Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 28: "Chasing What Matters."

The morning crept in slowly, sunlight stretching through the thin curtains, painting the walls in pale gold. The air was cool, carrying the distant hum of waking birds and the faint scent of damp earth from the night's lingering dew.

Billy stirred, dragging himself from sleep, but the ache in his chest clung stubbornly, a quiet pressure that refused to ease. Fatigue settled deep, as if sleep had only skimmed the surface, never quite reaching him.

He sat up sluggishly, rubbing a hand over his face. His thoughts were a mess, tangled with the remnants of last night—the way Artur had looked at him, the way he had walked away.

His gaze drifted toward the door.

Was Artur already up?

Did it even matter?

Billy shoved the blanket aside and sat on the edge of the bed, his breath sharp, his fingers gripping the mattress. The quiet pressed in, heavy and unrelenting.

He dragged himself to the basin, splashing cold water onto his face. It hit like a shock, droplets racing down his jaw, but the haze in his mind didn't clear. He braced against the sink, exhaling hard. The thoughts, the frustration—they weren't going anywhere.

Lurking.

Unresolved.

Billy stepped out of his room, the wooden floor cool against his bare feet. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood settling.

Then—soft footsteps.

Billy turned just as Artur emerged from his own room.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

"Billy swallowed against the tightness in his throat, his fingers curling into fists at his sides." Artur's expression was unreadable—blank, but beneath it, something smoldered.

"Morning," Billy muttered first, voice hoarse.

Artur didn't answer right away. His jaw shifted slightly, then—

"Morning."

Flat. Distant.

Billy felt his stomach twist.

"Artur brushed past him, close enough that Billy could feel the heat of his skin, but not close enough to touch. Not close enough to mean anything heading toward the kitchen. Billy remained still for a second, then followed.

The scent of fresh bread and warmed milk filled the air, but the usual comfort was missing. Dand was already seated, sipping from his cup, completely unaware of the tension between the two young men.

Billy sat across from Artur. Neither spoke.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Dand hummed to himself, tearing off a piece of bread. "You boys sleep well?"

Billy hesitated, then forced a nod. "Yeah."

Artur didn't answer.

Dand, seemingly oblivious, continued, "Plenty to do today. I need one of you to—"

"I'll do it," Artur cut in, barely glancing up.

Billy felt a flicker of irritation. Just like that?

He reached for his cup, fingers tightening slightly around the handle. "I can help."

Artur didn't look at him. "No need."

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Billy swallowed, lowering his cup.

Dand's gaze flickered between them, sharp with curiosity. "Something happen?"

Billy stiffened. "No." The word shot out, clipped and too fast.

Dand's brow lifted. Billy could feel the weight of it, the unspoken questions pressing in. He forced himself to meet the older man's gaze, keeping his expression steady. Anything to stop him from asking more—because Billy couldn't explain what had happened between them.

Artur merely took a slow sip of his drink.

And the silence returned.

After breakfast, Billy followed Artur outside, the crisp morning air biting at his skin. The fields stretched before them, kissed by the early sunlight, but the usual warmth he felt in this place was absent.

Artur was already ahead, moving with purposeful strides, shoulders tense.

Billy hesitated, then quickened his pace to match him. "Artur—"

"You don't have to be here," Artur muttered.

Billy stiffened. "Excuse me?"

Artur kept walking. "If this is about guilt, don't."

Billy clenched his fists. "Guilt? That's what you think this is?"

Artur finally stopped. He turned, and for the first time that morning, his gaze burned into Billy's.

"You tell me."

Billy stared back, pulse hammering. He wanted to say something—anything—but no words came.

Artur let out a sharp breath, his hand tightening on the fence. "Forget it."

Billy hated how those words stung.

And he hated how Artur walked away—again.

The day dragged on, both of them working side by side yet feeling miles apart.

They spoke only when necessary—short, clipped sentences, no extra words, no lingering glances.

Billy could feel it—the shift, the distance, the wall Artur had thrown up overnight.

And maybe... maybe he deserved it.

But that didn't mean it hurt any less.

And as the hours stretched on, one thing became clear.

Things between them had changed.

And Billy wasn't sure how to fix it.

The afternoon stretched on, the weight of unspoken words pressing between them.

Billy and Artur worked side by side, repairing a section of the fence that had worn down from last night. Normally, they moved in sync—one handing tools while the other worked—but today, everything felt off.

Billy reached for the wooden plank at the same time as Artur. Their fingers brushed.

Both froze.

"Billy swallowed hard, his pulse jumping at the unexpected warmth of Artur's fingertips against his own. It was brief—so brief it could have been imagined—but for that second, neither of them moved. Then, Artur's hand jerked back as if burned, his jaw tightening, his eyes darting away."

"I'll handle it," he muttered, voice rough.

Billy hesitated. Why did that feel like rejection all over again?

His grip tightened on the plank, but he said nothing.

The hammer slipped from Billy's hand, landing on Artur's boot.

Artur cursed under his breath, jerking his foot back. "Damn it, Billy—"

"Sorry," Billy cut in, reaching down to grab it. "Didn't mean to."

Artur exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Just... pay attention."

Billy clenched his jaw. "I am paying attention."

Artur didn't respond, just went back to work. The air between them grew thicker, the frustration rolling off them both in waves.

It wasn't about the hammer. It wasn't about the work.

They both knew that.

Billy wiped the sweat off his forehead, the sun beating down harder than expected. He felt lightheaded for a moment, vision swimming slightly.

Artur noticed.

"You okay?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Billy blinked. "What?"

Artur looked away, as if regretting speaking. "Nothing. Just... don't pass out or something."

Billy scoffed, but something about the way Artur had said it—low, gruff, but genuine—made his chest tighten.

So he still cares?

This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.

But before Billy could respond, Artur had already turned away again, putting more distance between them.

Billy exhaled. Great. Just great.

By late afternoon, Dand had been watching long enough.

He leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed. "Alright," he said finally. "What's going on with you two?"

Billy stiffened. Artur straightened. Neither spoke.

Dand's eyes narrowed. "Don't play dumb. I might be old, but I ain't blind. You two are actin' like strangers all of a sudden."

Artur grabbed another plank of wood. "Nothing's wrong."

Billy looked away.

Dand huffed. "If you say so." But his gaze lingered on them both, sharp and knowing.

Billy knew this wasn't the end of it.

By evening, the tension had settled like an unshakable fog.

Billy sat outside, watching the sun dip behind the hills, the sky streaked in gold and violet. He thought he was alone—until he heard footsteps behind him.

Artur.

Billy didn't turn around, but he felt him there, lingering.

A long silence stretched. Then, barely above a whisper—

"Artur's words hung in the air between them like a weight Billy wasn't prepared to carry.

I wasn't wrong about you.' His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it struck Billy like a lightning bolt. Billy's chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat.

For a second, he couldn't move. His heart thundered in his ears, the world spinning slightly as Artur turned .

The words hit deep, unraveling something inside him. Billy's breath hitched, his fingers curling slightly. A strange warmth flickered in his chest, catching him off guard.

Before he could say anything, Artur was already walking away.

And Billy was left staring at the horizon, his heart pounding louder than before.

The evening air was thick with the scent of damp earth, the sky bruised with fading shades of orange and purple. Staring at the quiet stretch of land ahead.

But his mind wasn't quiet.

"I wasn't wrong about you."

Artur's voice still clung to him, refusing to fade.

"Billy exhaled, flexing his fingers as if trying to rid himself of the tension knotting his chest."

He had spent the entire day avoiding the truth—burying it under silence, under forced indifference, under anything that kept him from facing what was really happening.

But now? Now, the quiet evening left him with nowhere to hide.

His hands curled into his sleeves.

Artur had confessed. Not in some perfect, planned way, but in a moment of frustration, of raw honesty. Billy had felt it—the heat behind his words, the desperation, the fear.

And he had turned away.

Not because he didn't feel something.

But because he did.

And that was the problem.

He swallowed hard.

He wasn't blind. He knew what this meant—the way his pulse quickened around Artur, the way he noticed everything about him.

But if he admitted it—if he wanted it—what happened then?

Mr. Dand had given him a home, Artur had given him a place. A new life.

If he risked this and it went wrong... what if he lost it all?

His fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeves.

But then another thought crept in, unwelcome, unavoidable.

What if he already was?

Inside, Artur sat at the kitchen table, his hands gripping the edge of his mug.

The tea had gone cold. He hadn't touched it.

He wasn't even sure why he was still sitting here—why he hadn't stormed off somewhere, gone outside, done something to shake off the restless energy crawling under his skin.

"I wasn't wrong about you."

The words had left his mouth before he could stop them.

He clenched his jaw.

He had spent so long pretending—convincing himself that this was nothing, that he could ignore the way Billy made him feel.

But then today had happened.

The jealousy, the frustration, the way he couldn't stand watching Billy with someone else. The way he had felt so damn helpless when Billy hesitated.

And now, here he was, stuck in the aftermath.

His grip tightened on the mug.

He had done something reckless. He had confessed.

And Billy—Billy had looked away.

That should have been answer enough.

But it wasn't.

Because Billy hadn't said no.

He hadn't pushed him away.

He had hesitated.

And that hesitation—that damn hesitation—was the only thing keeping Artur from walking out the door and pretending this never happened.

Because it meant something.

And Artur wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

Billy leaned back against the porch railing, staring at the dim glow from the kitchen window. He knew Artur was still inside. He could feel his presence even without seeing him.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

He could feel him.

He could feel it.

His chest tightened.

He had convinced himself that keeping things as they were was the safest choice. That if he ignored it, if he didn't say anything, nothing had to change.

But what if it already was?

Artur's words weren't just frustration.

"I wasn't wrong about you."

What if this was it?

What if Artur pulled away now—if he stopped looking at him like that, if he stopped caring?

Billy swallowed, hard.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Because if that happened—if Artur really did leave him behind—Billy wasn't sure what would be left of himself.

The wind had picked up, rustling the leaves, carrying the faint scent of rain that hadn't yet fallen. Billy hadn't moved from the porch, his arms resting on his knees, head tilted down.

He should go inside. He should try to sleep. But the weight in his chest wouldn't let him.

Because now, in the quiet of the evening, his own words from earlier felt wrong.

"I don't know what to say."

At the time, it had felt safe. The easiest thing to say when everything inside him was messy and overwhelming.

"But now, in the quiet where nothing could be ignored, it didn't just feel like a mistake. It felt like a door closing."

His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants.

Artur hadn't deserved that.

The way he had looked at him—frustrated, hurt, but mostly scared—Billy had felt it. Felt the way Artur had put himself out there, exposed something real, something vulnerable.

And Billy had turned away.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, eyes lifting toward the dim light from the kitchen window. Artur was still inside.

Did he regret saying it? Was he angry? Or... was he just done waiting?

That last thought sent something sharp through Billy's chest.

Was he waiting for Billy to do something? Say something?

And if Billy didn't—if he just let this moment pass—what if Artur stopped caring?

What if he gave up?

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Because if there was one thing Billy knew for sure, it was this—he didn't want Artur to stop caring.

But wanting something and doing something about it were two different things.

And he didn't know if he was brave enough yet.

Inside, Artur stood at the sink, hands gripping the counter, head bowed.

He was tired.

Not just physically, but of all of this—of the silence, of pretending he didn't care, of waiting for Billy to just see it.

Because it was clear as day now—Billy felt something. He had seen it in his eyes, the way he hesitated, the way he couldn't meet Artur's gaze when he had confessed.

And yet...

Nothing.

Artur scoffed under his breath, shaking his head.

How much longer was he supposed to wait? How much longer before Billy stopped running from the truth?

Did he really have to spell it out again?

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Or was this the answer?

Had Billy already made his choice?

A sharp exhale left him as he dragged a hand down his face.

"Damn it, Billy."

Billy didn't know how long he sat outside, but eventually, the cold settled into his skin, making him shiver.

He stood slowly, stretching out his legs. His fingers twitched at his sides as he turned toward the house.

He wasn't even sure what he was going to do—go inside and pretend everything was normal? Try to talk to Artur? Just exist in the same space as him for a little longer?

His steps were slow, hesitant as he reached the door.

But just as he pushed it open—

Artur was right there.

Billy froze.

Artur had been walking toward the door at the same time, as if he had been about to go outside. But now, they stood inches apart, the doorway suddenly too small.

Billy's breath caught.

Artur's expression was unreadable, but his eyes—they flickered with something deep, something intense.

Billy's stomach twisted.

Say something. Do something now.

His fingers curled against the doorframe.

But before he could, Artur's gaze dropped for half a second—his jaw tightened—and he stepped past him.

Billy's throat closed.

No words. No glance back. Just... Artur walking out into the night, leaving Billy standing in the doorway.

And this time, Billy was the one left behind.

Billy barely made it to his room before his legs gave out. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his heart pounding.

He had felt it in that moment at the door—the way Artur had waited, just for a second. The way he had walked past him like it didn't matter anymore.

Like Billy didn't matter anymore.

His fingers curled into his blanket.

No.

That wasn't right.

His mind was a storm, emotions crashing into each other, and in the middle of it all was one undeniable, terrifying truth—

He didn't want to lose Artur.

He didn't care if it was reckless. He didn't care if it complicated everything.

What he cared about was the way his chest ached when Artur walked away.

And if he didn't do something soon—

If he kept letting fear hold him back—

Then Artur might walk away for good.

The walls of his room felt too small. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.

Billy heart hammering, thoughts spiraling.

Artur had walked past him. Hadn't looked back. Hadn't stopped.

Like he was done waiting.

Billy's breath shuddered out. His hands curled into the blanket beneath him, gripping tight as if it could anchor him.

He had felt the shift—the weight of it pressing down on his chest like an unbearable truth.

Artur wasn't going to wait forever.

And if Billy didn't move—didn't say something, do something—this would be it.

The final moment before he lost him.

The thought struck deep, sharp and unrelenting.

No.

Billy shot up from the bed, legs unsteady but driven by something far stronger than fear.

Before he could think, before doubt could sink its claws into him again—he was moving.

The door slammed open. The night air hit him like a cold shock, but he barely felt it.

His pulse pounded in his ears as his eyes searched the darkness—where? Where was he?

Billy stepped forward, his breath unsteady. His gaze swept the empty path, the flickering shadows beneath the trees. He strained to listen—wind rustling the leaves, the distant creak of a wooden beam.

Nothing.

He turned sharply, scanning the yard, the faint outline of the barn, the stretch of the fence beyond. His fingers twitched at his sides.

"Artur?"

Silence.

His heartbeat drummed harder. Billy moved faster now, peering around the corner of the house, into the dim glow spilling from the windows. His throat tightened.

And then—

A figure, walking down the path, shoulders tense, steps slow but deliberate.

Billy's chest clenched.

"Artur!"

His own voice startled him, desperate and raw, cutting through the quiet.

Artur stopped.

He didn't move.

Billy stood there, breath uneven, eyes wide.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world felt frozen, waiting.

Billy's throat tightened. This was it.

If Artur walked away now—

Billy didn't want to finish that thought.

His breath came faster now, uneven. His fingers curled at his sides.

And then—he ran.

Artur's face was shadowed in the dim light, but Billy didn't need to see his expression to know what he was feeling. The tension in his jaw, the tightness in his stance, the way his hands clenched at his sides—hurt, frustration, the fear of being played with.

Billy swallowed hard. Say something. Say it now.

"...Don't go." His voice wavered, but the words were real. Desperate.

Artur exhaled sharply, finally turning, his expression unreadable. "Billy—"

Billy stood right in front of him.

Artur could see the tension in his face—the way his brows pulled together, the slight parting of his lips as if he wanted to say something. His eyes, dark flickered with something raw, something unguarded.

"You're wasting your time, Billy," Artur's voice was low, rough. "You don't have to explain. I get it."

But Billy shook his head, stepping closer. The words fought their way out of his throat, raw, desperate.

"No, you don't." His breath came fast. "You don't get it at all."

Artur let out a sharp, humorless laugh, glancing away as if trying to compose himself. "I confessed, Billy. And you—" He exhaled harshly, shaking his head. "You didn't even have an answer."

"I was scared." The words tumbled out before Billy could stop them.His breath fast, uneven. "I still am."

Artur's gaze snapped back to him.

Billy clenched his fists at his sides, forcing himself to be honest, to be vulnerable. "I was scared because... because if I said it out loud, if I admitted it..." He let out a shaky breath. "Then it would be real."

The wind picked up, carrying their breaths into the night.

Artur's jaw clenched. "Billy, don't—"

"I have to." Billy stepped closer, close enough he could see every emotion flicker across Artur's face. "I have to, because if I don't—I'll regret it. I already do."

Artur's eyes searched his, guarded but vulnerable, a silent plea for Billy to be sure.

Billy's heart pounded. He could still back away. Still pretend he didn't feel this, that this moment wasn't changing everything.

But then he saw it—the doubt in Artur's eyes, the flicker of hesitation.

And suddenly, Billy wasn't scared anymore.

"I don't want you to walk away," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to lose you."

Billy took another step closer—close enough to feel the heat between them, the tension crackling like lightning about to strike.

"I can't let you walk away again." His voice wavered, but his resolve was solid. "I don't want you to."

Artur searched his face, his walls still up, still holding back. "...Then tell me what you do want."

The words were a whisper, but they cut through Billy like a blade.

Billy exhaled, finally letting go of everything that had held him back. He looked into Artur's eyes, steady and unflinching, and spoke the truth.

"You."

Billy inhaled deeply, finally saying the words he had been too afraid to face.

"I want you, Artur."

And then—

The space between them disappeared.

Billy didn't think—he moved.

His fingers curled into Artur's jacket, pulling him forward as he closed the last breath of distance. And then—

Their lips met.

A sharp inhale. A hitch of breath. Artur froze for just a second, startled, before the warmth of Billy's mouth settled against his own, uncertain but real. Billy's heart pounded, but this time, not from fear.

He was the one kissing Artur. He was the one choosing this, choosing him.

Artur didn't pull away. He stood still, tension coiled in his body, as if waiting for Billy to realize what he had done. But Billy didn't falter. Instead, he pressed closer, deepening the kiss, hands tightening in Artur's jacket like he was afraid to let go.

And then, as their lips parted just slightly, Billy whispered against his mouth—breathless, certain—

"This isn't a mistake. This isn't a drunk kiss."

Artur's breath shuddered out. His hands, which had been trembling at his sides, finally lifted—one pressing against Billy's waist, the other cradling the back of his neck. His lips barely brushed against Billy's again, testing, waiting.

Then, before Billy could say another word— I'm....

Artur kissed him back.

A slow, deep pull, like the tide drawing them together. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Only the quiet, undeniable truth that had been there all along.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to.

Then Artur let out a soft, breathless laugh against Billy's lips. His forehead rested against Billy's, their noses brushing as he whispered, "Yeah... This isn't a drunk kiss. I'm not drunk. This is what I really feel."

Billy let out a shaky exhale, his chest feeling too full, too warm. He pressed closer, arms wrapping tightly around Artur, pulling him into an embrace that said everything he still didn't have words for.

Artur didn't hesitate this time. He held him just as tightly.

And when they kissed again—this time, together—it was different.

No fear. No running. No confusion.

Just them.

And for the first time, it finally felt right.