The village path stretched before them, bathed in the golden hush of evening. Shadows spilled long across the stone-laid walkways, and the wind carried the scent of earth and fresh herbs from someone's window.
Billy and Artur walked side by side, not rushing—just letting their footsteps sync naturally. Occasionally, Billy glanced at Artur from the corner of his eye, noticing the way the breeze toyed with his hair, how his expression had softened from the sulk he wore earlier.
"You're quiet," Billy said, finally.
Artur gave a half-shrug. "Just… thinking."
Billy smiled faintly, his gaze drifting ahead. "Dangerous habit."
Artur huffed a laugh. "Coming from the guy who talks to chickens when he thinks no one's watching."
Billy looked at him, eyes wide in mock-offense. "I was comforting them. You try being stuck with a broken fence and a fox prowling nearby."
Artur snorted. "I didn't say it wasn't cute."
Billy's heart thudded a little harder at that, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.
They passed by the well, where ivy curled lazily along the stones. The echo of a far-off bell tolled faintly, like a lullaby humming through the village bones.
Billy's steps slowed, eyes watching the way the sun dipped lower beyond the rooftops. "It's beautiful here in the evening."
Artur looked at him, not at the sunset. "Yeah… it is."
Billy caught that, and their eyes met briefly. No words needed—just a flicker of something shared, something waiting in the silence.
They turned a corner, passing an old shop with wind chimes dancing above the door. A soft clinking sound followed them. Artur looked down at Billy's hands, noticing the way he was carrying something wrapped in cloth.
"Did you steal pottery?" he asked, half-teasing.
Billy smirked. "Maybe."
"Should I be worried?"
"Definitely."
They both laughed lightly, their voices mingling with the rustle of trees. A child's giggle echoed in the distance, and a warm breeze passed between them like a whisper.
Billy nudged him with his shoulder. "You were sulking earlier."
Artur made a face. "No, I wasn't."
"You always get grumpy when we're not together," Billy said softly, eyes flicking up to him.
Artur didn't deny it. "Maybe."
"Billy smiled at that, warmth unfurling in his chest as the sky slowly shifted—gold to rose, rose to violet."Good."
They walked a little more, just listening—to the village, to the wind, to the quiet rhythm of each other.
And as the sky slowly turned from gold to rose, and rose to violet, Artur reached out, gently brushing his fingers against Billy's.
Billy didn't pull away.
The village market had long since closed, stalls now bare, canvas awnings tied back and crates stacked neatly to the side. But as the evening deepened, the place took on a different kind of life.
Lanterns hung from the eaves above the stalls—simple glass globes with flickering candles inside—casting soft, golden glows over the cobblestones. Shadows stretched and danced beneath their feet, and the usual clamor of the day had been replaced by a hush that was almost sacred.
Billy and Artur stood near the edge of it all, just behind the old flower vendor's cart. The cart was empty now, but a few fallen petals remained, like the last notes of a song still humming in the air.
Billy wrapped his arms around himself loosely, more from the comfort of the gesture than the cold. "I've never seen the market like this," he said, voice low. "It's… peaceful."
Artur glanced around and nodded. "It's my favorite time here. No shouting, no bargaining, just… quiet. Like the place is finally breathing."
Billy turned to look at him, catching the soft expression that had settled over Artur's face—calm, unguarded. He wondered if anyone else got to see him like this.
"Do you come here often?" Billy asked.
"Sometimes. When I need to clear my head." He paused. "Or when I miss someone."
Billy blinked, caught off guard. "You miss people?"
Artur smirked. "Just one."
The air felt warmer despite the cool night. A breeze drifted through, and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts—probably from someone's leftover snack fire—lingered on it.
Billy stepped closer, their shoulders brushing. "You're such a liar."
Artur tilted his head, eyes gleaming faintly in the lantern light. "Then why are you smiling?"
Billy looked away, biting back the grin. "I'm not."
They stood in silence after that, watching the soft flicker of candlelight reflected on the cobblestones. A dog barked far off, and someone's curtain shifted in the window overhead. But otherwise, the market remained theirs.
Just theirs.
No crowds. No noise. No one to pull them away.
Billy finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever think… moments like this won't last?"
Artur's hand brushed his again—fingertips grazing like a quiet promise. "Then I guess we make them count."
Billy's gaze stayed on the lanterns, but his fingers curled between Artur's.
And for a moment, the world held its breath around them.
The hours slipped through their fingers unnoticed, as if time itself had paused for them.
"At some point, their steps had led them beyond the market's glow, settling near the old stone bench by the well—quiet, forgotten, but waiting." Overhead, the sky had grown velvet-dark, scattered with stars that blinked like slow-moving fireflies.
Billy leaned back slightly, arms resting behind him, his eyes tracing constellations he didn't recognize. "Artur," he murmured, "what time do you think it is?"
Artur, stretched out beside him with one leg lazily dangling off the bench, tilted his head toward the sky. "Late," he said simply.
Billy chuckled. "Helpful."
Artur gave a lazy shrug. "Time doesn't matter right now."
And strangely, it didn't. The village had long gone quiet—no more distant chatter, no creak of shutters, not even the usual footsteps of someone wandering home from a late dinner. Just the sound of crickets and the occasional rustle of wind tugging at a canvas flap.
They didn't talk much—just sat there, occasionally brushing shoulders or quietly laughing at half-remembered stories. There was a sweetness in the silence between them, a comfort that didn't need to be named.
Billy eventually leaned his head against Artur's shoulder, and Artur didn't move. He just let it happen, let the weight settle in.
"You're warm," Billy murmured, half-asleep, his breath stirring the fabric of Artur's shirt.
"You always say that," Artur whispered back, voice lower now, like speaking too loud would break the stillness.
A dog howled far off. A shutter creaked. Somewhere, a candle blew out.
Artur tilted his head slightly, resting it lightly against Billy's. "We should head back," he said eventually, but made no move to stand.
Billy hummed. "Five more minutes."
"We've been saying that for an hour."
"I know."
By the time they reached home, the stars had shifted overhead and the wind carried the stillness of midnight. The dog padded behind them faithfully, tail wagging in the moonlight like it belonged.
Billy yawned, long and slow, blinking sleepily as he reached the front door. "I think I'm going to crash right here," he murmured, voice soft with exhaustion.
Artur opened the door, letting him in. The dog followed without hesitation, flopping down on the porch like it had decided this was home now too.
Inside, the quiet of the house wrapped around them. Billy lingered at the edge of the room, glancing at Artur with a look that said he didn't want to say goodnight just yet.
But he didn't speak. He simply turned toward his room, walking slowly like every step tugged at something inside him. He paused at the doorway, rubbed his eyes, and gave a soft smile. "Goodnight, Artur."
"Night," Artur replied, standing still as he watched Billy disappear inside.
The room felt too quiet the moment Billy's door clicked shut.
Billy hesitated at his bedroom door, fingers brushing the wood. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for—maybe footsteps, maybe an excuse to turn back. But nothing came. Just the silence behind him.
Artur stared for a long second—then moved. Quick but silent, he walked across the room and pushed the door open without knocking.
Billy, half-draped under his blanket, turned with a squint. "What are you doing here?" he asked, voice groggy, but there was no real surprise in it.
Artur didn't answer. He just stepped in, shut the door gently behind him, and crossed to the bed. Without saying a word, he laid down beside Billy, fitting into the space like he belonged there.
"I just want to cuddle you," Artur murmured.
Billy raised a brow, barely lifting his head. "Go back to your room."
"Not happening."
Billy sighed through a small smile. "What if your dad sees us?"
"He won't," Artur said, gaze steady. "I'll leave before he wakes up."
"C'mon, what if—"
Artur reached over and gently covered Billy's lips with his hand. "Shh."
Billy narrowed his eyes, but couldn't stop the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright. Fine. Let's sleep."
He shifted slightly, tugging the blanket over both of them. His arm slid around Artur without hesitation, pulling him close. "Let's cuddle, then."
Artur closed his eyes for a moment, sinking into the warmth, the safety of Billy's hold. "Now I'll have a good night's sleep."
But after a few seconds of silence, he whispered again, "You know… I'm not really sleepy."
Billy groaned lightly. "You talk too much."
"Want me to sleep?"
"Yes. Let's just sleep like this."
Billy tightened his arms around him, nuzzling his face into Artur's hair.
"…Then give me a goodnight kiss," Artur said, voice quieter this time, almost shy.
Billy opened one eye, smirking. "So needy."
But he leaned in, brushed a soft kiss over Artur's forehead, then one to his lips—gentle, sleepy, full of affection.
"That's it. Goodnight," he mumbled.
Artur sighed with a contented smile and finally, his breathing slowed.
Billy watched him for a moment, his arms still holding him close. He could feel Artur's heartbeat, warm and steady against his chest. A soft laugh escaped his lips.
Why is he acting so cute?
He buried his nose in Artur's hair and murmured into the quiet, "You're lovely, you know that?"
But Artur was already asleep.
Outside, the village had gone still. No footsteps echoed on the paths. No voices carried through the night. Just the rustling of leaves and the faint sound of crickets singing under the moon.
The dog curled up by the front door, resting its head on its paws, ears flicking at distant sounds. Safe, settled.
Inside the quiet room, Billy and Artur lay tangled beneath the light blanket. The dim lantern glow softened their edges, casting them in golden hush—as if the night itself had tucked them in."
Artur had long slipped into sleep, his breathing calm and even, arm draped lazily across Billy's chest.
Billy was almost there too—his eyes half-shut, his thoughts drifting.
In the stillness, there was something tender. Unspoken. A sense of peace that neither of them had to name. Whatever tomorrow held, whatever memories returned or paths shifted—they had this.
This one moment. This warmth between them.
Billy's fingers gently brushed through Artur's hair once more before he whispered, barely audible—
"Goodnight, Artur."
Then he closed his eyes, and let sleep carry him into the same quiet dream where they still stood beneath the market lights, hearts steady and whole.
And the night, like a secret keeper, folded the silence around them and held them close till morning.