Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 121: A Room Waiting to Exhale

Chapter 121: A Room Waiting to Exhale

The morning sunlight filtered in through the small kitchen window, catching the soft glint of water as it trickled off Artur’s hands into the sink.

The silence between them wasn’t cold—but it wasn’t warm either. Just... lingering.

Billy stood nearby, pretending to check the kettle, but his eyes kept drifting to Artur’s back.

Artur shook his hands dry and reached for the towel, not once looking up. He wiped his fingers in slow, deliberate motions—then without turning, said in a quiet voice, "I’ll be out."

He moved to leave, his steps steady—too steady. But before he could pass, Billy reached out and gently grabbed his wrist.

"I’m coming with you," he said, voice low but firm.

Artur froze. For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then slowly, he pulled his hand free—not harshly, just with finality.

"You should get ready," he said, eyes still avoiding his. "Your mom will be here in a minute."

Billy stepped closer, cutting the space between them, his fingers curling again around Artur’s hand—not letting go this time.

"I don’t care if I’m going now or not," Billy said. His voice cracked just slightly. "I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me."

Artur finally turned. His eyes held a storm—not anger, but hurt, betrayal, confusion, all fighting for space.

"Talk to you?" he repeated, quiet and almost bitter. "When you couldn’t even trust me with something that big?"

Billy’s grip tightened. "I didn’t know how."

Artur looked at their hands, at the way Billy refused to let go. He didn’t pull away this time.

But he didn’t hold back either. His lips parted as if to say something—but instead, he just stood there, trapped in silence and emotion.

Outside, a bird chirped. Inside, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Finally, Artur let out a shaky breath. "Then say it now. Everything. Before your past drags you back."

Billy’s heart pounded. He didn’t let go. "Then don’t look away this time."

Their eyes locked—two hearts still in the middle of their storm.

The silence between them pressed like humid air—thick, unrelenting.

Artur hadn’t turned to look at him once. He sat at the edge of the bed, arms resting loosely on his knees, eyes fixed somewhere only he could see.

His expression unreadable, but the stiffness in his shoulders spoke volumes.

Billy stood there, hands twisting in front of him, heart thudding in his chest.

"I didn’t know about all this..." he began, voice low. "I just found out that day—when I met my mom."

Artur didn’t move.

Billy took a slow step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how—"

"You should have told me that same day," Artur cut in, voice sharper than before. "If you trusted me enough, you would’ve."

Billy flinched.

Artur turned to face him now. His eyes weren’t angry—they were hurt. Deep, quiet hurt, the kind that didn’t yell but carved itself deep.

"You’ve been here with me, living in this house, holding me every night... while planning to leave?" Artur’s voice cracked ever so slightly. "Without even telling me?"

Billy opened his mouth. "I wasn’t—"

"But you were," Artur said, standing. He didn’t raise his voice. "You didn’t even tell me about the fiancée. I had to hear it from someone else."

Billy took another step, desperate now. "I didn’t agree to it, Artur. It’s not something I wanted—"

"That’s not the point!" Artur said, stepping back. "You didn’t trust me with the truth."

"I was scared," Billy said. "Everything is still a mess in my head. I don’t even know who I am yet—"

"And that’s what scares me the most,"

"You don’t even know who you are yet. So how can I believe you’ll still choose me—when you finally do?"

Billy stood there, frozen.

Artur’s voice dropped, almost a whisper now. "What if you wake up one day and I’m nothing but a kind mistake in your past?"

Billy’s throat tightened.

"I don’t want to be your mistake," Artur said. "And I don’t want to keep loving someone who might forget me the moment he steps out of this village."

Billy looked at him, eyes glassy, his breath catching in his chest.

"I’m not walking away from you," he whispered. "Even if I leave—"Then I’ll find my way back—no matter how far I go."

Artur gave a tired, pained smile. "You can’t promise that."

And just like that, he turned away again, retreating into himself, leaving Billy with nothing but the sound of his own breaking heart echoing in the silence.

Artur stood at the window, motionless. His fingers rested loosely on the wooden frame, eyes distant.

Morning sunlight streamed in, brushing against his cheek—but it couldn’t reach him. It couldn’t warm him. Not today.

He watched the narrow path leading up to the house, the trees swaying gently in the breeze like they didn’t know the world had changed overnight.

"There they are," he murmured under his breath. His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "Right on time."

Behind him, Billy stirred.

He had been sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands trembling slightly where they met.

The ache in his chest hadn’t faded—not after a night of silence and not with the morning sun.

Then—he heard it. Footsteps. More than one pair. The low murmur of voices and the rustle of steps along the gravel path.

Billy slowly rose to his feet, heart climbing to his throat.

He glanced at Artur, but the man didn’t move. Didn’t turn. He stayed frozen at the window, spine straight, expression unreadable from behind.

Billy’s voice was barely a whisper. "Artur..."

But there was no reply.

As Billy stepped into the hall, the warmth of the kitchen didn’t reach him.

Everything outside the bedroom felt quieter—wrong somehow, like he had left part of himself behind.

Outside, the footsteps grew louder. Then came a gentle knock, a hesitant pause.

Billy took one breath, then another—and stepped out of the room.

At the entrance, Mr. Dand stood with a slight frown, looking between them. Behind him, Billy’s mother held the familiar basket in her hands, filled with wrapped food.

Her eyes softened the moment they met her son’s, almost as if she could feel the heaviness around him.

And beside her, Mr. Frank offered a small nod, trying to read Billy’s expression.

"Morning," Mr. Dand said gently, stepping aside.

Billy didn’t speak. He gave a small nod to his mother, then to Mr. Frank. His throat tightened.

His mom stepped closer, her voice quiet and full of concern. "Are you ready to go son?"

Billy hesitated.

Inside, behind him, the door remained cracked open. He could still feel Artur’s presence in that silence. Still feel the way the air grew cold when he turned away from him.

Billy looked back, lips parted—but he couldn’t say it. Not yet.

He turned back to them. "Can we sit for a moment?" he asked softly.

Mr. Dand nodded and led them toward the living room.

Billy’s mother watched him closely, sensing something had changed, but not knowing how deeply. Mr. Frank gave Billy a brief pat on the back, but even he kept quiet.

Only Billy knew how hard it was not to look back at that door again.

Inside, Artur hadn’t moved.

He stood at the window, staring at the trees, listening to the voices outside like they were distant thunder—something coming to wash everything away.

He closed his eyes.

He didn’t cry.

But he wished he could.

Billy sat quietly on the edge of the couch, hands clasped between his knees, eyes tracing the worn lines in the wooden floor.

Across from him, Mr. Frank tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest. Beside him, Billy’s mother sat—calm, composed, but there was a tremor behind her stillness.

Mr. Dand remained quietly at her side, his presence steady, grounding.

The air pulsed with a soft tension—compassionate, but weighted.

"I know this isn’t easy," his mother began gently, her voice edged with a warmth only a mother could carry.

"I’m not asking you to forget where you’ve been. Or even how you feel right now."

Billy opened his mouth, but nothing came. His gaze lifted, heavy-lidded, and met hers.

She leaned forward, resting a hand on the table between them.

"All I want... is for you to come home for a little while. We can figure things out—together. You don’t have to stay. But you deserve more than just photos and video calls."

"She’s right," Mr. Frank added quietly. "You don’t have to decide everything today.

But you also can’t live in two halves forever.

Maybe knowing where you came from... will help you understand where you’re going."

Mr. Dand shifted, folding his hands in his lap.

"This village’s door will always be open, Billy," he said. "Whether you leave now, next month, or ten years from now... this place will remember who you were here. So will we."

The silence that followed wasn’t cold—it was thoughtful. Like a room waiting to exhale.

Billy drew in a breath, deep and unsteady.

Leo... we know this is hard. No one’s forcing anything. But your mother came all this way just to see you—face to face. She wants to take you home. Just for now. You can return anytime. That’s a promise.

Billy stared down again, lips pressed in a hard line. After a moment, he lifted his gaze.

His mother’s eyes shimmered, but her voice didn’t shake.

"You don’t have to figure out your whole life today," she said. "I know you’ve found something here... something real."

(She paused, voice tightening.)

"But we lost you once. Your father—he might be difficult, yes. But me? Your sister? We broke a little every day, not knowing if you were even alive."

"Just come home for a while. See your doctors. Rest. We won’t keep you. You’re not a prisoner, Billy."

She reached for his hand—slowly, not forcing—and when her fingers closed gently around his, he didn’t pull away.

"It doesn’t have to be forever. Just... come home. Let us do this with you. You’re not alone."

Billy swallowed hard. Then gave a small nod.

"I understand."

Mr. Dand spoke again, softly.

"Sometimes we leave to find out where we belong. But the door doesn’t close behind you. Not here."

Billy turned to him. There was gratitude in his eyes—quiet, unspoken.

He stood, slowly.

"I’ll talk to him," he said. "He deserves that."

Mr. Frank nodded in quiet approval.

"Take your time. We’ll be here."

Billy looked down the hallway.

The bedroom door stood half-open, sunlight slanting through it—just like before. But inside, he’d have to face what was left unsaid.