Chapter 167: Chapter 167

The lights were dimmed, casting a soft amber hue across the room. Dinner plates had been cleared.

The scent of warm garlic and basil still lingered faintly in the air. Artur was curled up on the couch, a throw blanket draped loosely over his knees, watching Billy move about the living room with quiet ease.

Then his eyes drifted to the upright piano by the far wall — untouched, dusted recently, but still standing like a memory. His voice came low, casual but hopeful. "Will you play something?"

Billy, halfway to the kitchen, turned. "Now?"

Artur nodded. "That night... when you played, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I didn’t know you could play like that."

Billy blinked, lips twitching with a shy smile. "I barely remember it myself."

"Maybe," Artur said, his voice softer now, "but you did good."

Billy hesitated, then walked over and gently pulled back the stool. He sat down slowly, fingertips hovering above the keys.

For a moment, he just stared at them — black and white rows waiting patiently.

Billy pressed a single key. Then another. A hesitant melody emerged—fragile at first, like light filtering through half-closed blinds, uncertain but insistent.

Artur sat up straighter.

The music wasn’t perfect. It wavered in places, paused as Billy found his rhythm.

But there was soul in it — a quiet story carried in every note. His hands moved gently, like he was remembering something not from his mind, but from muscle, from feeling.

The melody drifted through the apartment — echoing off the walls like an old friend returning.

Artur leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on Billy’s profile.

There was something so open in his expression, something untouched and raw. He didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

When the song finally slowed into silence, Billy didn’t look up right away. His hands rested lightly on the keys.

"You remembered it," Artur said quietly.

Billy turned his head. "Barely. But it came back to me."

"I wish you could see yourself right now," Artur murmured. "You’re... beautiful . I don’t mean how you look. I mean this—" He gestured toward the piano. "You. Playing. Feeling. It’s like watching someone speak in a language only their heart understands."

Billy gave a small laugh, the kind that carried a hint of disbelief. "I don’t even know where I learned to play."

"Where doesn’t matter," Artur said, rising slowly from the couch. "You still carry it with you."

He walked over, standing beside the piano now.

Billy tilted his head up, smiling softly. "Do you wanna try playing?"

Artur scoffed with a teasing grin. "Only if you want every song to sound like a cow learning ballet."

Billy laughed — truly laughed — and reached for his hand. "Come here, sit."

Artur sat beside him, awkward and unsure, one shoulder pressing into Billy’s. Their knees touched.

Billy placed his fingers gently on Artur’s. "Just follow me."

Their hands hovered together on the keys — clumsy, imperfect, but full of warmth. And when the notes faded, they didn’t move, just stayed side by side in the hush that followed.

The city lights flickered outside. But in here, it was only them. And the piano. And the quiet hum of love that no longer needed proving.

Later, after the piano fell silent and the last of the notes had faded into the quiet hum of the city outside, they stayed on the bench a while longer — neither of them speaking, their bodies close, fingers still touching.

It was Billy who finally moved first, standing up and stretching slightly with a soft yawn. "I’ll blow out the candles," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Artur leaned back, watching him walk across the room.

The golden candlelight flickered against Billy’s frame, casting long, fluid shadows on the wall.

There was a quiet grace in the way he moved — not rehearsed, not showy. Just real. Just Billy.

He blew out one candle, then another, until only the smallest flame remained on the coffee table.

Artur stood too, crossing the room slowly to meet him there.

Neither of them reached for the light switch.

Instead, Artur sank down onto the couch and opened the blanket slightly. "Come here," he murmured.

Billy hesitated, then climbed in beside him, tucking himself under the blanket, his back against Artur’s chest.

Artur wrapped his arms around him gently, the way someone holds something precious without needing to tighten their grip.

Outside, the city murmured softly through the glass. A car passing. A dog barking in the distance.

But none of it made it into the cocoon they’d built between them

Billy spoke first, voice low and sleepy. "Do you think... it’ll feel different when we’re back?"

Artur took a moment, then said, "It might."

"A little," Artur admitted. "But not of being with you."

Billy smiled faintly and turned slightly in his arms. "That part, I’m not scared of either."

Their foreheads touched. A small, quiet kiss was exchanged — not rushed, not hungry. Just full. Honest. Something that settled between them like truth.

Artur closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Billy’s hair. "Let’s not think too far ahead tonight."

Billy nodded. "Yeah. Just stay ."

Time passed, but neither of them marked it. At some point, the last candle burned low and died out on its own.

The apartment dimmed into a gentle hush. And on that couch — wrapped in each other’s warmth, hearts slowing in sync — they fell asleep.

No words. No noise. Just the sound of two boys who had found something they hadn’t even known they were missing — and had no intention of letting go.

The morning came quietly.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, stretching across the floor and landing on the couch where they still lay.

Billy blinked first, shifting slightly under the blanket.

Artur was still holding him, arms loose but warm, his breath slow against the back of Billy’s neck.

Billy turned carefully.

Artur’s eyes opened halfway. He looked at Billy for a second, then smiled — a soft, sleepy thing. "Morning."

Billy reached up and brushed a finger through Artur’s hair, messy and flat on one side. "Your hair’s a disaster."

Artur closed his eyes again. "It’s your fault. You trapped me on the couch."

"I didn’t think we’d actually fall asleep here."

Billy yawned and stretched under the blanket. "Well... we did."

For a few seconds, they stayed still. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Then Artur slowly sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

"What time is it?" he asked.

Billy checked his phone. "Just past seven."

Artur groaned. "Too early."

Billy stood, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders like a cape. "You want coffee?"

Artur blinked at him. "? No morning kiss first?"

Billy rolled his eyes, leaning down. "You’re so dramatic."

But he kissed him anyway. Quick. Familiar.

Artur caught his hand before he pulled away. "Make it sweet."

"The kiss or the coffee?"

Artur smirked. "Both."

Billy gave him a look but didn’t argue. He shuffled off toward the kitchen, the blanket dragging behind him, and Artur watched him go — eyes lingering, soft and full.

"Hey, Billy," Artur called out.

Billy turned from the counter. "Yeah?"

Artur smiled. "I’m glad we came here."

Billy nodded, smiling back. "Me too."

The kitchen was still a little dim, quiet except for the soft click of mugs being set out and the gentle trickle of coffee filling them.

Billy leaned on the counter as the machine hissed, steam curling into the air.

Behind him, Artur wandered in slowly, arms crossed over his chest, hair still sticking up in places.

Billy handed him a mug, the ceramic warm against their fingers. ’No milk, no sugar. Just how you hate it.’

Artur gave him a squint. "You’re lucky I like you."

Billy grinned, sipping his own. "Yeah. I know."

They leaned against opposite counters, sipping in silence. The air was light between them, no weight, no hurry.

"You sleep okay?" Billy asked after a moment.

Artur nodded. "Yeah. Better than I thought I would." He paused. "You?"

Billy shrugged. "It felt... good. You being here."

Artur looked at him across the rim of his cup, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I like your place."

Billy raised a brow. "Even with the broken lamp and mystery stain on the rug?"

"Especially because of those."

Billy laughed quietly. "It’s not much."

"It’s yours," Artur said simply.

That made Billy pause — not in a dramatic way, just a subtle moment of stillness before he looked down at his mug and smiled.

"Mom wants us there early," Billy said after a beat. "Before we head back."

Artur nodded. "We’ll go soon."

Billy reached out, gently tugging the hem of Artur’s shirt. "Let’s just stay a bit longer."

Artur didn’t argue. He stepped closer, setting his mug down and resting his forehead against Billy’s.

"Just a bit," he murmured.

And for a little while, they stayed like that — quiet, still, and entirely their own.

After a few minutes, the stillness gave way to motion.

Billy pulled back first, brushing a hand through his hair and glancing at the clock. "Alright. We should get moving before she calls again."

Artur groaned lightly. "She’ll call either way."

Billy smiled and nudged him. "Come on. Let’s get dressed and pack up."

They moved around the apartment in a quiet rhythm—Billy folding a shirt into his duffel, Artur checking if he left anything in the bathroom.

It wasn’t rushed. Just calm, like they had done this before.

"Do you need help with that?" Artur asked, watching Billy try to zip the overstuffed bag.

Billy frowned at it. "No, but moral support would be nice."

Artur stepped over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You got this."

Billy snorted but managed to get the zipper closed with a dramatic tug. "You see? That’s what encouragement does."

"Magic," Artur muttered, amused.

They checked the place one last time. Billy turned off the lights, double-checked the stove, then stood by the door for a moment, looking around.

"You good?" Artur asked gently.

Billy nodded. "Yeah. Just... it’s weird. Leaving again."

Artur leaned in and kissed his temple. "We’ll come back if you want."

Billy gave a small smile and opened the door. "Let’s go. She’s waiting."

And with bags slung over their shoulders, they stepped out—together.