Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 62: A Smile Worth Fighting For

The horizon was bleeding orange when they finally stopped by the porch. A hush settled between them, not heavy — but tender, like a blanket drawn close.

"Billy stood beside Artur, their fingers brushing in quiet, absentminded motion, hands loosely linked." His shoulder occasionally bumped Artur's arm when the breeze shifted. Neither said anything. Neither needed to.

The wind tugged softly at Billy's hair, and he glanced up toward the sky, watching as a few early stars dared to blink through the fading light.

"You know," he murmured, "it's nice like this."

Artur turned slightly. "Like what?"

Billy didn't answer right away. His thumb traced slowly along the inside of Artur's palm, thoughtful. "Feels like one of those moments you remember without trying."

Artur's lips curved, warm but quiet. "You say that like we've lived a hundred years together."

Billy smiled back at him, tilting his head. "Feels like we have, doesn't it?"

They stood there a little longer, letting the silence speak for them — until the evening chill began to slip between the seams of their clothes.

Artur's hand gave a gentle tug. "Come on," he said softly, nodding toward the door. "We should go in before you start freezing."

Billy rolled his eyes, but followed.

Inside, the house greeted them with a stillness neither of them expected.

No soft scrape of Mr. Dand's boots at the door. No kettle warming itself on the stove. No faint hum of him working in the next room.

Artur stepped in first, eyes scanning slowly, his movements losing some of their usual weight. It wasn't anything dramatic — just a pause in the way his shoulders settled. A small falter in the way he exhaled.

Billy noticed.

He didn't say anything.

He simply stepped up behind him, let his hand rest gently on Artur's back, palm warm and steady through the fabric of his shirt. Then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss between his shoulder blades — not romantic, not dramatic, just something true.

Artur closed his eyes for a moment, letting it settle.

"It's quiet without him," he said finally, his voice low, not quite sure how to name what he was feeling.

Billy gave a soft hum in agreement, his other hand slipping gently around Artur's waist from behind. "Yeah. It is."

They stayed like that for a few seconds more — Artur letting himself lean slightly into Billy's touch, as if tethering himself to something safe, something constant. And Billy held him there, calm and present.

Then Billy gave him a little nudge. "Hey," he whispered near his ear. "You're not alone. I'm here."

Artur tilted his head just enough for their eyes to meet, the faintest hint of a smile returning. Not wide, not playful — just real.

And for a moment, the house didn't feel so empty anymore.

Artur turned toward the hallway, maybe to go wash his face or pretend to busy himself — but Billy wasn't having it.

"Wait," Billy said suddenly, tugging his wrist gently. "Don't move."

Artur raised a brow. "Why?"

Billy's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Because your face looks like it needs fixing."

Artur scoffed. "My face?"

Billy grinned and pulled him toward the living room like a determined storm. "Yes. It's suffering from a tragic case of 'overthinking.' I'm prescribing one dose of emergency cheer-up."

Artur sighed dramatically but followed. "And how do you plan on delivering this so-called medicine?"

Billy didn't answer. He dashed toward the corner chest by the shelf — the one Mr. Dand used to store old tools and random bits — and popped it open. He dug through it like a treasure hunter, tossing aside cloths, a broken slingshot, a fishing bobber—

"Billy..."

"Patience," he said over his shoulder. "Ah-hah!"

He pulled out two mismatched scarves — one bright orange, the other striped like a candy cane — and a floppy straw hat with a dented rim. He turned around slowly, holding the items like sacred offerings.

Artur blinked slowly, like someone watching chaos unfold in slow motion.

He squinted at the chaotic handful of props. "Dress-up?"

"Obstacle course," Billy said with absolute conviction, eyes gleaming.

"In the house. Loser has to give the winner a five-minute back massage."

Artur blinked. "Are we twelve?"

Billy tossed the hat at his head. "No. We're emotionally intelligent adults who know when to act ridiculous."

Artur caught the hat, staring at it in defeat, then grinned despite himself. "Fine. But I'm not wearing the scarf."

"Then I'm claiming the striped one," Billy smirked, wrapping it around his neck like royalty. "Let's see who can crawl under the coffee table, hop around the kitchen, and jump on the couch fastest. Go!"

Artur barely had time to react before Billy took off, half-laughing, sliding under the table and shouting, "One point for the city boy!"

The house, which had been heavy with silence just minutes ago, now echoed with thumps, shouts, and laughter. Artur tried to keep up but kept bumping into furniture, mumbling curses through his grin. Billy cheered dramatically every time he completed a challenge, clapping like he had just won gold.

By the end, they collapsed on the couch, breathless and tangled in scarves, the straw hat tilted off Artur's head.

Billy leaned his head against Artur's shoulder, still giggling. "See? Fixed your face."

Artur looked down at him, chest still rising with quiet breaths. "You're ridiculous."

Billy turned, eyes soft now. "But you're smiling."

And Artur was.

Not the guarded kind — the real kind.

Their eyes met, and the silence this time was full of warmth.

"Thank you," Artur said quietly.

Billy's response was a gentle nudge of his nose against Artur's cheek. "Always."

The house had finally quieted, Laughter lingered in the corners, warm as sunlight fading on old floorboards.

They stayed just like that — tangled in mismatched scarves, breath finally evening out, the old straw hat now abandoned on the floor beside them.

Billy shifted slightly, letting his head fall more securely against Artur's chest. Artur didn't move. One of his arms was draped loosely around Billy's back, the other resting across his stomach, fingers grazing the hem of his shirt with slow, absentminded touches.

"You're warm," Billy murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

Artur hummed in response, low and fond. "You ran around like a maniac."

"That's called cardio," Billy replied sleepily. "You should try it sometime."

Artur chuckled, barely louder than the ticking clock in the room. His hand shifted, brushing soft circles against Billy's back.

They didn't need to fill the quiet — it settled around them like something known. The kind of silence that didn't demand words, only presence.

Billy pressed closer, fitting against Artur's side like he belonged there. The scent of sun and woodsmoke still clung faintly to Artur's shirt, comforting in a way Billy didn't want to name out loud.

He tilted his head just slightly, his voice quiet and sincere. "I like this."

Artur's chest rose with a deep breath. "Me too."

Neither of them moved to get up. The weight of the day had melted into something lighter, and the world outside didn't seem to matter much anymore.

Artur leaned down just enough to press his lips to Billy's forehead — a soft, still kiss that lingered longer than a second.

Billy smiled, eyes still closed. "You're getting good at that."

"At what?"

Artur glanced down, but Billy's gaze was already waiting.

"Loving me quietly."

Artur didn't respond, but the way his arms held tighter said more than words ever could.

They stayed there until the light began to fade across the floorboards, wrapped in scarves and warmth, as the gentle hush of evening settled softly over them both.

Billy shifted a little, poking Artur's side with a lazy finger. "Do you remember the first time I tried to sweep this house?"

Artur squinted at him, his mouth twitching. "You mean when you broke the broom handle in half?"

"I did not break it," Billy huffed. "It just... snapped."

"Under your city-boy strength?"

Billy laughed, nudging his forehead lightly against Artur's jaw. "I was trying to impress you."

Artur raised a brow, playfully skeptical. "By destroying my dad's broom?"

"It was symbolic," Billy defended, grinning. "Like... I was sweeping away my old self."

Artur groaned, tilting his head back against the couch cushion with a laugh. "You're unbelievable."

"You love it," Billy said, voice softer now.

Artur glanced sideways at him, a warm smile blooming. "Yeah. I really do."

Billy smiled too, this time quieter, the kind that stayed longer than laughter. He shifted again, tucking his legs up under him, his head nestling comfortably on Artur's shoulder.

Artur's fingers found his hair, absently combing through it. "You smell like the wind."

"That's a compliment, right?"

"Depends on the wind," Artur teased.

Billy yawned, the sound small and content. "You think your dad's having fun on his trip?"

Artur shrugged slightly. "Probably. He likes getting out. Meeting people, bartering over fruit."

They both chuckled.

"I kinda miss him," Billy admitted softly, staring ahead at the quiet room.

Artur's hand paused, then resumed its gentle motion through Billy's hair. "Me too."

"But..." Billy shifted to look up at him, eyes sleepy but sincere. "I'm really glad I got to spend today with just you."

Artur looked up at him, his gaze tender. "Yeah? Even with all the racing, and the fake mustaches, and your broom-breaking past?"

Billy smirked, eyes fluttering closed. "Especially because of that."

The room fell into a hush again, not empty — just full of the softness between them.

Billy's breathing slowed. Artur leaned his head back again, his hand now still in Billy's curls. The warmth from their shared laughter lingered in the air, wrapping around them like a blanket.

Neither of them said "let's sleep." They didn't plan it.

But slowly, wrapped up in the day and each other, they simply drifted — shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart — into sleep right there on the couch.

"Wrapped in each other, in scarves and stillness — they let the world fade quietly around them."

Billy adjusted his position, legs curled up as he nestled closer to Artur's shoulder, letting comfort take over.