Artur lingered at the window, his elbow carving a shallow dent into the wooden sill, chin heavy in his palm as if the view weighed him down."
He watched the way Billy moved—casual, comfortable, utterly at ease.
The breeze tousled his hair, and each time he laughed, it reached all the way up to his eyes.
Mr. Dand looked content too, rinsing a faded towel and chatting between their work.
It was a quiet harmony down there, a rhythm that didn't need words to explain.
Artur smiled faintly to himself, letting his gaze trail from the swaying laundry line to the sun-warmed basin, then to the slight splash Billy made when flicking water playfully toward Mr. Dand—earning a gruff but amused scoff.
Eventually, the scent of food tugged at his attention—warm, seasoned, and familiar. With a stretch and a lazy ruffle of his own hair, Artur turned from the window and padded toward the kitchen.
The moment he stepped in, a soft wave of warmth and home met him.
