Chapter 182: Chapter 182

The final note faded like breath on glass, and for a moment, the room was still again.

Billy turned slightly on the bench, his knees brushing the wood, his fingers still resting loosely on his lap.

His gaze met Artur’s across the room—soft, uncertain.

"Was that okay?" he asked, not quite confident, not quite afraid.

Artur pushed off the wall and crossed over, slow, unhurried steps on the old wooden floor.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he came to stand beside the piano, fingers trailing along its edge, eyes fixed on Billy like he was listening to something still playing.

"You always ask that," Artur said gently.

Billy tilted his head. "Ask what?"

Billy gave a small shrug, trying to pass it off lightly. "Well, maybe I like reassurance."

Artur’s lips curved. "You don’t need it. But I’ll give it anyway."

He reached down and tapped one of the lower keys—an old, mellow note that rang warm and quiet.

"You play like you’re telling a secret," he added, eyes still on the keys. "Not for applause. Just... to be understood."

Billy looked away for a second, the words sitting too close to the chest.

"I didn’t expect to be asked," he murmured. "To play in front of people. It’s been a long time."

Artur sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder now.

The bench creaked softly beneath them.

"You don’t have to impress anyone," Artur said. "You just have to show up."

Billy smiled faintly. It held, but something in his eyes was already drifting elsewhere. "Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with everyone watching."

"No," Artur agreed. "But I’ll be the one watching you."

Billy laughed under his breath. "That’s worse."

Artur bumped their shoulders playfully. "Too bad."

They sat there in silence again, the quiet comfortable now, like a blanket wrapped around them.

Dust danced in the shaft of morning light cutting across the room.

From somewhere outside, faint hammering echoed—someone putting up festival lights early.

Billy ran his fingers along the keys again, this time without pressing.

"I missed this," he said softly. "The sound. The stillness after."

"You never really let it go," Artur replied. "It’s just been waiting."

Billy turned to him, eyes unreadable for a moment. "Do you always know the right thing to say?"

Artur looked back, something earnest and unguarded in his voice now. "No. I just know when it matters."

Billy held his gaze. And in that quiet second, there was something unspoken—but understood.

Not about music. Not entirely. About him. About being seen without needing to explain.

Billy lowered his eyes again. "I’ll do it," he said quietly. "For the festival."

Artur nodded once. "Good."

Then a small grin broke through Billy’s hesitation. "But if I freeze up and run offstage, you’re coming with me."

"I’ll drag you back," Artur replied without missing a beat.

Billy chuckled, the tension in his shoulders finally softening.

And beside him, Artur just sat—anchoring him, without saying a word.

Billy’s smile lingered for a beat, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Artur caught it. He always did.

"You were good," he said again, softer now, like he was nudging something beneath the surface. "Really good."

Billy looked down at his hands, still resting on the keys. "I used to be better."

"Why’d you stop?" Artur asked.

The question landed gently—but it stirred something.

Billy didn’t answer right away. His fingers pressed lightly on the keys again, not enough to make sound—just feeling the smoothness beneath his touch.

"My dad... said music was a distraction." His fingers pressed harder on the keys, not enough to make a sound, just enough to feel the resistance. "I remember he didn’t even look at me when he said it."

Artur didn’t interrupt.

"He had it all planned out," Billy continued, staring ahead at nothing in particular. "The acting, the training, the auditions. I was just a kid. I didn’t know how to say no."

"You loved it?" Artur asked.

Billy nodded slowly. "Still do."

Silence again. The kind that wasn’t empty, but full of something unspoken.

"It’s like..." Billy’s voice trailed, then came back quieter. "Every time I play, it feels like I’m breathing differently. Like the world quiets down and finally makes sense."

Artur was still beside him, close but not crowding. "Then play," he said simply. "Even if it’s just for yourself."

Billy turned to look at him. "You think it’s that easy?"

"No," Artur replied, meeting his eyes. "But I think you’re allowed to want what your heart wants. Even if someone once told you not to."

Billy swallowed. The words sat heavy and gentle in his chest all at once.

He looked back at the keys. Then slowly, carefully, he played a note. Just one. Then another.

Not a full song. Not a performance.

Artur leaned back, letting the sound fill the space between them.

And Billy played—not because he had to, but because, for the first time in a long while, he wanted to.

The soft notes still hung in the air when a knock echoed from the front door—two light taps, followed by a pause.

Artur glanced at the clock. "That’s probably My. Dad."

Billy let his hands fall from the keys, the music fading like a breath held too long.

He didn’t speak, but there was a flicker in his eyes—like something sacred had just ended too soon.

Artur noticed, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he rose quietly and went to open the door.

Mr. Dand stepped in, brushing the dust off his sleeves. "You boys already up and charming the morning, huh?"

Artur smiled. "Something like that."

Billy stood, running a hand through his still-messy hair. "We were just... talking," he said casually, though the piano behind him said otherwise.

Mr. Dand’s eyes flicked briefly to the instrument, then back to Billy. "Well, talking or not, I could hear the music from the road."

"I figured it had to be you," Mr. Dand continued, lifting a brow. "The notes were unsure at first. Then they weren’t."

Billy opened his mouth to deflect, but Mr. Dand was already walking past them, straight to the table where a stack of fabric sat half-folded.

"I’m heading to the hall. Elders are starting early again. Light testing, lantern placements, and all that madness. Artur, I want you on ladder duty again. And Billy—" he turned, finger lightly raised, "Don’t think I’ve forgotten. Piano’s still missing from our festival."

Billy chuckled nervously. "Thought you might."

Mr. Dand offered a grin that was too knowing. "Think about it while you help hang banners, hmm?"

Artur was already grabbing his jacket. "Come on. He’s not going to stop asking, you know."

Billy sighed in playful defeat. "Yeah, yeah. Ladder duty and guilt-tripping. Great combo."

They stepped outside into the early light.

The sun was still soft, the village slowly waking around them.

Billy glanced at Artur as they walked. "You’re really going to make me play, aren’t you?"

Artur gave him a teasing side glance. "No one’s making you. But if you don’t, I’ll probably guilt-trip you every day until next year’s festival."

Billy laughed, nudging him with his elbow. "Cruel."

Billy smiled, and for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel like he was carrying something he wasn’t ready to say.

The festival hall sat at the center of the village, its wooden beams tall but weather-worn, draped now in ropes of half-hung lights and colored cloth.

A few villagers were already inside, moving chairs, adjusting decorations, and arguing gently over whether red or green banners felt more festive.

Billy stood just inside the wide double doors, squinting up at the tangle of string lights snaking across the ceiling.

Artur stepped beside him, hands on his hips. "You ever climbed one of those?" He nodded toward the creaky wooden ladder leaning against a support beam.

Billy narrowed his eyes at it. "Not by choice."

"Well, you’re in luck. Today, you get to risk your life for aesthetics."

Billy gave him a sideways glare. "What kind of flirting is that?"

Artur grinned. "The honest kind."

Before Billy could protest, Mr. Dand appeared with a coil of lights and a look of someone who had given up arguing with the elders. "Artur—get those strung over the beam. Billy, go up first and hand him the clips. He’ll follow you."

Billy stared. "Wait—I’m going first?"

Mr. Dand already turned away, barking orders at someone else about where the main banner should go.

Billy looked at the ladder again. "Great."

Artur gave him a light nudge. "You’ll be fine. Just don’t look down."

"Classic advice," Billy muttered, but he grabbed the clips and started up.

The ladder groaned under his weight, each step creaking just enough to make his heartbeat pick up.

His foot slid, the wood biting into his palms as he clutched the rails.

For half a second, all he heard was the creak of the ladder and his own breath—until Artur’s voice cut in, sharp and close.

Artur’s voice snapped up from below, firm and fast. "Billy—careful!"

Billy froze, gripping the side rails tighter. His breath hitched.

"I’m okay," he called back, a little too quickly.

Artur was already climbing behind him. "Move over. I’m not letting you hang off that thing alone."

Billy shuffled carefully to the side on the narrow beam as Artur reached the top.

Their shoulders bumped, the warmth of it grounding.

Artur didn’t say anything else, but his hand lingered near Billy’s elbow—just in case.

"Didn’t know you were afraid I’d fall," Billy said quietly, eyes on the light clip he was fumbling with.

"I’m not," Artur replied, voice just as low. "I’m afraid you’ll laugh while falling and scare the hell out of me."

Billy smirked. "No promises."

They worked together in silence after that, the wires slowly stretching across the beam, laughter and shuffling echoing below them.

When they finally climbed back down, Billy rubbed his palms together, then nudged Artur again.

"Admit it—you were worried."

Artur raised a brow. "You were clinging to that ladder like it owed you money."

Billy laughed, the sound a little breathless but genuine. "I kind of like it here."

Artur tilted his head. "The hall?"

Billy met his eyes. "No. I mean—this."

Artur didn’t smile immediately. He just looked at him, like he saw something more than Billy meant to show.

Billy met his eyes. For a second, the noise of the hall thinned, and it was just them—close enough to speak, but not needing to.

Then he bumped his shoulder again. "Come on. Still got lanterns to hang, fearless ladder boy."

Billy rolled his eyes but followed him into the crowd of villagers, his fingers still tingling from where Artur’s hand had steadied him.