Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 64: A City Boy’s Heartbeat

The market buzzed with life — wooden carts creaked under the weight of fresh produce, colorful fabrics fluttered in the breeze, and the air carried the scent of roasted corn, spices, and morning chai.

Billy stuck close to Artur, still smiling from the laughter they shared with Tomas and his wife. Artur glanced at the bike shop behind them, wiping his hands on his jeans. "he said it'll be ready by tomorrow," he muttered. "Needs a new chain and some tuning."

Billy nudged him lightly with his shoulder. "Told you I didn't ruin it completely."

"Mm-hmm," Artur smirked. "Only half ruined it."

Billy gasped mockingly. "You were the one who said, 'let's race!' like some countryside speed demon. I was just trying to keep up."

They strolled past the pottery stalls, where children's laughter echoed. A woman offered them dried fruits in a palm-woven tray. Billy accepted a few almonds, handing one to Artur before popping the rest into his mouth. "You used to come here often as a kid?"

Artur nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "With dad mostly. Every Saturday. He knew almost every vendor."

Billy looked around, as if seeing the village differently through Artur's memories. "No wonder everyone waves at you."

"Just old faces," Artur said, brushing a speck off Billy's shoulder. "But you're the only new one they're all curious about."

Billy leaned in, voice playful. "And what do you tell them about me?"

Artur glanced sideways, lips twitching into a smirk. "That you're a city boy with a village heart... and bad luck with bikes."

Billy rolled his eyes but laughed, the sound soft and warm like sunlight.

Just then, a small girl tugged on Artur's shirt, offering him a hand-painted charm on a string. Billy watched him kneel, take the charm with gratitude, and tie it around his wrist with a gentle smile.

"She said it's for good luck," Artur explained as he stood again.

"She's right," Billy murmured, touching the charm lightly. "You'll need all the luck you can get — I'm not exactly low-maintenance."

Artur didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered on Billy's fingers where they'd brushed the charm — the contact so light, it might've been accidental, but something in the way Billy's touch lingered suggested otherwise.

The moment hung between them.

"So," Billy began, licking a trace of almond from his thumb, "any work today, or are we just flirting with vendors and collecting good-luck charms?"

Artur shot him a sidelong glance — a half-smile playing on his lips, but his eyes didn't give much away. "Some fencing needs fixing near the eastern field. And Dad wants the tools sorted.

Billy stretched his arms overhead, letting out a playful groan. "Manual labor. My glamorous village life continues."

"Complaining already?" Artur asked, his voice dry but amused. "You volunteered to help, remember?"

"I thought you meant help paint banners or taste-test sweets," Billy said, falling in step beside him again. "Not wrestle wood and wire."

They veered off the busy main path, slipping into a quieter lane where the market chatter faded behind them. It was narrower here, lined with old brick walls where vines curled around faded murals — little glimpses of the village's stories etched in color and time.

"You coming or not?" Artur asked without turning, hands now tucked into his back pockets as he walked ahead.

Billy caught up quickly. "Depends. How dangerous is this fence situation? Should I alert the village healer in advance?"

Artur snorted under his breath, but didn't answer. Instead, he glanced back when Billy stumbled slightly on a rock, catching his elbow with a firm grip.

"Careful," he murmured, hand steadying him just a moment longer than necessary.

"Billy looked up, pulse flickering at the warmth in Artur's grip. "I meant to do that. Testing your reflexes."

"Sure," Artur said, letting go. "You're really keeping me on my toes."

As they continued, Billy stayed quiet for a while, watching the way sunlight filtered through the trees above them, dappling Artur's shoulders in soft gold. There was something grounding in their silence — like words weren't always needed between them.

They reached the old tool shed behind Dand's house, half-hidden by wild grass and leaning slightly from age. Artur pulled the rusted latch and pushed it open with a grunt. The smell of earth, metal, and old wood greeted them.

"Start with the smaller tools," Artur said, crouching to lift a coiled wire from the back wall. "Check for rust. I'll grab the posts."

Billy nodded, rolling up his sleeves. He picked up a hammer, weighing it in his palm, then glanced over at Artur's back as he moved around the shed.

There was a quiet rhythm between them — the scrape of metal, the shifting of boxes, the occasional grunt when something refused to budge. Billy stole glances when he thought Artur wouldn't notice — the way his brow furrowed in focus, the way his shoulder blades moved beneath the fabric of his shirt.

It was stupid, maybe. This kind of noticing. But it snuck up on him, soft and uninvited.

Artur straightened suddenly and turned — catching Billy mid-stare.

"Need something?" he asked, not accusing, just curious.

Billy blinked, then quickly looked down. "Yeah. A better hammer. This one's got a weird handle."

Artur tossed him another without comment.

Billy caught it, then smiled faintly. "Thanks."

Artur held his gaze a second longer, then turned back to work. "You're welcome."

Outside, birds chirped in the trees. Inside, the silence stretched again — not awkward, just thick with the kind of things neither of them were quite ready to say out loud.

The sun had climbed higher by the time they loaded the tools into a worn handcart and started toward the eastern field. Dry grass crunched under their boots, the quiet broken only by the cart's soft rattle and the occasional call of a bird overhead.

Billy walked beside Artur, sleeves still rolled, pushing the cart with a shoulder's nudge now and then to keep it steady. His hand brushed Artur's once by accident — neither of them mentioned it.

The fence came into view at the edge of the field — leaning, some posts half-pulled from the earth, wire sagging like tired arms. Artur crouched near the first post and pressed his palm to the soil.

"Still soft," he muttered. "We won't need to dig much."

Billy squatted beside him, wiping sweat from his brow. "Looks like it's been kicked in."

"Probably stray cattle." Artur handed him a pair of gloves. "Think you can handle hammering?"

Billy flexed his fingers before slipping them on. "I was born for this. Might've been a carpenter in another life."

Artur raised an eyebrow. "With those city hands?"

Billy smirked. "These city hands are full of surprises."

Artur didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched — a trace of a smile, like he was trying not to let it show.

They got to work. Artur guided each post into place with firm hands while Billy hammered the nails, a little too enthusiastically at first post. "You're not trying to scare the wood into place."

Billy puffed out a breath. "Maybe I am. Intimidation technique."

Artur chuckled — a rare, low sound that made Billy's arms pause mid-swing. For a second, he didn't move, just watched the way the sun lit up the edges of Artur's face.

"What?" Artur asked, noticing.

Billy blinked and turned back to the fence. "Nothing. Just surprised you actually laugh." fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

Artur didn't reply right away. He tightened the wire on the next section, his focus intense. Then, casually: "You make it harder not to."

Billy swallowed around the warmth that crept up his throat. He lowered the hammer a little slower this time.

They continued, side by side — Artur working with efficient quiet, Billy matching his pace with more caution now. The work was steady, grounding. The kind that left no room for pretending, no place to hide behind clever words.

Billy wiped his brow, catching a glimpse of Artur's shirt darkened with sweat — back taut, movements steady, like the work didn't tire him at all.

There was something about the way they moved together — the silent rhythm of it — that made the still air feel full of something unspoken.

After a while, Artur stood back to inspect their work. "It'll hold," he said. "Better than before."

Billy leaned against a post, panting lightly. "We make a good team."

Artur nodded, then glanced his way. "You didn't complain once."

Billy gave him a tired smile. "Don't sound so surprised. I can be useful."

"You are."

The words were simple. No flourish, no teasing. Just that. Billy turned to look at him fully, but Artur was already picking up the hammer again, heading for the next post.

Billy followed, quieter now.

Not because he had nothing to say — but because for the first time, he felt like he didn't need to.

They paused near the edge of the field where an old fig tree stretched wide, casting a thick shade across the dry ground. Artur dropped the toolbox with a grunt and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Billy followed, collapsing onto the grass like someone who'd just survived a battlefield. "If this was your plan to impress me," he said between breaths, "it's working."

Artur sat beside him with a soft thud, legs stretched out in front of him. "That wasn't the plan."

Billy turned his head, half-grinning. "So there was a plan?"

Artur gave him a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised, but didn't answer.

Billy plucked a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers. The breeze moved through the leaves above them, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across Artur's jaw, his neck, the faint curve of a smile he wasn't quite showing.

"I like this," Billy said quietly, almost to himself.

Artur turned to him. "What?"

"This." Billy gestured vaguely — at the field, the fence, the heat still clinging to their clothes. "Working like this. With you. It feels..." He trailed off, fingers brushing a worn patch on his knee.

Artur's voice came softer now. "Feels like what?" His fingers had stilled on the handle, knuckles pale where they clutched the metal.

Billy met his eyes, slow and steady. "Like I belong here. Even just for today."

Artur looked at him for a long moment. Then he leaned back, arms propped behind him, gazing up through the tree branches. "It's not just today."

Billy blinked, heart thudding louder than it had all morning. He wanted to ask what Artur meant — wanted to push, to pull the answer out of him. But something told him not to. Not yet.

Instead, he tilted his head toward Artur's shoulder, close enough to feel the warmth but not quite touching.

They sat like that, quiet.

The kind of quiet that didn't need filling.

A soft wind stirred Billy's hair, and without thinking, Artur reached over — brushing a stubborn strand away from Billy's forehead, his fingers grazing skin.

Billy didn't move. His breath caught.

Artur's hand lingered just a second too long before he drew it back and looked away, jaw tightening.

Billy exhaled slowly, watching him.

"You're not easy to read, you know that?"

Artur gave a dry laugh, low and faint. "You're not supposed to be reading me."

Billy leaned closer, whispering just enough to stir the air between them. "Too late."

Artur didn't answer — but he didn't move away, either.

Under the fig tree, with sweat cooling on their backs and the scent of sun-warmed grass thick in the air, something passed between them — something neither of them named, but both of them felt.

It lingered in the space between shoulders, in the echo of touch, in the way neither of them looked directly at the other for a while after that.