time, on purpose?

The fear burned behind his ribs like a slow fire. But he kept it locked away.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak.

He just lay there, eyes wide open in the dark, hoping morning would take longer to come.

And the night held them—two hearts in the same bed, but not in the same place.

The sunlight slipped gently across the floorboards, a warm hush resting over the small room.

Billy opened his eyes to find the world still wrapped in quiet. For a moment, he didn’t move.

He just lay there, gazing at Artur, who lay on his side facing away.

Billy’s eyes softened. He studied the gentle rise and fall of Artur’s breath, the way his dark hair curled over his brow.

Slowly, he reached out and brushed a stray strand from Artur’s forehead, letting his fingers linger for just a second before pulling away with a sigh that held the weight of everything unspoken between them.

Carefully, Billy rose and stepped out of the room, the floor creaking faintly under his feet.

Out in the main room, the scent of woodsmoke still clung to the air. Mr. Dand was already by the door, tightening the strap on a modest cloth bag.

Billy blinked, surprised. "You’re leaving early today?"

"Yeah," Mr. Dand replied without turning. "A few things I had ordered finally came in. Just need to pick them up. I’ll be back before... before you leave."

Billy’s jaw tensed slightly. "Want me to go and carry it for you?"

Mr. Dand gave a small wave without looking back. "It’s alright. Just stay. You’ve got things to think about." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "Artur’s still hurting. Give him time."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Billy alone again with the morning light stretching across the floor like the delicate beginning of something—or the end.

He stood there for a long moment, the silence settling deep into his chest. Then, slowly, he turned and headed into the kitchen.

He began to make breakfast.

Not out of routine. Not just for himself.

He cooked gently, with focus, hoping Artur might eat. Hoping the quiet effort could say what he hadn’t been able to the night before.

Behind the closed bedroom door, Artur lay still—eyes open. He had heard everything. He just didn’t know what to do with it yet.

The morning air was hushed, soft light bleeding through the kitchen window.

Billy stood by the stove, his hand slow as he stirred the steaming porridge, the scent of warm honey and butter filling the air.

He glanced once at the closed door behind him—the one that hadn’t creaked open all morning.

He moved quietly, careful not to scrape the bowls too loud or let the kettle whistle. He didn’t want to wake him abruptly. Not today.

He set two bowls on the table, added the jar of jam Artur always reached for. No words. Just a quiet apology laid out in breakfast.

The gesture was silent, hopeful—an unspoken apology folded into every detail.

Footsteps creaked on the wooden floor behind him. Billy stiffened slightly, his eyes on the steam rising from the cups.

Artur entered, not saying a word. He looked... not angry anymore, but distant. His hair was tousled, eyes still heavy from sleep—or maybe from everything else.

Billy turned halfway. "Morning," he said, voice quiet, searching.

Artur didn’t answer right away. He sat down, pulled the bowl toward him. Took a spoonful.

Billy waited, watching him closely, like the smallest reaction might guide him.

Artur finally looked up, his gaze steady but guarded. "You didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to," Billy replied. "I wasn’t sure if you’d... want to eat."

Artur gave a small nod, stirring the porridge. "Thanks."

Billy sat across from him, clasping his hands together, unsure whether to hold the silence or break it.

The space between them wasn’t as wide as last night, but it wasn’t close either.

And yet... they were still at the same table.

Still sharing breakfast.

And that was something.

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