Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 65: A Place to Rest

The sun began its slow descent, spilling amber across the fields like melted gold. The shadows stretched longer, softer, and the wind had changed — cooler now, brushing against skin like the ghost of a breath.

Billy let his gaze follow a flock of birds cutting through the sky in perfect formation. For a long moment, neither he nor Artur said a word. The hush between them wasn't empty — it was full, brimming with something that hadn't yet found a name.

Artur pushed himself up with a quiet grunt, dusting his palms against his jeans. "We should finish up tomorrow," he said, voice low, like even speaking too loudly might shatter the quiet they'd built beneath the fig tree.

Billy looked up at him, eyes still carrying the weight of whatever had passed between them. He didn't question it — just nodded, rising to his feet. "Yeah. That sounds good."

The walk back was unhurried.

The dirt path curved lazily toward the house, the earth still warm beneath their boots. Billy matched Artur's pace, his steps light but his thoughts heavy. His hands brushed the tips of wild grass as they walked, fingers trailing like he was holding onto the moment — afraid it might slip away before they reached the gate.

Artur walked with one hand in his pocket, the other occasionally reaching up to tug at the string charm around his wrist — a small, nervous gesture that Billy had started to notice more and more.

They didn't need to talk.

Not yet.

The comfort was in the silence — not the absence of words, but the presence of understanding.

The house came into view at the top of the slope, its wooden walls catching the last embers of daylight. A faint creak of the weathervane stirred on the roof as the wind shifted.

Billy let out a soft sigh. "I forgot how good tired can feel."

Artur gave a short nod. "That's the kind of tired that lets you sleep easy."

They passed the fence Dand had patched weeks ago. The gate let out a familiar squeal as Billy pushed it open. He paused, resting his arm across the top plank, and looked back at the field behind them — the brush, the fig tree, the open sky now turning violet.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to how quiet it gets here," he murmured.

Artur stepped past him onto the porch, kicking the dust from his boots before glancing over his shoulder. "That's not a bad thing."

Billy's smile was soft as he followed him up. "No. It's not."

The door opened with the usual click, and they stepped inside. The warmth was different without Dand — not gone, just quieter. The old man's note still sat pinned on the shelf, corners curled slightly from the days that had passed.

Artur reached for the lamp and lit it with a practiced flick. The glow pooled around them in soft amber, catching the lines of the table where a few tools still sat from yesterday's work.

Billy dropped the basket near the door and ran a hand through his hair, glancing toward the kitchen. "Want tea?"

Artur's gaze lingered on him for a beat. Then he gave a faint smile. "Yeah. I'll wash up."

And just like that, the house filled again — not with noise, but with presence. With shared footsteps, soft movements, and the scent of something simmering on the stove. Quiet, steady, and real.

The tea steamed quietly between their hands as they settled onto the couch, the room wrapped in the low hum of evening stillness. A single lamp lit the space with gold, softening the wooden walls and casting long, familiar shadows.

Billy curled one leg up under him and let the warmth of the mug seep into his fingers. Artur sat beside him, head tilted back slightly, eyes half-lidded. His body moved slower now — not from reluctance but from wear.

Billy took a small sip, watching the way Artur's shoulders had sagged a little more than usual.

"You're tired," he murmured, setting his cup down.

Artur didn't answer, but his faint exhale was enough.

Billy didn't hesitate. He shifted, setting his hand gently on Artur's arm. "Come on," he coaxed softly, tugging with a small smile. "Lie down."

Artur raised a brow, but the resistance in his gaze melted almost instantly. He let the tea rest on the table and gave in, easing himself down until his head rested on Billy's lap, one arm draped along the backrest, the other limp across his chest.

Billy's fingers moved with quiet certainty — no longer tentative, just familiar, tracing the curve of Artur's neck like he'd done it a hundred times before, massaging the tight lines with quiet care.

Artur let out a low, grateful hum. His eyes drifted shut.

"You're heavier than I thought," Billy teased, voice gentle.

"I can move," came the mumbled reply.

"You won't," Billy whispered back, pressing his palm lightly over Artur's temple. "You've carried more than just tools lately," Billy continue. "Let someone carry you for once."

For a while, neither of them spoke. The room breathed with the subtle creak of wood, the ticking clock, the sound of wind brushing against the windows.

Billy glanced at the shelf — at the paper still pinned there in Mr. Dand's familiar handwriting. His lips curved softly.

"I think we're done with Mr. Dand's work list," he said, voice low but light. "Even if he comes back now, we won't get scolded."

Artur let out a soft laugh without opening his eyes. "That'll be a first."

Billy grinned, still threading his fingers through Artur's hair. "We might even earn extra points."

Artur cracked one eye open. "You think he gives points?"

Billy tilted his head in mock thought. "No. But I think he'll notice."

Artur didn't answer this time — just let his eyes close again, his breathing growing more even, his weight a little heavier.

Billy looked down at him, something unspoken catching in his chest. He brushed his thumb once more behind Artur's ear, letting his hand settle there as if anchoring him to the moment.

Outside, the wind rustled the trees. Inside, it was quiet — just the two of them, wrapped in warmth, work behind them, and nothing else to chase.

The wind outside had quieted, leaving the old house in a cocoon of calm. The soft glow from the single lamp gave the room a honeyed hush, and the tea had long gone cold, forgotten on the table.

Billy shifted slightly on the couch, careful not to wake the man whose head rested on his lap. Artur had grown quieter over the last few minutes, his lashes brushing against his cheeks, his breathing deeper now — but not quite asleep.

Billy's hand still moved in slow circles across his scalp, fingers threading through the soft, dark strands. He smiled to himself, a little breath of amusement slipping past his lips.

"You fall asleep this easy around everyone?" he teased gently.

Artur didn't open his eyes. "Only when someone's spoiling me."

Billy chuckled under his breath. "So I'm spoiling you now?"

"You have your fingers in my hair and I didn't stop you. That's a pretty big admission."

Billy lowered his voice, soft but sincere. "You should let yourself rest more often."

Artur's brows knit faintly, though his eyes remained closed. "There's always something to do."

"There'll always be something to do," Billy replied. "Doesn't mean you should run yourself into the ground."

A beat passed. Then, softer than before, Artur said, "I don't know how to stop sometimes."

Billy felt something ache quietly in his chest. He brushed a knuckle across Artur's cheek.

"Well," he murmured, "maybe I'll be the reminder you need."

Artur's lips twitched into a faint smile. "You will?"

Billy met the half-lidded glance that followed, his voice lowering. " Yeah I wouldn't mind."

Their eyes held for a moment too long to be casual — quiet and full of meaning neither dared say out loud.

Then Artur's gaze slipped downward again, and he exhaled slowly, his body sinking deeper into Billy's lap.

"You're dangerous when you're kind like this," he mumbled. "Makes it harder to look away."

Billy smiled faintly, his fingers still moving. "And you're more charming when you're tired."

Artur didn't reply.

Moments passed — slow and drowsy — until Billy realized his breathing had evened out completely. His lips had parted slightly. The weight on his lap had grown heavier, completely trusting.

Billy wondered how much longer they could exist in this almost — this nearly something — without it breaking the surface. And whether, if it did, either of them would be ready.

Billy looked down at him, something tender blooming beneath his ribs.

"Artur," he whispered, brushing a hand lightly across his forehead. "Come on."

No answer. Just the steady, peaceful rhythm of sleep.

Billy sighed softly, not annoyed — just amused. He stayed there for a little longer, not wanting to wake him just yet. But eventually, he slid his arm under Artur's shoulders, using slow, practiced ease to lift him from the couch.

"You'd carry me too if I passed out, right?" Billy murmured, half-joking as he rose to his feet with Artur in his arms.

Artur stirred just a little — head resting against Billy's shoulder now, but still lost in sleep.

Billy nudged the door open with his foot and carried him down the hallway, the old floorboards creaking under his steps. The bedroom welcomed them with still air and soft shadows.

He laid Artur down gently, pulling the blanket over him with a quiet touch. He lingered for a moment, brushing back a stray strand of hair from Artur's forehead.

"Sleep well, countryside speed demon," Billy whispered.

The room settled into silence, soft and undisturbed.

Billy stood there a moment longer, his eyes adjusting to the dimness, then quietly rounded the bed. The covers shifted gently as he slipped beneath them, careful not to disturb Artur's sleep.

Artur lay turned toward him, one arm curled near his face, his breath steady. His hair fell a little messily across his forehead, and his mouth was barely parted. In sleep, the tension that usually sat in his brow had vanished, replaced by a softness Billy hadn't seen before.

Billy propped himself on one elbow, just watching him. His eyes traced the quiet curve of Artur's cheek... the way his lashes touched his skin, how at peace he looked now, like the weight he always carried had finally loosened its grip.

Billy smiled faintly, almost in awe.

"You really don't know how beautiful you are when you let go," he whispered into the quiet.

The words weren't meant to be heard — they were more for himself. A truth tucked between shadows and silence.

Slowly, he inched closer, letting the warmth between them draw him in. He slid his arm around Artur's waist, pulling him gently against his chest, careful not to startle him. Artur gave a small, sleepy sigh but didn't wake — just relaxed further into his hold.

Billy rested his forehead against Artur's, brushing their noses together lightly. He hovered there, heart full, before pressing a soft kiss to his temple. Then one to his cheek. And finally, a quiet kiss just above the corner of his lips — feather-light and full of unspoken things.

"Goodnight," he breathed.

And with a smile still playing faintly on his lips, Billy closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of Artur's breathing guide him into sleep.

Wrapped in warmth, quiet, and each other.

Then he smiled to himself, turned off the lamp, and padded softly back into the quiet house.