Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 85: Tonight Is Still Ours

Chapter 85: Tonight Is Still Ours

Evening settled like a hush.

The door creaked softly as they stepped inside.

Artur reached for the light switch, filling the room with a warm glow. Billy kicked his boots off near the door and rubbed the back of his neck.

"He left early today," Billy said, glancing toward the empty chair by the kitchen. "Didn’t even touch breakfast."

Artur shrugged off his jacket, hung it up. "Probably one of his meetings."

"He didn’t say anything."

"He never does."

Billy moved toward the stove, peeking inside the covered pot. Still warm. He stirred it absentmindedly. "Feels weird. Him not being here."

Artur leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "He’ll come back. He always does."

Minutes passed.

Billy set the table. Two plates. Then, on second thought, three. The stew simmered low, and the room quieted—just the tick of the wall clock and the low boil.

The door finally creaked open.

Mr. Dand stepped in, shoulders heavy, jacket slung over one arm, boots dusty. He paused in the doorway, exhaled.

"Evening," he muttered.

Billy turned from the table. "We were starting to think you’d gone to the next village."

Mr. Dand made a vague sound—half grunt, half chuckle. "Might’ve been easier."

Artur took the jacket from him without a word. Mr. Dand sank into the nearest chair like the weight of the day had followed him home.

Billy sat across from him. "Where were you?"

"The elders called a meeting," Mr. Dand said, voice rough. "Planning for harvest."

Artur glanced over. "That early?"

"They want to do things different this year." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Less manpower. Not many young ones left around."

Billy leaned in slightly. "So what’s the plan?"

Mr. Dand looked up at him, eyes tired but sharp. "We split into smaller teams. Rotate. Cover more ground, less burnout. But it means more hours. More coordination."

"Sounds like a lot," Artur said.

"It is."

Billy frowned. "Can we help?"

Mr. Dand blinked, then huffed softly. "You asking to carry sacks or run a field?"

"I’m asking to be useful."

Something passed in Mr. Dand’s face—approval, maybe, though he didn’t name it. "You’ll be on the southern fields then. That soil needs prepping."

Billy nodded once, steady. "Alright."

Artur met Mr. Dand’s gaze. "What about me?"

"You’ll run the cart team. Like last year."

Artur made a quiet sound of acknowledgment.

Billy served the stew, setting bowls in front of them. Mr. Dand didn’t say thank you, but the look he gave was enough.

They ate in relative silence, the clink of spoons filling the space.

"You two," Mr. Dand said mid-meal, "you work well together."

Billy glanced at Artur, then back down at his bowl. "Thanks."

Mr. Dand grunted again, more to himself. "Just don’t let feelings get in the way of the field."

Billy raised a brow. "You saying we’re inefficient?"

"I’m saying harvest waits for no one." Mr. Dand’s eyes flicked between them, unreadable. "You’ll see."

Then he finished his stew, stood, and disappeared down the hall.

Billy let out a breath. "Was that... a warning or encouragement?"

Artur leaned back in his chair, half-smiling. "Both."

Billy stretched his legs out beneath the table, one foot brushing against Artur’s. "You gonna watch my back out there?"

"Always."

Their eyes held.

"I want to help tomorrow," Billy said. "Whatever needs doing."

Artur nodded once. "Alright."

They sat in silence again, but this one felt different—settled. Like something had found its place.

Billy tilted his head back. "Maybe I’ll ask the elders. See what they’re planning."

Artur hummed. "Could work. Just don’t tell them you undercook potatoes."

Billy elbowed him lightly. "That was once."

"Twice."

"Liar."

Their laughter faded into the quiet hum of the night. And for a long while, they said nothing—only sat close, sharing the kind of quiet that didn’t need filling.

Billy remained at the table, eyes lingering on the hallway Mr. Dand had vanished into.

Artur picked up the bowls, carried them to the sink without a word. The soft splash of water filled the silence. Billy didn’t move.

"That was the first time he’s said anything close to that," Billy murmured.

Artur didn’t look back. "He notices more than he says."

Billy’s fingers drummed quietly against the table. "He’s not wrong though. Harvest waits for no one."

Artur dried his hands. "You worried?"

"Not about the work."

Artur turned then, leaning back against the counter. The space between them felt tighter now, even in the open room.

Billy shifted in his chair. "He saw it, didn’t he?"

"Saw what?"

Billy looked up at him. "Us."

Artur’s jaw tensed. "Yeah. He did."

"And he didn’t tell me to leave."

"No," Artur said. "He didn’t."

Billy exhaled slow, let his head fall back a little. "I thought it would feel more complicated."

"Does it?"

Billy met his eyes. "Not with you sitting there."

Artur walked over, stopping behind him. His hands landed gently on Billy’s shoulders, thumbs brushing back and forth in a quiet rhythm. Billy closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

"He’ll adjust," Artur said.

Billy opened his eyes, looking down at the hands on him. "What about the rest of them?"

Artur’s hands stilled. "They’re not you. They don’t matter the same."

Billy turned slightly in the chair, enough to see him better. "You sound sure."

"I am."

That answer held no hesitation. No room for doubt.

Billy reached up, covering Artur’s hand with his own. "I’m not going anywhere."

Artur knelt beside the chair, gaze level now. "Even if this gets hard?"

Billy searched his face. "Especially then."

Their hands stayed laced, the rest of the kitchen dim and quiet around them.

Billy brushed a thumb over Artur’s knuckle. "You still gonna wake me up for field duty?"

Artur smirked. "Depends. You planning to sleep through the rooster again?"

Billy leaned forward, nose almost touching his. "Only if you let me."

Artur’s breath caught. His fingers tightened slightly.

Then, gently, he pressed his forehead to Billy’s. "We’ve got work to do. But tonight’s still ours."

Billy nodded, slow. "Then let’s stay here a little longer."

They didn’t move from that spot for a long time.

Billy’s hand stayed over Artur’s—warm, unmoving. The rest of the house felt hushed—like it, too, was waiting.

Artur kept his forehead pressed lightly to Billy’s, eyes half-lidded. "You always do that," he murmured.

Billy’s brow barely lifted. "Do what?"

"Look at me like I’m something you’re trying not to break."

Billy’s mouth curved faintly, but his grip tightened. "Maybe because you don’t know how much you hold me together."

Artur’s breath hitched. For a second, he looked away—but Billy’s fingers found his jaw, turning him gently back.

"I mean it," Billy said.

Artur nodded once, but his throat worked, like words didn’t come easy now.

Billy shifted slightly, sliding forward in the chair until his knees brushed Artur’s. "What are you thinking?"

"That I didn’t expect this," Artur said, low. "Not with anyone. Definitely not like this."

Billy’s smile turned crooked. "Not with someone who fell out of the ocean?"

Artur huffed softly. "Not with someone who showed up and started rearranging everything without trying."

Billy tilted his head. "That a complaint?"

"No," Artur said, firm. "Not even close."

Billy ran his thumb along Artur’s jawline, slow, thoughtful. "You know I don’t have the answers yet. About where I came from. Or what happens next."

"I don’t need answers," Artur said. "I just need you to want to be here."

Billy didn’t reply right away. He leaned in, nose brushing Artur’s. Their breaths met in the space between, shallow and open.

"I want to be here," he said. "With you."

The words hung like a promise. Not loud. Not grand. But rooted deep.

Artur closed his eyes. "Then that’s enough."

Billy leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of his cheekbone. Nothing rushed. Just there.

They stayed like that for a while—foreheads together, hands folded, knees touching—saying nothing else.

And it felt like everything they couldn’t name had already been said.

Later, the kitchen had gone dim, the oil lamp now burning low. The teacups sat rinsed beside the sink. Neither of them had said much since.

Artur stretched his arms above his head, spine cracking softly. "We should head in."

Billy nodded, slower than needed. He stood, rubbing the back of his neck, then followed as Artur moved quietly through the hall, their footsteps light against the old wood.

In the bedroom, the quiet was different—more private.

The bed was still rumpled from the morning, faintly holding the scent of earth and laundry soap. the corner where Billy had pressed into Artur’s chest holding the memory of warmth.

Billy didn’t ask where he should sleep. He just paused by the edge, glancing at Artur.

Artur pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it onto the chair, then reached out and tugged lightly at Billy’s sleeve.

"Come on."

Billy didn’t smile this time—but he stepped forward, gaze locked with Artur’s.

They slid under the covers in unison, facing each other in the hush. The oil lamp in the hallway still cast a faint glow through the cracked door.

Artur shifted close, looping an arm under Billy’s neck.

Billy let himself melt into the space, one leg slipping between Artur’s, hand resting lightly against his chest.

The stillness wasn’t awkward. It held weight.

Billy closed his eyes, the steady beat of Artur’s heart beneath his palm.

"I don’t want this to be temporary," he whispered.

"It doesn’t have to be," Artur said.

And in that shared quiet, they didn’t need to talk more.

Outside, the night stretched on.

Inside, they held each other like it was enough.

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