Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 89: Still Here

Chapter 89: Still Here

The door pushed open with a familiar creak.

Mr. Dand stepped in, brushing dust from his sleeves. His eyes scanned the room and landed on the two bowls waiting on the table.

"You cooked?" he asked, raising a brow.

Billy wiped his hands on a cloth. "Tried to make something decent before you got back."

Artur added, "He used the good rice."

Mr. Dand gave a short grunt—half amused, half tired—and made his way to the chair with that slow, steady pace of his. "Must be a good day, then."

He sat down, nodding once in approval. "Smells better than what they served at the elder’s meet."

Billy glanced over. "Rough meeting?"

"Long," Mr. Dand said, accepting the bowl Billy placed in front of him. "And full of opinions."

Artur sat back down, raising his spoon. "What’s the plan now?"

"They want us ready by the end of the week. First prep starts soon as tomorrow."

Billy leaned forward. "Same arrangement as before?"

"Mostly," Mr. Dand replied between bites. "Jay’s still talking about joining the rotation—again. Said something about hauling carts, like he knows what that even means."

Artur blinked. "He’s serious?"

Mr. Dand nodded slowly. "Told me on the road. Looked me in the eye and said, ’This year, I’ll earn the calluses.’"

Billy tried not to laugh. "That sounds like him."

"He’s trying," Mr. Dand said, almost absently. "And that’s something."

They ate in a thoughtful quiet for a moment.

Then Artur asked, "You think he’ll last the week?"

"Don’t bet your boots on it," Mr. Dand muttered. "But he means it. For now."

Billy sipped his water, watching the way Mr. Dand’s shoulders loosened the longer he sat at the table.

Mr. Dand paused, looked between the two of them. "You two did good today."

Billy raised a brow. "Even with Jay slowing us down?"

"He slowed himself down. You kept going." Mr. Dand gave a small nod. "That’s the kind of steady we need this year."

Artur didn’t say anything, just reached across and nudged Billy’s bowl closer. "Eat more. You’ll need the strength."

Billy smiled faintly. "Yes, boss."

Mr. Dand didn’t comment, but the corner of his mouth twitched before he returned to his food.

The house settled again—simple, quiet, and full.

Billy returned to the table with a fresh ladle of stew, topping off Mr. Dand’s bowl before settling in across from him.

The quiet clink of spoons filled the space between them.

Artur leaned an elbow on the table, chin resting in his palm as he watched Mr. Dand eat with a steadiness that came from years of labor.

"You walk all the way from the south trail?" Artur asked casually.

"Didn’t have a choice," Mr. Dand replied without looking up. "The ox cart was stuck half the day. Ended up pushing more than riding."

Billy winced. "That why you’re limping?"

"Not limping." Mr. Dand lifted a brow at him. "Favoring the stronger leg."

Billy smirked, stirring his own bowl. "Right."

Artur snorted quietly.

Mr. Dand’s gaze moved between the two of them, lingering just a beat longer than usual. "You fed the animals?" he asked Artur.

"Done before noon. Even cleaned the troughs."

"And the coop?"

Artur nodded. "Billy helped collect the eggs."

"I didn’t drop any," Billy added, sounding just a bit proud.

Mr. Dand gave him a look. "You cracked one."

"Only a little. It was still edible."

Mr. Dand let out a breath that might have been a laugh. "Edible ain’t the only measure."

They ate a little more. No rush. Just the rhythm of familiar bodies sharing space.

The sun outside was low, painting warm shapes through the thin curtains, but none of them seemed in a hurry to move.

"You said the elders want us ready this week?" Artur asked.

Mr. Dand gave a slow nod. "They’re splitting teams. Putting Jay on cart duty, if he doesn’t run off before Thursday."

"He swears he’s serious," Billy murmured.

"He’s serious as long as someone’s watching," Mr. Dand said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "But I’ll take it. Even part-time help’s worth something."

Artur tilted his head. "You think he’ll stay?"

A pause.

Mr. Dand tapped his spoon against the side of the bowl.

"He saw you two today," he said, not quite answering. "Might be more reason for him to try than he lets on."

Billy blinked. "What do you mean?"

"People don’t always say what stirs them," Mr. Dand replied, finishing his stew.

"But watching someone carry weight without complaint? It humbles the loud ones."

Artur looked down at the table, a small crease between his brows.

Billy didn’t speak either. But his hand reached slowly across the table and settled near Artur’s, fingertips brushing his knuckles.

Mr. Dand leaned back in his chair with a quiet grunt, stretching his shoulders. "I’ll wash. You two rest. Long days ahead."

Billy was already gathering the bowls. "You’ve been walking since morning. Sit down."

"You cooked," Mr. Dand said, watching him. "Let me do something for once."

Artur stood, collecting the spoons without a word. "He’s not good at resting either."

Billy shot Artur a look, then smirked. "Takes one to know one."

Mr. Dand huffed, half-resigned, half-amused. "Fine. Don’t come crying tomorrow when your backs seize up."

Billy turned on the tap. "Noted."

Artur rolled up his sleeves and stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

They worked in a quiet rhythm—Billy scrubbing, Artur rinsing, passing dishes between them without needing to speak.

Just the soft sound of running water and the occasional clink of ceramic.

Mr. Dand stayed where he was, watching them without really watching.

His eyes had that far-off look, like he was thinking of something else—maybe someone else, from another time.

Billy glanced over his shoulder. "We’ll be done quick. Go rest."

Mr. Dand didn’t answer right away. Then finally, "Don’t take that for granted."

Artur paused mid-rinse. "What?"

"Teamwork like that... some spend a lifetime chasing it. Mr. Dand’s voice was low, almost to himself, Most never even recognize it when it’s there."

Billy looked down at his soapy hands, then sideways at Artur.

Artur didn’t say anything, just passed the next plate a little slower.

Mr. Dand stood with a quiet grunt. "I’ll be out back. Just for air."

The door creaked as he stepped out, leaving them alone in the hush of the kitchen.

Billy spoke softly, eyes still on the dish in his hand. "He’s right, isn’t he?"

Artur didn’t answer with words. Just bumped his shoulder lightly into Billy’s as he reached for the next bowl.

Billy smiled and kept scrubbing.

"They dried their hands on the same towel, fingertips brushing warm from the water.

A shared glance passed between them—unspoken agreement. They moved."

Artur opened the back door, and Billy followed.

The evening air was still warm, but cooler than inside.

They didn’t go far—just the small bench near the fence, worn smooth from years of use.

Artur dropped down first with a quiet sigh, legs stretched out.

Billy sat beside him, close enough their arms touched.

For a while, they just watched the sky turn. No grand view, no painted sunset—just the quiet dimming of the light.

Artur was the first to break the silence. "You tired?"

Billy let out a soft hum. "A little. But not the bad kind."

Artur tilted his head. "There’s a good kind?"

Billy nodded. "The kind that comes after doing something real. Something with your hands. It stays in your bones, but... feels worth it."

Artur gave a short laugh through his nose. "You’re starting to sound like my father."

Billy nudged him with his knee. "Better than sounding like Jay."

"True." Artur glanced at him. "You were good out there today."

"You too."

"You always say that," Artur muttered.

"Because it’s always true."

Then Artur said, "And You’re getting good at the dishes."

Billy smirked. "Careful. Say things like that and I’ll think you’re flirting."

Artur glanced sideways. "Who says I’m not?"

Billy let out a soft breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. "You’re different when we’re not working."

"So are you."

Billy leaned back, letting his head rest against the wood behind them. "Feels good to just sit."

Artur glanced sideways. "You always say that after doing something stubborn."

Billy smirked. "Like dishes?"

"Like dishes. Like hauling crates when I told you not to. Like standing too close to the fire yesterday."

Billy let out a low laugh. "I like helping. That a crime now?"

Artur shrugged. "Not when it’s you."

They fell quiet again. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

Then Billy tilted his head slightly. "You think Mr. Dand was right? About... people not finding this?"

Artur didn’t answer right away. He looked out across the field where the sky was deepening to blue.

Then he said quietly, "I think most people don’t know how to hold onto it even if they do."

Billy nodded slowly, watching him. "And us?"

Artur turned his head, met his gaze. "We’re still here."

Billy’s lips twitched. "We are."

Artur’s hand brushed against Billy’s on the bench, not quite holding it, just a small, lingering touch.

Billy didn’t pull away.

"They sat in silence as the stars stitched silver into the deepening sky, fingers almost touching. And for once, the world felt perfectly still."

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