Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 51: Choosing You

"She stood by the fence, arms loosely crossed, gaze steady—as if she'd been waiting."

Billy's hand slipped from Artur's instinctively. Not fear—just a flicker of old caution, rising before he could name it. The kind that crept in when peace felt too good to last.

Anna stepped forward, her smile small, hesitant. "I've been looking for you, Artur. I went home but didn't see you."

Artur straightened slightly, his voice careful. "Yeah... we had work to do. Out at the shed."

"I figured." She glanced at Billy for half a second, then back at Artur. "I was hoping to talk. Just for a minute."

Artur didn't answer right away.

Billy stood still beside him, unreadable.

Anna's voice softened. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning. There's something I need to say before I go."

Artur exhaled through his nose, shoulders tense.

Billy looked at him, then back at Anna, silent.

Artur finally nodded, eyes flicking to Billy with a wordless apology in them. "Alright."

Billy stayed behind, long shadows crawling across the field as Artur walked with Anna. The distance wasn't far—but it felt like miles.

Billy didn't move. Didn't fidget. Didn't even breathe too loud.

But inside... There was a quiet tightness in his chest. Not jealousy, not really. Something deeper. Older. Like echoes from the days when people left without warning, and he was the one left holding silence. Like the fear of waking from something too good to be true.

He turned his gaze to the sky instead. It was easier to look at the clouds than to watch the silhouette of Anna standing so close to Artur. Their voices were low—he couldn't hear anything from where he stood.

Billy crouched down and picked up a dry leaf, fingers twisting the stem slowly. He didn't need to hear the words. Whatever Anna had to say—it didn't change what he felt. What they shared.

Still... A part of him wanted to know what Artur would say.

A short distance away, Anna's voice was quiet.

"I know it's been years," she said. "And I'm not here to make things awkward.

"But I've been thinking... about us. How things might've been if I hadn't left. "About everything I never got to say. I still remember the happiness—we had something, didn't we?"

Artur didn't look away, but his jaw was set, unreadable. "Anna, we were kids back then."

"I know." Her voice caught for a second. "But it still meant something to me."

There was a pause. A breeze stirred the tall grass.

Anna searched his face. "I guess I just... I needed to say it. That part of me always wondered—what if we had more time? What if things were different?"

"After a beat, Artur answered—not cruel or cold. Just honest. "I don't wonder."

She blinked. "You don't?"

He shook his head, slow and steady. "I don't wonder what if. Because I already have everything I want now. And it's not back then. It's not what we were. It's who I am now—and who I want to be."

Anna looked down, quiet.

"It wasn't fake," Artur added gently. "We were friends. We played, we laughed. But it was childhood. I didn't know who I was then. Not like I do now."

"And now?" she asked, softer.

"Artur's gaze drifted to Billy—crouched in the grass, turning a leaf between his fingers like he was holding the weight of a choice. And without hesitation, Artur made his. A faint smile touched his lips.

"Now," he said quietly, "I know exactly what I want. And who."

Anna followed his gaze, eyes settling on Billy. Her breath caught for a moment—but she nodded. There was a kind of sad acceptance in her face.

"I'm happy for you," she said. And she meant it.

Artur gave her a small nod. "Take care, Anna."

"You too," she whispered.

And with that, she turned and walked away, not looking back.

Billy was still crouched, fingers tracing aimless shapes into the dirt now. He didn't look up right away—not even when he heard footsteps drawing near.

Artur's shadow stretched across the grass before him. Then came the voice, low and certain.

"She's gone."

Billy nodded once. "I figured."

Silence stretched, soft and heavy like dusk.

"I didn't mean for it to take long," Artur added. "She just needed to let something out."

Billy gave a small, dry laugh under his breath. "Seems like people always want to say their last words when they're about to disappear."

Artur crouched beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "You mad?"

"No." Billy picked at a blade of grass. "Just... I didn't like the way it made me feel."

Artur turned his head toward him. "What way?"

Billy's eyes flicked up. "Like maybe I wasn't the only one who looked at you and thought they'd found something worth staying for."

A beat. Then a slow exhale.

Artur leaned closer, voice steady. "But you're the only one I looked back at."

Billy held his gaze. That tightness in his chest loosened a little. Not gone, but softened by the weight of Artur's presence.

"I know who I am when I'm with you," Artur said. "I don't want anything else."

Billy didn't answer—not with words. He just reached over, brushing his fingers against Artur's knuckles, curling them there until they both folded into the space between.

They sat that way for a long moment, heavy silence. The sky deepened above them into a slow burn of violet and fading gold.

Billy sighed, leaning just enough to rest his shoulder against Artur's. "You sure know how to ruin a guy's brooding moment."

Artur laughed softly. "It's a gift."

Billy smiled. "Let's go home."

"Yeah," Artur said, standing and tugging him up by the hand. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, they walked back through the tall grass, backlit by the evening glow—something unspoken steady between them.

By the time they reached the house, the last light of day had melted into a soft blue hush. The windows glowed faintly with the warmth of the inside, flickering gently where the fire still crackled in the hearth.

Billy stepped in first, but he didn't go far. He just stood in the doorway for a second, taking in the familiar scent of old wood and something faintly herbal Mr. Dand had brewed earlier.

Artur slipped in behind him, his presence close—almost unconsciously close, as if he didn't realize how near he stood.

Billy turned his head, catching the corner of a quiet smile.

"You hungry?" Artur asked.

Billy shrugged. "Not really. You?"

Artur shook his head. "Just tired."

"Me too."

They didn't say anything more. Didn't need to. Billy padded across the room and lit the small lantern near the wall, casting a golden shimmer across the wooden floor. Then he turned to look back—and Artur was still watching him. That look again, not intense, not demanding... just soft. Curious. Present.

Billy crossed the room to him and bumped his shoulder gently. "Come on, sleepyhead."

They moved into Artur's room without fanfare. Just the rustle of fabric and the quiet shuffle of tired feet. Artur tossed his shirt aside, flopping down on the bed with a long sigh, face buried in the pillow.

Billy smirked. "You dying or something?"

Artur's voice was muffled. "Just emotionally. Can't believe I had to talk to my past and repair a shed in the same day."

Billy chuckled as he sat beside him. "Heroic, really."

He shifted, lay down beside him—this time without hesitation. It had become second nature. A part of their rhythm.

As Billy settled, Artur turned to face him, one arm sliding lazily around Billy's waist. Billy exhaled, soft and slow, his fingers brushing through Artur's hair.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Artur said, already sounding half-asleep. "You?"

"I'm okay." A pause. "Better now."

The firelight flickered against the wall, and the quiet wrapped around them like a second blanket. Billy leaned forward, pressed a kiss to Artur's temple.

"You know," he whispered, "I used to think peace was a place."

Artur stirred slightly. "And now?"

Billy smiled against his skin. "Now I think it's a person."

Artur hummed, pulling him just a little closer. "Then stay where it's peaceful."

"I plan to."

Their limbs tangled. Their breathing slowed.

Artur's eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, but drawn to Billy's face—still lit by firelight, still too honest to look away from.

Billy traced the tip of his finger along Artur's cheekbone, gentle like he was memorizing him. "You have this... way of calming everything down," he murmured. "Even when my brain's a storm."

Artur smiled, barely. "You're doing the same to me, you know."...you ridiculous, beautiful storm."

Billy's brows lifted slightly, surprised. "I am?"

Artur nodded. "It's weird... I never liked too much noise around me. People, chatter, attention—it always made me feel like I was shrinking."

Billy's fingers stopped, resting against his jaw now. "And me?"

"You're the only noise that feels quiet."

Billy blinked, then laughed softly under his breath, warm and real. "That's the most poetic thing I've ever heard you say."

"Don't get used to it," Artur mumbled, clearly embarrassed now. "You're still annoying."

"You love it."

"I do." Artur didn't hesitate.

Billy's smile faltered just a little—touched by something deeper. He leaned forward, closing the last inches between them, and kissed Artur's forehead. "You make me feel wanted without even trying."

Artur pulled him close, hand sliding up Billy's back, pressing him in. Their bodies fit together with that kind of familiar ease that felt older than it should've.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to earn your place here," Artur said into the crook of his neck. "You're already mine, you know that?"

Billy's breath hitched, and his fingers curled into the back of Artur.

"I know," he whispered, eyes closing. "I just like hearing it."

"Then I'll say it again." Artur tilted his head, pressing a kiss just below Billy's ear. "You're mine."

Billy let out a shaky breath and tucked his face into Artur's hair. "And you're mine. Always."

Their arms wrapped tighter around each other, legs gently tangled, skin brushing in quiet places—their foreheads resting together.

Outside, the wind moved through the trees with a lullaby hush, and inside the room, their world slowed to just the two of them. No past. No worries. No tomorrow.

Just this moment.

Just them.

Billy shifted a little, his palm now resting flat against Artur's chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath. He could've stayed like this for hours—wrapped in the warmth of someone who made the world feel far away.

Artur's fingers moved lazily through Billy's hair, slow and gentle. The silence between them had grown soft, not empty. Safe.

Then Artur's voice came, low and hesitant, like it had been sitting on his tongue for a while.

"Do you think..." he began, pausing to let the words find shape. "Do you think we should tell my dad?"

Billy's hand stilled.

Artur felt the shift—the way Billy's body didn't tense exactly, but something in him pulled back slightly, like a thread gently drawn too tight.

Billy didn't speak right away. He just breathed, slow and careful.

"I mean," Artur continued quietly, "he's not clueless. And I don't think he'd be mad. He likes you."

Billy let out a small breath of a laugh, but there was no joy behind it. "That's the problem."

Artur turned his head, trying to read his face. "What do you mean?"

Billy looked up at the ceiling, eyes distant. "I'm not scared of getting caught. That's not it. I'm scared of what he'll say. What if he doesn't just disapprove—what if he says something that ruins all this?"

Artur didn't answer right away. He waited.

Billy swallowed. "I've never had something like this before. Someone like this. And I'm not ready to lose it. I'm not ready to lose you."

Artur reached down, catching Billy's chin and gently guiding him to look back at him.

"You won't lose me," he said firmly. "Not for anything. Not even my dad."

"But what if—"

"No." Artur's thumb brushed against Billy's lower lip, stilling his words. "You don't have to defend yourself or prepare for disaster every time something good happens. I'm not leaving. And we're not telling him tonight, or tomorrow, or until you're ready. I just... I wanted to know where your heart is."

Billy blinked quickly, fighting off the sudden sting behind his eyes. "My heart's in your bed, tangled up in your sheets."

Artur smiled at that, soft and crooked. "Then I'll keep it safe."

Billy leaned in again, resting his forehead against Artur's. "Just promise me... if we ever tell him, we do it together."

"We will," Artur said. "Hand in hand. No matter what."

The silence returned, warm again, healing in its quiet rhythm. Billy tucked himself closer, his cheek against Artur's chest, breathing him in.

Artur held him like a promise.

And long after sleep stole the words from their lips, they stayed wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten—for now.

POV

[ _{ Billy's Journal – Page 51}

Journal Entry

Some moments don't need big declarations—just a hand held a little longer, a silence shared, a shoulder that stays even when old shadows return.

Today reminded me: peace isn't a place. It's a person. And mine is him.

Even when the past knocks, even when doubt creeps in... he still chooses me.

And that choice? It's everything.

If you're holding onto a memory of what almost was, let this be a reminder: what you have now—if it makes you feel seen, grounded, and safe—is more than enough. Because real love doesn't ask you to choose between who you were and who you've become.

It just walks beside you... and stays.

I used to think love had to be loud. That it came with declarations, fireworks, grand moments.

But today, I learned something quieter.

Love is sitting beside someone who doesn't run when you can't find the words. It's when the silence feels like home, not absence.

Artur didn't say much.

He didn't have to.

He stayed.

And maybe... that's the kind of love that saves us._]

[_{Journal Entry – Artur}

I didn't know choosing someone could feel like this.

It's not loud or sudden. It's quiet. Gradual. Like a tide rising around your feet—until you realize you're already in too deep to walk away.

He fell asleep on my shoulder tonight. No words. Just that calm, steady silence between us. And somehow, that said more than anything else.

I didn't expect this—didn't plan for someone to slip into the spaces of my life the way he has. But he's there now. In the small moments. In the laughter. In the way I look for him without meaning to. In the ache I carry when I see him searching for memories I know he may never find.

The most uptodate nove𝙡s are published on frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓.

But I don't need him to remember who he was. I love who he is now.

I've seen him carry doubts like they're stitched into his skin. Seen the way he crumbles when he thinks no one's watching. And I still choose him.

That's the thing about love—it's not about certainty. It's about presence. About standing still beside someone when they're not sure where they're going. About offering your hand anyway.

And maybe that's what choosing means.

So yes, I've made my choice.

Quietly. Completely.

And if I have to choose him again tomorrow, I will.

Every time.

As long as it's him._]