Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 48: All Roads Lead Back to You

The wheelbarrow creaked softly as Artur pushed it along the narrow dirt path, the fading sun painting golden stripes through the trees. Billy walked beside him, kicking at little stones now and then, the air warm and quiet around them.

"You know," Billy said after a stretch of silence, "if I hadn't seen you with a hammer or carrying logs, I'd never believe you're this strong."

Artur gave him a sideways glance. "And why's that?"

"You have soft hands," Billy teased, bumping his elbow against Artur's.

"I do not."

"You absolutely do," Billy insisted. "Like, surprisingly soft. For someone who works with wood."

Artur muttered something under his breath, his ears slightly red.

Billy smirked, pleased. "Don't worry, it's a compliment. I like them."

Artur stayed silent, but the twitch of his mouth betrayed him. "You talk too much when you're happy," he said finally.

"Maybe," Billy shrugged, arms swinging lazily at his sides. "But it's better than sulking."

Artur didn't argue. They walked on in companionable quiet, the gravel giving way to the flatter road that led toward the trading post. The scent of sun-baked earth filled the air, mingling with the faint fragrance of wildflowers clinging to the edges of the path.

"Hey," Billy said suddenly. "When you were younger—before I crashed into your life like a clueless idiot—did you ever think about leaving the village?"

Artur blinked at the question, his steps slowing just a little.

"I mean, just curious," Billy added quickly. "You're good with your hands. You could've gone to the city. Found a better job. Maybe even married some sweet village girl named... I don't know... Anna?" he smirked at the last part.

Artur sighed through his nose. "I never liked the city," he said. "Too noisy. And I don't like wearing shoes all day."

Billy laughed. "That's your reason?"

Artur gave a small shrug. "That, and... I didn't want to leave my father."

That answer made Billy quiet. He glanced down, the warmth in his chest knotting tighter.

They reached the trading post just as the sun dipped low, stretching shadows across the dusty ground. The warm glow of late afternoon clung to the edges of rooftops, and the scent of dried herbs and sackcloth lingered in the air.

Old Harris was already outside, squinting at something in his hand—a piece of paper or possibly just a leaf he mistook for one. His spectacles were perched at the tip of his nose, his cap tilted too far back, exposing a balding patch that gleamed in the light.

"Well, if it isn't young Artur!" Harris called out, voice rising like a surprised crow. "Thought you'd vanished into the forest or turned into a tree, boy!"

Artur grinned, dropping the wheelbarrow handle. "Still alive. Still made of skin, not bark."

Harris gave a wheezy laugh, then squinted at Billy. "And you—ah! The city lad! The one living with Dand now, right? What's your name—Bobby? Benny?"

"Billy," Billy corrected gently.

"Right! Billy," Harris said with a cheerful slap of his ledger. "You've got the kind of face that looks like it knows things. You sure you're not a tax collector? Or worse—a poet?"

Billy blinked. "Definitely not a poet."

"Pity," Harris muttered, "We could use someone to make goat reports sound like epic ballads." All we get is wheat reports and goats screaming in the hills."

"I heard about you two! Good pair of hands, Dand said. Though between us," he leaned in with a wink, "I don't know why he lets anyone touch his deliveries. He gets real picky about weight. Like the grain's gonna run away on its own!"

It took nearly thirty minutes just to sort the parcels, mostly because Harris kept pausing to tell long-winded stories that meandered in every direction but useful. At one point, he opened the same drawer three times and forgot what he was looking for each time.

"You remember that summer," Harris said, wagging a finger, "when you tried to fix my cart wheel and ended up snapping the whole axle? That old mare of mine wouldn't move for two days."

"That wasn't me," Artur said calmly, lifting a sack of grain onto the wheelbarrow.

"No? Hmm. Might've been your father. Or the goat. Either way, someone owes me a wheel."

Billy leaned close, lowering his voice. "If he talks this much during the day..."

"You'd never sleep again," Artur replied, already biting back a laugh.

Once the last parcel—mislabeled "Feathers," clearly full of nails—was settled, Harris finally handed over the list and waved them off like they'd stayed for tea.

"Tell Dand I threw in extra twine!" he shouted after them. "Don't let it go to your heads!"

As they turned back, the wheelbarrow groaned under the weight, but the road ahead glowed in rich amber hues. Their shadows followed behind, long and soft over the earth.

Billy exhaled, shaking his head. "He talks like he's auditioning for a play."

Artur smiled faintly. "He's always been like that. Used to corner me outside the schoolhouse just to talk about the weather."

"He makes weather sound like a war story," Billy muttered.

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Artur let out a low chuckle, glancing sideways. "You handled it well."

Billy arched a brow. "Handled it? I deserve a medal."

The two of them kept walking, laughter fading into the hush of evening, the soft squeak of the wheelbarrow and the settling dusk the only things that remained.

Billy drifted closer, his sleeve whispering against Artur's. For a beat, he just listened to the sound of their steps together.

"I like this," he said, almost shyly.

Artur glanced over. "What?"

"This—us. Errands, teasing, working together, you rolling your eyes at me. It feels... right."

Artur's gaze softened. "It does."

And they walked the rest of the way in quiet, their steps unhurried, their hearts full.

By the time they rolled the wheelbarrow back into the yard, the sky was blushing in warm pinks and violets. A soft breeze had picked up, rustling the tops of the trees like they were whispering secrets to one another.

Mr. Dand was on the porch, sharpening a tool on the whetstone, his sleeves rolled up and face half-shadowed in the twilight. He looked up the moment he heard the wheels crunch on the gravel path.

"Took your sweet time," he called out, though his tone held no real bite. "Let me guess... Harris?"

Billy dropped the handles and groaned. "He talked about a goat, a wheel, and something about poetry?"

Dand chuckled, shaking his head. "Old Harris could delay a storm if he talked to it long enough."

Artur wiped the back of his neck and said dryly, "He offered us feathers. Full of nails."

"That sounds about right."

Mr. Dand set the tool aside and stood, walking over to inspect the goods. He nodded approvingly at the stacked parcels. "Good work, both of you. Everything's in one piece, even with all the talking."

He clapped a hand on Billy's shoulder, firm but warm. "You're fitting in more and more. You'll be outpacing Artur soon."

Billy gave a tired smile. "That's the plan."

Artur narrowed his eyes, playful. "You wish."

Mr. Dand glanced between them, noting the easy rhythm that had fallen into place—teasing, comfort, that unspoken thread that held them in sync. His gaze softened, and he turned back toward the porch.

"Come on in before Harris's ghost shows up to chat some more. I'll fix us some tea."

As the two followed him toward the house, Billy caught Artur's eye and grinned. "Think he'll ever run out of stories?"

Artur shrugged with mock seriousness. "Not even in the afterlife."

Their laughter floated into the house with them, the dusk spilling gold across the wooden floors.

Inside the house, the fading light spilled across the wooden floors, painting soft gold streaks through the open windows. The air smelled faintly of firewood and dried herbs hanging from the rafters.

Billy leaned against the doorway of the kitchen while Artur moved toward the sink, rinsing the dust from his hands. Neither of them spoke at first—just the quiet rhythm of water running, the creak of wood beneath their feet, and Mr. Dand humming faintly as he rummaged for teacups.

Billy's fingers traced the edge of the table absently, his gaze drifting to Artur's profile. His sleeves were pushed up, collar loose, hair slightly messy from the work and wind. Billy didn't say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched—something about the way Artur looked when he wasn't trying to look like anything at all always caught him off guard.

Artur turned, catching Billy watching him.

"What?" he asked, brow raised.

Billy shrugged, casually—too casually. "Just... thinking about earlier."

Artur gave him a crooked grin. "The part where you nearly dropped a whole sack of grain on my foot?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "I was being generous. Giving your reflexes a test."

"You failed that test."

"I passed the charm portion."

Artur shook his head, laughing under his breath as he dried his hands. "Barely."

Just then, Mr. Dand returned with a steaming kettle and raised an eyebrow at the exchange. "You two always like this, or is it the dust talking?"

Billy stepped forward, grinning. "Mostly the dust."

He helped Mr. Dand set the cups, careful with the old ceramic handles. Artur joined him, standing close enough that their arms brushed. Neither of them moved away.

At the low table, they sat together as Mr. Dand poured the tea, his movements slow, unhurried. The scent of herbs filled the room—earthy, calming.

No one rushed to speak. They simply sat with the warmth of the steam rising, the quiet clink of ceramic, and the occasional creak of the old wood around them. Outside, the trees whispered in the breeze, branches casting long, soft shadows.

Billy leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded. His limbs were heavy, but it was a good kind of tired. The kind that came after doing something real. His shoulder brushed Artur's again—subtle, grounding.

"You okay?" Artur asked, voice low.

Billy nodded. "Yeah. Just... this. It's good."

Artur didn't say anything, but his gaze lingered on Billy, softening before turning back to his tea.

Mr. Dand broke the quiet gently. "Food's warming on the stove. You boys wash up and eat. I'll be in the shed a while."

He rose, teacup in hand, his steps easy and familiar as he disappeared through the back door, still humming.

The quiet settled in again, but it didn't feel empty.

Billy stayed seated a moment longer, hands wrapped around his mug. The warmth seeped into his fingers, then deeper, like it had a place to go.

"You coming?" Artur asked after a moment.

Billy looked up, his smile soft, unguarded. "Yeah."

They stood together, and for a beat, neither moved to step away. The space between them was filled with something unspoken, not rushed—just understood.

They didn't need to say more. Not right now.

Not when presence said everything.

Not when silence was enough.