Unwritten Fate [BL] Chapter 170: The Lake Still Waits

Morning light spilled into the kitchen, golden and sleepy, casting long stripes across the stone floor.

The familiar sll of herbs and woodsmoke lingered in the air, mixing with the sizzle of sothing warm on the stove.

Billy stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, carefully peeling vegetables.

He moved without needing to think — the way his hands reached for the cutting board, the soft hum that slipped past his lips.

It felt natural. Like muscle mory. Like ho.

Across from him, Mr. Dand stirred a pot on the stove with quiet focus.

Steam curled around his face, softening the hard lines carved by years of sun and labor.

"You still rember how to hold a knife," Mr. Dand muttered, his voice low but edged with quiet amusent.

Billy glanced up, a smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe I never really forgot this part."

Dand didn’t reply imdiately. He just nodded slightly, as if confirming sothing to himself.

"I’ll take that," he said, reaching to switch the fla lower. "Before you chop your fingers off."

Billy smirked. "You didn’t care this much back then."

"I did," Dand said gruffly. "I just pretended not to."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It felt lived-in. Familiar. A shared rhythm.

The kitchen window was open, and the morning breeze fluttered the curtain.

Outside, the soft clucking of chickens and the hum of village life drifted in — distant voices, a few passing footsteps on gravel, the world waking up again.

Then they heard it — the creak of the hallway floorboards.

Artur stepped into the kitchen, hair still a little ssy, sleeves wrinkled, barefoot and blinking at the light.

Billy looked up just as Artur paused by the doorway.

For a second, he just stood there — watching them.

Dand gave him a nod. "You slept late."

"Didn’t know I had to ask permission," Artur replied, his voice still rough with sleep but laced with that dry edge Billy had grown used to.

"You don’t," Dand muttered. "But the stove doesn’t wait for drears."

Billy chuckled under his breath and handed Artur a clean mug. "Want tea or sothing stronger?"

"Just tea," Artur said, brushing his fingers against Billy’s as he took the cup — barely a touch, but enough.

He stepped beside Billy, leaning one hip against the counter. "You’ve been up a while?"

"Couldn’t sleep," Billy said. "Too much in my head."

Artur studied his face for a beat. "Good things or bad?"

Billy’s smile was soft. "I’ll let you know after breakfast."

Mr. Dand snorted. "Stop flirting and go fetch eggs from the coop, Artur."

Artur raised a brow. "Is this payback for disappearing for weeks?"

Dand turned back to his pot. "I haven’t started yet."

Billy tried to hold in a laugh as Artur sighed dramatically and grabbed the old basket by the door.

"I’ll be back," he grumbled, shooting Billy a glance that lingered just a second too long. "Don’t let him bully you while I’m gone."

Billy smiled, warmth blooming quietly in his chest.

The door creaked open, and Artur stepped into the morning light.

Billy turned back to Dand, who had already returned to stirring the pot.

A silence settled again, this ti with sothing steady beneath it.

Dand didn’t look at him when he spoke next.

"You take care of him, alright?"

Billy looked at the man beside him, startled. "I— I will."

Dand finally glanced his way, his voice rougher than usual. "That boy... he’s got more weight on his back than he’ll ever say out loud. But with you around, he’s lighter. Don’t let him forget how that feels."

Billy didn’t answer right away. His chest ached in that strange, grateful way — like love had grown roots he hadn’t even noticed yet.

The kettle began to whistle.

Neither of them moved right away.

Then, quietly, Billy said, "Thank you... for everything. For not asking too many questions. For letting stay."

Dand gave a small grunt. "You didn’t need to be rembered to matter here."

And just like that, the morning went on — with clinking cups, quiet chopping, and the warmth of three lives finally in rhythm again.

The table was already set by the ti Artur returned, a basket of fresh eggs tucked beneath his arm and his curls damp from the coop’s misty morning. He ducked back in, shaking the dew from his sleeves.

Billy was plating food — scrambled eggs, roasted roots, and slices of soft village bread still warm from the oven.

The scent wrapped the room in comfort.

Artur stepped closer and leaned in with a quiet grin. "You rembered how I like my eggs?"

Billy didn’t look up as he replied, "Maybe I rembered... or maybe I guessed."

Mr. Dand pulled out a chair and sat down with a heavy sigh. "As long as no one burns the toast, I don’t care who rembers what."

Billy slid the last plate onto the table and joined them. "Sit before it gets cold."

The three of them sat — just like they used to. No caras. No questions. Just clinking forks and the quiet sound of chewing.

For a few minutes, they ate without talking.

Then Dand broke the silence with a grunt. "Bread’s better than the baker’s today."

Billy smirked. "That’s because I didn’t bake it."

Artur raised a brow. "You sure? That’s the only ti it turns out edible."

"Careful," Billy warned, nudging his knee under the table. "I made your eggs."

Dand let out a quiet chuckle, folding a piece of bread in half and dipping it into the yolk. "This is good. Real good. Almost feels like nothing changed."

That line hung in the air.

Billy’s fingers stilled on his fork. Artur glanced at his father, then at Billy, who gave a small, unreadable smile.

"I guess so things don’t," Billy said softly. "Like breakfast here."

Artur reached for the jam jar, unscrewing it with one hand. "So things did though."

"Yeah," Billy whispered. "So things did."

Dand didn’t say anything more. He just passed the jam along, nodding to Billy to take his share first.

Outside, the village stirred to life — the faint clang of a smith’s hamr, a few voices shouting good morning across fences, and the sound of hooves on the gravel path.

Artur finally leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "So, what’s the plan for the day?"

Dand didn’t look up. "You tell . You’re the one that ran off."

Artur exhaled, glancing at Billy. "Maybe we just... walk. See how the village’s changed. See if anything’s still the sa."

Billy nodded slowly. "I’d like that."

Dand finished his tea and stood, collecting his plate. "You boys go wander and waste your day. I’ve got work."

Billy stood too. "Want help with the dishes?"

Dand waved him off. "You helped enough. Go. Before he changes his mind."

Billy caught Artur’s gaze again — a look that lingered with sothing soft and unspoken.

He stepped outside first, the sun warm against his skin, the familiar weight of Solre settling gently in his chest.

And behind him, Artur followed — not rushing, not waiting.

Just walking toward whatever ca next.

They stepped out into the gentle warmth of morning, the sky brushed with soft clouds and birdsong.

The narrow dirt path welcod them like an old friend, the village breathing slow and familiar all around.

Billy walked beside Artur, hands tucked in his pockets.

Children chased a dog near the well, the sa worn well with chipped blue paint they once leaned against every sumr.

Soone called out a greeting in the distance.

The scent of hay and wet stone lingered in the air.

"They fixed the bakery roof," Billy murmured.

Artur followed his gaze, lips twitching into a faint smile. "About ti. It leaked for two winters."

They passed the little market square.

A boy ran past holding a loaf of bread in his arms, laughing too hard to breathe.

A man waved from behind a fruit stall, not quite recognizing them but nodding anyway.

Billy slowed down when they reached the old archway where they’d once carved their initials, barely visible now. "It’s still there."

Artur leaned closer, brushing his fingers over the faded letters. "Faint... but yeah."

They didn’t linger long. Sothing tugged them forward — a quiet instinct.

It wasn’t long before the trees thickened, and the gravel softened beneath their steps.

They knew this way too well. Every bend, every scratch on the trunks, every spot where the light spilled differently.

When the lake finally ca into view, it stopped them both.

Still. Silent. The surface like glass, barely rippling. A single tree leaned over the edge — tall, wide-limbed, and deeply rooted. Their tree.

Billy exhaled quietly. "It’s exactly the sa."

"No," Artur said softly, stepping toward it. "It’s not."

They walked to the base of the tree, where the roots curled like arms against the soil.

Artur sat first, his back pressed to the bark, knees bent.

Billy joined him, a little slower.

The silence between them pulsed with mory, unsaid things blooming in the spaces between.

Artur looked out at the water. "This used to be my place, you know? When everything got too loud."

Billy nodded. "You brought here once."

"You were quiet the whole ti," Artur said. "Didn’t speak for hours. Just... sat here with ."

Billy’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes for once."I think I still rember that day. Not the words... just the calm."

They both went quiet again.

A muted breeze passed through, rustling the leaves.

The reflection of the sky shimred across the lake.

Artur turned his head slightly. "You were the first person I ever brought here."

Billy didn’t respond right away. He just looked at him — really looked.

"You never said that before."

"I didn’t know how."

Billy leaned back against the trunk, shoulders brushing Artur’s. He hesitated, voice nearly breaking. "I was afraid of rembering... afraid of what I’d feel."

Artur didn’t move — just stared at the lake like it could answer for both of them.

"And now?"

Billy closed his eyes for a beat, then opened them again. "Now I’m afraid I won’t feel it again."

He didn’t an the place, or the mory. He ant the ache that now settled like sothing familiar and precious — the fear that if he forgot again, he might lose this feeling too.

The confession landed gently between them, settling in the quiet.

Artur reached down and tossed a pebble into the lake. Ripples danced outward, scattering the reflection.

"I still co here," he said. "Even when you were gone... this was still yours too."

Billy turned to face him more fully. "Do you think... we could start again? From here?"

Artur looked up, his eyes eting Billy’s — not guarded, not hiding anymore. "We never really ended."

They stayed beneath the tree a while longer, just listening.

The lake lapped softly against the shore.

A bird called overhead, then flitted across the water, wings slicing the silence.

The breeze played with Billy’s hair, brushing it against his cheek, and when he turned, Artur was already watching him.

No words this ti. Just a small, quiet smile.

Eventually, Artur pushed himself up with a grunt, brushing dirt from his palms. "Co on," he said, voice low. "Still daylight left."

Billy stood too, slower, stretching a little as he glanced around. "Where to?"

Artur didn’t answer with words. He just started walking, and Billy followed.

Their footsteps fell into rhythm, winding through the trees, past tall grasses and patches of wildflowers swaying like tiny dancers.

They didn’t speak much. But this ti, the silence wasn’t about what was lost — it was about what they’d found again.

The sky above them held the sa light as that morning — but sothing inside them had shifted. No longer just rembering — now, they were beginning.