Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 77: The Shape of Love

Chapter 77: The Shape of Love

The night had settled into a heavy, comforting silence.

Outside, the breeze whispered through the trees, rustling leaves like lullabies.

Inside, the room was still—just the soft rise and fall of two bodies tangled in warmth and sleep.

Artur had one arm lazily draped over Billy, their legs overlapping beneath the sheet, their breaths syncing in a quiet rhythm only lovers shared.

But the peace didn’t last.

Billy stirred first.

His body tensed, breath caught in his throat. A flash of something—shouts, water, bright lights, voices calling a name but distorted, like through thick glass.

His brow knit, a quiet whimper escaping as his hand clenched the sheet.

Then—he jolted upright, chest rising too fast.

Moonlight poured in through the window, casting a silver glow across his bare shoulders.

He sat there for a moment, frozen, heart pounding like it was trying to break out of his ribs.

Though the memory was fading, a trace of it still clung to his nerves—unspoken, but felt in the tightness of his breath.

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling slightly.

Artur stirred beside him, not fully waking—but sensing the absence.

With a soft breath, he shifted instinctively and reached out in his sleep.

His hand found Billy’s hip, then his waist, and without opening his eyes, he gently tugged him back down into the bed.

Billy hesitated—but only for a second.

He eased down beside him, turning so they faced each other. Artur’s arm slipped around him again, pulling him close until their chests met and their legs folded back together.

The kind of embrace that said stay. That said I’ve got you—without needing to ask why.

Artur’s breath tickled his hair as he mumbled in a haze, "You’re cold."

Billy let out a quiet sigh. "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. Not completely.

His instinct was to pull away, to sit alone with the storm still churning inside him—but the warmth of Artur’s arm, that wordless pull, chipped at the wall he didn’t know he’d built.

Still, he didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want to explain something he barely understood himself.

So he tucked his face into Artur’s neck instead, inhaling the scent of soap and skin and safety.

And Artur, still half-asleep, held him tighter—one hand moving in slow circles over Billy’s back, as if his body knew what Billy needed even if his mind didn’t.

The nightmare still lingered at the edge of his thoughts, but wrapped in that embrace, it began to dissolve—like fog under the morning sun.

Billy didn’t move for a long time. He just lay there, quietly breathing against Artur’s neck, grounding himself in the steady beat of the man’s heart.

It felt real—more real than anything that haunted his dreams.

The warmth, the comfort, the slow drag of fingertips down his spine—it anchored him.

Artur murmured something again, sleep-drenched and unintelligible, but it came with a kiss, lazy and half-conscious, against Billy’s temple.

Billy smiled faintly, eyes still open in the dark, eyes that shimmered a little—but no tears fell.

Eventually, his muscles relaxed.

His fingers, once curled tight with tension, now rested gently against Artur’s chest.

And though the ache of the dream hadn’t left entirely, it was muffled now. Muted by presence. By warmth. By love he hadn’t said out loud yet, but was beginning to feel in the silent ways—like how Artur held him through the dark without asking why.

Outside, the wind shifted. A slow breeze carried the scent of damp soil and distant blossoms. The kind of quiet that could cradle two people until morning.

And morning did come—soft and golden.

The first rays filtered through the curtain, painting the room in a warm wash of light. Dust danced gently in the air.

Somewhere outside, a rooster crowed, followed by the low bleat of a sheep calling into the new day.

Billy blinked slowly awake.

Still tangled in Artur’s arms, he felt the weight of his body against him, the warmth still lingering between them.

Artur’s hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, his mouth slightly parted as he slept. Peaceful. So utterly at ease.

Billy didn’t move. Not yet.

He just watched him, that small, fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips—like he was trying to memorize this moment before the day swept it away.

Billy eventually shifted just enough to stretch his arms, the motion slow and quiet. He didn’t want to wake Artur—at least not yet.

But the rustle of the blanket and the slight dip in the mattress were enough to stir him.

Artur made a low, half-awake sound, brow furrowing. "Mmm... what time is it?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse with sleep.

Billy glanced at the sunlight breaking through the curtains. "Late," he said with a small chuckle. "We might’ve slept through half the morning."

Artur groaned and buried his face against Billy’s shoulder. "Don’t tell me that."

"I just did," Billy said teasingly, nudging him. "We probably missed breakfast. And Dand’s probably halfway done with the day."

"Let him. We’re not on a schedule," Artur replied, his voice muffled in Billy’s skin.

They lay like that a bit longer, the air warm with the scent of sleep and the soft hush of the morning.

Billy ran a hand lazily through Artur’s messy hair, combing it back off his forehead.

"Your hair looks wild," Billy said with a grin.

Artur cracked one eye open. "So does yours."

Billy leaned closer, brushing his nose gently against Artur’s. "Mine always does."

Artur let out a lazy laugh, then finally rolled onto his back and stretched with a yawn. "Okay, okay. I’m getting up."

Billy leaned on one elbow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "We should probably wash up. You know—join the world."

"Or we could stay here another hour," Artur suggested with a hopeful look.

Billy leaned in, kissed him lightly, and whispered, "Tempting... but no."

Artur sighed dramatically and sat up, running a hand through his tangled hair. "Fine, but you better stick close. I’ll need moral support."

"You mean someone to do all the work while you pretend to help?" Billy teased, slipping out of bed and stretching with a light groan.

Artur grinned. "Exactly."

Together, they began getting ready for the day, their movements easy and playful, occasionally bumping shoulders or stealing a glance.

Outside, the sounds of village life stirred—footsteps, distant chatter, a cart rolling by.

But inside their little space, the morning still felt soft, unhurried... full of quiet laughter and the easy rhythm of two people who were slowly learning the shape of each other’s hearts.

The scent of fresh earth and damp morning clung to the breeze when Billy and Artur finally stepped out.

The sun had risen high enough to cast long shadows across the yard, and the hum of quiet labor came from somewhere nearby.

They followed the sound around the side of the house—Artur still tugging down his shirt and yawning—until they saw Mr. Dand, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a small spade in one hand as he crouched near a patch of new saplings.

The old man was muttering to himself, checking the soil near their roots like a man inspecting treasure.

Billy smiled, hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s been at it for a while, hasn’t he?"

Artur grunted softly. "Told you we overslept."

Mr. Dand didn’t look up, but his voice carried easily. "Took your sweet time waking up, huh?"

Billy stepped forward sheepishly. "We were conserving energy."

Mr. Dand chuckled. "You’ll need it. This plot’s been a bit stubborn."

Artur bent down beside him, brushing fingers through the dirt with a practiced touch. "Too dry?"

"Too mixed," Dand said, handing over the spade. "Tomas helped me till it last week, but I think we rushed it. Might need to blend in more compost."

Billy crouched nearby, listening but mostly watching the two.

There was something grounding in the way Artur and Mr. Dand worked together—familiar, wordless exchanges, like they were humming the same tune.

"You want me to get the compost?" Billy offered, rising quickly.

"By the back fence," Dand said without turning. "Half-full barrel."

Billy headed off, wiping his hands down his thighs. Artur watched him go, then nudged his father lightly with his elbow.

"He’s trying hard," he said quietly.

Mr. Dand hummed yeah. "I see that."

When Billy returned with the barrel—half dragging, half rolling it—Artur met him halfway, taking the other side.

They tipped the compost into a wheelbarrow, then started mixing it into the soil bit by bit. Billy’s face scrunched every now and then at the scent, but he didn’t complain.

"You sure this doesn’t ruin your city-boy image?" Artur teased.

Billy smirked, brushing a smear of dirt from his cheek. "Pretty sure it adds to my mysterious rustic charm."

You two bicker like an old married couple," Mr. Dand said, but his eyes lingered on them a moment longer—soft, approving, like he saw more than just teasing.

Artur blinked, caught off guard, but Billy only grinned and leaned closer.

The older man laughed and waved a hand. "Keep working like that, and I might just leave the whole plot to you boys."

They spent the next hour like that—turning soil, feeding roots, sharing quiet stories between the rustle of leaves and occasional shout from a neighbor passing by.

The sky deepened into a richer blue, and by midday, sweat shimmered at their brows and fingertips, their shirts sticking to their backs.

But Billy had never looked more at ease. Not just with the work—but with Artur, with the day, with this slow, grounding rhythm of being part of something.

They continued working, their fingers sunk deep into the rich earth. Mr. Dand moved at a gentle pace, occasionally resting with his hands on his hips, eyes scanning the soil like it held a story only he could read.

Artur took over the heavier tasks with ease, his sleeves rolled high, forearms streaked with dirt and sweat.

Billy, though a bit slower, kept up with quiet determination, collecting the scattered weeds and patting down freshly turned soil.

Billy leaned on his spade with a sigh, brushing his damp hair back. "How does your shirt still look so clean?" he asked Artur.

Artur didn’t look up, smirking as he drove the shovel into the ground. "It’s not clean. It’s just darker where the sweat dried."

Billy leaned on the spade and murmured, "This is the most I’ve ever sweated without being on a treadmill."

Artur huffed a short laugh, not lifting his head. "Nature’s gym. No membership required."

"And no air conditioning," Billy added, wiping his forehead dramatically with his sleeve.

From behind a small tree, Mr. Dand called out, "Complain again, and I’ll assign you to goat duty."

Billy stood straight, clutching his imaginary pearls. "Now that’s just cruel. "You wouldn’t."

"I would," Dand called, grinning. "Let’s see if your charm works on stubborn goats too."

Artur chuckled and handed him a small basket.Less talking. More mulching. "Better stick to this if you want to avoid the goats."

Billy took it, grinning, and bent to collect trimmed leaves and discarded roots.

The breeze stirred around them, soft and welcome, rustling through the trees.

Their silence was filled with movement—the steady sound of metal hitting earth, the whisper of plants, the quiet rhythm of hands working close together.

Then, out of nowhere, Artur’s voice cut softly through the quiet.

"You’re handling this better than I expected."

Billy looked up, one eyebrow raised. "This?"

"The work. The mud. The sun."

Billy smirked, flicking a bit of dirt off his arm. "Maybe I’m just full of surprises."

Artur watched him for a beat, the edge of a smile playing at his lips. "Yeah... maybe you are."

Billy looked down at the soil smudged into his palms. Then he looked up, straight into Artur’s eyes.

"I don’t mind where I am," he said softly, "so long as it’s with the right person."

Artur stared at him for a heartbeat longer, something flickering behind his gaze.

But he didn’t speak. Instead, he turned back to the soil and continued digging—his movements just a little slower, more deliberate.

Billy turned back to the soil, his smile lingering.

The warmth of the sun couldn’t match the quiet flicker of something unspoken between them.

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