Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 45: Tell Me You Came Back for Me

The sky had begun its slow descent into dusk, painting the village with streaks of grey and gold, but Billy didn't notice any of it.

He wandered.

Not with purpose—just... away.

The teacup remained in his hand, now wrapped more tightly than ever, as though protecting it might somehow shield the ache inside his chest. His feet carried him through narrow paths between old fences, past shuttered windows and empty benches. A soft breeze swept through the trees, rustling leaves like whispers behind his back.

He sat on a low stone wall beneath an overgrown fig tree, elbows on his knees, chin resting on one hand.

Maybe I was just the in-between. A sweet pause before the story picks up where it was meant to.

Maybe I never stood a chance against someone he never stopped loving.

His thoughts echoed too loudly in the stillness. The more he tried to push them away, the sharper they came back.

What if Artur changes his mind? What if I was just a warm distraction, and she's the one he always meant to come back to?

The image of the necklace haunted him—those little etched letters, their names side by side, and the way she looked at Artur like she already belonged in his life.

Billy clenched his jaw, eyes burning. He couldn't sit still anymore.

He stood up again and started walking—nowhere specific, just further. As if movement might shake the thoughts loose, as if distance might ease the pressure swelling inside his chest.

Back at the workshop, Artur stood near the table, staring at the same door Billy had vanished through hours ago.

The shadows had stretched long on the floor. The tools were silent. Even Anna was gone now, though he couldn't remember how their conversation ended. His mind was entirely elsewhere.

He said he'd be right back.

Artur paced a little, ran a hand through his hair, then checked the door again. Nothing.

A twinge of worry prickled in his gut. He grabbed a cloth, wiped his hands, then stepped outside. The light had dimmed. He lingered a second at the entrance, eyes scanning the narrow path.

What if he comes back and I'm not here?

That thought rooted him in place again, torn between the need to search and the fear of missing Billy altogether. He hovered in the doorway, jaw clenched, the silence in the workshop louder than any hammer or saw.

Finally, he made a decision. He turned and headed straight for Mr. Lucas's workshop.

The streets had darkened into unfamiliar shades, houses now shapes of shadow. Artur didn't realize how far he'd walked until he saw Mr. Lucas's sign swinging in the breeze.

But when he arrived, the gate was shut, the windows dark. Locked. Closed.

A chill traced his spine.

Artur broke into a run.

The house was quiet when he reached it—too quiet.

"Billy?" he called, breathless.

No reply.

He checked the room. Nothing. The bed untouched. The teacup wasn't there.

Artur stepped outside again, standing on the front steps with the sky now bleeding into a deeper indigo. Lamps were beginning to flicker to life across the village, but they only made the shadows feel sharper.

He stared down the road, jaw tight, eyes scanning for a silhouette—any sign of that familiar figure.

Nothing.

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Artur turned, grabbed his coat, and went back out into the night, the wind beginning to pick up around him.

"Billy..." he muttered under his breath.

His voice didn't carry far, swallowed by the growing dark.

The night deepened.

Artur's boots crunched against gravel as he moved through the quiet village, lantern light flickering in his hand, casting long shadows that swayed across the walls.

He checked every path they'd walked before—near the workshop, the old fig tree, even the little roadside bench where Billy once waited for him during a rain. But none of those places held the boy he was looking for.

His breathing had grown faster—not from the walking, but from something else. Something heavier.

Worry. Frustration. The bitter sting of being left behind.

Where the hell did you go, Billy...?

He paused near the well, hand on his hip, scanning the dim village one more time. A few villagers nodded to him as they passed, lanterns swinging low by their knees, but none had seen Billy.

Artur wiped the sweat off his brow, turned on his heel, and started toward home.

Billy had arrived just moments before.

He stepped into the house without a word. The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of an oil lamp near the sitting area.

Mr. Dand sat cross-legged on a stool, squinting at something he was mending with a thin wire. He glanced up briefly when Billy entered.

No Artur.

That single detail clawed at Billy's chest harder than he expected.

He offered Mr. Dand a quiet nod, not trusting his voice, and disappeared down the hall. His hand still clutched the wrapped teacup, though now it felt heavier, like something he shouldn't have brought back at all.

Once in his room, Billy closed the door behind him gently, leaned back against it, and exhaled a breath he'd been holding since afternoon. He didn't cry—but the pressure behind his eyes begged him to.

He placed the wrapped gift on the table, untouched.

The front door creaked open minutes later.

Artur entered, boots dragging slightly from exhaustion, shoulders stiff with unshed frustration. He stopped just inside the main room, wind still tangled in his hair, cheeks pink from the cold.

"Where have you been?" Mr. Dand's voice was casual—but his eyes lingered a second too long.

Artur didn't answer. He couldn't.

He stood there, motionless, chest rising and falling beneath his coat. His eyes flicked toward the hallway—toward Billy's room.

He came home... without saying a damn thing.

Artur's jaw tensed. He looked down at his hands, clenching them briefly before moving to the table. He sat there heavily, elbows on his knees, face buried in his palms.

Why didn't you come back?

Why didn't you wait for me?

The silence between them grew heavier. The house no longer felt warm.

Artur stood up.

The chair scraped quietly against the wooden floor as he pushed it back, his movements slower than usual—as if part of him didn't want to face whatever waited behind that closed door. But he needed to see him. Just to make sure he was really there.

His footsteps padded softly down the hallway. When he reached Billy's room, he didn't knock.

He opened the door gently.

The room was dim. A faint breeze stirred the thin curtain near the window, moonlight spilling through it like spilled milk. On the bed, Billy lay with his back turned, blanket pulled halfway up to his shoulders. Still. Too still.

Artur's gaze softened.

"Billy..." he called, voice just above a whisper.

No response.

He took a step closer, brow furrowing. His hand curled loosely at his side, like he was holding back from reaching out.

Billy's heart beat faster.

He could feel Artur's presence behind him—heavy, warm, familiar. And yet, he stayed still. Eyes shut. Pretending.

Don't ask me anything right now, Billy silently begged. Not now. Not tonight.

Artur stood there for a long second, searching for the right words—but none came.

Just as he started to speak again, Billy murmured without turning around, voice low and thick with sleep he didn't really have: "Let's talk tomorrow..."

Artur stood in the hush, searching the curve of Billy's shoulder like it might turn toward him he exhaled, the sound quiet but tired.

He lingered a moment longer, then gave a barely visible nod, though Billy couldn't see it.

"Alright," he breathed, though nothing about this night felt settled.

And he stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.

The room was quiet, but Artur's mind was a storm.

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his brows drawn in hard thought. The image of Billy walking away from the workshop burned behind his eyes—his expression unreadable, his eyes shadowed.

Why didn't he come back?

Artur had waited. Hours. The sun had set, shadows drawn long over the earth. He had checked Mr. Lucas's place, rushed home, then paced outside and in again like a restless animal. Yet Billy had returned without a word, not even a glance in his direction.

Was he angry? Hurt?

Artur rubbed a hand across his face, torn between frustration and worry. "Why wouldn't he just talk to me?" he muttered to himself. "Did something happen...?"

But what? And why was it eating him up inside?

He lay back against the bed but sleep didn't come. His mind drifted to the way Billy smiled when he was relaxed, the sound of his laugh, the way his eyes softened when they looked at him. All of it—suddenly felt so far away.

The sun filtered through the curtain in thin golden slits, warming the floorboards near Billy's bed.

He lay still, eyes open.

Sleep had come late and fitful. Now that the light touched his skin, guilt pressed heavier on his chest than it had the night before.

Maybe... I was wrong.

He shut his eyes briefly, the memory of Anna's voice replaying over and over.

But what if... what if Artur didn't see it that way? What if he didn't want that? Billy sat up slowly. His hands rested on the edge of the bed. He loves me. Right? He wouldn't just...

He rubbed his face and stood.

At the mirror, he stared at himself while washing. The cold water shocked his nerves awake. He braced the porcelain basin, water dripping from his chin. He was tired of this feeling—of guessing, of assuming, of letting it fester.

No more.

He would talk to Artur. Hear it from him. Not run. Not avoid.

He cracked open the door, heart pounding—half from nerves, half from hope. He wanted to put things right.

Artur was sitting at the table, arms resting on the edge, quietly chewing. His eyes were tired, his face unreadable. Mr. Dand sat nearby, a small smile on his face, already halfway through his breakfast.

And across from Artur stood Anna, bright as ever, holding a bowl of food flecked with green herbs. "My mom made your favorite, "She said you look thin," Anna smiled, placing the bowl in front of him like it was her place. "And worried. Told me to take care of you."

she said sweetly, spooning it onto his plate. "She told me not to come back until you've eaten it all."

Artur didn't respond. He took the plate but didn't look up. The spoon moved slowly to his mouth, as if by obligation rather than desire.

Billy stood by the door.

His stomach turned.

He'd only planned to find Artur. Say something. Just talk. But now—

"Billy, perfect timing," Mr. Dand called out. "Come, come. Eat before it gets cold."

Billy stepped forward slowly, arms crossed against his chest as if trying to shield himself from the scene. His eyes flicked toward Artur—but Artur didn't meet them.

Anna turned with a saccharine smile. "Here," she said, already reaching for a plate. "There's more."

He didn't answer. Instead, he reached for the jug of water and poured himself a glass. His fingers trembled just slightly.

The water went down easily. Too easily. He didn't touch the food.

The quiet between them all hung like a thread about to snap.

Mr. Dand chuckled lightly. "Billy, aren't you hungry? You barely ate last night either."

Billy lowered the glass, his voice steady but cool. "I'm going out."

That caught Artur's attention. His head lifted sharply, eyes finally locking onto Billy.

"Where?" Mr. Dand asked, surprised.

"I'll meet Jay outside," Billy replied.

Artur's brows pulled together. Jay? Why would he—

Billy didn't wait for their reactions. He turned and walked out, footsteps light but quick.

Artur stared after him, chest tightening.

Anna blinked, still holding the spoon.

Mr. Dand looked between them, slightly confused, but said nothing.

Artur set his spoon down.

His appetite was already gone.