Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 124: Home is a Process

Chapter 124: Home is a Process

The house had gone quiet.

The kind of quiet that didn’t comfort — just reminded you of how much space there was between walls.

Billy lay in bed, the sheets unfamiliar. The ceiling above him too smooth, too polished.

The hum of distant traffic leaked through the half-open window, but it only made the silence sharper.

He turned onto his side, facing the window.

City lights blinked far below — cars moving like fireflies. Nothing like the still, dark nights in the village... where the only sound was the wind through the trees, or the soft crackle of the fire as Artur turned a page of his book.

His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry.

He’d done enough of that already — or maybe he hadn’t.

Beside the bed, a small shelf held old books, childhood photos, souvenirs from a life that still didn’t feel like his.

He reached for one — a small framed photo of him and his sister at the beach. His smile in the photo was wide, free.

But it felt like watching someone else’s joy through a glass he couldn’t break.

Billy set it down gently and lay back again.

Then he whispered into the darkness.

"Are you still awake?"

The question wasn’t meant for anyone here.

It was meant for the window.

For the sky.

For the boy crying beside the village window somewhere far away.

His hand moved slowly over his chest, where the ache lived.

"I didn’t say everything I wanted to."

He shut his eyes tight, jaw clenching.

"I wanted to ask you to wait for me."

A breath. Shaky. Barely held together.

"I hope you knew."

The room was quiet.

The world outside kept spinning.

And Billy finally pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

Still not asleep.

But dreaming anyway.

And when the sun rose behind heavy curtains, painting faint gold lines across the bedroom floor.

Billy opened his eyes slowly, not startled — just quiet. In the morning light, even the ceiling looked sterile — not a single memory lived in it.

For a few seconds, he forgot where he was.

Then he remembered the silence.

Not the comforting kind that wrapped around the village like a warm shawl — but this sterile, high-ceiling silence. The kind that lingered in too-large rooms with too-few words.

He sat up in bed, rubbing his face with both hands. No birdsong. No creak of Mr. Dand’s footsteps. No soft humming from the kitchen. Just the low, filtered hum of the city waking outside glass walls.

He moved slowly, feet touching the floor. The tiles were cold.

He crossed to the window, pushed back the curtain.

The skyline stretched wide and endless — towers and blinking lights, straight lines and smooth roads. A world that made perfect sense, but felt perfectly hollow.

He dressed in silence. His clothes still fit. His watch still ticked.

But he felt like someone filling in for himself.

When he stepped into the hallway, his sister was already in the kitchen — still in pajamas, barefoot, hair tied up, humming something under her breath.

She turned as he entered.

"Hey," she smiled, surprised. "Didn’t think you’d be up this early."

Billy nodded faintly. "Couldn’t sleep much."

"Me neither," she admitted, turning back to the kettle. "Tea or coffee?"

He hesitated.

"Tea."

She glanced over her shoulder, a soft smile forming. "Still the same, then."

Billy didn’t answer.

He sat at the kitchen island, fingers curling around the edge of the marble counter. It was spotless. Everything was. No crumbs. No clutter. No signs of life lived messily.

"You used to make toast and eggs every morning," she said, handing him the tea a few minutes later. "Sometimes burned the bread."

"Mr. Dand said the same," Billy murmured, mostly to himself.

She paused, setting her own mug down.

"You really miss it there."

Billy looked down into the tea. The steam rose gently, vanishing into the morning light.

"It’s not just the place," he said slowly. "It’s who I was there. Or who I was becoming."

Camila leaned against the counter, her voice quieter now.

"Then don’t lose him."

He looked up.

"I don’t want to."

"Then don’t pretend for our sake. We didn’t get you back so you could be someone you’re not."

Billy watched her for a long moment — surprised by the softness in her tone, the lack of expectation.

"You’re allowed to find a new version of yourself," she added. "Even if it doesn’t look like Leo."

The words sat between them, unspoken but heard.

Then she straightened, her smile returning — brighter now, a little more playful.

"Breakfast is in the oven. I tried not to burn it. Can’t promise anything."

Billy smiled, just slightly.

"You’ll have to compete with my cooking."

She paused.

"That’s going to be hard, huh?"

He nodded once, then took a sip of the tea.

And for a moment...

Just a flicker of it...

It felt a little like warmth.

The rest of the morning passed gently.

Billy followed his sister through the house like a guest being shown the life he once lived.

Everything looked familiar, but distant — like memories whispered through walls.

"Mom kept most of this the same," she said as they passed the living room. "Even after you moved out."

Billy glanced at the tall bookshelf by the fireplace. Half the spines had his name scribbled inside in neat block letters.

Science fiction. Journals. A few poetry books. He touched one of them gently, fingers sliding across the dusty edges.

"You moved out after graduation," she added. "Got your own place uptown.

But you still came here sometimes — holidays, whenever you needed to hide from deadlines."

"I lived alone?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," she nodded. "You liked your space. But this place was always home."

They walked past the piano room again. The lid had been left open now — keys white and waiting.

Billy stopped beside it.

"Did I ever play for you?" he asked.

She smiled. "Every time I was sad. You always played the same song — slow and kind of haunting."

"Do you remember it?"

"Not really. I only remember how it felt."

Billy sat at the bench, his fingers brushing the ivory keys. One soft press. No sound came. He pulled his hand back like it burned.

His sister watched quietly, then said, "There’s something I’ve been thinking about since you got back."

He looked up.

"Maybe we should go to your apartment sometime today. Just for a bit. You’ve lived there for over two years... maybe something there will feel familiar. Or help you settle."

Billy blinked, considering that.

"I have a place... of my own."

The words felt strange on his tongue.

She nodded. "You decorated it yourself. Had your own routine. Your own world."

"And no one else lives there?"

"Nope. Just you. And the same overwatered plant you kept forgetting to throw out."

Billy let out the faintest chuckle. "That sounds like me."

"It is," she smiled. "Or at least... it was."

He looked down at the keys again.

The idea of walking into a space that had been entirely his — untouched by anyone else — made something shift inside him. Not comfort exactly, but maybe... curiosity. A path to something more.

"Alright," he said softly. "Let’s go."

"We don’t have to rush, if you don’t want" she offered.

"I know. But I want to see it."

Camila stood near the door, checking her phone and slipping on her watch.

Billy had already changed into a simple long-sleeved shirt and jeans — clean but understated. He looked comfortable enough, though his eyes still carried a quiet hesitation.

"Give me a minute," Camila said, grabbing a folded jacket from the chair. "Let me change real quick."

Billy gave a small nod, leaning against the frame of the front door, hands in his pockets.

While she disappeared down the hallway, he looked around again — at the photo frames, the staircase, the faint scent of vanilla candles still lingering from the night before.

It all looked like love.

But didn’t feel like his yet.

Camila returned a few minutes later in a soft sweater and jeans, her hair loosely braided now.

"Ready?" she asked, jingling the car keys.

"As I’ll ever be," Billy murmured.

They stepped out into the crisp morning air. The city smelled like exhaust and blooming flowers and freshly baked bread from a corner café nearby.

It was loud, alive — but distant, like he was watching it through thick glass.

They slid into the car, and Camila adjusted the mirror as she started the engine.

"You sure you’re okay?" she asked softly, glancing at him as she pulled onto the main road.

"Yeah," Billy said, watching the buildings blur past his window. "Just... trying to figure out where I end and everything else begins."

They drove in silence for a moment. The city passed in slow motion — crowded sidewalks, blinking signs, high-rises that stretched like they were trying to escape the sky.

Billy turned slightly.

"Where’s Mom? Didn’t see her this morning."

Camila kept her eyes on the road.

"She left early," she said. "Went to the industry. Things are a bit busy right now. With Dad away, she and Uncle Frank are managing everything until he gets back."

"When is he back?"

"Two days."

Billy nodded slowly.

"That’s a lot."

"Yeah," Camila replied. "But she still made sure your room was ready. She stayed up folding your old clothes and rearranging the books just the way you used to have them."

Billy looked down at his hands.

"She didn’t have to do all that."

"She did it because she couldn’t sleep either," Camila said softly.

The car turned onto a quieter street, the air shifting slightly — older buildings, smaller cafés, more trees.

"We’re close," she added.

Billy sat up straighter, tension rising in his chest.

"You nervous?" she asked, half-smiling.

"Yeah."

"It’s okay if nothing clicks. We’ll just look around, grab whatever you want, and leave. No pressure."

Billy nodded, watching the world he used to know draw closer — not in memory, but in geography.

And somewhere inside, a question whispered.

What if he walked in and still felt like a stranger to himself?

And worse — what if that feeling never left?"

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