The room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of the lamp near the bed.
The blankets were pulled up halfway, rumpled from tossing and tired limbs.
Outside, the cicadas had gone quiet, and a breeze stirred the curtains just enough to whisper into the room.
Billy lay on his side, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other loosely curled over the edge of the pillow.
His eyes were half-lidded, but not fully closed. Just resting in the calm, in the nearness.
Artur was lying beside him, close but not touching—until their arms brushed by accident, and neither of them moved away.
"You nervous?" Artur asked quietly, his voice almost swallowed by the hush of the room.
Billy let out a breath, eyes fixed on a soft shadow across the ceiling. "A little." He smiled faintly. "Excited too. I don't know. It's weird."
Artur turned on his side to face him, resting his head on his arm. "It's not weird. You made something. That matters."
