Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 82: Ours to Keep

Chapter 82: Ours to Keep

The light came slowly, golden and soft as it slipped through the wooden slats of the window.

Outside, the breeze stirred the tall grass, birdsong filtering in like a quiet melody.

Inside the room, everything was still.

Billy stirred first, blinking against the hush of morning.

The blanket had slipped low on his waist, and the sun had already touched Artur’s shoulder beside him.

He turned his head, watching the rise and fall of Artur’s chest.

His features, usually guarded, looked gentler in sleep—softer around the mouth, lashes resting against his skin. Billy didn’t move. Not yet. He just stayed there, breathing it in.

After a moment, Artur shifted faintly, as if sensing the weight of Billy’s gaze. His brows twitched, then his eyes cracked open.

"Hey," Billy said, his smile easing across his lips as he watched Artur stir.

Artur blinked slowly, voice gravelly from sleep. "What time is it?"

"Still early."

Artur made a soft noise and rolled onto his side, one arm lazily draping across Billy’s middle. His hand settled there, warm and familiar.

Billy rested his own over it. "Sleep okay?"

"Yeah," Artur murmured. "You?"

"Best I’ve had in a while." Billy nudged closer, their hands still loosely linked.

For a few moments, they lay in that quiet stillness, the kind that only morning could offer—where the world hadn’t rushed in yet, and nothing demanded their attention.

"I don’t want to get up," Billy said softly.

"Then don’t," Artur replied, eyes still half-shut.

Billy chuckled. "That’s dangerous advice. I might never move."

Artur cracked a small grin. "Wouldn’t be the worst thing."

Billy leaned in and brushed his nose against Artur’s. "We’d starve."

Artur pretended to think about it. "Eventually."

They both laughed under their breath, the sound low and private.

A knock on the doorframe startled them slightly. It wasn’t sharp—just a single, polite rap.

"I’ve got hot bread and tea if you two are done whisperin’ like schoolboys in there," came Mr. Dand’s voice, drier than the dust trail.

Billy flushed a little, glancing at Artur, who smirked but didn’t move.

"Coming!" Billy called, voice cracking slightly.

Mr. Dand muttered something unintelligible but not unkind as his footsteps faded back toward the kitchen.

Billy buried his face in Artur’s shoulder. "We’re never living that down."

Artur’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. "Probably not."

Eventually, they pulled themselves up. Billy dressed first, grabbing one of the older shirts Artur had lent him when he first arrived, now worn soft at the seams.

Artur watched him button it halfway before tugging him close to fix the collar with quiet precision.

Billy leaned into the touch.

The morning unfolded slowly after that. They joined Mr. Dand at the table, where a small breakfast waited—fresh tea, still steaming, and a few thick slices of bread that were crusty on the outside and soft inside.

The silence wasn’t awkward anymore. It was comfortable, like something earned.

Mr. Dand didn’t say much, but his eyes lingered on Billy longer than usual.

He passed him the butter without a word. It felt... like something had shifted. Not quite approval, maybe, but understanding.

After breakfast, the three of them stepped outside together.

The sky stretched clear and blue, the sun warm without being harsh.

Birds dipped between fence posts, and the earth smelled of grass and soil and something sweet blooming nearby.

Artur reached for Billy’s hand casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Billy looked at him, and for once, didn’t overthink it.

It was just another morning.

And it was theirs.

The soil was already warm beneath their boots as they reached the far plot beyond the fence—where the rows of young shoots shimmered faintly under the morning sun.

The land stretched quiet and open, no wind today, just still air thick with promise.

Billy rolled his sleeves, eyes sweeping across the field. "Looks bigger today."

Artur tossed him a small hoe. "It always looks bigger when we’re behind schedule."

Billy caught it clumsily. "Don’t say that. I was trying to be optimistic."

Artur smirked as he pulled on his gloves. "Then I’ll say this—at least we’re not fixing the southern fence again. That thing hates us."

They dropped into rhythm quickly. Artur moved with practiced ease, his shoulders steady as he worked one row ahead. Billy followed behind, slower, but trying.

After a few quiet minutes, Billy straightened, wiping his brow with his sleeve.

"You always this quiet out here?"

Artur didn’t pause his motion. "Not always."

Billy tilted his head. "So today’s a quiet day?"

Artur glanced over, meeting his eyes briefly. "No. Today’s a peaceful one."

Billy watched him a moment longer, then smiled and returned to his work.

They carried on like that for a while—tools scraping softly against earth, birds whistling in the distance, the occasional hum of bees flitting near wildflowers lining the fence.

"Artur?" Billy said after a long stretch of silence.

"Mm?"

"Do you ever wonder if things would’ve been different if I hadn’t washed up here?"

Artur didn’t answer right away. He crouched to uproot a stubborn weed, his hand tightening slightly on the handle.

"Sometimes," he said at last, not looking up.

Billy hesitated, fingers idly tracing the edge of a leaf. "And? Is that a bad thing?"

Now Artur looked at him. The sun caught his face, and for once, he didn’t shield it. "It’s not bad," he said, quiet. "But it scares me. How fast you became part of everything."

Billy stepped closer, leaning his weight on the hoe. "That’s not something you should be afraid of."

"I know," Artur said. "But I am. Because if you leave... this place’ll feel like it’s missing its breath."

Billy’s throat tightened.

He stepped closer, toe to toe now. "Then you’ll just have to follow me wherever I go," he said, soft but firm. "Because I’m not starting anything in this life if you’re not in it."

Artur looked down. "I’m not good with words like you."

"You don’t need to be. You already speak in ways no one else does."

Artur’s mouth twitched faintly, like a smile was trying to break through but didn’t want to be obvious.

"Then let me say this—if staying means working this land beside you, waking up next to you, being seen the way you see me... then that’s the kind of life I can be proud of."

Billy didn’t say anything. He just pulled Artur into a sudden, fierce hug, the kind where neither of them moved for a long moment.

Artur wrapped his arms around him, chin resting on Billy’s shoulder.

They didn’t kiss then. They didn’t need to.

The silence around them held it all.

And when they finally pulled apart, Billy grinned. "You’re gonna be mad when I keep messing up the rows, huh?"

Artur nodded solemnly. "Deeply."

Billy laughed and shoved his shoulder lightly. "You love it."

Artur didn’t deny it.

They went back to work, side by side, laughter and warmth between them like a thread pulling the morning forward.

As they worked, Billy caught himself glancing back toward the house too often, half-expecting to see a different version of himself walking out the door.

The sun was climbing steadily, but the breeze over the fields was soft, enough to cool the sweat lining their backs.

With their sleeves rolled and gloves dirt-stained, Billy and Artur moved with surprising speed down the last two rows. The soil, well-turned from previous days, cooperated.

Even Billy, who had once struggled to tell weed from seedling, was sharp-eyed now.

"Artur straightened, hands on his hips. ’Almost done,’ he said, glancing over at Billy with the hint of a satisfied smile.

Billy grinned. "You sound surprised."

"I am. Usually, you’re still cursing the roots by now."

Billy scoffed and tossed a small clump of dirt in Artur’s direction. "I’m evolving."

"You’re still slow."

"But with flair."

Artur shook his head, unable to hide the smirk. Just then, the sound of footsteps on the path behind them drew their attention.

Mr. Dand approached, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable—but his eyes scanned the plot with silent approval. He gave a single, appreciative nod.

"Well," he said, "either the sun worked faster today or you two finally figured out how to cooperate."

Billy lifted a brow. "I vote for option two."

Mr. Dand looked over the rows. "Not bad. Not bad at all. In fact—" he squatted to inspect a healthy row of sprouting greens, running a calloused hand gently over the leaves, "—you’re ahead of where I thought you’d be."

He stood and dusted off his palms. "The fields are ready. Not much else to do now but wait."

Artur leaned on his tool. "Harvest season’s almost here."

"Most folks are already slowing down," Mr. Dand said, glancing toward the distant rooftops. "Resting up while they can. You should do the same."

He gave them both a look, not stern, not soft—just honest. "You’ve earned it."

With that, he turned and made his way back toward the house.

Billy looked at Artur. "Did he just compliment us without insulting us first?"

Artur let out a short laugh. "I think we broke him."

They packed up slowly, the last of the morning heat curling around their shoulders.

As they made their way down toward the village center, their boots scuffed softly against the gravel path.

And there, near the small village eatery nestled beside the old market square, someone waved at them with theatrical exaggeration.

"Oi! Look what the wind dragged out of the mud!" came the voice—bright, loud, and utterly familiar.

Billy blinked. "Is that...?"

"Jay," Artur muttered, already rubbing his forehead.

Jay was lounging like he owned the place, leaning against the low wooden fence with a grin that threatened trouble.

His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and a wide straw hat hung lazily down his back.

He always appeared like he’d just wandered in from a breeze—one that carried city noise and perfume but somehow still smelled like wildflower soap.

"You two look disgustingly hardworking," Jay teased as they approached. "I’m almost offended."

"Then leave," Artur said dryly.

Jay only laughed, straightening. "But then I wouldn’t get to do this—" and before Artur could move, Jay stepped forward and threw an arm around Billy’s shoulders, tugging him in close.

Billy startled, but Jay was already grinning devilishly at Artur over Billy’s head.

"Mm, sweat and sunshine. You’re practically glowing, Billy."

Artur’s eyes narrowed. "Jay."

"What?" Jay asked innocently, still clinging. "I’m just admiring your hard work."

Billy raised both brows and looked between them. "Should I be worried?"

"Yes," Artur deadpanned.

Jay finally let go, laughing as he threw himself into a seat at one of the shaded tables outside the eatery. "Come on, sit. Lunch’s on you he nod towards Artur."

Artur sat down slowly, clearly wary. Billy dropped beside him, amused.

"You always visit this often?" Billy asked.

Jay poured water from the jug on the table. "Every week. Sometimes twice. The city’s noisy, the village’s prettier. And I have such entertaining company here."

Artur muttered, "Flattering yourself again?"

Jay winked. "Someone has to."

Lunch arrived—steamed rice, grilled vegetables, and a bowl of fresh cucumber soup.

The three of them ate together under the woven shade, the buzz of summer insects a lazy backdrop.

Jay leaned back in his chair halfway through the meal. "So. Lovebirds," he said casually, picking at a piece of grilled carrot. "You both look... suspiciously happy."

Artur raised a brow. "What does that even mean?"

Jay grinned. "Means I approve. Mostly. Still gonna annoy the hell out of you, though."

Billy smirked. "We expected nothing less."

The afternoon lingered, full of small laughter, casual teasing, and a gentle sense of peace neither of them took for granted.

Around them, the village moved slowly, content to let the season pass in its own time.

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