Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 19: "A Feeling Without a Name"

The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows through the leaves, painting restless patterns on the ground. Billy exhaled, slow and measured, as he pushed himself up from where he sat beneath the old tree. The earth clung to his palms, a reminder of how long he'd been lost in thought. He dusted off his pants, but the weight in his chest remained.

Jay's words echoed in his mind—unfinished, unanswered. He had come here searching for clarity, yet all he found were more questions.

He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head.

Thinking about it wasn't helping.

He needed to do something.

His gaze flickered toward the direction of home. Artur and Mr. Dand would be back soon. Maybe he could at least prepare something for them. Something to keep his hands busy, to keep his mind from circling the same thoughts.

Without another pause, he started walking back.

The kitchen was quiet when Billy stepped inside.

He moved on instinct—fetching the firewood, setting up the pot, measuring the grains. His hands worked with practiced ease, but his mind was only half there.

He pressed his lips together. Thinking wasn't helping. He needed something else. Something to ground him. Stop thinking. Start feeling.

His own heartbeat sounded too loud in the empty space.

It wasn't long before the stew began to simmer, the scent filling the air. The familiar warmth of cooking should've been comforting, but instead, it left him restless.

Maybe because he knew what was coming.

Anytime now, Artur and Mr. Dand would walk through that door.

And Billy had made up his mind.

He wasn't going to overthink anymore.

He was going to watch—watch Artur, watch what he did, how he moved, what his face showed when he thought no one was looking.

Maybe then, he could understand.

Maybe then, he could feel.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the quiet hum of the kitchen.

Billy straightened, gripping the wooden ladle in his hand.

A second later, the door pushed open, and Mr. Dand entered first, shaking dust from his sleeves. Artur followed behind, rolling his shoulders as if working out a stiffness. His shirt clung slightly to his skin, damp from sweat, the work clearly taking its toll.

Billy's fingers twitched against the ladle.

"Watch him. Feel it."

Artur barely glanced his way at first. Instead, he walked past, rolling his shoulders as he moved to the water basin in the corner. Billy's eyes lingered, catching the way his shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat. Artur cupped his hands, splashing cool water over his face, then dragged wet fingers through his hair, shaking off the excess droplets.

Billy swallowed.

That should've been normal. Just something Artur did every day after work.

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But for some reason, it wasn't.

Not today.

Mr. Dand let out a sigh, settling onto a wooden stool. "Smells good, Billy."

Billy blinked, snapping back to reality. "It'll be ready soon," he replied. His own voice sounded strange to his ears—like it was coming from a little farther away than usual.

He turned his attention back to the pot, stirring the contents slowly.

But he still felt Artur.

The way he stood, rolling his sleeves up past his elbows. The slight stiffness in his movements. The way he shifted, glancing toward Billy but looking away just as quickly.

A tension clung to the air between them.

Billy let out a slow breath.

"Understand him."

He ladled some stew into a bowl and turned, stepping toward the table. As he placed it down in front of Mr. Dand, he risked another glance at Artur.

Just a small one.

Their eyes met for only a second.

But Billy felt it.

A flicker of something in Artur's gaze—something restrained, something uncertain.

Billy had never paid attention before.

But now?

Now, he saw it. And for the first time, he couldn't tell if he was searching for answers about Artur... or about himself.

Warmth filled the room, thick and unmoving. The quiet sounds of eating—wooden spoons clinking against bowls, the occasional satisfied sigh from Mr. Dand—did little to break the tension that stretched between them.

Billy ate slowly, but his mind wasn't on the food.

Across the table, Artur was the same. He wasn't speaking much, only responding when Mr. Dand asked about their work. His usual ease, the casual way he used to talk—even when bickering with Billy—was missing.

Billy noticed everything now. The restless drumming of Artur's fingers against his bowl, the way his shoulders tensed before every movement, as if something unspoken weighed on him. Even his silence wasn't empty—it was tight, coiled, like he was holding something back.

The way he kept his head slightly lowered, only glancing up in short moments, never letting his gaze linger too long.

Billy found himself gripping his spoon a little tighter.

Was this what Artur had meant?

"You won't understand."

He was starting to.

Mr. Dand eventually pushed his bowl back, letting out a satisfied sigh. "That hit the spot," he said, stretching his arms. He glanced between the two of them, something unreadable in his gaze.

"You boys are quiet today," he finally said.

Billy's heart skipped.

Artur tensed, just barely. "Just tired," he replied, reaching for his cup of water.

Mr. Dand hummed, unconvinced. "Well, don't go to bed with heavy thoughts," he said. "That never helps anyone." He stood, patting Billy on the shoulder before leaving the table.

Silence stretched between them once they were alone.

Billy stared at his bowl, barely touching what was left of his meal.

Across from him, Artur took another sip of water. Then, after a pause, he finally spoke.

"Why did you cook alone?"

Billy's fingers curled slightly around his spoon.

He could hear the weight behind the question—the small shift in Artur's tone, the way he wasn't just asking about food.

He forced a shrug. "You were busy."

Artur didn't respond right away.

Then—"You never waited for me before."

A strange tightness pressed against Billy's ribs, something unfamiliar yet persistent. It wasn't just Artur's words—it was the way they felt, slipping past his guard before he could make sense of them.

He lifted his gaze, meeting Artur's eyes.

There it was again.

That thing in his expression.

Billy let out a slow breath, then dropped his gaze again.

"I just wanted to," he murmured.

Another silence.

Then Artur exhaled, setting his cup down.

Billy didn't look up, but he knew—he felt—when Artur stood, the chair scraping lightly against the floor.

A moment later, Artur's voice was lower, quieter.

"I'm going to sleep."

Billy only nodded, still not looking up.

He heard Artur hesitate.

Then footsteps.

And then, he was alone.

Billy let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

He finally understood something.

Artur felt something.

And for the first time, Billy felt it too.

He just didn't know what to do with it yet.

Billy didn't move right away.

The weight in his chest lingered, pressing against his ribs. He listened as Artur's footsteps faded, the faint creak of the wooden floor as he reached his room.

Then—silence.

Billy exhaled slowly, staring at the unfinished food in front of him. His fingers hovered over his spoon before curling into a fist.

It wasn't enough.

This quiet, this tension—it wasn't enough to help him understand.

Not yet.

His body moved before his mind fully caught up. The chair scraped softly against the floor, a whisper of hesitation clinging to the air. He felt both weightless and anchored, like something was pulling him forward before he could think better of it.

He found himself heading toward Artur's room.

Stopping just outside the door.

He could hear movement inside. A shift of fabric. The sound of someone lying down.

Billy swallowed.

Then, before doubt could stop him, his knuckles brushed against the wood—light, hesitant, barely a sound.

The sounds inside stilled.

A pause.

Then, after a long second—"What?"

Billy's throat felt dry. "Are you sleeping?"

Silence.

Then, "I was trying to."

Billy ignored that. He hesitated, then leaned against the frame. "You left your cup," Billy said, the words feeling too small, too insignificant for the weight pressing on his chest. "You should take it."

Another silence.

Then Artur sighed, a slow, tired sound. "Are you seriously standing outside my door just to say that?"

Billy didn't answer.

Because the truth was—he didn't know why he was here.

Another shift of fabric. Then, Artur's voice was lower, quieter. "Go to sleep, Billy."

Billy hesitated, fingers tightening around the doorframe. The wood was solid beneath his grip, grounding him in a moment that felt strangely fragile.

He wanted to say something.

He just didn't know what.

After another long pause, he exhaled and finally stepped back.

"...Yeah." His voice was softer now. "Alright."

He turned, walking away.

But as he did, he caught it—just barely.

A quiet breath.

A soft sound, almost like Artur had wanted to say something too.

But, like Billy, he hadn't.

Billy reached his own room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling.

He was getting closer to understanding.

He just didn't know if he was ready for what came next.

Billy lay on his back, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. The quiet around him was absolute, but inside, his thoughts refused to settle—circling, pressing, demanding something he couldn't quite name.

Every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts took him back to Artur's voice, the way it sounded through the door—tired, but something else too. Something Billy couldn't quite name.

The words from earlier echoed in his mind.

"You won't understand."

Billy turned onto his side, exhaling.

He wanted to understand.

More than that—he wanted to feel it.

But how?

His fingers curled around the blanket, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. He had never had to try to understand someone before. Feelings were just... feelings. They happened, and you dealt with them.

But this was different.

This wasn't something he could just acknowledge and move on from.

This was Artur.

Billy squeezed his eyes shut.

Even through the walls, through the silence, it was like Artur's presence had weight. Like Billy could reach out, and he'd still be there.

That thought alone made something stir inside him.

A feeling that wasn't entirely uncomfortable.

Was this what Artur meant?

Billy opened his eyes again, staring at the dim shadows cast against the ceiling.

His heartbeat felt... noticeable.

Not racing, not unsteady.

Just there.

And that, in itself, was enough to make him wonder,"and the wondering terrified him. And yet, he didn't want it to stop."