Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 78: Too Mad to Love You Less, My Annoyed boyfriend

Chapter 78: Too Mad to Love You Less, My Annoyed boyfriend

The sun was climbing higher now, casting longer shadows between the rows of tilled soil.

The scent of earth hung thick in the air, mingling with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of village life.

Billy wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing a bit of dirt across his temple without noticing.

He stood for a moment, hands on his hips, catching his breath.

Behind them, footsteps crunched over dried grass and soft soil.

"Take a break, boys," came Mr. Dand’s voice, roughened with age but still carrying that steady warmth.

Billy turned, catching the sight of him walking toward them with two clay cups and a flask tucked under his arm.

His broad smile widened as he handed one cup to Artur, then to Billy, the flask following with a nod. "Fresh from Tomas’ place. Chilled just enough."

Artur accepted his with a small grunt of thanks, already brushing the dirt off a flat stone so they could sit. Billy cradled his cup carefully, peering into the dark, cool liquid.

"What is it?" he asked, sniffing.

"Fermented plum and sugarcane," Mr. Dand replied, settling down beside them. "Not strong, just enough to wake your bones up again."

Billy chuckled and took the cup gratefully. The clay felt like heaven against his palm. "If this saves me from goat duty, I’ll take two."

Mr. Dand laughed. "You think I wouldn’t still assign you goat duty?"

Billy gasped, pretending to be wounded. "Betrayal."

He took a cautious sip and blinked. "That’s... actually really good."

"Told you," Mr. Dand said, stretching his legs out with a low groan. "You learn to love simple things around here."

Artur leaned back on his palms, eyes half-lidded against the glare of the sky. "He’s adjusting fast."

Billy looked sideways at him, lips curling. "So fast I might outrun you."

Artur snorted. "In your dreams."

Mr. Dand chuckled, tipping his cup. "I like seeing this—people laughing after work. That’s how you know the day was worth it."

Billy twirled the cup in his hands, gaze drifting out to the fields. "It does feel nice. The silence. The breeze. The dirt under your nails. I never thought I’d say that."

"Watch it," Artur said, nudging him with his shoulder. "That almost sounded like a compliment to farm life."

Billy raised his cup dramatically. "To the dirt under our nails, then."

They all laughed, a soft sound that rose and settled like dust in the light.

Mr. Dand watched them for a while, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It’s good to have company. Makes the land feel less empty."

Billy glanced toward him, the sincerity in his voice sinking deeper than expected. "Glad I could be part of that."

Artur said nothing, but the way his gaze lingered on Billy—quiet, steady—said plenty.

The breeze was soft, brushing against their skin as the rustling of leaves filled the stillness.

Afternoon shadows stretched across the ground beneath the tree where Artur and Billy sat, heads tilted back, both letting the calm seep in.

Mr. Dand stood, brushing off his trousers and stretching his back with a soft groan.

"Almost forgot," he muttered, reaching for a small cloth bag leaning against the tree trunk. "I’ve got to take this to old Harris."

Billy smirked, already sensing what was coming.

Artur sat up slowly, narrowing his eyes. "You’re not serious."

Mr. Dand raised a brow. "What?"

"You’re going to Harris now?"

Mr. Dand gave a knowing chuckle. "Just a few herbs and a message. Won’t take long."

"Last time," Artur said, jabbing a thumb toward Billy, "we went to that shop together. He started telling a story about his neighbor’s cat and ended up in the middle of his cousin’s wedding speech. Twenty-five minutes. No breath."

Billy laughed. "He offered me cookies, though. Kind of worth it."

"They were dry!" Artur shot back.

"I thought they were sweet," Billy shrugged, teasing.

Mr. Dand chuckled as he tied the bag’s flap. "He means well. But yes, the man talks like the clock’s chasing him."

Artur raised both palms. "Please don’t ask me to go again."

"I didn’t," Mr. Dand said with a crooked smile. "I’m going myself."

"You sure?" Billy asked, sitting up straighter. "It’s not heavy?"

"Not at all," he said. "Besides, if I leave it for tomorrow, he’ll forget I promised it.

Then I’ll hear about it for a week.Stay. Enjoy the air. I’ve survived Harris before. I can do it again."

Billy grinned. "Tell him I said hi—and to save me some of those cookies."

Mr. Dand gave them both a wave as he stepped back onto the dirt path. "If he remembers. And if they aren’t rocks again."

Artur sighed and leaned back on his elbows, eyes squinting toward the light. "I hope he forgets to bring them this time."

Billy just chuckled, resting beside him, their shoulders nearly brushing.

As Mr. Dand headed down the narrow path toward the village, Billy and Artur exchanged a look.

"We should start writing down the stories Harris tells," Billy said, settling back against the tree.

Artur sighed. "We’d need five books. And he’s only just getting started."

They both burst into quiet laughter, the kind that lingered even as they leaned against each other, letting the drowsy afternoon cradle them.

They stayed in the patchy shade, the hum of distant voices and chirping birds wrapping around them like a lazy lullaby.

Artur had his eyes closed, the breeze brushing over his face, while Billy sat with his legs pulled close, picking at dry grass, glancing sideways now and then.

"You know," Billy started, a mischievous note in his voice, "you’re a little too dramatic about dry cookies. It’s just food, not a betrayal."

Artur cracked one eye open. "I was traumatized."

Billy grinned. "You exaggerate everything. Honestly, I’m starting to think you secretly like Harris’s stories."

Artur sat up abruptly, brows furrowed. "I do not."

"You do," Billy teased, nudging him lightly with his shoulder. "You pretend to hate it, but the moment he starts talking, you sit there all polite and nod along like you’re at a royal tea party."

"I’m being respectful," Artur said stiffly.

Billy smirked. "Oh sure, Your Grace."

Artur shot him a sharp look, then stood, brushing off his pants with more force than necessary. "You’re annoying."

The breeze had stilled. Even the birds quieted, as if sensing the shift.

Then Billy nudged him.

Nothing.

He nudged again—harder.

Artur cracked one eye open. "What?"

Billy smirked. "Just checking if you’re still alive. You looked like a corpse in the sun."

Artur groaned and turned his head away. "Very funny."

Billy leaned closer, voice teasing. "Should I tickled you again? Maybe you’ll start snoring."

Artur rolled away with an annoyed grunt. "I’m trying to rest, Billy. Just—stop."

Billy tilted his head, still grinning, but now leaning on one elbow. "Hey. It’s not my fault you’re boring when you’re sleepy."

Artur shot him a glare, sharp and sudden. "And it’s not my fault you never shut up when someone’s clearly tired."

The grin faltered.

Billy blinked, surprised. "Woah. Okay, sorry."

But Artur was already sitting up, dusting off his hands, avoiding eye contact.

Billy watched him, guilt slowly washing over his face. "I was joking. I didn’t mean to annoy you."

"You always do that," Artur muttered, turning his back. "Push and tease until it’s not funny anymore."

The smile on Billy’s face faltered. He stood, reaching out. "Artur—hey, I was just playing around."

No answer. Artur crossed his arms, staring ahead.

Billy leaned closer, bumping his shoulder lightly. "Come on, don’t be mad..."

Artur didn’t respond, arms folded, gaze focused on the tree trunk like it had offended him personally.

"Okay, so I was being a brat," Billy admitted, poking lightly at Artur’s side. "Just a little one."

Billy hesitated, his hand halfway to Artur’s arm. He dropped it before making contact, suddenly unsure if teasing was still welcome.

Artur shifted away. "Not now." Artur’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. The silence wasn’t cold—it was heavy, and it pressed against Billy’s ribcage like a weight he hadn’t expected to carry.

Billy sighed and muttered, "I said sorry," more to himself than to Artur, then added after a beat, "You’re cute when you’re mad though."

That earned him a sharper look. "Stop trying to charm your way out."

Billy raised both hands dramatically. "Okay, okay! No more poking. No more jokes. I’ll sit here like a silent monk. Promise."

Artur didn’t reply.

Billy inched closer. "You can punish me later."

Still silence.

Billy frowned. "You’re not gonna stay mad at me forever, are you?"

Artur picked up a blade of grass, twisting it between his fingers. "Watch me."

That made Billy laugh, though he tried to stifle it. "Fine. I’ll just sit here. Sad. Alone. While you—my own boyfriend—turns into a dramatic tree spirit."

Artur turned to him slowly, lips twitching despite himself.

Billy caught the flicker of a smile trying to break through. "There it is," he said softly. "I saw that. You’re not that mad."

Artur looked away, fighting it, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

Billy leaned his head on Artur’s shoulder, dramatically heavy. "I’ll wait here until you forgive me. Even if it takes days. Weeks. I’ll rot under this tree."

"Then I’ll leave you here to rot," Artur muttered, but his tone was lighter now.

Billy let out a breath of relief, eyes closed. "You love me too much to do that."

Artur didn’t answer—but he didn’t push him away either.

The wind shifted again, soft and warm, ruffling their hair as the tension quietly melted into the earth beneath them.

Artur exhale, brushing the grass from his trousers with stiff hands.

He didn’t look at Billy as he walked back toward the house, his silence louder than any scolding.

Billy got up too, trailing behind like a scolded puppy. "Artur..." he called softly, but his voice fell flat against the quiet.

Inside, the room was dim, curtains drawn halfway against the early afternoon sun.

Artur moved to the corner to take off his sandals, jaw tight. Billy stepped in after him, hesitating. Then, like instinct, he reached to touch Artur’s arm.

"Don’t you dare," Artur snapped—but there was no venom, only something cracked beneath it.

Billy’s hand froze mid-air. "Okay. Hands to myself," he said quickly, biting back a sheepish grin. "Noted."

Artur didn’t respond, simply turned away and busied himself with the clutter on the low shelf. Billy shifted his weight awkwardly, watching him for a beat.

"You know..." Billy started, voice more tentative this time, "I really didn’t mean to—"

But right then, a sudden growl interrupted him.

Artur’s stomach.

Billy blinked.

Another growl. Longer. Louder.

Artur froze.

Billy’s lips twitched.

"Was that... thunder?" he asked innocently.

Artur didn’t answer.

Billy took a step closer, barely holding back the grin stretching across his face. "Nope. Definitely you."

Artur turned slowly, glaring—but the effect was lost with the faint flush creeping into his cheeks.

"Oh no," Billy said, smirking now. "The mighty Artur... betrayed by his own stomach."

"Shut up," Artur muttered, but he looked away too quickly to hide the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I haven’t eaten since morning, still avoiding eye contact.

Billy chuckled, soft and bright. "So you’re grumpy and starving. That’s dangerous."

Artur turned slightly, narrowing his eyes. "You’re enjoying this."

"Just a little," Billy admitted, smiling. "But lucky for you, I happen to be an expert in forgiveness meals."he stepped in, carefully now, lips quirking. "I guess I know how to make it up to you."

Artur raised an eyebrow. "Forgiveness meals?"

"Yep. Meals that magically fix moods and possibly stop people from murdering their annoying boyfriends."

Artur huffed but the edge in his expression was already softening. "You better not mess it up."

"I never mess up food," Billy said, stepping past him toward the little kitchen area. "Only jokes. Apparently."

Artur’s lips twitched, almost despite himself. "Don’t burn the place down."

Billy turned, already reaching for the vegetables. "No promises. But if I do, I’ll blame it on the wind."

Artur finally cracked a reluctant smile before sitting down at the table, arms crossed, watching Billy move around the kitchen like someone who’d been there a hundred times.

Maybe it was the hunger. Maybe it was the way Billy kept glancing at him with that hopeful, teasing glint.

But Artur was already halfway to forgiving him.

Artur sat down beside him, arms still crossed, brows still furrowed like he hadn’t fully let go of the grudge. He didn’t say anything, just watched.

Billy glanced at him from the corner of his eye and let a soft smile tug at the edge of his lips before turning back to the small cutting board.

He began slicing tomatoes—steady hands, relaxed shoulders—like he was trying to win back every ounce of trust through the rhythm of his knife.

The room was quiet, filled only with the soft thud of blade against wood, the smell of warming oil and the faint chirp of birds outside the window.

Then... it came.

A flicker.

Not sound. Not color. A feeling—heavy, familiar, distant.

His hand paused mid-slice. His breath hitched just slightly.

He didn’t know what it was, only that it felt like something lost brushing past his skin. Something he should know. Something he once held close.

The knife slipped.

He barely felt the sting before the blood came.

A sharp line of red stretched across his finger, and a single drop clung to the tip before falling onto the tomato.

"Billy!"

Artur jerked up, the chair scraping roughly behind him.

He rushed to the counter and slapped the cutting board aside.

"What were you thinking? Are you blind?" he snapped, grabbing Billy’s hand roughly to inspect it. "You weren’t even paying attention—!"

But Billy didn’t flinch.

He stared at Artur, eyes soft. Not at his wound. Not at the scolding. Just... at him.

At how Artur’s eyes scanned the cut like it was something worse.

At how his fingers trembled slightly as he reached for a cloth. At how his voice cracked, just a little.

"You’re bleeding and you’re smiling?" Artur barked, dabbing at the cut with a kitchen cloth. "What is wrong with you?"

Billy blinked slowly, still lost in that feeling—half memory, half warmth. "You look cute when you’re worried."

Artur’s jaw tightened. "Don’t joke. You scared me."

"I know. Sorry." Billy’s voice dipped low. Genuine. Almost apologetic.

Artur exhaled sharply and wrapped the cloth gently around Billy’s finger. "Just... sit down. I’ll finish this."

But Billy didn’t move. "No, it’s okay. I’m fine."

"You’re bleeding."

"It’s just a little cut."

Artur scowled but didn’t argue again. He stepped back reluctantly, eyes watching every move Billy made as he resumed the cooking, this time slower. More careful.

They didn’t speak for a while.

Then, when the oil sizzled and the smell of garlic filled the room, Artur spoke again, this time quieter. "You spaced out."

Billy kept his eyes on the pan. "Did I?"

"Yeah." A pause. "What was it?"

Billy stirred the onions gently. "Nothing. Just tired, I guess."

Artur didn’t press, but Billy could feel his gaze linger.

Another pause, longer this time. Then Artur rose to his feet and moved toward the table.

"Let me know if you feel dizzy or something," he said, sitting back down but no longer stiff. "You don’t look tired. You look... off."

Billy gave a lopsided smile. "Maybe I just miss being forgiven."

Artur sighed, arms dropping to his sides.

"You’re lucky I’m hungry," he muttered.

Billy chuckled softly, but the ache in his chest hadn’t faded. Whatever that flicker of memory was—it hadn’t stayed. It never stayed.

And he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

Not yet.