CHAPTER 160: WRITTEN ON THE HEART

By the time Billy reached the apartment building, the rain had thickened to a steady roar.

The cab door opened with a splash, and he made a dash under the shelter, his shoes soaked, jacket clinging to his arms.

He hurried through the lobby, punching the elevator button with cold fingers, heart picking up pace—not from the weather, but from what waited upstairs.

As the elevator doors slid open on his floor, he stepped out and walked briskly down the corridor. A soft hum of the rain echoed through the hallway windows.

Billy unlocked the door.

The room was quiet.

And there, in the middle of it, Artur stood still—his hands loosely by his sides, eyes lifted the moment Billy stepped in.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. He just watched him.

Billy closed the door gently behind him, his breathing a little shaky.

Artur remained exactly where he was, like he’d been waiting all along.

Billy didn’t say anything at first.

He just stood there, drops of rain still clinging to his hair and lashes, his breath shallow. Across the room, Artur hadn’t moved.

The silence between them was thick—but not cold. It carried weight. History. All the unspoken things that survived hospitals, storms, and long silences.

Billy took a slow step forward, then another. Artur’s eyes softened, his jaw clenched like he’d been holding back too much for too long.

"You waited..." Billy finally said, his voice quiet, laced with something raw.

"I said I would," Artur replied. "Didn’t think I’d move until you walked through that door."

Billy’s lips curved faintly, but his eyes shimmered.

"You’re soaked," Artur murmured.

"So?" Billy stepped even closer. "I’ve been through worse."

Artur gave a small, breathy laugh, the kind that caught in his chest.

Then Billy reached him.

He didn’t ask. He simply slid his arms around Artur’s waist, pulled him close, resting his forehead against his.

Artur’s breath trembled, like his lungs were only now remembering how to breathe.

"I hate being apart from you," Billy whispered. "Even for a moment, it feels wrong."

"I didn’t want you to stay away," Artur said softly. "I just... thought you needed space. A moment with your family."

Billy pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. "I do need them. But I need you more."

Artur blinked. Once. And then again. That was all it took for the emotion to flood his eyes.

Billy cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing along his cheek. "You’re not just a part of my life, Artur. You’re the place I feel most alive."

Artur leaned into the touch, then kissed him. It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t desperate.

It was tender, full, slow—a kiss that said I missed you, thank you for coming back, I love you and I always will.

And outside, the rain kept falling, but inside, the world had finally settled.

When they broke apart, the air between them still held the warmth of everything that had just passed.

"C’mon," Artur said, brushing his fingers against Billy’s damp sleeve. "Let’s get you changed before you catch a cold."

But Billy didn’t move toward the bathroom. He didn’t say a word.

Instead, he started undressing—right there in front of him.

Artur blinked, surprised at first, but his feet stayed rooted.

Billy held his gaze as he slipped off his soaked jacket, then peeled away the vest beneath.

His movements were slow, deliberate—almost reverent, like each layer carried the weight of everything they’d been through.

Then, with a soft inhale, Billy tugged off his jeans, letting it fall to the floor with a quiet *thud*.

Artur’s breath caught.

There, on the left side of Billy’s chest—over his heart—was a tattoo. Not just any tattoo.

"Billy..." Artur’s voice broke on his name, barely more than a whisper.

Billy looked down, then back at him, his expression open, almost vulnerable. "I didn’t want to forget you," he said softly. "Even when I didn’t know who I was."

Artur stepped forward slowly, drawn to it like a magnet. His fingers rose, trembling slightly, until they gently traced the lines of ink on Billy’s skin.

It was a drawing of Artur—standing by the lake where they used to sit together, that quiet place between the trees where time always seemed to slow down.

Artur’s outline was turned slightly, as if waiting for someone, with the sky fading above the water.

Beneath it, in delicate cursive, were the words:

**"If I forget... let this remember."**

Artur’s thumb hovered over the caption, and he closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed.

"You... did this?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Billy nodded. "I didn’t know who I was then. But I remembered the feeling. Of peace. Of being safe. And there was always someone.someone who made me feel like home."

"You remembered me before you even knew me again," Artur whispered.

"I never really forgot you," Billy replied. "I think part of me held onto you, even in the dark."

Artur looked up at him, eyes glassy. "You have no idea what this means to me."

Billy smiled, small and sincere. "I think I do."

And just like that, they stood there—close, silent, hearts open and full—while the storm outside whispered against the glass, and the memory inked in skin bound them tighter than words ever could.

Artur leaned in slowly, his breath warm against Billy’s skin, and pressed a soft kiss right over the tattoo.

Billy’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch. His chest rose, not from the cold, but from the warmth pooling beneath Artur’s lips. That simple kiss felt like a promise—like everything they’d lost and found again.

Artur didn’t rush. He let his lips wander gently across Billy’s chest, tracing the edge of the ink, then further, soft kisses that lingered like whispers—like he was relearning every inch of him.

Billy’s fingers slid into Artur’s hair, holding him close, not needing words.

His head tipped back slightly, surrendering to the quiet tenderness between them.

Their lips found each other again—slower now, deeper. This wasn’t just reunion; it was recognition, like two halves finally clicking back into place.

The kiss unfolded like a story between them, each brush of lips unraveling what had been held back for too long.

Billy tugged Artur closer, still kissing him, refusing to let go. Their lips met again, and again, until they were breathless. Still holding on.

Without breaking the kiss, Billy took his hand and led them both gently toward the bedroom.

In the soft light of the room, he turned, his fingers slipping to Artur’s shirt.

Slowly, tenderly, he began unbuttoning it—one button at a time—his lips brushing the newly revealed skin in between. Each kiss was patient, reverent. As if making up for every second they’d spent apart.

Artur let his hands glide along Billy’s waist, holding him like something fragile and precious.

Then Billy laid him down with care, like he was something sacred, something worth protecting.

Their bodies moved closer, a quiet dance of limbs and hearts finding rhythm again.

Their kisses deepened as the room filled with soft sighs, the sound of rain tapping gently against the window like a melody playing just for them.

No rush. No noise.

Just two souls, slowly remembering what it meant to be home—in each other.

Their bodies pressed close, skin to skin, but what filled the space between them wasn’t just heat—it was everything they’d carried in silence: the longing, the ache, the fear of forgetting, and now... the relief of being found.

Billy’s hand trailed slowly down Artur’s back, his touch light as breath, his gaze steady.

Artur met his eyes, saw the softness there, and leaned in again—not with urgency, but with devotion.

Their lips met in another kiss, one that lingered and deepened, one that said I’m here, I’m yours, I never stopped.

As the storm outside raged on, inside, it was quiet—warm.

The room dimly lit, casting soft shadows over the sheets.

Their bodies tangled gently as they moved in rhythm, finding each other in a silence more intimate than words.

Artur whispered his name between kisses—Billy...—and Billy answered with a soft gasp, his hands cupping Artur’s face like he needed to remember the shape of him, every curve, every sigh.

There was no rush, no frenzy. Just time slowing down. Touches like poetry. Kisses that carried the weight of what they’d been too afraid to say.

Eventually, when their breath steadied and their hearts slowed, they lay wrapped together beneath the blanket, their legs tangled naturally like they belonged that way.

Billy rested his head on Artur’s chest, his fingers drawing slow circles over the skin there. He could hear Artur’s heartbeat—a calm, steady rhythm that grounded him.

Artur held him close, arm wrapped firmly around his back, his thumb brushing softly along Billy’s shoulder. "You’re here," he whispered, almost like he still couldn’t believe it.

Billy closed his eyes, a small smile curling at his lips. "I found my way back."

And outside, the rain softened. The storm passing.

And inside, they finally slept—hearts full, safe in the arms they had missed most.