Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 84: Breathe With Me

Chapter 84: Breathe With Me

The light had changed.

Not just the way it slipped through the trees or kissed the fields with lavender dusk—but the kind of light that softened people, turned silence into comfort, and made a simple breath feel like belonging.

The door clicked shut behind them.

For a moment, they just stood in the quiet. The house felt different now—not because anything had changed, but because they had.

The air between them held something unspoken, fragile and new, like the first bloom of something long-awaited.

Artur’s hand was still in Billy’s. He didn’t let go.

Billy turned slightly, eyes meeting his. "Can I... stay here tonight?"

The question wasn’t really about the room.

Artur’s fingers tightened just a little. "You already are."

They moved slowly, wordlessly, through the soft light of the hallway.

The wooden floor creaked under their steps, but neither flinched from the sound. Everything felt magnified—every breath, every glance, every heartbeat.

Artur’s room was simple. A few books on the nightstand. Faded curtains stirred by the night breeze.A bed too big for one, just right for two.

He closed the door behind them but didn’t rush.

Billy stood by the window for a second, arms folded loosely as he looked out into the dark. "It’s quiet," he said softly.

Artur stepped behind him, close enough that their bodies didn’t touch, but his presence was unmistakable.

"It’s been quiet for a long time," he said. "You’re the first sound I didn’t want to stop hearing."

Billy turned around slowly. The moonlight washed gently over his face. "You say things like that and it gets hard to breathe."

"Then breathe with me."

And that’s when Artur leaned in—not suddenly, not boldly, just with the kind of certainty that had nothing to prove.

His lips met Billy’s again, but this kiss was deeper. Not heated. Just full. Full of quiet promises and unspoken confessions.

Billy’s hands found Artur’s shoulders, steadying himself.

Artur’s hands didn’t wander—they held him with reverence, fingertips grazing the small of Billy’s back like he was afraid to break the moment.

The kiss broke, and they rested forehead to forehead, breath mingling.

Billy whispered, "I’ve never felt this... safe. Not even when I knew who I was."

Artur didn’t answer. He just kissed him again—his temple this time, then his jaw, then the curve of his neck—each one slower than the last.

Artur’s fingers slipped beneath Billy’s shirt, not to undress him yet, but simply to feel. Skin to skin.

When they moved to the bed, it wasn’t a tumble—it was an unfolding.

Artur guided him gently to the bed, and they lay down together, the mattress shifting beneath them, the sheets whispering around their limbs.

Their bodies met in aching slowness, like writing a memory onto skin—deliberate, reverent, unhurried. Mouths mapped familiar skin, fingertips traced unspoken truths.

Every breath was shared. Every sigh answered.

Billy lay back, fingers still linked with Artur’s. He watched as Artur joined him, as if they were discovering something together.

Clothes came away not with urgency but care. A shirt pulled up slowly. A hand sliding under fabric to feel skin for the first time.

The way Billy’s chest rose and fell under Artur’s palm. The way Artur’s breath caught when Billy touched him, too.

When they finally undressed, it wasn’t rushed. There was a pause with every button, every fold of cloth. and Artur took a moment just to look at him—not with lust, but with awe.

"You’re Adorable," he murmured.

Billy flushed, eyes dropping—but he didn’t pull away.

They fit together—not in some perfect, choreographed way—but in how one body leaned into the other, how sighs filled the pauses, how skin warmed skin.

There was laughter, soft and hushed.

A quiet gasp when a thumb brushed over a heartbeat.

A trembling breath when lips found the hollow of a throat.

They didn’t rush. They learned each other like a language neither had spoken aloud before.

They moved like they were writing something into memory—not because they had to, but because it felt like the only honest thing to do.

When they finally settled—legs tangled, heads close, the bedsheet soft around them—Billy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Artur brushed a strand of hair back from his face.

Billy whispered, "If I ever forget everything again... will you remind me of this?"

Artur didn’t say yes.

He leaned in and kissed him again.

And in the hush that followed, their bodies warm and pressed close, Billy felt the kind of peace that didn’t ask to be understood.

Just held.

Billy woke to warmth—not of sunlight, but skin, steady breath, the hush of morning wrapped around a heartbeat, the quiet rhythm of someone still asleep beside him.

His eyes fluttered open slowly.

The room was dim with early morning light—the kind that dripped in through half-closed curtains, cool and pale. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out, answered by another.

The air smelled faintly of wood and cotton and something unmistakably human.

He shifted slightly, only to realize he couldn’t move far.

Artur’s arm was draped over his waist, strong and unmoving even in sleep. His forehead rested against the back of Billy’s neck, and with every breath, Billy could feel the soft exhale warming his skin.

They were tangled together under the sheets, bare and easy, as if they’d been doing this for years.

Billy smiled without meaning to.

He curled in closer, tucking himself back into the embrace, careful not to wake him.

His hand found Artur’s and laced their fingers again—just like they had done the night before. Only now, there was no hesitation.

No questions. Just the gentle hum of something that felt right.

He could feel the slow rise and fall of Artur’s chest behind him, the steady beat of his heart against his back.

Safe.

That word echoed again.

Billy closed his eyes, letting himself float in it a little longer.

A few minutes passed—or maybe more—and then he felt it: a subtle shift. Artur stirred, his arm tightening slightly.

Then, a sleepy mumble against his nape: "You awake?"

Billy let out a breath, smiled into the pillow. "Barely."

Artur made a soft sound—something between a hum and a chuckle. "Good. Means I get to keep holding you."

"You were going to stop?"

No. Just making sure I’m allowed to be this lucky.

Billy turned in his arms slowly, facing him now. Their legs tangled more deliberately.

Artur’s hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep—but his expression was softer than Billy had ever seen. Unguarded.

Billy reached up and brushed his knuckles along Artur’s jaw. "Permission granted."

They stayed like that a while—cuddled beneath the covers, the world outside still quiet, still distant. No rush, no task pulling them apart.

Billy’s nose nuzzled closer against Artur’s collarbone. "Is this your secret to surviving the early mornings?"

Artur’s lips twitched. "No. That would be strong coffee and my father shouting at the rooster."

Billy laughed softly.

As if summoned, a distant clatter came from outside—the sound of something metallic being dropped near the barn.

Billy glanced toward the window. "Mr. Dand?"

Artur nodded sleepily. "He leaves early. Always does. Probably halfway through his second chore by now."

"Think he knows I stayed?"

"He’s not blind." Artur’s fingers brushed over Billy’s bare shoulder, lazy and affectionate. "But he’s not the type to say anything unless it matters."

Billy looked down, then back at him. "And does it? Matter?"

Artur met his gaze without hesitation. "It does to me."

Billy chuckled softly "Guess we weren’t very subtle."

"No," Artur murmured, pressing his lips into Billy’s hair, "but you don’t hide something you’re not ashamed of."

They lay like that for a while longer. No rush. No need to fill the silence.

Billy shifted slightly, sliding his arm further under Artur’s back, hugging him closer. "You’re warm."

"Good," Artur said. "Because you’re not going anywhere."

Billy smiled, eyes closing again. "Not planning to."

Artur glanced over. "You look like you could fall back asleep."

"I could," Billy said with a small grin. "But then I’d miss this."

"This?"

"You. Morning you."

Artur rolled his eyes but the smile he gave in return was unmistakable. He reached back, gently pulling Billy forward until their foreheads touched again.

"I don’t mind mornings like this," Artur whispered.

Billy nodded. "Me neither."

And closed the space between them again, pressed his forehead against Artur’s, and let his eyes drift shut. They held each other tighter, no longer just in comfort, but in knowing.

The world could wait a little longer.

Artur sat up first, the covers falling away as he stretched with a quiet groan.

Billy watched him through half-lidded eyes, then sighed and rolled onto his back.

"You always this graceful getting up?" he muttered.

Artur smirked. "You’ve only seen me on good days."

Billy dragged himself upright and ran a hand through his hair, blinking against the pale morning. "Guess we’re making this one count, then."

They dressed without much talk—comfortable silence filled the room like muscle memory. Jeans, shirts, boots by the door. The ease between them hadn’t cracked overnight; if anything, it had settled deeper. Familiar. Solid.

By the time they stepped out onto the porch, the sun had risen a little higher, chasing off the last of the chill. The scent of fresh hay and distant smoke drifted on the breeze.

Artur scanned the yard. "Dad’s been up for hours."

Billy spotted fresh tracks in the dirt, leading toward the eastern plots. "Think he’s checking the water lines again?"

"Probably. Said something about the irrigation needing tightening."

Billy squinted. "We could take care of that."

Artur gave a short nod. "Let’s make ourselves useful."

They headed to the shed for tools—spanners, gloves, a wrench Artur muttered was always going missing. Then across the field, the grass damp underfoot.

The pipes ran along the fence line near the orchard, a section that had been stubborn since the last storm.

Artur crouched to inspect the fittings, while Billy held the toolbox open beside him. "These things always feel like a puzzle with missing pieces."

"That’s because Dad fixes them with leftover parts from everything else."

Billy chuckled, passing him the correct spanner. "Still holds together though."

"Barely."

The sun climbed higher while they worked, sleeves rolled up, hands stained with dirt and grease.

Billy adjusted a loosened valve while Artur tightened the next coupling. A few birds darted overhead, but neither of them looked up—they were locked into a rhythm now, moving without needing to fill the air with conversation.

When they finished, Artur stood and rolled his shoulder. "That should do it."

Billy wiped his palms on his jeans. "Not bad for a lazy morning."

"Who said it was lazy?"

"You, yesterday."

Artur tilted his head. "Maybe I changed my mind."

Billy grinned, nudging him lightly with his elbow. "You changing your mind more often lately?"

"Just when it comes to who I want to share quiet days with."

Billy looked down, trying not to smile too hard. "Smooth."

They walked back toward the house, dust trailing behind their boots. Mr. Dand wasn’t home yet, which meant more time—just theirs.

Inside, Billy flicked on the kettle while Artur grabbed the leftover bread and eggs from the pantry shelf.

Billy leaned on the counter, watching him. "Should I start writing all this down?"

Artur cracked an egg into the pan. "What for?"

"Feels like I’m building something I don’t want to forget."

Artur didn’t answer right away. Then he said, simply, "So don’t."

The kettle hissed. Billy poured the water. He didn’t stop smiling.

They ate by the window, sunlight slanting across the wooden table. Artur dipped a piece of bread into his eggs, quiet as always. Billy took slower bites, eyes lingering on the steam curling from his mug.

Halfway through breakfast, he nudged Artur’s foot under the table. "You always cook this well or am I getting the special treatment?"

Artur didn’t look up. "You’re the only one here who complains when I burn things."

Billy smiled. "Guess that makes me useful after all."

They finished the meal with no rush, plates clinking gently as they cleared the table.

Billy took over washing; Artur dried beside him, bumping shoulders once when Billy reached for the dish rack too quickly.

"You keep that up," Billy said, "I’ll think you’re flirting."

"I thought I already was."

Billy blinked, then laughed, caught off guard. "Okay. That one landed."

Artur grinned, not proud—just pleased.

After the last dish was set down, Billy leaned back on the counter, arms folded. "So. What next?"

Artur thought for a moment. "Dad mentioned the storage barn needs sorting. Half the seed crates are mislabeled."

Billy raised a brow. "And you waited until now to tell me?"

"You were in bed. I figured cuddling came first."

Billy’s face warmed, but he only nodded. "Fair enough. Let’s go save the barn."

They grabbed gloves again, a pencil, and some twine, then headed toward the old structure at the edge of the property.

The barn loomed with the kind of mess that had been ignored for too long—sacks slumped sideways, mismatched crates stacked with questionable logic, and a shovel sticking out of a broken haybale like an abandoned flag.

Billy took one look and groaned. "We need a plan."

Artur smirked. "We’ll make one."

They divided the space—Artur took the far end where heavier tools lay; Billy started with the seed crates.

He crouched low, squinting at labels half-faded and scrawled in handwriting that could’ve belonged to a ghost.

"You call this writing?" Billy called.

Artur didn’t look back. "No one else but my dad knows what it means."

Billy reached for a marker. "Then I’m making it readable for everyone else."

They worked through the morning, sorting, shifting, re-tying sacks. Dust clung to their arms, and bits of hay stuck to Billy’s hair. Artur noticed once and gently brushed it away, saying nothing.

By noon, the barn looked... less like a disaster.

Billy sat on an upturned crate and exhaled. "We deserve something for this."

Artur wiped sweat from his brow. "Cold lemonade?"

"Romantic walk through the orchard."

Artur gave him a long look. "You don’t even like walking."

Billy stretched his arms overhead, grinning. "Doesn’t mean I don’t like walking with you."

Artur offered a hand. Billy took it.

They stepped out into the daylight again, leaving the barn behind. The breeze had picked up, rustling through the orchard ahead, apples ripening in the sun. Billy leaned into Artur’s side as they walked.

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