Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 90: The Rhythm Between Us

Chapter 90: The Rhythm Between Us

The morning stirred with the slow rhythm of footsteps and muffled clatter from the kitchen.

Billy tied the last knot of his boots, glancing toward the door where Artur had just shrugged on his jacket.

"You ready?" Billy asked, pulling his sleeves up.

Artur nodded, rolling his shoulders. "We better be. Jay’s probably already found a way to skip out."

Billy smirked, grabbing the basket near the door. "Let’s find him before he convinces someone else to carry his load."

They stepped outside without much fanfare—just the natural ease of routine settling between them.

The fields looked longer than yesterday, maybe just in the way the light hit them. Artur pointed to the cart near the side barn.

"I’ll get it ready. You go check if Jay’s even awake."

Billy gave a mock salute and veered toward the smaller house where Jay had spent the night. A minute later, he knocked once, then louder.

"Jay! Don’t make me come in!"

There was a groan inside. Then footsteps. the door creaked open.

Jay stood there, hair sticking in every direction, shirt half-buttoned. "You people have no respect for the city sleep schedule."

Billy folded his arms. "We respect it just fine. That’s why we start before it has a chance to kick in."

Jay rubbed his face. "Are we doing this again today?"

Billy raised an eyebrow. "You said you’d help."

Jay sighed and stepped back in. "Give me five. And by five, I mean ten. Possibly fifteen."

Billy was already walking away. "You’ve got seven."

Back at the cart, Artur was loading tools without a word.

Billy joined him, grabbing the lighter ones.

"Is he alive?" Artur asked.

"Barely. He’s negotiating with his blanket."

Artur smirked. "We’ll let him win this round. He won’t last more than an hour anyway."

Billy leaned one arm on the edge of the cart, watching the last of the fog melt off the far treetops.

"He said he’s helping this year," he said, not looking at Artur. "Said it like he meant it."

Artur handed him a pair of gloves. "We’ll see."

Sure enough, by the time they’d pulled the cart halfway down the slope toward the lower field, Jay appeared behind them, squinting against the light, dragging his feet like a man headed to his own trial.

"You started without me," he said, mildly offended.

"We assumed you were still in a treaty with your pillow," Billy said without turning.

Jay caught up, exhaling loudly as if just arriving had taken all his energy. "I brought snacks," he offered, shaking a small cloth bundle.

Artur glanced at it. "Those are yesterday’s biscuits."

"Which makes them authentic field food," Jay replied, placing the bundle on the back of the cart. "Don’t come crying to me when you’re starving and sunburned."

Billy gave him a look. "You’re really committing to this, huh?"

Jay stretched his arms above his head, bones popping. "I am. For once."

"Didn’t think the city boy had it in him," Artur murmured.

Jay smirked. "Neither did I."

They reached the plot. The tools were laid out, and the soil already showed signs of yesterday’s work.

Billy took up the hoe again, swinging it into the earth with practiced rhythm.

Artur moved beside him, taking the opposite side.

Jay lingered a moment before grabbing the smallest shovel and walking between them.

The morning passed slower than expected.

Jay didn’t talk as much as usual—not because he was too tired, but because he was trying.

His movements weren’t perfect, not even close, but he mirrored the others the best he could, pausing only to wipe his face or stretch his sore back.

It was when Billy paused to refill the water jug from the barrel cart that Jay straightened up beside him and said, voice low, "You and Artur... you make this look easy."

Billy didn’t reply at first. He handed Jay the water ladle, watching as he drank deep.

"It’s not," Billy said finally. "We’ve just done it long enough together to forget the hard parts."

Jay looked over at Artur, who hadn’t stopped moving. His shirt clung to his back, dust clinging to sweat, but his rhythm was steady, sure.

"You two really are something," Jay said. "Like... if the earth cracked open, you’d just patch it up and keep going."

Billy chuckled softly. "Some days, yeah."

Jay rested the ladle back on the cart. "It’s weird," he added, not quite looking at Billy.

"I used to think you were just... passing time here. Lost, maybe. But you’re not. You’re building something."

Billy didn’t smile. But something inside him shifted—like a door had creaked open quietly, without anyone noticing. "Took me a while to see that too."

Jay nodded and picked up his shovel again.

They kept working until the sun got higher, and Jay started groaning with every movement.

Artur glanced over. "He’s about to declare war on his own shadow."

Jay trailed behind them, dragging the hoe like a sulking child.

Artur didn’t even glance back. "You’ll want to lift that unless you’re trying to dig a ditch on your way."

Jay grumbled but adjusted his grip. "You know, in the city, we hire people for this."

"And here," Billy said without looking over, "we are those people."

Jay muttered something that sounded like a prayer and picked up the pace.

They reached the southern plots where the soil had already been turned partway.

The earth was dry and cracked, demanding attention.

Artur dropped his tools with a familiar rhythm. "Same formation as yesterday. Billy, left edge. Jay, middle."

Jay blinked. "Middle? That’s the opposite of easy."Shouldn’t I start somewhere easier? Like... supervision?"

Artur arched a brow, already digging. "Middle gets the most sun. Soil’s tighter. Good for your arms."

Jay groaned. "Good for my funeral."

Billy clapped him on the back as he passed. "You’ll live."

Jay sighed but knelt beside the row, mimicking what the others were doing. His movements were slow, stiff, a little too careful.

Billy worked beside him for a while, stealing glances.

"You’re doing it wrong," he finally said.

Jay narrowed his eyes. "How can I be doing it wrong? I’m literally digging dirt."

"Your angle’s off. You’re slicing, not lifting."

"Maybe the dirt here has too much pride. Doesn’t like being touched."

Artur shook his head. "The dirt’s fine. You’re just lazy."

Jay exhaled dramatically. "If I collapse face-first into the soil, tell my story. Let them know I died a martyr."

Billy chuckled and kept working. The banter helped. The day grew warmer, but not unbearable.

They found a rhythm, even if Jay’s looked more like a stubborn dance with gravity.

After an hour or so, Jay dropped the hoe and stood up straight. "I’m calling a break before my spine turns into origami."

Artur wiped sweat from his brow. "We finish this row first."

Jay didn’t move. "I’ll watch. Spiritually, I’m still involved."

Billy snorted and tossed his hoe into the grass. "Let’s go inside. I’ll grab drinks."

Jay perked up. "Finally, someone civilized."I was about to fake a twisted ankle."

Billy snorted, not even trying to hide it. "You’d have to dig a hole deep enough first."

They walked back toward the house together—Jay dragging his feet, Billy relaxed, Artur quiet but near.

Inside, Jay collapsed into a chair at the table. "This is the best part of manual labor. The not doing it."

Artur leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You’ll be sore tomorrow."

Jay sight. "Tomorrow’s problem. Today, I hydrate."

Billy looked between them, amused. "Still think we’re crazy for doing this every day?"

"At first, I thought you two were just... surviving out here. But you’re not. You move like the work belongs to you—and to each other. That’s rare."

Like, scary well."

Artur tilted his head. "Scary?"

Jay gave a lazy smile. "Yeah. Like some weird, powerful couple out of a storybook.

No bickering, just—" He gestured vaguely. "Work, move, understand. It’s impressive."

Billy didn’t respond at first. His hands tightened briefly on the glass, the lemon slices shifting inside. Something about the way Jay said it—casual, almost joking—landed deeper than it should have. "Thanks... I guess."

Billy poured water from the clay jug, adding a few slices of the lemon Mr. Dand had brought the day before. "You survived half a morning. Congratulations."

Jay accepted the glass, holding it to his forehead first before taking a long sip. "I feel like I’ve earned something. A badge. A plaque. A festival in my name."

Artur stepped in then, silent as usual, and hung his jacket near the door before reaching for his glass. Billy handed it over without needing to ask.

"Next time," Billy said, "we’ll make you start earlier. Before sunrise."

Jay gave him a look like he’d spoken in ancient curse language. "Don’t tempt fate."

Artur leaned against the edge of the sink, sipping slowly. His eyes moved between the two of them—Jay, slouched but satisfied, and Billy, who was only just starting to relax.

Jay set his glass down, fingers tapping the rim like a beat he couldn’t settle. It wasn’t a joke this time. Just honesty, a little too bare. "You know," he said, not with his usual teasing lilt,

"This village is really something. It’s kind of terrifying. And impressive."

Billy glanced at Artur. "It’s not terrifying."

Jay grinned. "To someone like me? Oh, it is. You wake up early. You carry heavy things. You sweat, but don’t complain. That’s practically superhuman."

Artur arched an eyebrow. "You’re just soft."

Jay held up both hands. "Completely. I embrace it."

There was laughter then—brief but genuine.

Jay stood, stretching his back. "Well, gentlemen. It’s been real. I’m going to walk off this ache before it turns permanent."

Billy eyed him. "You sure you’re not just going to lie under the fig tree again?"

"I’ll keep my options open," Jay said, heading for the door. "But seriously—thanks. For not treating me like a complete disaster."

Artur gave a small wave. Billy just shook his head.

The door creaked shut, and silence filled the room again—just the clink of ice against glass, and the weight of words Jay hadn’t meant to mean so much.

Billy stood by the sink, finger tracing the cold glass, as if the silence might offer answers. He didn’t know what Jay had seen in them—but he felt it too. This rhythm. This quiet gravity.

He glanced at Artur, who had already moved toward the doorway, reaching for the old hat he’d tossed on a hook earlier.

"Ready?" Artur asked, without looking.

Billy nodded. "Yeah. Let’s finish what we started."

The walk back to the fields didn’t need words. Just the creak of the cart wheels and the soft crunch of their boots over gravel.

The sun was higher now, sharper, and the morning sweat hadn’t yet dried from their collars.

But it didn’t matter. This was the rhythm they had fallen into without thinking.

Billy grabbed the smaller hoe and began where he’d left off—clearing weeds from the second row of crops.

Artur took the heavier tool and worked parallel to him, methodical, each movement measured.

Minutes passed, then more, and the only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the occasional birdcall, and the muted rhythm of steel biting into earth.

Billy broke the silence first. "Jay’s right about one thing."

Artur glanced sideways, not stopping.

"We do work well together," Billy said.

Artur didn’t smile, but something softened in the way his arm relaxed. "It’s not about working well. It’s about knowing when to speak... and when to just keep moving."

Billy nodded, digging his tool into the soil. "You’ve got a quiet way of saying things that mean more later." The wind shifted. A scent of turned earth and lemon hung in the air—familiar now, grounding. Billy didn’t smile, but his shoulders eased.

Artur didn’t respond right away. He paused, lifted a stone from the ground, and tossed it into a bucket. "I think you understand more than you let on."

They kept working. The kind of work that didn’t need constant talk, only presence.

There was a kind of closeness in that silence—one forged not from grand confessions but from shared sweat, tired muscles, and the way their shadows leaned near each other as the sun rose higher, binding them in quiet rhythm, like a language only the two of them could speak.

Billy wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "You ever get tired of this?"

Artur didn’t stop working. "Sure. But then I remind myself what it would feel like not doing it."

Billy let that sit for a moment. Then he dug his hoe deeper into the soil. "Yeah. I get that."

They worked on, row by row.

No rush. No big declarations.

Just two people, building something together without needing to say it out loud.

Billy’s hoe struck the earth again, steady but slower now. He glanced at Artur, who was methodical but tense, fingers tightening around his tool.

"You ever think about how long this will last?" Billy asked, voice low.

Artur paused, looking down at his hands. "The work? The season? Or us?"

Billy met his gaze. "All of it."

Artur gave a faint smile. "The fields change. We adjust. The work’s never-ending. But... this"—he tapped his chest lightly—"this feels worth holding on to."

Billy’s fingers curled around his hoe handle. "Sometimes I worry it’s just habit.

That we keep moving so we don’t have to say what’s really there."

Artur’s eyes didn’t leave Billy’s. "Maybe. But some things show better in silence than words."

Billy nodded slowly, breathing in deep. "You’re good at that—speaking without speaking."

Artur’s smile widened a little, tired but genuine. "Someone has to keep you grounded."

Billy chuckled softly. "Guess I need it."

They went back to work, side by side. The quiet between them wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of what they didn’t say, but felt.

Billy wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Promise me one thing?"

Artur looked up. "What?"

"That no matter what, we keep this. Even if the seasons change."

Artur’s hand brushed Billy’s arm briefly. "I promise."

Billy felt a weight lift—like the soil beneath their feet was holding something deeper than roots.

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