Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 8: "Shelter from the Storm"

The first raindrop splattered onto Billy's cheek as they made their way back through the fields, its cool touch catching him off guard. He glanced up at the sky—once a soft, golden hue, now consumed by swirling gray clouds. A low rumble of thunder rolled in the distance.

Artur frowned, picking up his pace. "We need to move."

Billy jogged a few steps to match his stride. "You always this dramatic about the weather?"

As if on cue, a sharp gust of wind howled through the trees, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth. Another droplet, then another—until the sky opened up. The rain came in heavy sheets, soaking through their clothes in seconds.

"Okay, fine! Maybe you had a point!" Billy laughed, pushing his wet hair back from his face.

Artur grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the nearest shelter—a small, abandoned storage hut just off the path. The wooden door groaned as Artur shoved it open, and they tumbled inside, breathless.

The space was cramped, barely big enough for the two of them. Old wooden crates lined the walls, and a single, dust-covered lantern hung from a rusted hook. Artur shook his head, water droplets flying from his hair.

Billy grinned. "Well, this is cozy."

Artur shot him a look before sighing, peeling off his soaked outer tunic and wringing it out. Billy watched, suddenly too aware of the way the dim light outlined Artur's form—the way his damp hair clung to his forehead.

Billy cleared his throat and flopped onto one of the crates. "So, do we just sit here and wait for the storm to pass? Should I start telling scary stories?"

Artur smirked. "You'd only scare yourself."

Billy scoffed. "Excuse you, I happen to be very brave."

A crack of thunder rattled the hut, and Billy flinched. Artur chuckled, and Billy shot him a glare before muttering, "That was just a reflex."

The storm raged on outside, wind whistling through the gaps in the wooden walls. A sudden draft sent a shiver down Billy's spine.

Artur hesitated for a moment before moving closer, sitting beside him. "You're shivering."

Billy blinked, caught off guard by the concern in his voice. "It's just a little cold. You don't have to—"

Before he could finish, Artur reached for the blanket draped over one of the crates, shaking off the dust before tossing half of it over Billy's shoulders. Their arms brushed, and Billy swore he could hear his own heartbeat over the rain.

"Thanks," Billy murmured.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the rhythm of the storm. For once, Billy wasn't filling the quiet with chatter. He simply leaned back against the crate, his body unconsciously relaxing next to Artur's.

Artur glanced at him, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. "You really don't remember anything? Nothing at all?"

Billy exhaled, his gaze drifting to the raindrops sliding down the wooden planks. "Sometimes I feel like there's something—just out of reach. A face, a voice. But when I try to grab it, it's gone."

Artur didn't respond right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small carving knife. Without a word, he picked up a stray piece of wood from the floor and began to whittle, the soft scraping sound filling the space between them.

Billy watched in quiet fascination. "What are you making?"

Artur smirked. "You'll see."

Billy leaned in closer, the warmth between them almost tangible now. He didn't realize how naturally they had settled into each other's space—how easy it felt.

The storm continued outside, but inside that tiny hut, something else was beginning to stir.

---

The storm outside seemed relentless, hammering against the wooden walls of their small shelter. Inside, the air was thick with warmth—not just from the shared blanket but from something else, something unspoken.

Billy leaned in slightly, watching Artur's hands move with practiced ease as he whittled away at the small piece of wood. The steady, rhythmic scraping of the knife against the grain was almost soothing.

Billy tilted his head. "You do this a lot?"

Artur didn't look up. "It helps pass the time."

Billy smirked. "So, this is what you do when you're not being the village's hardworking hero? Hiding away, carving mysterious little things?"

Artur exhaled through his nose—something between a chuckle and a sigh. "Something like that."

Billy nudged his knee against Artur's. "Come on, what is it?"

Artur hesitated, then turned the small wooden carving toward him. It wasn't finished yet, but Billy could make out the shape—an animal, sleek and small, its body curled slightly. A fox.

Billy's lips parted. "That's... actually really good."

Artur shrugged, eyes dropping. "It's nothing special."

Billy took the carving gently, tracing a finger over the rough edges. "No, it is. I mean, I don't remember much, but I feel like I'd remember if I could do something like this." He laughed, shaking his head. "Hell, I probably couldn't even make a stick figure out of wood."

Artur's mouth twitched. "I could teach you."

Billy blinked, glancing up. "Wait, really?"

Artur nodded. "If you want to."

Billy grinned. "I'd probably be a terrible student."

Artur smirked. "You already talk too much to focus."

Billy gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you, I am an excellent listener!"

Artur raised a brow. "Really? Then listen to this—sit still."

Billy clamped his mouth shut, pressing his lips together dramatically. Artur held his gaze for a moment before shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Something about the sound made Billy's stomach flip. It wasn't the usual amusement he got from teasing Artur—it was softer, quieter, like Artur was actually enjoying this.

Outside, the storm showed no sign of stopping, but inside, the tension had shifted. It was no longer just about waiting out the rain—it was about this moment, about being here, together.

Billy exhaled, letting his head fall back against the crate. "You know, for a guy who's all serious and brooding, you're not that bad to be around."

Artur rolled his eyes. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Billy turned his head, meeting Artur's gaze. "You should."

The space between them felt smaller now, the edges of the blanket brushing against both their shoulders. The lantern's soft glow flickered, casting warm shadows along Artur's sharp features.

Billy swallowed. "Hey, Artur?"

Artur looked at him, and for the first time, Billy swore he saw something unreadable flicker behind those steady eyes—just for a second.

Billy's heart did something strange, something unexpected.

But before he could say anything else, a loud crack of thunder rattled the hut, making Billy jolt. Without thinking, he grabbed Artur's arm.

Artur stiffened. "...Billy."

Billy blinked, realizing what he'd done. His fingers curled around Artur's forearm, his grip firm, instinctual. He could feel the solid warmth beneath his fingertips, the way Artur's muscles tensed slightly under his touch.

He should've let go. He really should have.

But he didn't.

Instead, he met Artur's eyes—startlingly close now. The world outside faded, the storm just a distant hum compared to the quiet between them.

Billy wet his lips. "I—"

The door creaked, and suddenly, the wind howled through a small crack in the wall, making the lantern flicker wildly.

Just like that, the moment shattered.

Billy quickly pulled his hand back, clearing his throat. "Uh—guess that thunder really caught me off guard, huh?"

Artur exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "...Yeah."

Billy forced a laugh, running a hand through his damp hair. "Well, you make a good storm buddy."

Artur shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smirk there.

The storm continued outside, but inside, something had shifted. Billy wasn't sure what it was yet—he wasn't even sure if Artur felt it too.

But one thing was certain.

For the first time, the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was something else entirely.

Something that made Billy's heart race just a little faster.

---

The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the earth damp and the air crisp. The scent of wet grass lingered as Billy stirred awake, groaning as he stretched his arms over his head. His muscles ached from sleeping in an awkward position, half-slumped against the wooden crate.

He blinked blearily, his gaze landing on Artur, who sat by the now-dying lantern, his knife still in hand, carefully smoothing the edges of the wooden fox.

Billy's voice was thick with sleep. "You stayed up all night?"

Artur didn't look up. "Not all night."

Billy scoffed. "Liar. You're the only person I know who thinks sleep is optional."

Artur finally met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "You talk in your sleep."

Billy tensed. "What? No, I don't."

A flicker of amusement crossed Artur's face. "You do."

Billy sat up, rubbing his face. "Great. What embarrassing things did I say?"

Artur tilted his head, as if considering whether to share. Then, with the faintest smirk, he replied, "You mumbled something about a 'handsome stranger.'"

Billy choked on air. "I—What? No. You're messing with me."

Artur shrugged. "Maybe."

Billy narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you."

Artur didn't argue. He simply went back to his carving, the smirk still lingering on his lips.

Billy groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "I hate you."

Artur's voice was calm, amused. "No, you don't."

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Billy glanced at him, ready with a witty retort—but then he saw it. The way the early morning light caught the sharp angles of Artur's face, the way his fingers moved so carefully over the carving, the way he looked—peaceful.

Billy swallowed.

No, he didn't hate him at all.

The day unfolded slowly, the storm leaving behind a quiet kind of stillness. They walked back to the village together, the muddy path soft beneath their boots. Billy kicked at a stray rock, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Artur carried the finished wooden fox in his hand, occasionally rubbing his thumb over its smooth back. Billy watched him from the corner of his eye.

He couldn't explain it, but something about last night felt different. Maybe it was the way Artur had looked at him. Or maybe it was the way Billy had felt when their fingers brushed.

Or maybe—just maybe—he was in trouble.

Because for the first time since he woke up in this unfamiliar world, Billy felt something shift inside him.

And it had everything to do with Artur.