Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 68: Because You Were Here

The afternoon sun painted the earth in golden strokes, their shadows stretching with each unhurried step like memories walking beside them.They wandered along the winding path, unhurried, the repaired bike gently rattling along as Billy pushed it beside him.

Artur reached over to pluck a blade of tall grass and twirled it between his fingers. "You've been quiet for a whole five minutes," he teased, casting a glance at Billy.

Billy smirked. "I'm just enjoying the peace. Can't a man admire nature without being accused of plotting something?"

Artur chuckled. "Coming from you? Feels suspicious."

Billy bumped his shoulder lightly into Artur's. "Hey, I'm full of depth, you know."

Artur looked at him, half-serious. "I know you are."

The words hung between them for a breath too long—warm, unexpected. Billy didn't reply, just smiled, gaze soft, and turned back to the road.

They continued in comfortable silence until something caught Billy's eye up ahead—a tall, slightly aged structure rising behind a grove of trees. Its weather-worn bricks and iron gates stood proudly against the sky.

"What's that building?" Billy asked, pointing with his chin.

Artur followed his gaze and let out a short breath, amused. "That? That's my old high school."

Billy stopped walking, surprise lighting up his face. "Seriously? That huge place?"

Artur shrugged, a touch sheepish. "It looks bigger than it feels. Haven't been there in years."

Billy's eyes sparkled with sudden curiosity. "Can we go see it?"

Artur hesitated. "It's not that interesting."

"I want to," Billy insisted gently, already veering toward the front gate. "You don't have to give me a tour—just show me around a bit."

Artur sighed like he was being dragged into something burdensome, but the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. "Alright, alright. Just don't laugh if you find any embarrassing memories stuck in the walls."

Billy chuckled. "No promises."

They turned off the road and walked slowly toward the school grounds. The gate stood ajar, rust creaking faintly as Artur pushed it open. Inside, the courtyard lay quiet under the fading light, old benches scattered beneath thick trees, worn stone paths tracing old routines.

Billy looked around with a sort of gentle awe, as if stepping into a page from Artur's story. "So... you used to run through here with your backpack bouncing?"

Artur gave him a look. "I wasn't that clumsy."

Billy grinned. "You're right. You were probably the brooding one leaning against a wall pretending not to care."

Artur tried to act offended but couldn't hold back a laugh. "Honestly? Not far off."

They wandered through the empty courtyard, their footsteps echoing faintly. Billy looked at one of the old classrooms with faded paint and cracked windows. "Do you ever miss it?"

"Not really," Artur said, his tone thoughtful. "But sometimes... I remember how simple things were. Back then, everything felt like it would last forever."

Billy nodded slowly. "I guess that's how youth tricks us."

Artur looked at him, eyes soft. "Maybe. But some things, some moments, they stay with you."

Billy held his gaze a second longer, then turned back to the quiet school building. "Well... now you'll have a new memory here. Of us walking through it together."

Artur's chest tightened slightly at that. He didn't reply, but he reached out and gently squeezed Billy's hand.

They didn't say much after that—just walked quietly past the rusting bike racks, the crumbling chalkboard at the back of the building, and the old tree that probably witnessed every graduation smile and heartbreak.

They didn't leave right away.

Billy, curiosity sparkling in his eyes, nudged Artur toward one of the old corridors. "Come on, show me your locker. I want to see the place where you probably kept stolen snacks and secret notes."

Artur huffed a laugh, guiding him down a hall with faded blue paint and scuffed floors. "You really think I was that mischievous?"

Billy gave him a sideways look. "You've got that face."

Artur rolled his eyes, but there was a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He stopped in front of a row of dented lockers and tapped on one, the third from the left. "Here. This was mine."

Billy leaned in dramatically, squinting at it. "Doesn't smell like teenage rebellion. Disappointed."

Artur smirked. "Sorry to let you down."

Billy stepped closer, tracing his fingers lightly across the old number plate. "Do you remember what was inside?" ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

"Books. A jacket I always forgot to take home. And once, a dead cricket someone thought was hilarious to leave in there."

Billy snorted. "Classic school trauma."

They kept walking slowly, their voices growing quieter as the hallway narrowed and opened into another wing. Billy tilted his head, looking around. "You always walked alone, didn't you? I mean... I can picture it."

Artur didn't answer right away, just kept his pace, hands tucked into his pockets. "I didn't mind the quiet."

Billy softened, stepping in a little closer beside him. "Yeah, I guess I wouldn't mind it either... if I had someone like you to share the silence with."

Artur glanced at him then—just a flicker of a glance, but there was something grateful in his eyes.

They turned another corner.

The hallway grew dimmer, and their footsteps slowed.

One particular door caught Artur's gaze. He stopped walking.

Billy noticed the shift in his steps and turned, about to tease him again, but paused when he saw the way Artur was looking at the office—quiet, still, like something heavy had settled over him.

Billy blinked, his voice gentler now. "What is it?"

Artur didn't answer.

His eyes stayed fixed on the small plaque above the door: Room 12 - Faculty Office.

Billy followed his gaze, his playful mood fading as he looked back at Artur. "Artur?"

He stopped beside the office door, where a small brass nameplate sat dull and crooked, the letters nearly rubbed off. His mother's name, once bold and clear, had been slowly swallowed by time. He straightened it with a quiet touch, as if realigning her memory in the present.

After a moment, Artur finally spoke—his voice softer than Billy had heard it all day.

"That was my mom's office."

Billy blinked. "Your... mom?"

Artur nodded slowly. "She used to teach here. English. She was also my homeroom teacher."

His hand lifted slightly, as if to reach for the door, but he let it fall back to his side.

Billy stayed quiet. The silence held something unspoken—heavy, but shared. Full of the memory that clearly still lingered behind that closed door.

"How long has it been?" Billy finally asked, gently.

Artur swallowed. "Since she passed? A few years now. Cancer." His words came out calm, practiced. But his eyes... they told a different story.

Billy look at him, then at the door, then back at him.

He didn't say I'm sorry. He didn't need to.

Instead, he stepped closer, their arms brushing.

"Did she like being a teacher?" Billy asked.

Artur smiled faintly. "She loved it. Even on her worst days, she still came in. She believed in every kid who sat in her class... even the ones who didn't believe in themselves."

Billy looked at the door again, imagining a woman sitting behind it—books stacked high, papers scattered, a warm smile on her face.

"She sounds like someone I would've liked," he said quietly.

Artur gave a small nod. "She would've liked you too."

His voice cracked slightly at the end, and Billy reached for his hand, fingers lacing slowly with his.

They stood there for a moment longer.

Then Billy murmured, "Do you want to go in?"

Artur hesitated.

"I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

Billy squeezed his hand. "That's okay. We don't have to."

Artur took a breath, and let it go. Then slowly turned his back to the office, but not before letting his fingers gently brush the edge of the doorframe. Like a silent goodbye.

"Let's go," he said, voice low.

Billy nodded, his hand still in Artur's as they started walking again.

This time, slower than before. But together.

They walked for a while in silence, the kind that settled in gently—not awkward, not cold, but full of things neither of them needed to say just yet.

Billy glanced sideways, noting how quiet Artur had gone again. His shoulders weren't tense, but there was a drop in them, a weight hanging loosely—like a string of memories had been tugged too hard.

Billy didn't press. He never did. But he stayed close, brushing their hands together until Artur looked down and realized Billy was still holding his.

"Hey," Billy said softly, nudging him with his elbow. "You okay?"

Artur hesitated, then offered a small nod. "Yeah. Just... hadn't thought about that room in a long time."

Billy's lips curled slightly. "Want a distraction?"

Artur glanced over, curious. "What kind?"

Billy made a show of thinking, tapping his chin dramatically. "Hmm. I could sing for you. I'm terrible at it, so you'd be forced to focus on that instead of being sad."

Artur actually chuckled. "You really want me to suffer, huh?"

Billy grinned, bumping their shoulders. "Or, we could just sit somewhere for a while. You don't have to talk about it, but you also don't have to pretend it didn't feel like something."

Artur stopped walking for a second, looking at him fully this time. His eyes softened—tired, but clearer than before.

"You're really good at this," he murmured.

Billy tilted his head. "At what?"

"Being here," Artur's voice barely rose above the breeze. Just... being here. "Not fixing just being."

Billy felt a warmth spread in his chest. He reached up and gently touched Artur's cheek, thumb brushing along his jawline. "I don't want to fix you, Artur. I just want to be wherever you are. That's enough for me."

Artur leaned into the touch without thinking. "You're going to make me cry again."

Billy chuckled softly. "If you do, I'll let you use my sleeve. But only this once. They're new."

That got another soft laugh out of Artur. The tension in his shoulders eased a little more.

Billy slid his arm around his waist and started walking again, this time pulling Artur gently with him. "Come on. Let's find somewhere sunny to sit."

They found a bench just outside the school building, near an old tree whose branches swayed gently in the late afternoon breeze. The air was warm, the sky soft with fading gold, and the silence around them held nothing but peace.

Billy sat down and pulled Artur with him, guiding his head to his shoulder. Artur went without protest, resting there as if it was the only place that made sense.

They sat like that for a long time. No more words. Just presence.

Billy, watching the sky shift colors, whispered eventually, "She'd be proud of you, you know."

Artur didn't answer, but the way he leaned closer—the way his fingers found Billy's—was enough.

The breeze whispered through the trees, stirring the leaves above them. Artur's eyes followed the branches, but his body stayed still, tucked against Billy's side. He hadn't said anything since Billy's last words, but he hadn't moved either—and that silence spoke louder than a hundred confessions.

Billy let his thumb trace slow circles on the back of Artur's hand. No pressure. No hurry.

After a while, Artur's voice came—soft and careful, like stepping onto ice he wasn't sure would hold.

"She used to sit right there," he said, pointing faintly toward the office window. "Every morning, before classes started. She always brought two cups of tea. One for herself, and one for whichever teacher passed by first."

Billy smiled, glancing toward the window. "That sounds like something you'd do."

Artur gave a short breath of laughter. "Maybe. I got her sweet tooth, at least. She used to sneak cookies into the teacher meetings and blame the students when someone caught her."

Billy chuckled with him, his hand squeezing gently. "I would've liked her."

"She would've liked you more," Artur murmured. "You... You talk less than you listen. She always said that was rare."

Billy didn't reply right away. Instead, he turned slightly, resting his cheek on Artur's hair. "I think we're doing okay," he whispered. "Even if some days still ache."

Artur closed his eyes. The ache was there, yes—but it was softer now, wrapped in Billy's presence, like a wound being held rather than ignored.

He tilted his head up to look at Billy, eyes calm but searching. "How do you always know what to say?"

Billy gave a slow smile. "I don't. I just... say what I'd want to hear if it were me."

Artur's gaze lingered, his lips twitching into something tender and private. "Then don't stop."

"I won't," Billy promised.

They sat a little longer, letting the afternoon drift around them. The warmth of the sun, the smell of the old school halls, the sounds of wind and distant birds—they all held a sense of memory. But not the kind that hurt. The kind that reminded you you'd lived through something, and were still here.

Eventually, Billy stirred. "Ready to head back?"

Artur hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah... but can we go the long way again?"

Billy grinned, standing and tugging him gently to his feet. "You read my mind."

Fingers intertwined, hearts a little lighter, they walked away from the school slowly—leaving behind memories, but carrying them gently, side by side.