The wind carried the faint scent of blooming flowers and fresh grass as they left the shed behind. Neither said anything; they didn't need to.
Side by side, their hands brushed every few steps until Billy reached out properly, lacing his fingers with Artur's.
Artur squeezed gently, his thumb stroking the back of Billy's hand in small circles. The world felt slower here, quieter — just the whisper of the breeze, the occasional chirp of birds, and the soft crunch of their boots on the dirt path.
Billy tilted his head back to catch the sky — streaks of gold and soft orange were already bleeding into the blue, the first sign that evening was near.
"It's beautiful," he murmured.
Artur didn't look at the sky; he looked at him instead.
"Yeah," he said softly, the word carrying a different weight.
Billy caught him staring and gave a shy, crooked smile, squeezing Artur's hand tighter.
