Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 12: "A Storm Within"

The morning light crept in softly, slipping through the gaps in the wooden shutters. A crisp breeze carried the scent of damp earth and distant rain, whispering through the quiet home. Billy stirred beneath the covers, his body heavy with lingering exhaustion.

He had dreamt again—not of something clear, but of fleeting images, dissolving before he could grasp them. His fingers twitched against the fabric of the blanket as if trying to hold onto something lost. But when he opened his eyes, there was nothing. Just the familiar warmth of his small room and the sound of Artur moving outside.

A sigh left his lips.

He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his face, his shoulders tense. Every morning, he woke up hoping for something—anything—to piece together his missing past. But each day felt the same, like chasing a shadow that slipped through his fingers before he could understand it.

Still, he pushed those thoughts aside as he forced himself out of bed.

The morning sunlight softened the edges of the wooden kitchen, casting long, golden streaks across the table. The warmth of breakfast still lingered in the air—the scent of fresh bread, the faint sweetness of honey—but it did little to break the silence that had settled between them.

Artur sat across from Billy, tearing a piece of bread with his fingers, his movements slow and deliberate. He watched the man in front of him, taking in every little detail—the way Billy's spoon rested idle against the rim of his cup, the way his gaze lingered blankly over his plate, how his fingers toyed absently with the edge of the table.

"You're quiet today," Artur finally said, his voice casual, yet there was something careful underneath.

Billy blinked, as if just realizing he wasn't alone. His fingers twitched slightly before he finally picked up his spoon, stirring his tea in slow, absent circles.

"I'm just tired," he murmured. His tone was flat, lacking its usual warmth.

Artur studied him for a long moment, his brows knitting together slightly.

"Let's go out after this," he suggested, keeping his tone light.

Billy didn't respond immediately. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly. "I don't feel like it."

Artur leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Come on. The market is livelier today. We could walk around—maybe get some fresh fruit."

Billy's grip on his spoon tightened. "I don't want to go," he said, firmer this time.

A quiet tension settled between them. Artur's fingers tapped against the table, his jaw tightening just slightly before he exhaled through his nose. His lips parted as if he wanted to press further, but something in Billy's posture—the way his shoulders had drawn in slightly, his head tilted down as if retreating—made him pause.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms briefly before pushing back slightly.

"Alright," he said, his tone softer now. "I won't push."

Billy remained still, staring down at his untouched breakfast.

Artur stood up, brushing the crumbs off his hands. He glanced at Billy again, lingering for a second longer than necessary, as if waiting for him to change his mind. But Billy never looked up.

Artur exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before turning toward the door. As he reached for the handle, he paused.

"Alright, I'm going out now," he said, his voice calm but with a weight behind it. "If you change your mind, I'll be outside."

Billy didn't respond immediately. He only nodded slightly, still stirring his tea in slow, absent circles.

Artur lingered for another moment before finally stepping outside, the door creaking softly as it shut behind him.

The room felt quieter, emptier. Billy's fingers stilled around the spoon. His gaze flickered toward the closed door, his brows knitting together faintly.

The tea in his cup had gone cold.

Midday came with a restless weight pressing against Billy's chest.

He sat by the window, watching the world outside—watching how life moved on, even when he felt stuck. His fingers clenched against the fabric of his sleeve. He had to do something.

The lake.

His breath hitched at the thought.

The last time he had been there, something had surfaced—a memory, hazy and unclear, but something. Maybe if he went back, maybe if he stood there long enough, he'd see more.

So, without another word, he stood, grabbed his coat, and slipped out the door.

The path to the lake was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of wind through the trees. Billy's steps were slow, deliberate, his heart beating faster with every step.

When he reached the water's edge, he stood there for a long time, staring at the rippling surface. The air smelled of damp wood and cool mist, and the sky above threatened rain.

Billy closed his eyes.

He tried to force it—to will his memories back.

But nothing came.

Just the same flickers of something distant, slipping away before he could make sense of it.

Frustration coiled in his chest. His fists clenched at his sides, his breath uneven. It wasn't fair. No matter how hard he tried, the past refused to return to him.

A cold gust of wind swept through, rustling his hair. That was when the first raindrop fell against his cheek.

And then another.

Within seconds, the sky opened up.

Artur returned home later that afternoon, shaking the light drizzle from his shoulders. The air smelled of rain-soaked earth, and the house was dim under the cloudy sky.

He shrugged off his coat, glancing toward the kitchen. "Billy?" he called.

No answer.

His brows furrowed. He glanced around—no sign of him in the small home. His stomach twisted.

Stepping back outside, he scanned the empty path. "Billy?" His voice carried through the quiet rain, swallowed quickly by the damp air.

Nothing.

A pulse of worry shot through him. He hurried to the village square, searching the small paths, the market corners—anywhere Billy could've gone. But there was no trace of him.

His heartbeat quickened, his breathing turning shallow.

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He's not familiar with this place. What if he got lost? What if he slipped somewhere?

The thoughts clawed at his mind.

For hours, he searched—running through the streets, through the woods, calling Billy's name into the rain. His clothes were soaked, clinging to his skin, but he didn't stop.

When he finally returned home, he was exhausted, his body trembling with adrenaline and fear. He sank down onto the wooden porch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands buried in his rain-dampened hair.

His thoughts spiraled.

What if he was gone?

What if something had happened—

A figure emerged through the rain.

Billy.

He walked slowly, his head down, his body drenched from head to toe. His movements were sluggish, like he was barely aware of anything around him.

Artur's heart clenched.

Without thinking, he sprang up and rushed toward him. "Billy!"

Billy barely looked up before Artur grabbed his arms, gripping them tightly as if to ground himself. His breath came out shaky, his voice unsteady.

"Where the hell were you?" His voice was raw with worry. "I've been looking everywhere. Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Billy didn't answer.

Artur's hands moved instinctively—cupping Billy's face, tilting it up so he could see him properly. His skin was ice cold.

His thumb brushed against Billy's damp cheek. "You're freezing," he murmured, his tone softer now. "Let's get you inside before you get sick."

Billy didn't resist as Artur led him back into the house.

The warmth of the room felt distant. Billy sat on the edge of his bed, running a towel through his damp hair. His clothes had been changed, but his body still trembled faintly.

Artur knelt beside him, his expression unreadable.

Billy lowered his gaze, staring at the droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

Artur was still watching him, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached forward again.

Billy barely had time to react before Artur grabbed the towel from beside him and began gently rubbing his hair dry, his touch firm but careful.

Billy tensed slightly. "I can do it myself—"

"Just let me," Artur murmured. His voice was softer now.

Billy hesitated but didn't resist. He sat still as Artur's hands moved through his damp hair, the towel soaking up the last traces of rain. His touch was steady, warm.

Something in Billy's chest tightened.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

The warmth of Artur's hands, the steady weight of the towel against his skin—it was grounding. Comforting.

He hadn't realized how cold he'd been until now.

And for once, he didn't pull away.

"Then are you mad at me?" Billy asked suddenly.

Artur blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Billy finally met his eyes. "For leaving."

Artur exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was scared," he admitted, his voice quieter. "I thought something happened to you."

Billy watched him. Then, slowly, he reached out—his fingers barely brushing Artur's wrist.

Their eyes met.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was filled with something else—something unspoken.

Billy's fingers curled slightly, hesitant. "You were really that worried?"

Artur let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. "Of course, I was. Look at you. You're barely keeping yourself together."

Artur watched Billy, his hands clenched at his sides, eyes fixed on the ground as if searching for something invisible. The tension in his shoulders hadn't eased since they stepped inside.

"Why do you keep trying so hard to remember?" Artur's voice was steady, but there was an unspoken concern beneath it.

Billy didn't answer. His fingers curled around the fabric of his damp sleeves, knuckles turning white. The steady drip of rainwater from his hair was the only response he gave.

Artur sighed, stepping closer. He kept his tone gentle. "You don't have to force it. When the time is right, it'll come back on its own."

His words hung between them, soft but firm, a quiet reassurance against the storm still lingering in Billy's eyes.

Billy's lips parted slightly, but he didn't speak. Instead, his fingers tightened around Artur's wrist, just for a second.

Artur squeezed back.

Neither of them moved.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the sound of the fire crackling between them.

Then—

Billy shifted slightly, leaning just a fraction closer. His fingers brushed against Artur's wrist, light, hesitant.

Artur swallowed. His heartbeat was louder than it should've been.

For the first time, Billy didn't look away. His gaze held something softer, something uncertain but searching.

"I'm sorry," Billy murmured.

Artur exhaled, shaking his head. He didn't pull his hand away. "Just... don't scare me like that again."

Billy gave a small nod, his fingers still lightly resting against Artur's.

The storm raged outside, but inside, the warmth between them lingered.

And for the first time that day, Billy didn't feel so lost.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching between them.

Billy's breathing had steadied, but his body still held the faintest tremor from the cold. Artur hadn't moved away, his gaze steady, unwavering. There was something in his expression—something unspoken, raw, as if he wanted to say more but held himself back.

Then, suddenly—

A low rumble of thunder cracked through the air.

The wind howled outside, rattling the wooden panels of the house. A sharp gust rushed through the cracks, seeping into the room and making the lantern flames flicker wildly.

And then—crack!

Billy flinched as the sharp sound of splintering wood echoed above them. A drop of water landed on his cheek. Then another.

He looked up just as a small leak formed in the ceiling, droplets gathering and falling in uneven intervals.

Artur was already on his feet. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

Another gust of wind shook the house. The roof creaked, the old wood groaning under the force of the storm.

Billy pushed himself up, glancing around. "We should—"

"Yeah. Come on," Artur said, already leading the way out of the room.

They stepped into the dining area, where the air was warmer, less damp. The storm still raged outside, but at least in here, the roof held steady.

Artur ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "That room's been holding up for years. Figures it would start giving in now."

Billy lowered himself onto a chair, his body still heavy with exhaustion. The adrenaline of getting caught in the rain had worn off, leaving only a dull tiredness in its place.

A comfortable silence settled between them. The sound of the rain softened, turning into a steady rhythm against the rooftop.

Artur leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. Then, in a lighter tone, he said, "You know, first the fence broke last week, now the roof. At this rate, I think this house is just testing our patience."

Billy let out a quiet huff—almost a laugh. "Maybe it's trying to get rid of us."

Artur smirked. "Not happening."

The corners of Billy's lips twitched. He glanced at Artur from the side, watching the way the flickering lantern light cast shadows on his face.

Another silence stretched between them, but this time, it was easier. Warmer.

Billy hesitated, then muttered, "You really looked everywhere for me?"

Artur's smirk faded. His expression softened, something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Of course, I did."

Billy's fingers curled slightly against the wooden table. He didn't reply, but something in his chest ached—not in a bad way, but in a way that made him feel... seen.

Before either of them could say more, the door creaked open.

Billy turned just as Mr. Dand stepped inside, shaking off his wet coat. His sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on them.

"What happened to that room?" he asked, frowning.

Billy sat up straighter. "The wind blew through. The ceiling started leaking."

Mr. Dand exhaled through his nose. "Knew that roof wouldn't hold out much longer." He stepped toward the room, pushing the door open and peering inside. A moment later, he clicked his tongue. "Yeah. We can't fix this tonight."

Billy nodded, already expecting that answer.

Mr. Dand turned back to them. "Stay with Artur tonight. Tomorrow, we'll work on it."

Billy froze.

He blinked, processing the words. Stay with Artur? In his room?

His first instinct was to refuse. "I can—"

"It's fine," Artur cut in casually. "My room's big enough."

Billy turned to him, hesitating. Artur didn't seem fazed at all. He was already pushing his chair back, standing up like it wasn't a big deal.

But for Billy, it was a big deal. He didn't like the idea of intruding, of taking up space that wasn't his.

"I don't want to bother you," he muttered.

Artur glanced at him, tilting his head. "You're not."

Billy looked away, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Mr. Dand clapped his hands together. "Good. That's settled." Then, with a stretch, he muttered, "I'm getting too old for this kind of nonsense," before disappearing toward his own room.

Billy remained seated, staring down at the table.

Artur raised a brow. "You coming?"

Billy exhaled. He wasn't sure why his chest felt tight—why the idea of staying with Artur left him feeling so... restless.

But in the end, he just nodded and stood up, following him toward the room.

And as he stepped inside, he felt something he couldn't quite name settle in his chest.

Something warm.

Something unfamiliar.

Something that scared him more than he was willing to admit.

The door creaked open, and warm lamplight spilled into the hallway. Artur stepped in first, running a hand through his damp hair as he motioned for Billy to follow.

Billy hesitated at the threshold. The room felt... different from the rest of the house. It wasn't just another space—it was his space. Artur's presence lingered in every corner, from the neatly folded blankets at the edge of the bed to the faint scent of pine and something subtly earthy that clung to the air.

Billy took a slow step inside, his gaze drifting over the room.

It wasn't particularly large, but it was well-kept—functional. A sturdy wooden bed rested against the far wall, a thick comforter slightly rumpled, as if Artur had hurried to smooth it out before leaving. A small wooden shelf stood beside it, stacked with a few books, some tools, and other personal belongings. The window was half-covered by a light curtain, swaying gently from the lingering wind outside.

Artur glanced back at him. "It's not much, but it's comfortable," he said, his voice casual, but there was an underlying thoughtfulness to it—like he wanted Billy to feel at ease.

Billy stepped further inside, his fingers grazing the edge of the small desk near the bed. His eyes flickered to the surface, where a few papers and an old pocket knife rested. But what caught his attention most was the small, slightly worn photograph tucked into the corner of the desk.

He leaned closer.

It was a picture of a boy—maybe five or six years old—grinning widely at the camera. His brown hair was messy, his cheeks slightly sunburned. Behind him stood a younger version of Mr. Dand, one hand resting firmly on the boy's shoulder.

Billy raised a brow, picking up the frame. "This is you?"

Artur, who had been pulling out an extra blanket from the closet, glanced over. He huffed a small laugh. "Yeah. A long time ago."

Billy studied the picture. The boy in it looked carefree, wild, like he probably spent more time running barefoot through the fields than staying indoors. He could see traces of the Artur he knew now—the sharp eyes, the unruly hair—but there was something softer about the younger version. Something unguarded.

Billy smirked slightly. "Didn't expect you to be so... cheerful as a kid."

Artur snorted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Billy tilted his head. "I don't know. You're always so serious."

Artur rolled his eyes, setting the blanket down on the chair. "I grew up."

Billy hummed, glancing around the rest of the room. There wasn't much decoration, but there were small, personal touches—an old leather-bound book resting on the nightstand, a small carving knife placed carefully on the shelf. It wasn't messy, but it wasn't overly tidy either. It was lived-in. Him.

"This room suits you," Billy mused.

Artur raised a brow. "Yeah?"

Billy nodded. "Simple. Practical. A little boring."

Artur scoffed. "Boring?"

Billy smirked. "Just a little."

Artur shook his head, exhaling through his nose. "Alright, keep talking," he muttered, turning to grab another pillow from the bed. "You'll be sleeping here, so if it's so boring, maybe I should send you outside instead."

Billy chuckled, setting the photograph back in its place. "I didn't say I dislike it."

Artur shot him a look, then shook his head again, mumbling something under his breath.

Billy watched him for a moment, then walked over to the small shelf, running a finger along the spines of the books. Most of them were practical—guides on farming, repairing tools, a few old novels that looked well-worn.

He smirked. "Didn't peg you as the reading type."

Artur shot him another dry look. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"

Billy leaned against the shelf, arms crossed, his smirk widening. "A little."

Artur exhaled sharply but didn't seem annoyed—just mildly exasperated. He shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms behind him. "Well, if you're done snooping, you should get some rest. You had a long day."

Billy watched him, the teasing glint in his eyes softening slightly. He could still see the lingering tension in Artur's shoulders, the way he occasionally glanced toward him, like he was still making sure he was really there.

Billy hesitated, then muttered, "Thanks... for earlier."

Artur paused, his eyes meeting Billy's. His expression shifted—something quieter, unreadable passing through it.

Then he nodded. "Yeah."

Billy exhaled softly, then glanced around once more.

Maybe staying here wouldn't be so bad.

The night had settled in, the rain leaving behind a soft chill in the air. The only sounds in the room were the occasional creaks of the wooden house and the distant rustling of trees outside.

Artur lay on his bed, one arm resting behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. The lantern had been dimmed, casting a soft golden hue over the walls, the shadows stretching and shifting with the flickering light.

On the floor beside the bed, Billy lay curled up beneath the extra blanket Artur had given him. He had turned onto his side, his face partially buried in the fabric, eyes half-lidded but still very much awake.

A few beats of silence passed. Then—

"You know," Billy started, his voice breaking the quiet, "this is my first time sleeping in someone else's room like this."

Artur sighed. "You've been in my house for months. You make it sound like you're in some stranger's home."

Billy huffed a small laugh. "Still different."

Another pause.

Billy shifted a little, staring at the ceiling. "I used to sleep near the window," he murmured, almost to himself. "Wherever I lived, I liked having the sky close."

Artur glanced down at him. "You remember that?"

Billy blinked slowly. "I think so. It's more of a feeling than a memory."

Artur hummed, but he didn't press further.

A few more moments of silence stretched between them before Billy spoke again.

"Artur."

Artur exhaled sharply. "What."

Billy smirked slightly. "What if I snore?"

Artur groaned, pressing his fingers against his forehead. "You don't snore."

"You don't know that. What if I start?"

Artur turned his head slightly, his patience thinning. "Then I'll kick you out."

Billy chuckled but didn't stop. "What if I start sleep-talking? I might say something crazy."

Artur rolled onto his side, facing away. "Then I'll shove a pillow over your face."

Billy grinned. "Sounds violent."

"Go to sleep."

Billy hummed, shifting again beneath the blanket. His voice came quieter this time. "What if I—"

Silence.

Artur frowned. He waited a second. Then two.

"...Billy?"

No response.

He sighed, relieved. "Finally."

A moment passed, and then—

"Hey, are you really sleeping?"

Artur groaned, rolling onto his back again. "Billy."

No response.

He narrowed his eyes. "You better not be faking it."

Still nothing.

A quiet frown tugged at Artur's lips. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning slightly over the edge of the bed to check. Billy's face was turned away, his body still beneath the blanket.

Artur hesitated, then reached out, pressing the back of his fingers lightly against Billy's cheek.

The warmth under his touch made him still.

Too warm.

Artur's brows furrowed. He pressed his palm against Billy's forehead, his fingers brushing damp strands of hair. His skin was burning.

"Shit."

Billy stirred slightly, his breath uneven. His brows knitted together, and a faint shiver ran through him.

Artur sat up fully, pressing his palm against Billy's cheek. "Billy."

No real response. His eyelids fluttered slightly, but he wasn't fully there. His body gave another small tremor.

Artur cursed under his breath. He got up quickly, grabbing a clean cloth and dipping it into the basin of cool water near the shelf.

Kneeling down beside him, he wrung the excess water out and gently pressed it against Billy's forehead. His face was damp with sweat, his breathing uneven.

"Idiot," Artur muttered under his breath. He should've known earlier—Billy had been standing in the rain for too long. He hadn't said much, hadn't even complained, but now his body was paying for it.

Billy shifted slightly under the cloth, his brows twitching. His lips parted, a faint sound escaping, but the words didn't fully form.

Artur sighed, adjusting the cloth, his movements careful. "Just sleep," he murmured. "You'll be fine."

Billy didn't respond, but his body seemed to relax slightly under the touch.

Artur didn't move away immediately. He sat there, watching him for a moment, his brows still furrowed.

Then, hesitantly, he reached out again, fingers brushing against Billy's hairline before pulling back.

His gaze lingered.

Eventually, Artur exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. He leaned back against the bed, still sitting on the floor.

His eyes stayed on Billy.

And at some point, as the lantern flickered and the night deepened, Artur—without meaning to—finally dozed off too.