The afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows of the main room, warm and lazy, catching dust motes midair. Billy and Artur sat slouched in two wooden chairs, shoulders almost touching, the kind of comfortable silence that didn't need filling. Artur's legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankles, while Billy idly tapped his fingers on the armrest, humming something barely audible.
A door creaked open. Mr. Dand stepped out from his room, tightening the last button on his vest. His eyes landed on the two boys, lounging like they'd fused to the chairs.
"You two have nothing better to do?" he asked, his tone half amusement, half command.
Artur blinked up, barely shifting. "Not really. It's been a long day."
Mr. Dand arched a brow, walking further into the room with steady, heavy steps. "Perfect," he said, brushing his sleeves and glancing between them. "I've got something for both of you."
Artur straightened. Billy sat up slightly.
"What is it?" Artur asked, already suspicious of the glint in his father's eye.
Mr. Dand pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Artur, I need you to take the basket of grain to the southern mill. Adam is expecting it before evening."
Artur's head tilted, frowning. "Can't it wait till later? Maybe Billy and I—"
"Nope," Mr. Dand cut in firmly, already walking to retrieve something from the table. "It's been delayed enough. You go."
Artur's jaw shifted, clearly not thrilled. "Can Billy come with me at least?"
"No." Mr. Dand turned to Billy now, handing him a folded piece of paper. "Billy, you're coming with me to Lucas' workshop. He's got a list of supplies, and I could use a second pair of eyes."
Billy took the paper silently, eyes flicking from the note to Artur.
Artur frowned deeper. "Why can't we go together?"
"Because," Mr. Dand said as he walked to the door, not turning around, "this isn't a picnic. Get moving, both of you."
There was a brief pause. Billy stood up first, brushing invisible lint from his shirt. Artur stayed in his chair a second longer, his mouth pressing into a flat line.
Billy glanced at him. "Its fine. It's not like we're going to opposite worlds."
Artur met his eyes, quiet for a moment. "Still… I don't like splitting up."
Billy gave him a small smile, soft and teasing. "You're acting like we're in a war."
"Feels like it," Artur mumbled, standing reluctantly. He grabbed the grain basket from the corner with a little more force than necessary.
Billy stepped past him, brushing his fingers lightly across Artur's hand. "I'll meet you at the house after."
Artur didn't say anything—just gave a short nod, like he was swallowing words.
Mr. Dand had already opened the door, holding it impatiently. "Move it, slowpokes."
Billy turned back one last time and whispered slowly. "Don't miss me too much."
Artur gave a half-laugh, watching him go.
Then the door shut behind them.
The sun hung lazily above them, not too harsh but warm enough to draw sweat to the skin. The path to the workshop was uneven, lined with dry grass and scattered pebbles. Mr. Dand walked with steady steps, broom still tucked under one arm, while Billy kept pace beside him, glancing around now and then at the quiet pulse of village life.
They talked about little things—the change in the weather, the way the wind had begun to shift, how the stream behind the mill had lost its roar lately.
"You ever worked with clay before?" Mr. Dand asked suddenly, hands behind his back as he walked.
Billy shook his head. "I've seen it... never tried."
"You'll like it," Mr. Dand said, giving a small grin. "It teaches patience. Something I think you and Artur both could use."
Billy chuckled under his breath. "We're working on it."
By the time they reached the workshop, the sun had dipped slightly. The scent of wet earth and wood filled the air. The place was set behind a large fig tree, its wide canopy casting shade over the stone structure. The workshop walls were layered in dust and time, and faint clinking noises echoed from inside.
Mr. Lucas sat in the corner, hunched slightly forward, sleeves rolled up, hands firm and fluid as he shaped a shallow bowl from red-brown sand clay. His fingers moved with practiced grace—press, smooth, turn—like muscle memory doing all the talking.
Billy stopped just past the doorway, eyes following every motion.
Mr. Dand gave a short nod. "Lucas."
Lucas didn't look up. "About time."
Mr. Dand chuckled and walked over to a wooden bench, settling down with a groan. "Still grumpy as ever, I see."
Billy took a few cautious steps forward, hands in his pockets, gaze never leaving the slow transformation happening between Lucas' palms. The clay bowl took shape like magic—soft, rounded edges forming from nothing but earth and effort.
"You're really good," Billy said quietly.
Lucas gave a soft grunt, finally glancing up at him. His face was sun-marked and weathered, but not unkind. "Been doing it longer than you've been breathing."
Billy smiled, then slowly lowered himself to sit cross-legged near the stool where Lucas worked. He rested his arms on his knees, watching intently.
"You want to try?" Lucas asked after a moment, wiping his hands.
Billy blinked. "Me?"
"No, the wind behind you," Lucas muttered, then smirked. "Yes, you."
Billy glanced at Mr. Dand, who raised an eyebrow as if to say go on. Billy scooted a bit closer, eyes wide with curiosity.
Lucas shifted, making space. "It's not about force. You shape with care, not control. Got that?"
Billy nodded, already mesmerized.
As Lucas guided his hands to touch the soft clay, Billy could feel its cool, damp texture—malleable, waiting. His fingers trembled slightly, unsure at first. But with Lucas' steady voice beside him and the sun dappling in through the high windows, the moment felt grounded... peaceful.
For the first time in a while, Billy forgot everything else.
Artur wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, the spade in his grip digging shallowly into the dry soil. The patch he was supposed to be clearing looked barely touched, despite the time that had passed.
Birds chirped from the tree above, and somewhere farther out, someone was hammering something, a rhythmic tok-tok-tok that should've grounded him in the moment. But Artur wasn't really there. Not fully.
He stabbed the spade into the ground again, slower this time. His jaw was clenched. His mind, elsewhere.
"Damn it," he muttered as the spade hit a rock and slipped from his grip.
He let it fall and sat down on an overturned crate nearby, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing in particular. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was loud, hollow.
Something was missing.
Or rather—someone.
He picked up a small twig and started fiddling with it, glancing down the narrow path that led toward the workshop. A thought flickered—what if he's having more fun there? What if he prefers that side of the village? He quickly shook his head, as if trying to swat the idea away like a fly.
It didn't work.
He pulled his shirt collar to wipe the sweat on his neck and groaned under his breath. Work felt heavier today. Lonelier.
Even when people passed by and waved, he barely noticed. His thoughts kept returning to the way Billy smiled when he was curious, how he tilted his head when he didn't understand something. And that stubborn way he argued—like a storm trapped in a teacup.
Artur stared at the half-cleared field and sighed. "This is stupid…"
Meanwhile, at the workshop, the world spun differently.
Billy's hands were covered in specks of clay, his fingers gently shaping the curved lip of a bowl under Lucas' quiet supervision. The rhythm had come to him naturally—press, turn, smooth. He was far from perfect, but the imperfections somehow made the process more beautiful.
Mr. Dand leaned back on the wooden bench, arms crossed as he watched the unlikely scene unfold.
"You're not half bad," Lucas muttered, though his tone still carried its usual gruffness.
Billy beamed. "That's probably the nicest thing you've said all day."
Lucas just snorted.
After a long while, Mr. Dand let out a slow exhale and stood, stretching his back. He looked at Billy, his eyes thoughtful.
"I think I'll leave you here," he said casually, dusting his hands. "You look like you're enjoying yourself."
Billy glanced up. "You sure?"
Mr. Dand nodded, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "Besides, I'd only be in the way. Just don't let him boss you around too much."
Billy chuckled. "I'll survive."
With that, Mr. Dand gave Lucas a small nod, then walked out of the workshop, leaving Billy in the soft hush of earth and turning wheels. The scent of clay filled the air again, grounding him. He leaned in closer to his half-finished bowl, his expression quietly content.
He didn't know how long he'd been smiling.
Billy brushed his fingers along the edge of the bowl he'd just shaped, eyes glowing with a quiet pride he hadn't felt in a long time. The stillness in the workshop wasn't empty—it was comforting, like a warm room on a cold day.
Mr. Lucas sat back, observing him with narrowed eyes, clay dust smudged on his arms. "You've got good hands," he said, the compliment gruff but genuine.
Billy looked up, surprised. "Thanks."
Lucas gestured toward the table beside him, where unused clay sat waiting. "Want to try making something of your own?"
Billy blinked, then glanced down at the drying bowl. His lips parted, and for a moment, he said nothing. But his fingers were already itching with ideas. "Yeah," he finally replied with a soft smile. "Yeah, I do."
Lucas nodded once. "Alright then, what'll it be?"
Billy stood quiet for a long moment, hands on his hips, eyes squinting at the clay as if the answer would rise out of it. He wanted to make something meaningful… not just for himself.
What would Artur like?
A teacup came to mind—sturdy, simple, useful. But not plain. Something with character. Like him.
"I think… I'll make a teacup," Billy said, voice certain now. "But I want to design it. Make it special."
Lucas raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "For someone?"
Billy's cheeks colored faintly, but he only replied, "Yeah. A good friend."
Lucas didn't press. He simply grunted, pushed a smaller wheel toward him, and dropped a slab of clay beside it. "Then start from the center. Everything steady starts there."
Billy rolled up his sleeves again and sat, carefully pressing his palms around the cool, malleable earth. His movements were more thoughtful this time—gentler, as if the clay might remember how he touched it.
With each slow spin of the wheel, the teacup began to take shape, growing from an uneven mound into something smoother, something with intention. Billy's brows furrowed, but there was a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth the whole time.
"This one's for you," he murmured under his breath, imagining the way Artur always cradled his tea, half-asleep in the mornings.
Lucas watched from across the table, arms folded. He said nothing, but there was a faint glimmer of respect in his usually unreadable eyes.
The spinning slowed, and Billy's hands followed instinct more than precision. The cup was uneven at the rim, but something about that made it feel more real—more his. He lifted his hands carefully, not wanting to ruin the shape.
Mr. Lucas leaned over, peering at the result. "Not bad. For a first."
Billy chuckled, brushing a smear of clay off his cheek with his wrist. "It's crooked."
Lucas shrugged. "So are most good things."
Billy grinned at that, then dipped his finger into a small bowl of water and smoothed one side of the cup a little more. He wanted it to feel nice in Artur's hands—something he'd use without even thinking, something familiar.
Lucas reached for a small stick of carved wood and passed it over. "You want to mark it? You can carve a design. Or initials."
Billy hesitated, eyes narrowing at the cup, as if it would whisper what it wanted. He then took the stick and pressed the tip gently near the base, sketching a small sun-like spiral on one side. It wasn't perfect, but it had warmth.
Lucas raised a brow. "Sun?"
Billy glanced up briefly, then returned to the cup, running a thumb over the mark. "He likes the early mornings. Always wakes up before me. I thought… I don't know, it just reminded me of him."
Lucas hummed, his voice low. "That's what makes a good piece. Not just what it looks like—what it remembers."
Billy met his eyes. "You mean what it means?"
Lucas nodded slowly. "Exactly."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the sound of tools scraping gently against pottery, the rhythmic thud of fingers shaping wet clay. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, dust dancing in the beams, the air filled with that earthy scent of clay and time.
Billy glanced at the other finished works lined up near the wall—plates, bowls, cups, each one a quiet testament to patient craftsmanship. He looked back at his cup and smiled faintly. It didn't need to be perfect.
It just needed to be his.
Lucas reached over and took the cup carefully from the wheel. "We'll fire it tomorrow. Let it rest for now."
Billy nodded. "Thank you… for letting me do this."
Lucas gave a slow nod in return. "You work like someone who needs to say something. Pottery's good for that."
Billy looked down at his dusty hands and smiled again. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I think you're right."
The sky had shifted by the time Billy stepped out of the workshop, a soft amber glow brushing the rooftops. The quiet hum of the village surrounded him—distant chatter, the scrape of broom bristles, chickens calling out from their coop. His hands were still dusted in fine clay, and a faint smear remained on his cheek, but he didn't notice.
He was already looking down the path.
Artur.
Without thinking, Billy picked up his pace, almost jogging past the familiar fences and sun-warmed stones. The streets felt longer than before—emptier. He had expected to find Artur still finishing up by the edge of the field, grumbling about mud or throwing pebbles at the stubborn wheelbarrow like he always did when he was bored. But the spot was empty now.
Billy paused, lips parting slightly, and turned back toward the direction of the workshop.
Unseen to him, just minutes earlier—
Artur had reached the doorway of Mr. Lucas's place, wiping the sweat from his brow. His shirt clung to him from the field work, but that wasn't what had him breathless. He scanned the inside of the workshop, only to find it… quiet. Too quiet.
"Mr. Lucas?" he called, stepping in, voice half-hopeful, half-anxious.
Lucas looked up from where he was stacking a few cooled pieces near the fire pit. "Looking for your shadow?"
Artur frowned. "Was he here?"
Lucas smirked slightly and nodded toward the empty stool. "Left just a breath ago. Probably thinking the same thing."
Artur didn't reply—just let out a soft sigh and turned around, wiping his hands on his trousers. His pace quickened.
Back on the main road, Billy slowed. His eyes darted toward the old bakery corner, then toward the field path. Then—
His thoughts drifted—not to where he was walking—but to the small piece hidden in the cloth tucked under his arm. Still warm, still unfinished, but carrying something… special.
He wasn't sure why he made it.
He just knew he wanted Artur to have it.
A voice suddenly called from the distance."Billy!"
Billy turned instantly, and there he was—Artur, slightly out of breath, hair messy, expression stuck somewhere between relief and annoyance.
Billy's eyes lit up. "You left the field?"
Artur walked up, not answering right away, just taking in the sight of him. "You disappeared."
"I went with your dad—"
"I know," Artur said, hands sliding into his pockets. "Then I came here, and you were gone."
Billy raised a brow, lips twitching. "So we… missed each other."
"Again," Artur muttered.
Billy chuckled softly. "Sounds like someone was worried."
"I wasn't worried," Artur lied, avoiding his eyes, pretending to focus on a pigeon scratching at the ground nearby.
Billy tilted his head, fingers tightening just slightly around the bundle in his arms. "Wanna walk home?"
Artur didn't answer right away. He just nodded, and the two fell into step beside each other.
Quiet. Unrushed.
And between them, something unspoken.
A secret gift.
A missed heartbeat.
And a soft sunset spilling gold across the road they shared.