All Roads Lead Back to You

The wheelbarrow creaked softly as Artur pushed it along the narrow dirt path, the fading sun painting golden stripes through the trees. Billy walked beside him, kicking at little stones now and then, the air warm and quiet around them.

"You know," Billy said after a stretch of silence, "if I hadn't seen you with a hammer or carrying logs, I'd never believe you're this strong."

Artur gave him a sideways glance. "And why's that?"

"You have soft hands," Billy teased, bumping his elbow against Artur's.

"I do not."

"You absolutely do," Billy insisted. "Like, surprisingly soft. For someone who works with wood."

Artur muttered something under his breath, his ears slightly red.

Billy smirked, pleased. "Don't worry, it's a compliment. I like them."

Artur stayed silent, but the twitch of his mouth betrayed him. "You talk too much when you're happy," he said finally.