Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 122: The Quiet Goodbye

Chapter 122: The Quiet Goodbye

The door creaked softly as he opened it.

Artur sat near the window, knees drawn up, arms resting loosely over them. His back was to the door. He didn’t move.

The air smelled faintly of wood smoke and lavender soap. A silence stretched between them—thick with things unsaid.

Billy lingered at the threshold, then knocked—once, lightly.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"Artur... can we talk?"

Still no answer.

Billy stayed near the door, not moving closer.

"They’re still waiting in the living room. But I... I needed to say something."

No response. But Artur’s shoulders shifted—just slightly.

"I’m not leaving forever," Billy continued. "Just for a little while."

He paused.

"I still don’t know who I used to be. But I know who I am here. With you. And that... that’s not something I want to lose."

Artur didn’t speak, but Billy could see the tension in the set of his back, the way his fingers curled slightly over the windowsill.

Billy took a careful step forward.

"If I could stay... if it were only up to me... I would."

Another pause.

"But she came all this way. And I owe it to her—to myself—to see."

He took another slow step.

"I’ll come back. That’s a promise. If you’ll still have me."

Artur’s hand tightened slightly. Still, he said nothing.

Billy didn’t push. His words hovered like a breath in winter—visible, fragile, fading. He watched Artur’s stillness, aching for a sign that he was heard.

The silence didn’t feel like rejection. It felt like something trying not to break.

Artur hadn’t spoken a word. He sat by the window, back to the room, arms crossed tight—as if holding something fragile inside.

His eyes stayed on the fading morning mist, blinking rapidly at nothing.

Billy stood behind him quietly for a while, fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt, unsure if he should reach out—until he did.

Billy stepped behind him, carefully wrapping his arms around his waist. Artur stiffened at first—then something cracked.

"I know you don’t want to talk," he said quietly, "but... can I just hold you for a moment?"

Artur didn’t answer.

"I’m sorry," Billy whispered, the words soft as breath. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I didn’t know how."

Billy tightened the hug just a little. "You once told me this village has its own kind of magic... I think it gave me you. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you."

Artur’s throat worked as he swallowed, eyes beginning to sting. He kept still, but his hand rose—hesitantly—and settled on Billy’s arm.

"I made a wish, remember?" Billy whispered again. "That night at the lake... I wished to never feel lost again."

Artur’s breath hitched, just slightly.

"I still mean it."

Artur’s lips parted, but no words came—just a shallow breath. The first tear slid down without warning, carving a quiet path along his cheek. He didn’t move. He didn’t push Billy away yet.

"Give me a week," Billy pleaded. "Just a week. That’s all I ask for. Let me go see this world they say I belong to... and then I’ll come back to the one I chose."

"I didn’t choose any of this," Billy whispered. "But I chose you."

Artur’s eyes shut, his jaw clenched. His hand rose to Billy’s and held it there. For a long moment, neither moved.

"I’m not leaving without making things right," Billy whispered again. "And when I come back... if you’re still here... I’ll ask you to choose me too."

Another tear fell, but Artur didn’t wipe it away.

But Artur’s expression twisted—shame, pain, disbelief. A tear slipped down, then another. He bit his lower lip, trying to hold it in—but it was no use.

"Just go," he finally whispered.

Billy froze. "Artur..."

"I said go!" Artur’s voice cracked as he shoved Billy gently in the chest, not hard—but enough.

Billy didn’t move.

Artur cried harder now, turning his face to the wall, away from Billy’s gaze. "Please," he added, softer this time. "I can’t... I can’t do this while you’re still here."

Billy’s hand lingered in the air, fingers aching for a touch that was no longer allowed.

"I love you." The words barely left his lips—more prayer than declaration. "I’m not letting you go. No matter how far I go... I’m always yours."

Billy took a breath, stepped forward slowly.

He stayed a moment longer—just to be near. Just to breathe the same air.

Silence wrapped around them like a second blanket. Artur didn’t turn around, not yet.

And in that fragile silence, something shifted.

A crack in the wall between them.

Then slowly, he rose.

And left the room in silence.

Goodbye Artur.

Billy glancing back at the door as he walks away — and Artur turns just after he’s gone.

The door clicked shut behind Billy with a soft finality.

He stood there for a moment, his hand still resting on the knob, the weight of the silence pressing against his back like gravity. The hallway felt colder now. Lighter—but not freer.

Artur didn’t follow.

Billy didn’t expect him to.

He turned slowly, one breath at a time, and walked down the corridor. His steps felt strangely detached from his body, like the floor moved beneath him, not the other way around.

When he reached the main room, all three were still there—waiting.

Mr. Frank sat upright, arms folded, eyes searching Billy’s face without asking anything out loud.

Billy’s mother stood the second she saw him, brushing her skirt as if smoothing the tension from the room.

Mr. Dand remained seated, elbows resting gently on his knees, hands folded, watching Billy with the kind of sadness that only comes from love.

Billy paused at the threshold—still near the hallway, not quite inside the room.

Mark stood at his bedroom door off to the side, one hand on the frame, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak. Just looked at Billy the way people look at closed gates—wondering if they’ll open again.

Billy gave a small nod in Mark’s direction, enough to say goodbye without using words. Mark nodded back, just once, lips parting as if he wanted to say something—but nothing came.

And then, quietly, Billy walked forward.

His mother reached for his bag, but he didn’t let go just yet. Instead, he turned to Mr. Dand, meeting the man’s tired, weathered eyes.

No words were exchanged at first—none were needed.

Billy stepped into his arms.

Mr. Dand held him tight, one large hand settling behind Billy’s head like a father trying to hold in everything he couldn’t say. He didn’t say take care. He didn’t say be safe. He just held him like someone trying to keep a memory close.

When they pulled apart, Billy’s throat worked as he tried to speak.

"Thank you... for giving me a place to breathe."

Mr. Dand smiled faintly, eyes damp. "You gave it life."

A quiet passed through the room again, gentle but thick with meaning.

Billy turned to Mr. Frank, who gave him a small nod—no lecture, no reminder—just quiet approval.

Then, without a word, his mother gently touched his arm. Her smile was warm but cautious, as if afraid even now he might change his mind.

"We should go," she said softly.

Billy gave one last glance back toward the hallway—the door at the end, the window where the curtains barely shifted.

Artur didn’t come out.

But he was there.

Watching.

Crying.

Still holding onto the last pieces of what they were.

Billy blinked fast, then stepped outside. The air was crisper than it had been earlier, the morning mist now fully lifting into daylight.

The car waited just ahead, quiet and still like it knew it had no right to rush them.

Billy stood outside the door a moment, not getting in yet. His mother waited by the passenger seat. Mr. Frank opened the back door for him.

He didn’t move.

Not yet.

He turned one last time—back to the house, back to the window.

The curtain twitched.

And that was enough.

Billy said under his breath, barely audible even to himself.

"I’ll come back..."

Then he stepped inside the car.

The door shut.

And the village stood still behind them.

Artur didn’t blink.

He stood by the window like a shadow stitched to the frame, arms limp at his sides, eyes locked on the car parked just beyond the garden.

His vision blurred, but he didn’t wipe the tears away. He didn’t move at all—except to breathe.

He watched Billy step outside... watched him pause... watched him glance back.

Even from this distance, even through glass and sunlight and space, Artur could feel it.

That look.

That final thread still holding them together.

And then the door closed.

The engine came to life, low and steady.

Artur’s lips parted as the tires began to turn—slowly, like the world itself was reluctant to let him go.

The car rolled forward.

He pressed his palm to the window, gently—fingertips trembling, like maybe if he reached just far enough, he could stop it all.

But the car kept moving.

Past the gate.

Past the old tree where they once stood after the festival.

Past the place where everything began.

And then it was gone.

Artur didn’t look away.

Not until the dust had settled and there was nothing left to follow.

His hand dropped from the glass, falling to his side like it weighed too much.

Then slowly, like someone sinking into cold water, he turned away from the window.

The room was quiet again.

Too quiet.

He walked back toward the bed, but didn’t make it that far. His knees buckled halfway, and he sank to the floor beside the chair instead, hands pressed to his face.

A sharp breath escaped him—painful, cracked.

"I didn’t mean it..."

His voice was low, rasping.

"I didn’t mean for you to go."

A sob broke through. He clutched his chest like something inside him was being pulled apart, piece by piece.

"You were supposed to stay," he whispered. "I was going to ask you to stay..."

He wiped his face, but the tears kept coming. Messy, stubborn, real.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again. "I’m so sorry..."

No one heard him.

No one saw him fall apart.

The house remained still.

The window remained open.

And in the empty air between what was and what almost was—Artur wept alone.

"Come back to me," Artur whispered to the empty room.

"Please."

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.