Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 137: Before I Remember, Let Me Feel

The light was soft and golden when Billy stepped into the hallway, his bare feet soundless on the polished floor.

A hush filled the house — the kind only early mornings could hold.

No voices. No footsteps upstairs.

Just the distant ticking of the living room clock.

His father had already left — the absence felt like a relief.

He passed the parlor slowly, where his mother sat on the couch in her robe, a stack of papers on her lap and glasses perched low on her nose.

She glanced up when she saw him, offering a small smile — warm but unreadable.

"Morning, sweetheart."

Billy nodded lightly.

"Morning, Mom."

She watched him as he passed, the way his shoulders carried quiet weight.

He walked into the dining room.

Camila was already there, seated with her legs crossed in the chair, a half-finished croissant in one hand and her phone in the other, a messy bun perched high on her head.

She looked up.

"Look who woke up before noon," she teased.

Billy gave a faint smirk and pulled out a chair across from her.

"Didn’t sleep much."

"Big day," she said, tone softening.

She slid the extra plate toward him — toast, eggs, a few slices of pear. Simple, warm. Familiar.

"Mom made breakfast but I took credit," she added with a wink. "You’re welcome."

Billy laughed under his breath and picked up the fork.

They ate in a slow kind of peace — not awkward, not heavy, just... aware. Like the air had things to say, but chose silence instead.

Camila reached for the juice.

"Eleanor texted. She’s coming at two."

Billy paused slightly before nodding.

"Okay."

"You sure you’re alright?"

"Honesty I’m sure I’m not," he said honestly. "But I’ll get through it."

Camila smiled, but her fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

"That’s my brother."

He gave a small breath of laughter, his shoulders easing just slightly.

And outside the window, the city carried on — unaware that something small but significant was about to unfold again.

Billy cut into the soft eggs slowly, barely noticing the steam that rose from the plate.

The food tasted fine — warm, a little buttery — but his mouth felt dry, like his nerves sat just beneath his tongue.

Camila watched him between sips of her orange juice. Not too closely. Just enough to read his shoulders.

"You always ate like that when you were nervous," she said, voice light.

Billy glanced up. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You used to make fun of me for it right.?"

"Still do. It’s part of the sister contract."

He chuckled under his breath and chewed another bite in silence.

Camila leaned forward on her elbows, brushing crumbs off her phone screen.

"Do you want me to stay when she comes?"

He didn’t answer right away. He looked past her, toward the window, where the city skyline pressed faint against the soft morning haze.

"No," he said finally. "I think I need to look at her... without anyone else there."

Camila nodded, even though her jaw tightened.

"You don’t owe her anything, Leon."

He lifted his gaze to her — not defensive, not fragile. Just steady.

"I owe myself a chance to see what I walked away from."

Camila’s eyes softened. She smiled, leaning back with a sigh.

"You sound more like you than ever."

"And I don’t even remember who I was," he murmured.

"Maybe that’s a good thing," she said gently. "Now you get to decide who you want to be — without the pressure, without pretending."

Billy nodded slowly, his fork still in hand.

"Artur never asked me to be anything but... me."

Camila looked at him for a long moment.

"Then maybe that’s why you can’t stop thinking about him."

Billy’s breath caught — not in shock, but in recognition. Like something old and warm and aching had been touched.

He didn’t deny it.

He didn’t need to.

The silence between them stretched again — not heavy, just full.

Then Camila pushed her chair back slightly.

"Well... finish your breakfast. You’ll need strength for emotionally confusing reunions."

"Great," Billy said with a weak smile. "Can’t wait to relive my past with someone I don’t remember."

"Just think of it like rehearsal," she grinned, standing. "You’ve still got the actor in you," she said with a smile. "Even if the stage looks different now."

He gave a short laugh, and for a moment, the tension cracked open just enough for peace to slip in.

Camila left the room, humming as she disappeared down the hall.

Billy sat back, let the silence return, and stared at his plate.

And slowly, quietly...

He kept eating.

He set his fork down slowly, barely making a sound. His plate was mostly empty now, though he hadn’t noticed when he stopped eating.

Camila had just returned with another juice box from the fridge when he spoke — quiet, thoughtful.

"Camila... come with me. I want to show you something."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay... are we sneaking out, or is this a ’trust fall’ kind of moment?"

He didn’t answer. Just gave her that small half-smile — the one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She followed.

As they passed the living room, their mother looked up from her paperwork on the couch.

Billy gave her a gentle nod. She didn’t ask. She just watched them go.

The room was softly lit. The curtain danced slightly from the breeze outside the open window.

Billy walked over to the desk near the far wall and opened the drawer slowly.

He pulled out the sketchbook.

Camila sat on the edge of the bed, her legs folded beneath her.

Billy turned to her, holding it gently — the way someone holds something they’re afraid might fall apart.

"I drew this yesterday night" he said.

He opened to the page and turned it around.

Camila leaned in.

Her eyes softened immediately.

It was a lakeside scene — peaceful, delicate pencil strokes forming a quiet world.

A tree, its branches leaning slightly over still water.

And beneath it... a figure sitting with his knees tucked, head tilted, like he was watching the wind move across the surface.

"Is that...?"

"Artur," Billy said quietly. "His favorite place in the village. We used to sit there. Sometimes we didn’t talk for hours."

Camila was silent. The weight of it landed gently.

Then she saw it — the words, in small handwriting at the bottom of the page:

"If I forget, let this remember."

Her eyes shimmered.

Billy closed the sketchbook.

"I want to keep this. On me," he said. "Something permanent. Just in case..."

He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to.

Camila looked at him carefully, her voice quiet.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Billy looked at the drawing again, his fingers curling slightly at the edges. It felt like holding a part of himself—one he couldn’t share until he understood it fully.

"I want to do it alone."

He met her gaze.

"Not because I don’t want you there. But because this... this is just for me. For what I had. For who I was when I was with him."

Camila blinked, nodding slowly.

"Okay," she said softly. "You don’t have to explain more. I get it."

"Will you cover for me if Mom asks?"

"Always," she said, standing and brushing his shoulder as she passed. "But... send me a pic when it’s done. You know. So I can cry properly."

He smiled, heart full and aching.

She stepped out of the room, leaving him in that quiet space again.

He looked down at the sketchbook still in his hands, then at the corner of his chest where the drawing would live — a memory carved not just in lines and ink, but in love.

Camila lingered by the door, her fingers curled lightly on the frame. Her gaze was still on him — soft, thoughtful, and just a little worried.

"So..." she said gently, "are you going now?"

Billy looked at the sketchbook in his hand, thumb brushing over the edge of the page where Artur’s drawing rested. His breath came slow.

He shook his head.

"No. Not yet."

Camila tilted her head, waiting.

"I’m meeting her first. Eleanor."

He looked up at her, voice quiet but steady.

"It feels like... something I need to face before I do this."

Camila studied him for a moment — then nodded.

"Okay."

"I’m not looking for answers from her," Billy added. "Just... I need to know what version of me she remembers. Maybe it’ll help me understand what I don’t want to be."

Camila stepped back into the room, just enough to rest her hand on his arm.

"Then when you’re ready... when it’s time... that drawing will still be yours. No matter what today brings."

Billy gave her a faint smile.

"Thanks cam."

She tapped his shoulder softly, lightening the mood.

"Also, if she’s rude, blink twice and I’ll fake a fire drill."

He laughed, tension breaking just a little.

"Noted."

Camila turned back toward the hallway.

"I’ll tell Mom you’re changing. She’s already rearranging the living room like royalty’s visiting."

Billy smirked.

"It’s just a meeting."

"That’s what kingdoms say before they fall."

She disappeared with a grin.

Billy stood alone again, one hand still on the sketchbook,the weight of what was ahead settling over his ribs—not heavy, but firm. Like something that needed to be carried.

He didn’t know what Eleanor would say.

But he knew who he was walking in as.

And that was enough — for now.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind him. The quiet returned like a tide — soft, steady, knowing

This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦