Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 18: "The Weight of Words Left Unsaid"

18

Morning After the Confession

Billy woke up to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the window. He blinked slowly, his mind still hazy from sleep, but the weight in his chest was unmistakable.

I'm not sure you understand how I feel.

Artur's words from last night circled in his head, looping like a song stuck on repeat. His brows furrowed as he stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of them.

How does he feel?

Billy had expected Artur to brush everything aside, to pretend nothing had happened—just like he did the first time. But last night, he had kissed him again. And this time, he had admitted something. But what exactly?

Billy exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to ask Artur directly, but something in him hesitated. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was fear. Maybe... he wanted to figure it out on his own.

He turned onto his side, facing the empty space beside him. Even though Artur had long since left, the memory of his presence lingered.

With a sigh, Billy sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. If he wants to act normal, fine. I'll do the same.

By the time Billy stepped outside, Artur was already near the well, fetching water into a bucket. The usual morning sounds filled the air—the distant chatter of villagers, the rhythmic creak of the well's pulley, the occasional clatter of wooden carts passing by. Everything felt the same. But between them, there was a shift.

Artur glanced up as Billy approached, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"Morning," Artur said, his voice casual, as if nothing had happened.

Billy nodded. "Morning."

For a moment, they just stood there. A brief, almost imperceptible tension flickered in the space between them, but neither acknowledged it. Instead, Billy moved to help, taking another bucket to fill.

They worked in silence for a while, passing things between them—buckets, tools, stray pieces of wood left from yesterday's repairs. Their movements were practiced, familiar. But something was off.

Billy wasn't sure if it was him or Artur, but something felt... different.

He found himself watching Artur more than usual. The way his brows furrowed slightly when he concentrated, the way his hands flexed around the handle of the bucket, the way his lips parted slightly when he exhaled from exertion.

Had he always noticed these things before?

Artur, on the other hand, was doing everything he could to focus on anything but Billy.

His heart had nearly given out when Billy walked up to him this morning, looking like he had barely slept. He had forced himself to keep his voice steady, to act like everything was fine. Like he hadn't spent half the night wide awake, replaying the kiss in his head.

But now, working side by side, he felt it again—that pull toward Billy, the one he had been trying to suppress.

Get it together, he scolded himself. Just act normal.

Billy reached for a wooden beam at the same time as Artur, their fingers brushing.

Artur flinched, pulling his hand back too quickly. "You take it," he muttered, avoiding Billy's gaze.

Billy hesitated. Why did he react like that?

He picked up the beam, glancing at Artur out of the corner of his eye. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched just slightly. Why is he acting like this?

Billy tightened his grip on the beam. I'm going to figure it out.

Billy gripped the wooden beam tightly, his thoughts tangled in the silence between them. He was trying to piece it together—what Artur meant, why he was acting like this—but every time he felt like he was getting close, Artur would pull away.

The air between them had a weight to it, thick with something unsaid. And it was driving Billy insane.

Before either of them could speak, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Well, well, looks like you two are hard at work."

Billy and Artur both turned.

It was Jay.

The man strode toward them with that easy grin of his, hands tucked into his pockets, his sharp eyes flickering between them.

Artur exhaled through his nose, shoulders dropping slightly. "What do you want?"

Jay smirked, tilting his head. "Relax, I was just passing by." He looked at Billy, then back at Artur. "You two seem awfully quiet today."

Billy stayed silent. Artur scowled.

Jay chuckled. "Ah, I see. Trouble in paradise?"

Artur shot him a glare. "Don't start."

But Jay wasn't the type to back down easily. He took a step closer, lowering his voice slightly, but there was still mischief in his tone. "You know, Artur, I haven't forgotten about that night."

Billy stiffened. His grip on the beam tightened.

Artur's jaw tensed. "Drop it."

Jay ignored him. "The way you were looking at Billy—" he let out a low whistle, shaking his head, "—I almost felt bad for interrupting. And Billy, you—"

"I said drop it," Artur snapped, voice sharper this time.

Billy felt his pulse in his throat. He glanced at Artur, and for a split second, he saw something flash across his face—panic? Embarrassment?

Jay raised his hands in surrender, but he was still smirking. "Fine, fine. I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." He turned to go, but as he passed Billy, he murmured just low enough for him to hear, "You should've seen the way he looked at you."

Billy didn't move. He barely even breathed.

Jay gave a lazy wave before disappearing down the path, leaving the two of them in a silence that felt heavier than before.

Billy swallowed. His mind was running, racing.

He turned to Artur, who was already picking up another piece of wood, his movements a little too forceful. His face was turned away, but his ears were red.

Billy exhaled slowly.

The way he looked at me?

Maybe... maybe he was starting to understand.

Billy should have let it go.

He should have picked up his tools, focused on work, and ignored the way his heart was thudding in his chest.

But he couldn't.

Jay's words had carved themselves into his mind, looping over and over.

"You should've seen the way he looked at you."

His fingers curled slightly at his sides.

He stole a glance at Artur, who was working a little too aggressively—splitting the wood with more force than necessary, jaw clenched tight. He wasn't looking at Billy. He hadn't looked at him once since Jay left.

And that only made Billy more restless.

The silence between them stretched. The wind stirred the leaves, the occasional distant chatter of villagers passing by filling the space where words should have been.

Billy shifted on his feet, exhaling slowly through his nose.

"Artur." His voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet, it felt like a disturbance.

Artur kept working. "What?"

Billy hesitated. He didn't even know what he wanted to ask.

What does that mean? Why won't you look at me? Why do you keep acting like nothing happened when it clearly did?

Instead, what came out was, "You're quiet."

Artur let out a sharp breath—something between a scoff and a sigh. "And you're not?"

Billy frowned slightly. So, he noticed.

He glanced at the wood Artur was chopping. "You're overdoing it."

Artur finally paused, gripping the handle of the axe a little too tightly. He inhaled, exhaled. Then, finally, he turned.

Billy didn't expect the weight of his gaze to hit so hard.

Artur's expression was unreadable, but his eyes—there was something there. Something unspoken. Something Billy wasn't sure he was ready to face.

Billy opened his mouth, then closed it.

Artur watched him for a second longer, then looked away, dropping the axe with a dull thud. "I'm getting water," he muttered before walking off.

Billy stayed rooted in place, watching his retreating figure.

The air felt different now.

Like something had shifted between them—something fragile, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge just yet.

Billy exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

No matter how hard he tried to ignore it...

He was starting to understand.

Save

Billy didn't move right away.

He stood there, staring at the ground, jaw tight, fingers twitching at his sides. His mind kept circling back to that look in Artur's eyes—the weight of it, the way it lingered before he turned away.

Something was there.

Something Billy wasn't sure how to name.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face before finally stepping forward. His body moved on instinct, following the same path Artur had taken toward the well.

The closer he got, the clearer he could hear the sound of water sloshing in a bucket, the slight creak of the rope as Artur pulled it up.

Billy slowed his steps.

Artur was facing away from him, sleeves pushed up, arms tense as he set the bucket down. His movements were controlled, but there was a stiffness to them, like he was forcing himself to focus.

Billy hesitated.

He wanted to say something—anything—to break this strange, heavy silence between them.

But what was he supposed to say?

He shifted his weight slightly, inhaling as if to speak. But before he could, Artur finally turned.

Their eyes met.

Billy felt it again—that strange, unspoken thing humming in the space between them.

Artur looked at him for a moment, then—just like before—glanced away. He grabbed the bucket, lifting it with ease. "We should get back," he muttered, walking past Billy without waiting for a response.

Billy stood there, unmoving.

His fingers curled slightly.

For the first time, something twisted in his chest, something he didn't quite recognize.

It wasn't just frustration. It wasn't just confusion.

It was something deeper. Something that made him restless, made his stomach feel off-balance.

And the worst part?

He didn't know if he wanted it to go away.

Billy followed, but at a slower pace.

His mind felt restless, circling around thoughts he couldn't quite grasp. Artur's words from last night—I'm not sure you understand how I feel—kept playing in his head.

What did he mean?

Billy wanted to figure it out, but every time he got close to an answer, his chest felt tight, like he was stepping into something he wasn't prepared for.

Artur walked ahead, shoulders stiff, moving like he was trying not to think.

The bucket swung slightly in his grip.

Billy watched the way his fingers tightened around the handle. The way his pace didn't slow, like he was determined to keep some kind of distance between them.

It bothered him.

He didn't know why.

By the time they reached home, the morning was settling in properly. The air smelled of damp earth from the night before, and the quiet hum of daily life had begun—distant chatter, the occasional sound of footsteps passing by.

Artur placed the bucket down near the entrance.

Billy stepped inside, but his attention stayed on him.

It was different now.

Not in an obvious way—not in a way that could be explained easily—but in something smaller. The way Artur didn't look at him too long. The way he busied himself, brushing dust off his hands like it mattered more than it did.

Billy hated it.

He hated the way something had shifted between them.

But what was he supposed to do?

Talk about it?

He scoffed internally. Yeah, right.

Instead, he turned toward the small storage shelf, grabbing a cloth to wipe his hands. His movements were casual, like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn't overthinking every second.

Artur, standing near the entrance, finally spoke. "I'll go check if my dad needs help with anything."

Billy's grip on the cloth tightened slightly. He forced his fingers to loosen, but the tension sat heavy in his shoulders. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Yeah. Alright."

He heard Artur leave.

Billy exhaled, but it didn't help. The air in the room still felt tight, pressing against his chest.

His fingers curled around the cloth again, this time gripping it too hard. He stared at the doorway Artur had just walked through, jaw tensing, before quickly looking away—like it would stop the feeling gnawing at his ribs.

And just like that, the silence in the room felt heavier.

Artur found his father near the open shed, sorting through a pile of tools.

Mr. Dand looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. His sharp eyes scanned Artur for a brief moment before he went back to organizing. "You're late today."

Artur rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off an invisible weight. "Had things to do."

Mr. Dand hummed, unimpressed. He tossed Artur a wooden handle, rough from use. "Sharpen that. It's wearing down."

Artur caught it easily, settling onto a nearby stool. His hands worked with practiced ease, running the blade along the sharpening stone, small sparks flickering with each motion.

For a while, the only sounds between them were the scrape of metal and the occasional distant chatter from the village.

Then, without looking up, Mr. Dand asked, "Where's Billy?"

Artur's hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he resumed sharpening. "At home."

"Not working with you?"

Artur exhaled through his nose, eyes fixed on the blade. "Guess not."

Mr. Dand wiped his hands on his trousers, finally giving Artur a proper look. "Did something happen?"

Artur tensed at the question, but his voice remained steady. "No."

"Hmm." Mr. Dand didn't press further, but his knowing gaze lingered a little longer than necessary.

Artur kept his head down, focusing on the task at hand.

But his mind was elsewhere.

He was the one who told Billy to forget about it. So why couldn't he?

A part of him exhaled, thinking maybe this was for the best.

Billy wouldn't understand how I feel, he told himself.

But another voice whispered—what if he did?

No. That won't happen.

He forced the thought away, letting the scrape of metal drown it out.But the rhythm was off. His grip on the blade had tightened, his movements more forceful than necessary. Sparks flickered, harsher, sharper.

Mr. Dand glanced over, brow furrowing slightly, but said nothing.

Artur set the tool down with a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He needed to focus.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried, the weight in his chest refused to settle.

Billy sat alone beneath the shade of a large tree, his back resting against the rough bark. The open space around him buzzed with conversation—villagers talking in small groups, laughter mixing with the occasional sound of something being carried or fixed.

He wasn't too far from the house, but far enough that he could be alone.

Or at least, he thought he'd be.

"Why're you sulking like that, Billy?"

Billy blinked, looking up just in time to see an older man settle onto a wooden crate nearby. It was one of the locals, someone he'd seen around but hadn't spoken to much. His name—if Billy remembered correctly—was Tomas.

"I'm not sulking," Billy muttered, plucking a stray leaf from his sleeve.

Tomas chuckled. "Looks like it to me. Sitting here all quiet while the day passes by—if that's not sulking, I don't know what is."

Billy sighed, leaning his head back against the tree trunk. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, but ignoring Tomas completely would only make the man more persistent.

"You and Artur fight?" Tomas asked, too casually.

Billy's fingers twitched against the fabric of his sleeve. "No."

Tomas raised a thick brow. "Then why aren't you two stuck together like usual?"

Billy had no answer for that.

Across the gathering space, a few younger boys were playing with a worn-out ball, kicking up dust as they ran. One of them tripped over a stray root, falling with a surprised yelp before bursting into laughter.

Billy watched them, his chest tight for reasons he didn't want to name.

Tomas let out a long hum. "You know," he started, leaning forward slightly, "Artur's got a way of keeping things bottled up."

Billy frowned, finally glancing at the man. "And?"

"And," Tomas said, his lips twitching into a knowing smirk, "if he's acting strange, it's probably 'cause he doesn't know what to do with whatever's going on in his head."

Billy's gaze dropped to his hands.

He hated how much that made sense.

Tomas clapped his hands against his knees before pushing himself up with a groan. "Anyway, just thought I'd share some wisdom. Do with it what you will."

Billy stayed quiet as Tomas walked off, rejoining another group nearby.

The words lingered in the back of his mind.

He knew Artur was acting different. But the problem wasn't just Artur.

It was him too.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

The afternoon stretched lazily over the village, golden light slipping through the leaves of the large tree. The breeze carried the sound of distant chatter, the occasional clang of metal from the blacksmith's corner, the soft rustling of leaves above.

Billy sat where he had been for a while, leaning against the rough bark, his arms loosely resting on his knees.

He wasn't sure how long he had been lost in thought.

Then—

A hand clapped down on his shoulder.

Billy startled, his head jerking up just as a familiar voice rang out.

"Where's your partner?"

Jay.

His grin was easy, casual, like he knew exactly what he was doing by sneaking up on him.

Billy let out a slow breath, willing his heartbeat to steady. "Don't do that."

Jay only laughed, settling beside him on the ground like they had planned to meet here. "Just this morning, you two were stuck together as usual," he continued, ignoring Billy's complaint. "Now you're sulking under a tree by yourself?" He leaned in slightly, nudging Billy with his shoulder. "Trouble in paradise?"

Billy gave him a flat look. "There is no paradise."

Jay smirked but didn't push further.

For a while, they sat in silence.

The wind stirred again, ruffling Billy's hair, carrying faint voices from the nearby gathering. A few villagers passed by, their laughter blending into the warm afternoon air.

Then, Jay spoke again—this time, softer.

"I don't know what's going on with you," he admitted, "but you seem different."

Billy's fingers twitched slightly where they rested against his knee.

Jay tilted his head, watching him. "Even though I don't know you that well yet, I can tell something's off. You and Artur both."

Billy didn't respond.

Jay sighed, leaning back on his hands. "You know, if something's bothering you, you can talk to me." His voice was easy, light, with no pressure behind it. "I don't ask for much, just a little gossip."

Billy huffed a small, humorless breath.

Jay let the silence sit between them for a moment, then tapped Billy's shoulder. "It's fine if you're not ready to talk," he said, stretching his arms over his head. "I won't force you."

Billy swallowed.

For some reason, that made him want to talk.

It took him a moment, but eventually, he exhaled slowly and said, "It's about a friend."

Jay didn't react immediately. He simply turned his head, listening.

Billy rubbed his palm over his knee, his voice careful. "That friend... kissed his friend." He hesitated. "Then told his friend to forget about it."

Jay raised an eyebrow, but he stayed quiet, letting Billy continue.

Billy's gaze stayed on the ground. "But now that friend is acting weird."

Jay blinked.

Then, a slow, knowing smile crept across his face.

Billy was terrible at this.

Jay didn't need to be a genius to know exactly who Billy was talking about.

Jay made an exaggerated sound of shock. "No way. Scandalous."

Billy shot him a look, but Jay just grinned, gesturing for him to continue.

Billy sighed. "And then he told his friend to forget about it. But now he's acting weird."

Jay nodded sagely. "I see. And now the other friend is trying to understand why."

Billy blinked. "...Yeah."

Jay hummed, tapping his chin. "Well, let's see. Friend A kisses Friend B, then freaks out and tells Friend B to forget it. But then Friend A starts acting weird—probably because he doesn't actually want Friend B to forget it. And now Friend B is all confused, trying to figure out what's going on."

Billy frowned. "Why do you sound so sure?"

Jay smirked. "Because it's obvious."

Billy hesitated, shifting. "What if it's... more complicated than that?"

Jay shrugged. "It might be. But honestly? You're overthinking it."

Billy opened his mouth to argue—but Jay wasn't done.

"Instead of trying to figure it out like it's some big mystery, maybe you should just feel it."

Billy stilled.

Jay grinned. "You overthink things too much, man." He clapped Billy's shoulder. "Stop trying to solve it and just... see where it takes you."

Billy stared at him, something tightening in his chest.

Billy remained where he was, eyes lowering.

Stop trying to solve it. Just feel it.

But how?

And what if he wasn't ready for whatever came next?

Jay hummed, rocking slightly where he sat. "Sounds complicated."

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Billy pressed his lips together. "It is."

Jay turned his gaze toward the horizon, the warmth of the sun painting long shadows across the dirt path. "I think," he said, tapping a finger against his chin, "that friend number two needs to be honest with himself first."

Billy frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jay leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Well, if they're confused, maybe it's because they're trying too hard to make sense of it with their head instead of just feeling it."

Billy fell silent.

That...

That was exactly what he had been doing, wasn't it?

Jay grinned at his expression. "Relax, I'm not telling you what to do," he said, giving Billy a light shove. "But sometimes, thinking too much makes things more complicated than they need to be."

Billy sighed, tilting his head back against the tree.

For once, Jay actually made sense.

Jay's grin didn't fade as he stretched his legs out in front of him, the dry earth cracking slightly under his weight. The easy warmth of the afternoon settled around them, but the silence between them wasn't as light as before.

Billy had given too much away—he could tell just by the way Jay was looking at him.

And then—

"Sounds like you got yourself into a mess."

Billy startled, his head snapping toward him so fast that Jay barely held back a laugh.

"It's not about me," Billy said immediately, too quick, too firm. "It's about my friend."

Jay let out a low hum, like he was entertaining the thought, but the amusement in his eyes made it clear he didn't believe a single word.

"Right. Your friend." He turned his gaze upward, as if in deep thought. "Your friend who kissed his friend, told him to forget about it, and now can't stop acting weird around him?"

Billy pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Jay was enjoying this too much.

"I'm serious," Billy muttered, looking away.

Jay smirked. "Oh, I know." He leaned in slightly. "And I am just saying... If it was about you—which it's not, obviously—but if it was," he shrugged, "I'd say maybe it's not just your friend who's confused."

Billy stiffened.

Jay caught it.

He held back a chuckle, pushing himself up to his feet and dusting off his hands. "Well, I should get going," he said lightly. "Don't think too hard about it, yeah?"

Billy didn't respond.

Jay turned to leave, but after a few steps, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Billy?"

Billy looked up.

Jay grinned. "If your friend needs more advice, tell him to stop thinking like a lost puppy and start feeling instead."

And with that, he walked off, leaving Billy sitting there, staring after him.

Billy exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

"...It's not about me," he muttered under his breath.

But even to himself, it didn't sound convincing.

Billy stayed there under the tree long after Jay left, staring at the dry earth beneath his feet.

"Stop thinking. Start feeling."

The words stuck in his head, looping over and over.

Feeling.

What did that even mean?

He had always been someone who figured things out by thinking—by breaking things apart in his head until they made sense. But this? This wasn't something he could dissect like a problem with an easy answer.

Artur's words from last night echoed back.

"I'm not sure you understand how I feel."

Then help me understand, Billy wanted to say.

But Artur wasn't going to tell him.

He had to find the answer himself.

Billy exhaled, tilting his head back slightly, eyes tracing the thin streaks of clouds above.

If thinking wasn't working, then...

Maybe he needed to look elsewhere.

How could he understand what Artur meant?

How could he feel what Artur was feeling?

His hands clenched into his pants.

Maybe... maybe he needed to pay attention to Artur.

Not to his words.

Not to what he said.

But to what he did.

Billy exhaled, tilting his head back slightly, eyes tracing the thin streaks of clouds above.

Maybe Jay had a point.

If thinking wasn't working, then...

His fingers curled slightly against his knee.

Maybe he needed to stop listening for answers and start watching instead.

Not Artur's words.

Not his forced indifference.

But the way his hands tensed when they brushed too close. The flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

Maybe the answer had been there all along.