The grass whispered beneath their boots as they walked side by side, the path winding lazily back toward the house. The shed faded behind them, a job well done, and the soft rhythm of their steps filled the silence between them. Billy's hand brushed against Artur's a few times—once, twice—until it stayed there, fingers loosely linked.
Neither of them said much. There wasn't a need to. The quiet spoke for them.
The breeze tugged at Billy's shirt, cooling the light sweat at his neck, but all he felt was the steady warmth of Artur beside him. There was a kind of peace in moments like these—a peace Billy hadn't known he'd needed until now.
He glanced sideways, his voice low. "You've got dirt on your cheek."
Artur gave him a sideways smirk. "So do you."
Billy reached up and wiped at Artur's cheek with his thumb, slow and lingering. "There. Now you're perfect."
