The morning sunlight filtered in through the small kitchen window, catching the soft glint of water as it trickled off Artur's hands into the sink.
The silence between them wasn't cold—but it wasn't warm either. Just... lingering.
Billy stood nearby, pretending to check the kettle, but his eyes kept drifting to Artur's back.
Artur shook his hands dry and reached for the towel, not once looking up. He wiped his fingers in slow, deliberate motions—then without turning, said in a quiet voice, "I'll be out."
He moved to leave, his steps steady—too steady. But before he could pass, Billy reached out and gently grabbed his wrist.
"I'm coming with you," he said, voice low but firm.
Artur froze. For a second, he didn't say anything. Then slowly, he pulled his hand free—not harshly, just with finality.
"You should get ready," he said, eyes still avoiding his. "Your mom will be here in a minute."
