The evening hung gently around them, casting the fields in hues of honey and dusk. On the porch, Artur and Billy hadn't moved.
Their shadows stretched behind them, touching like fingers on wood, yet both stood still, not wanting to break the quiet that had cradled their hearts just moments ago.
Billy finally turned, his voice soft and sure.
"I think I'm going to talk to him," he said, watching the horizon fade into deeper golds and blues. "He deserves to hear it from me too."
Artur's eyes searched his face. "Are you sure?"
Billy reached down, lacing his fingers with Artur's.
"He took me in when he didn't have to. Fed me. Let me stay. Gave me work—even when I didn't know who I was." His thumb brushed across Artur's knuckles. "He should know that no matter what happens… my love for you isn't borrowed or owed. It's mine. Ours."
Artur gave a small nod, his throat tightening. The boy who once said little now carried weight in every word.
