Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 75: Whisper of home

Chapter 75: Whisper of home

Artur lingered at the window, his elbow carving a shallow dent into the wooden sill, chin heavy in his palm as if the view weighed him down."

He watched the way Billy moved—casual, comfortable, utterly at ease.

The breeze tousled his hair, and each time he laughed, it reached all the way up to his eyes.

Mr. Dand looked content too, rinsing a faded towel and chatting between their work.

It was a quiet harmony down there, a rhythm that didn’t need words to explain.

Artur smiled faintly to himself, letting his gaze trail from the swaying laundry line to the sun-warmed basin, then to the slight splash Billy made when flicking water playfully toward Mr. Dand—earning a gruff but amused scoff.

Eventually, the scent of food tugged at his attention—warm, seasoned, and familiar. With a stretch and a lazy ruffle of his own hair, Artur turned from the window and padded toward the kitchen.

The moment he stepped in, a soft wave of warmth and home met him.

Sunlight filtered in from the small window above the sink, and on the table, already waiting, sat a full plate of rice, vegetables, and something savory steaming gently in a clay bowl.

A folded cloth napkin sat neatly to the side, and a tall glass of water was catching a beam of light.

Artur blinked. "He really cooked already...?"

He stepped closer, pulled out the chair, and sat slowly.

The food still warm—Billy must have made it earlier, probably right after waking.

No note, no big gesture, just quietly done like it was second nature.

Artur picked up the spoon and smiled softly.

Outside, he could still hear the low hum of their voices through the window. It was nice—peaceful. Like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

The kitchen door creaked open gently, and Billy stepped in, sleeves rolled to his elbows, damp towel slung over his shoulder.

His hair was still a little wet from the occasional splash outside, cheeks warm with the sun.

He paused when he saw Artur already at the table, mid-bite.

"Oh," Billy smiled, walking in further. "You’re finally up. Did the smell drag you here or was it your stomach complaining again?"

Artur looked up, spoon paused near his lips. "I don’t recall giving you permission to feed me."

Billy leaned over slightly, hands on the back of the empty chair next to Artur, grinning. "You didn’t. I just did it. You were sleeping like a log—you needed fuel."

Artur shrugged, chewing. "I’ve had worse ambushes."

Billy chuckled and moved around the table, sitting across from him. "Mr. Dand says your sleeping schedule is worse than the cows during winter."

"That man compares me to livestock too often," Artur muttered, but the corners of his mouth curved upward.

Billy leaned forward, elbow on the table, chin resting on his palm. "He likes you too much.

Told me you used to sleep in the barn as a kid ’cause you said the sheep listened better than people."

Artur choked on a laugh, covering his mouth quickly. "He told you that?"

"Mmhm. With pride."

They sat in an easy quiet for a moment, the kind that didn’t press.

Billy’s gaze softened as he watched Artur eat, taking small sips of water in between.

The way the light settled across the kitchen gave everything a golden tint—gentle, quiet, homely.

Artur finally spoke, voice softer. "Thanks... for the food."

Billy lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Wasn’t gonna let you starve after sleeping all morning."

Artur smirked. "And what would I do without your constant mothering?"

"Fall apart completely," Billy answered without missing a beat.

Artur laughed, letting the warmth of the moment settle into his chest.

"Wanna sit outside later?" Billy asked. "The sky’s clear. Could be nice."

Artur nodded once. "Yeah. It’s nice I guess."

The last clink of cutlery against a plate had just settled into silence when the front door creaked open.

Mr. Dand stepped inside, dusting off his palms, and paused in the threshold of the kitchen.

A warm smile stretched across his face as he looked at both boys.

"I heard you two did great yesterday," he said, voice low and fond. "Tomas told me everything."

Billy, caught mid-sip of water, lowered his cup, flushing a little. "He did?"

Mr. Dand nodded as he walked in, hanging his hat by the door. "Said the animals were fed before he even got there.

Laundry done. Said you didn’t stop till everything shone like a new coin."

Artur tried to play it cool, leaning back in his chair. "Well... we didn’t want the house falling apart just because you were gone a few days."

Mr. Dand let out a quiet laugh. "I’ll take that as thanks." His eyes lingered on the pair, pride softening his usually firm expression.

He stepped toward the hallway, glancing briefly at the time. Artur noticed the subtle shift—the way his father glanced toward his boots by the door.

"You’re going out?" Artur asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You just got back yesterday. Shouldn’t you rest a bit longer?"

Mr. Dand reached for his coat without answering right away. Then, with a familiar huff, he said, "Just want to take a look around. Check if anything needs fixing before it piles up."

"You always say that," Artur muttered, crossing his arms. "And next thing we know you’re lifting barrels."

"I’m not made of glass, boy."

"You’re not made of steel either," Artur shot back, getting up from his seat.

Billy hid a smile behind his hand, watching them.

Mr. Dand opened the door, glanced back at them, and gave a slight shrug. "I’ll be back before long. Just a quick look."

"Promise?" Artur asked, voice quieter this time.

The old man’s eyes softened. "Promise."

And then he was gone, the door closing gently behind him.

"Artur watched the door long after it shut. Mr. Dand’s promise echoed faintly, but so did the memory of the last time he’d come home aching and bruised.

That was the thing with promises—they didn’t always account for aging backs and stubborn pride."

Billy stood, stretching slowly. "You always worry that much when he steps outside?"

Artur didn’t answer right away. He just looked toward the door, lips tight, then exhaled through his nose.

"Only when he’s pretending he’s twenty again."

Billy’s hand brushed lightly against his arm. "Let’s sit outside? I’ll distract you."

Artur finally looked at him and gave a small, grateful nod. "Yeah. Let’s go."

The afternoon sun slanted lazily through the thinning branches of the large tree in the center of the village square.

Its thick roots curled up from the earth like sleeping limbs, providing uneven seats for anyone who chose to rest beneath it.

A few older villagers had already claimed the shaded spots, chatting in low tones while weaving baskets or shelling beans.

Nearby, some younger ones sat idly, half-listening to the elders, half-lost in their own quiet boredom.

Billy and Artur arrived slowly, hands in their pockets, shoulders brushing now and then.

They exchanged a few quiet greetings and found an open spot near the edge of the tree’s roots, just close enough to catch the murmured village gossip but far enough to keep a little space for themselves.

"Looks like everyone’s in the same boat," Billy murmured, dropping onto the root with a soft thud. "No chores. No rush. Just... sitting."

Artur slouched beside him, knees bent, arms draped lazily over them. "That’s the village for you. Once work’s done, time just... stretches."

Billy glanced around at the stillness. A rooster crowed in the distance like it had forgotten what time it was.

A soft breeze stirred the air, carrying the scent of dust and faint herbs from someone’s nearby kitchen.

"It’s kind of peaceful though," Billy said after a while. "Like nothing needs to happen."

"Or like everything already happened," Artur added, nudging a pebble with his boot.

One of the old men under the tree gave a hoarse chuckle as he told a story, his hands moving with gentle exaggeration. The others leaned in, nodding or chuckling, their rhythm slow and practiced.

Stretching lazily, Billy pushed to his feet. with a small grin. "Do you think we’ll be like that someday? Sitting under a tree, repeating stories until someone throws a stick at us to stop?"

Artur gave a lazy grin. "If we are, I hope you’re still around to throw that stick."

Billy laughed. "Promise I will."

A dry leaf fluttered down from above, spinning lazily before landing on Billy’s shoulder.

He plucked it off and examined its curled edges with an amused little smile. "Guess we’re part of the scenery now," he murmured, brushing it away.

Artur shifted beside him, pulling one knee up to rest his chin on. "We kind of are. Just... two quiet people blending into a quiet afternoon."

Billy tilted his head, studying Artur’s profile. The way the sunlight caught the side of his cheek, painting it in gold. The easy slump of his shoulders, and that flicker of contentment in his eyes—soft, familiar.

Gw"You look relaxed," Billy said softly, a little teasing. "That’s rare."

Artur shrugged, smirking. "I blame you. You’ve been making everything feel less heavy lately."

Billy’s gaze lingered, thoughtful. "You mean it?"

Artur met his eyes. No rush. No hesitation. "Yeah. I do."

Billy looked down for a moment, fiddling with a loose thread at the edge of his sleeve. "I like this, you know? Not just the tree or the silence or the breeze. But... us. Like this."

Artur leaned slightly closer, elbow brushing Billy’s. "Then let’s stay a bit longer. Who says we need to rush anything?"

A soft laugh escaped Billy’s lips. "No one, I guess."

"A blur of kids thundered past, bare feet flinging dust, their laughter chasing them down the path like kites in the wind."

One of the older women under the tree called after them in a mock scolding tone, then returned to her gentle weaving, her fingers never missing a beat.

Billy watched the woman for a second. "Do you think she’s ever left the village?"

Artur followed his gaze. "Maybe not. But I bet she has stories deeper than rivers. That’s the thing about people here—they may not travel far, but they carry entire worlds inside them."

Billy’s smile was brief but searching. ’Sounds a bit like someone I know.’ His gaze lingered, like he hoped Artur might say more.

Artur huffed softly through his nose. "If you’re talking about me, I don’t carry worlds. Maybe just a few rusty tools and an old grudge against cold mornings."

Billy leaned in, resting his shoulder lightly against Artur’s. "Still worth sticking around for."

The tree above them whispered in the breeze, its branches creaking gently like an old storyteller settling in for one more tale. Around them, time stretched and softened.

The village didn’t demand anything. The sky slowly deepened into the gentler shades of late afternoon.

Billy sighed, quiet and full. "Let’s not go home just yet."

Artur didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his head fall gently against Billy’s, his voice low and steady. "I’m not ready to, either."

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