The faint creak of floorboards and the muffled sound of footsteps in the main room stirred Billy first. He blinked against the morning light filtering through the shutters, warmth still wrapped around him—his cheek against Artur's chest, their legs tangled.
Artur's arm instinctively tightened for a second, then relaxed as his eyes fluttered open. His voice came out rough with sleep. "Is that… my dad?"
Billy nodded, groggy. "Sounds like his boots."
They exchanged a look—half panic, half amusement—before slipping out of bed, moving carefully so the sheets wouldn't betray them with too much noise. Billy smoothed down his shirt, Artur ran a quick hand through his sleep-mussed hair, and together, they padded out into the main room.
Mr. Dand stood by the door, tugging on a well-worn coat over a neatly pressed shirt. His beard was combed, boots clean, and the faint smell of shaving cream still lingered around him.
