Chapter 168: Chapter 168

The front door opened before they could knock.

"There you are!" his mother beamed, apron still tied around her waist. "I thought you two got lost."

Billy laughed, stepping inside. "We’re only five minutes late."

"Which is five minutes too long when I’ve been cooking since six," she said, waving them in. "Shoes off. Bags in the corner. You’re eating first."

The aroma hit them fully now — eggs, fries, fresh croissant, something spicy simmering on the stove. The kitchen was alive with warmth.

"You really didn’t have to go all out," Billy said as he peeked at the spread on the table.

His mother shot him a look. "You’re leaving today, aren’t you?"

He smiled faintly. "Yeah."

"Then let me feed you properly before you go running off again," she said, already pulling out chairs. "Artur, sit down. You too, Leon."

Artur offered a small smile and obeyed, glancing at Billy with a quiet kind of fondness. "She’s serious when it comes to breakfast."

"She’s serious about everything," Billy murmured, earning a light smack on the back of his head as she passed.

Billy settled into his seat and looked around—at the table, at his mom fluttering from one end of the kitchen to the other, at Artur pouring himself juice.

It felt full. And grounding.

Like home wasn’t just the village... but here, too.

Camila wandered in halfway through the first round of breakfast, still tying her hair up, a yawn escaping her lips.

"I knew it," she mumbled, eyeing the table. "I smelled food in my sleep."

"You always do," Billy teased.

She plopped down beside Artur, grabbed a plate, and without hesitation, reached for the fried plantains. "Morning," she said through a mouthful, "Hi Artur."

"Morning," Artur replied, amused.

"Sleep well?" Billy asked, reaching for the butter.

"Mm," Camila shrugged. "I heard you two whispering in the kitchen earlier. Thought it was a dream."

Billy chuckled. "No dream. Just coffee."

His mother returned to the table, finally sitting down with her own plate. "I almost forgot how much food you can all eat. Good thing I made extra."

"You made enough for an army," Camila said, spooning scrambled eggs onto her plate.

"That’s what love looks like," their mom replied, lifting her cup. "Now eat up, both of you — especially you, Artur. I don’t want Billy dragging you back to the village half-starved."

Artur smiled softly. "He doesn’t let me skip meals."

"Good," she said with a proud nod. "Someone raised him right."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. Less compliments, more food."

Camila leaned over to Billy, voice low. "She cried after you left last time, you know."

Billy paused mid-bite, eyes flicking to his mom, who was pretending not to hear.

"I’m right here, Camila," she said without looking up.

"Just saying," Camila muttered, a grin creeping in.

Billy reached across the table and lightly touched his mom’s hand. She glanced at him, and her expression softened into something quiet and deep.

"I’ll call more," he promised.

She nodded once. "You better."

Camila had just finished her second cup of tea when she stood with a stretch. "I’m gonna go check if I left my charger upstairs." Artur followed her lead, quietly excusing himself to double-check their bags.

That left Billy and his mother alone in the warm hum of the kitchen. The plates were mostly empty, the table a gentle mess of morning comfort.

She looked at him — really looked. Her eyes held something quieter this time. Not questioning. Not pushing. Just... holding back.

Billy leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Say it," he said softly.

She didn’t pretend. "It still scares me," she admitted, her fingers gently turning the edge of a napkin. "How fast everything happened. You left... and came back a different man."

Billy nodded, his voice quiet. "I did."

She looked at him then, voice catching. "But you’re also more you than I’ve ever seen."

He took a breath, let it out slowly. "Being there, with them... it changed me. But I found something real, Mom. Someone real. I didn’t expect it either."

She reached across the table, her hand resting on his. "You know what scares me more than change?" she whispered. "Losing you again."

Billy squeezed her hand. "You won’t. Not this time."

Her voice trembled. "Do you love him?"

He didn’t hesitate. "With everything in me."

She blinked fast, tears not quite falling but pressing against the edges. "Then I’ll learn. I’ll learn to love him because you do. And because I don’t ever want to be the reason you hold yourself back."

Billy rose and walked around the table, kneeling gently beside her chair. He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his forehead against her side.

She hugged him tight, her chin resting on his hair.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For still choosing me."

She smiled through the burn in her throat. "Always."

The suitcases were zipped, shoes laced, and coats draped over arms.

In the parlor, morning light spilled through the curtains, softening every goodbye.

Camila stood by the doorway, arms crossed loosely, her usual teasing grin playing at the edge of her lips. "You know," she said, "I’m gonna miss stealing your snacks, Leon. The village’s gain is my loss."

Billy laughed, leaning in to hug her. "You’ll survive. Barely."

"Send pictures," she muttered into his shoulder. "Of everything."

"I will," he promised.

She gave Artur a quick side-hug and a wink. "Take care of our boy, alright?"

Artur gave a soft smile. "Always."

Billy’s mom stood quietly nearby, arms folded but her expression tender. She looked at them — her son, his partner — and something in her had softened since the night before. She stepped closer.

"Drive safe," she said gently, her voice warm. "And call when you get there."

Billy leaned in to hug her tight, this one lasting longer than the rest. "Thank you. For everything."

She held his face for a moment when he pulled back. "You’re happy. That’s all I need."

Artur stepped forward next, respectfully giving her a brief hug. "Thank you for letting me stay."

She smiled, touched. "Thank you for bringing him back to us."

They lingered at the door for a few last seconds — no rush, just a shared quiet. The kind that only comes when something has shifted for good.

Camila called out as they walked toward the car, "Next time, bring souvenirs!"

Billy turned with a laugh. "Only if you’re cooking!"

The door shut gently behind them. Inside, the home was still — not empty, but full in a new way.

Outside, the engine hummed to life.

They were headed back to the village. But this time, not just going back — going home.

The road stretched ahead, familiar now, winding past low hills and fields that shimmered faintly under the rising sun.

Billy sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting beside Artur’s on the gear, their fingers lightly brushing now and then.

The radio played softly — nothing loud, just a distant hum filling the silence between breaths.

Neither of them spoke much at first. The city slowly faded behind them, replaced by trees that swayed gently in the breeze.

It felt peaceful, like the world had finally slowed down just enough for them to breathe.

Billy turned slightly, watching Artur’s profile. "Tired?"

Artur gave a quiet chuckle, eyes on the road. "Not really. Just thinking."

Artur glanced at him, then back ahead. "How fast everything changed... And how natural it feels. was always meant to happen, somehow."

Billy smiled faintly, watching the way sunlight touched Artur’s jaw. "I used to wonder if I’d ever feel that again... like I belonged."

Artur’s hand slid over, fingers threading through his. "You do. With me. With Dad. The village. You belong, Billy."

A silence settled again — not empty, but warm, comfortable. Billy leaned back, his eyes drifting to the passing scenery. "I didn’t even know I could miss somewhere like that."

Artur smiled. "We’ll be home soon."

Billy glanced at him, quiet for a moment, then said softly, "Thank you for not giving up on me."

Artur’s grip tightened slightly. "I never would."

They drove on, hands linked, the sky slowly brightening above them.

There was nothing else they needed to say.

They were going back to the same village, the same cottage. But everything was different now — lighter, fuller.

And this time, they were arriving together.

It wasn’t planned, but when they passed the old rusted sign — Seavale Bay – 2km — something in Billy stirred. He turned quietly to Artur, voice barely above a whisper. "Can we stop... just for a while?"

Artur didn’t ask why. He only nodded and followed the turnoff, the narrow road curling along the coast like it had been waiting for them.

The small town looked exactly the same.

Quiet, almost forgotten. A single row of shops. A gas station that hadn’t changed its sign in years.

And beyond it all, the sea — stretching wide and endless, the wind rising in slow, salty gusts that curled around them as they stepped out of the car.

Billy stood still for a moment. The breeze caught the edges of his shirt. His eyes flicked from the little hotel on the corner to the cafe that leaned slightly with age.

"This is where it started," he murmured, as if speaking to himself.

Artur stayed beside him, quiet.

Billy’s steps carried him toward the coast. Past the benches, past the walkway where fishermen mended their nets.

A couple of people glanced their way — the kind of familiar gaze that said you’ve been here before, haven’t you?

Then came the lake — or rather, what they called a lake, nestled right before the sea like a hidden inlet. Billy’s feet slowed. His breath caught. The wind shifted again.

He saw it — in his mind, clear and sharp.

Frank laughing beside him.

And then... the change.

The way the light turned too bright, the wind hit too fast, the boat tipping — someone shouting — cold water — panic — silence.

His hands trembled lightly.

"I remember," he said, voice low, shaky. "That day... I was here. I sat right there..." He pointed to the rocks by the lake’s edge. "We were filming. I was supposed to sit, look out into the sea like I was searching for something..."

He stepped closer to the water. "Then the wind changed. It wasn’t part of the script. The boat tipped—fast. I hit my head, I think... and everything went dark."

Artur moved beside him, gently. "That’s when you disappeared."

Billy nodded slowly. "And when I woke up... I was lying in a small bed. It smelled like old wood and river grass. Mr. Dand was there. I thought I was dreaming."

The waves whispered against the rocks, patient, timeless.

Billy exhaled, long and deep. "I’ve been trying so hard to remember. But now that I’m here... it’s not even painful. It’s just... quiet."

Artur watched him, his voice soft. "Maybe this place held it for you. Until you were ready."

Billy turned to him, eyes glimmering. "I think... I needed to forget for a while. To find something real before I remembered everything else."

Artur reached for his hand. "And now?"

Billy looked back at the sea. The wind lifted his hair, like a slow exhale from the earth.

"Now I’m glad it happened. Even if it hurt. Because it brought me to you."

Artur smiled faintly, his eyes holding something steady, something safe. "Then let’s remember this place. Not for what you lost... but for what you found."

Billy squeezed his hand, silent for a moment. Then said gently, "Let’s go home."

They walked back to the car, the sea behind them, and something heavier lifted off Billy’s shoulders — not vanished, but understood.

The road stretched quietly ahead, smooth and winding, flanked by tall grasses swaying under the afternoon breeze.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Billy rested his head against the window, eyes half-lidded, watching the world blur past.

There was a stillness in the car — not heavy, just calm.

Then a soft static flickered through the speakers. Artur reached for the dial and turned on the radio.

A retro pop song came on — cheerful, upbeat, slightly offbeat. Artur gave a little smirk.

"Oh wow," he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "I haven’t heard this since forever."

Without waiting, he started singing. Off-key. Loud. And clearly forgetting half the lyrics.

"Something, something... heart on fire... da-da-da, higher—" He glanced sideways. "You know the words?"

Billy blinked, then gave a half-laugh. "Not a clue."

"Perfect," Artur grinned. "We’re making our own remix."

Billy chuckled and, slowly, started humming along. He even threw in a few made-up lines just as badly.

Artur picked it right up, and together they sang nonsense through the chorus, laughing harder with every off-note.

For a moment, the car filled with nothing but their voices and the wind rushing past the windows.

Then the laughter softened, lingering like an echo.

Billy leaned back in his seat, eyes still smiling. "You’re really bad at that."

"And yet, I carried the harmony," Artur said proudly, eyes on the road.

Billy shook his head, his voice warm. "You’re ridiculous."

Billy didn’t respond at first. But his smile lingered, soft and quiet.

The road kept unfolding, and the village waited — familiar, distant, almost close enough to touch.