The first light of morning crept through the window in soft gold streaks, brushing across the floorboards and climbing slowly over the bed.
Billy stirred.
His lashes fluttered once, then twice, as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. A slow breath slipped through his lips, and as his vision adjusted to the early glow, he realized he hadn't moved at all through the night.
Artur was still there—his head resting against Billy's shoulder, one arm curled possessively across Billy's waist, his hair messy and warm against his skin.
For a long, quiet moment, Billy didn't move.
He just looked at him—at the way Artur's brow was relaxed in sleep, at the slight parting of his lips, the soft rise and fall of his chest.
He looked... peaceful. Almost boyish. Like the kind of peace one only found when wrapped in something—someone—they trusted completely.
Billy's gaze softened, his fingers hesitantly brushing a stray lock of hair away from Artur's face.
"You look ridiculous when you sleep," he whispered playfully, voice still thick from sleep.
But he didn't mean it. Not really.
Because even now, even with the mess of bedhead and the blanket slipping half off his shoulder, Artur looked... endearing. Real. His.
Billy let his hand rest gently on Artur's back. He could feel the warmth of him, the steadiness of his breathing. And though part of him knew he should probably wake him soon, he didn't. Not yet.
Instead, he allowed himself this quiet—just a little longer.
The stillness. The weight of a body tucked against his. The reminder that he wasn't alone.
Outside, the morning birds had begun their song.
But inside, the world hadn't started yet.
And Billy, for once, wasn't in a hurry.
Artur stirred.
It was subtle at first—a small twitch of his fingers against Billy's side, the faint shift of his breathing. Then a slow inhale, deep and lazy, followed by a faint groan muffled against Billy's shoulder.
Billy smiled to himself, not saying a word.
"Mmh..." Artur mumbled, burying his face a little more into the crook of Billy's neck. "S'too early…"
"You slept well," Billy whispered, his fingers brushing lightly along Artur's back. "You didn't even kick me in your sleep this time."
Artur groaned again, eyes still closed. "Didn't wanna let go…"
Billy's smile softened.
"Then don't," he murmured before he could stop himself.
That made Artur crack one eye open, then the other. His gaze was slow to focus, but once it did, it locked onto Billy's face—and stayed there.
The room fell quiet again, but the silence was full. Full of warmth, of the night just passed, of the closeness they'd shared and hadn't yet let go of.
Artur's voice came low and drowsy. "You're looking at me like that again."
"Like what?" Billy asked, feigning innocence.
"Like you're in love with me," Artur said, his lips curling lazily into a smirk.
Billy flushed, rolling his eyes. "Shut up. You're ruining the moment."
Artur chuckled and stretched, then pulled himself a little closer, pressing a kiss just beneath Billy's jaw—soft, unhurried.
"I'm serious though…" he murmured into Billy's skin. "Waking up like this… with you… I could get used to it."
Billy didn't answer at first. He just held him tighter, burying his nose into Artur's hair as if afraid the morning might steal him away.
Then, after a moment: "You already are."
They stayed like that for a little longer—wrapped in each other, wrapped in the morning light—until the world outside the room finally reminded them it was time to rise.
But for those extra minutes, neither moved. Neither spoke.
They just breathed.
Together.
A sharp bark shattered the stillness.
Billy jerked slightly. Artur blinked awake.
The dog.
They glanced at each other at the same time.
"I thought it left," Billy whispered.
"It followed us the whole way home," Artur mumbled back, rubbing his eyes. "Guess it made itself comfortable."
Another bark echoed—closer this time.
Billy scrambled out of bed. "C'mon! If your dad sees us coming out like this…"
Artur groaned, reluctantly getting up, hair sticking out in all directions. "It's not like we murdered someone."
Billy shot him a glare as he grabbed his shirt. Try convincing Mr. Dand we were just cuddling.
Like teenagers sneaking past curfew, they tiptoed out of the room, the floorboards groaning just enough to betray them. One after the other. Artur tried not to step on the creaky floorboard near the door; Billy shushed him when he did. Just as they reached the main room, the front door creaked open.
Mr. Dand stood there, boots already on, a sack in one hand and his usual stern face in place. His eyes landed on them—and on the dog, wagging its tail happily beside Billy.
A long pause.
"Whose dog is this?" Mr. Dand asked, eyes narrowing.
Billy opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Artur scratched the back of his head.
"He followed us last night," Billy finally said. "I thought he left."
Mr. Dand's gaze lingered on both of them a little too long for comfort. Then he looked at the dog, unimpressed.
"He's just a stray. Take him back where he came from before he starts thinking this is his home."
Billy nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."
Without another word, Mr. Dand stepped out and shut the door behind him.
Silence.
Then Artur snorted. "I think we got away with it."
Billy gave him a look. "Barely. Your dad definitely suspects something."
Artur grinned. "Yeah, but at least we didn't get scolded. That's a win."
The dog barked again, tail thumping.
Billy sighed and bent down to scratch its ears. "And now we've got a clingy dog."
"Maybe he's like me," Artur said, leaning lazily against the wall. "Fell for you and just couldn't leave."
Billy gave him a sideways glance. "Don't flirt while your dad might still be within earshot."
Artur smirked, but said nothing more.
The dog barked again, nudging Billy's leg.
"Well," Billy said, "let's take him back before he ends up sleeping in your room too."
"Too late," Artur said under his breath, smiling to himself.
They walked through the morning mist, the air still soft with dew and silence. The little dog trotted ahead, tail wagging like it belonged beside them.
Billy adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, still half-buttoned from their hasty escape. "You know, he's kind of growing on me."
Artur gave the dog a glance, then smirked. "Jealous already? He stole my cuddle spot."
Billy rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "You're impossible."
They reached the edge of the path where the village opened wider, the scent of earth mixing with early morning bread baking in the distance. Just as they turned the corner, a shout echoed from ahead.
"Max!"
A small boy came running from between the houses, eyes wide, face flushed with hope.
"Max!" he shouted again.
The little dog barked, tail wagging furiously, and darted ahead—straight into the boy's arms.
Billy and Artur stopped in their tracks, watching as the boy hugged the dog tightly, burying his face in its fur. The relief in his small body was visible, the way his shoulders dropped and the tightness in his grip softened.
"Where did you find him?" the boy asked, looking up at them with watery eyes.
"He followed us home last night," Billy said gently, kneeling down to the boy's level. "We didn't know he belonged to someone."
The boy nodded, still clinging to the dog. "I was scared. He always sleeps near our door, but yesterday he was gone. I looked everywhere."
Artur crossed his arms, his voice softer than usual. "Well, looks like he found some trouble and wandered off."
"Thank you," the boy said, looking between them. "He's my best friend."
Billy smiled, brushing his hand gently over the dog's head. "He's a good friend."
The boy turned and started to leave, Max trailing loyally behind him, looking back at them once with a little bark of goodbye.
Artur watched until they disappeared down the street.
"That could've been us," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"If I didn't find you after the storm. Wandering off like that. Lost."
Billy glanced sideways, touched by the weight in Artur's voice.
"But I wasn't lost," he said. "Not anymore."
Billy watched the boy disappear with his dog, and for a fleeting second, he wondered if this was how Artur had looked—when he found him.
Artur looked at him, then softly bumped his shoulder. "C'mon. Let's get something to eat before your stomach starts making dog sounds."
Billy laughed. "Says the genius who once gnawed on raw yam like it was gourmet." thinking it was a boiled one."
"I wasn't
"You were desperate."
They kept walking, the morning slowly warming around them, the village beginning to stir.
The small restaurant sat tucked beside a flower stall, its bamboo curtain swaying in the breeze. The scent of hot pastries and fresh herbs wafted from the kitchen, curling around the two as they sat at a corner table under a faded umbrella.
Aunt Rina, the owner, peeked from the counter and gave them a knowing grin. "You boys are up early... or did you not sleep at all?"
Billy flushed. "We slept."
Artur leaned back with a smirk. "Barely."
Billy kicked him under the table. "Shut up."
Rina chuckled and waved her ladle. "I'll bring you something warm. Looks like you need it after a night of whatever that was."
Artur leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You know, you didn't have to kick me so hard. My shin's going to swell."
"You deserved it."
"For telling the truth?"
Billy narrowed his eyes. "You want your breakfast with an extra side of pain?"
Artur chuckled but raised both hands in surrender. "Peace. I value my food too much."
When Aunt Rina returned, she placed two bowls of steaming yam porridge in front of them, followed by tiny plates of spicy pickles and fried dough twists.
Billy took a bite, eyes closing briefly. "This is so good…"
Artur watched him for a second, then smiled. "You've got a porridge moustache."
"What?" Billy quickly wiped his upper lip with his sleeve. "Gone?"
"Almost." Artur leaned in with exaggerated slowness, as if contemplating cleaning it himself. Billy caught on, narrowed his eyes again and shoved a spoonful of porridge toward Artur's face.
"Back off."
Artur laughed, catching the spoon and lowering it. "You're cute when you're violent."
"And you're sweet when you shut up," Billy shot back, trying not to smile.
Aunt Rina passed by again, peeking over her shoulder. "I'll need a mop under that table soon. All that flirting's going to melt the floor."
Billy choked on his porridge while Artur simply grinned and raised his bowl. "We'll keep it contained, Auntie."
They ate slowly, the banter softening into quieter smiles. The street outside buzzed with more life now—vendors setting up, children running by with sticky buns in hand. It was a peaceful corner of a bustling morning, and neither of them seemed in a hurry to leave.
Billy rested his chin on one hand. "Let's not go back yet."
Artur leaned back, watching him. "Where to?"
Billy gave him a little smile. "Surprise me."
Artur grinned, wiping his hands on a napkin. "Dangerous words, you know."
"I trust you."
Artur stood and offered his hand. "Then come on. Let's go somewhere you'll remember."
Billy took it without hesitation.
As they sat side by side, laughter trailing between sips of warm porridge, the morning seemed to pause for them. There was no rush now. No looming memory to chase, no storm to outrun. Just a boy who had been lost, and the one who refused to let go.