The door creaked softly as he opened it.
Artur sat near the window, knees drawn up, arms resting loosely over them. His back was to the door. He didn't move.
The air smelled faintly of wood smoke and lavender soap. A silence stretched between them—thick with things unsaid.
Billy lingered at the threshold, then knocked—once, lightly.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Artur… can we talk?"
Still no answer.
Billy stayed near the door, not moving closer.
"They're still waiting in the living room. But I… I needed to say something."
No response. But Artur's shoulders shifted—just slightly.
"I'm not leaving forever," Billy continued. "Just for a little while."
He paused.
"I still don't know who I used to be. But I know who I am here. With you. And that… that's not something I want to lose."
Artur didn't speak, but Billy could see the tension in the set of his back, the way his fingers curled slightly over the windowsill.
Billy took a careful step forward.
