Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 101: Solmere The Village

Chapter 101: Solmere The Village

A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, but it was the soft hum of morning air that stirred Billy awake.

The sky outside was still painted with pale gold, the kind that hadn’t decided yet if it wanted to be cloudy or clear.

In the quiet of the room, he blinked his eyes open and felt the steady rise and fall of Artur’s breathing beside him.

For a moment, he stayed still—wrapped in the warmth of the blanket and the gentle weight of Artur’s arm across his chest. Then, slowly, he turned his head, watching as Artur’s lashes flickered.

Artur didn’t say anything, but his hand gave Billy’s side a sleepy squeeze.

They exchanged a small glance, nothing more than a quiet good morning before the day began.

Eventually, they both shifted. Billy sat up first, pulling on his shirt while Artur rubbed a hand down his face and stretched his limbs with a soft grunt.

From the hallway, they could already hear the faint sound of pots clinking—Mr. Dand must’ve been up before them.

Billy yawned as he pushed the door open. "Think we’ve got another long one?"

Artur smirked behind him, slipping into his boots. "We always do."

Meanwhile, in Mark’s room, the morning light spilled through the thin curtains, touching across the mess of tangled sheets and discarded clothes. He hadn’t slept much.

His phone buzzed once—then again.

He blinked awake, groaning as he reached blindly for the device on the floor.

1 New Message – Mr. Frank

The moment he saw the name, he sat up straighter.

He unlocked it, hands cold despite the warmth in the room.

Mr. Frank:

Is this recent? Where did you find him?

You need to tell me everything. Right now.

Mark stared at the screen. The air around him suddenly felt thinner. Like the walls were a little closer than they were last night.

He stared at the message a moment longer, thumb hovering.

The photo he’d sent was still there, crisp and clear—Billy, leaning casually at the counter, caught in the soft light of the kitchen. No one would mistake that face.

Mark exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and set the phone down like it was something that might burn.

His room felt too quiet. He paced once, then sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, head in hands.

What have I done?

But he didn’t unsend it.

He didn’t reach out to explain.

He just sat there—still, thinking, listening to the distant clatter of plates from the kitchen.

Then his phone buzzed again.

Mr. Frank:

I’m coming there.

Don’t tell him. Not yet.

Mark stared.

The words didn’t feel real, not all at once. He glanced toward the door, heart crawling up his throat.

A part of him wanted to go out there and act normal. To sit beside Billy like nothing was wrong. To pretend he hadn’t just lit the fuse to something that might explode in all their faces.

But he stayed seated.

Watching the sunlight move slowly across the floor.

Mark stared at his phone for what felt like hours, though it was only minutes. Each buzz, each vibration, was like a drumbeat in his chest.

His heart pounded harder than it should have, considering the simple, straightforward nature of what he’d done. A photo. A message. But it was the implication that gnawed at him.

Mr. Frank wants to come here.

He never thought this day would come.

Mark’s fingers hovered over the screen, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he stared at his reflection in the window, the light from outside casting long shadows on his face.

He wanted to pretend this didn’t matter. That he wasn’t about to betray the fragile balance they had here.

But as the silence stretched on, his phone buzzed again.

Mr. Frank: *Mark, where exactly is this village?

Mr. Frank:

I need you to tell me where it is. Now.

The words were sharp. Cold.

He felt his stomach knot. God, why is he doing this? The guilt in his chest kept pulling him down, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

His fingers twitched, itching to pick up the phone. His mind raced, and his breath hitched as he saw his own hesitation mirrored in the screen.

Mr. Frank:

I won’t wait any longer. This is my family, Mark. I need to know. Tell me where the village is.

The pressure mounted. He could already hear Mr. Frank’s voice, demanding answers. He couldn’t hide from this any longer.

Mark had already made the choice to send the photo. What good was backing out now?

He threw himself back onto the bed with a heavy sigh, the weight of the decision settling deeper in his chest. The village. Solmere.

A memory flickered — something fleeting, something about a path, a river, the way the trees crowded the road.

Mark had been there a few times, but he’d never known it like Mr. Frank would now. How would he even explain?

His fingers danced over the keys, slow at first, unsure. He could feel the sweat gathering at the back of his neck as the words took shape.

Mark:

It’s Solmere. South of the river. About a five-hour drive.

He stared at it for a long moment, feeling every second of that decision stretch in front of him.

His thumb hovered.

For a second, he thought he might delete it. But then it was too late. He hit send.

Mr. Frank:

Solmere.

There was a brief pause, then the message came through.

Mr. Frank:

I’ll be there soon.

Mark stared at the message, but his eyes didn’t focus on it. Instead, he saw Billy again—his face, his smile, the look in his eyes that Mark couldn’t quite place.

Billy who had no idea that all this was coming. Billy who just wanted to find himself again, with Artur.

What have I done?

He squeezed his eyes shut, then rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the choice pressing into him deeper.

The message still sat in his chest like gravel—heavy, sharp, and impossible to swallow.

He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. The phone sat beside him, dim and heavy—like a ticking bomb.

A soft knock landed on his door.

"Mark?"

It was Billy.

Mark’s stomach turned.

Breakfast’s ready," Billy called, light and casual—as if the earth hadn’t tilted under them just moments ago.

Mark hesitated. His voice came out dull, almost distant. "Okay. I’ll be there."

He heard footsteps retreat down the hall. He sat up, phone still warm in his hand.

For a second, he considered staying locked in this room. But the silence, thick with guilt, was unbearable.

He stood, forcing his limbs to move. Each step felt heavier than the last as he headed out into the hallway.

Time moved strangely after that.

Ten minutes. Maybe twenty.

Just enough for the kettle to boil and guilt to steep.

In the kitchen, the table was already set. Mr. Dand sat at the head, sipping coffee.

Billy was placing another plate down, and Artur leaned back in his chair, arms folded, relaxed.

Billy looked up with a smile. "Took you long enough."

Mark tried to smile back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Didn’t know you were all waiting."

"We weren’t," Artur muttered with a smirk, taking a bite of toast.

Billy rolled his eyes at him, then handed Mark a plate. "Eat before it gets cold."

Mark sat down across from them, eyes briefly meeting Billy’s.

There was so much he wanted to say—but none of it belonged here. Not now. Not when they were all laughing softly, the air still unbroken.

He chewed in silence.

Outside, the sky looked calm. But inside Mark’s chest, the storm had already begun.

"Just a few things to check near the west plot," Mr. Dand said, pushing his chair back. "No hauling or lifting today. We’ll be back before noon."

Artur stood with a stretch. "Finally, a day without splinters."

Billy let out a small laugh as he collected the empty plates, brushing against Mark’s arm as he reached across the table. "You coming with us?" he asked.

Mark shook his head quickly. "Nah. I’ll stay back today."

Artur raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask. Mr. Dand was already halfway to the door, boots thudding softly across the floorboards.

Billy smiled again before following Artur out. "Don’t get too bored," he called lightly over his shoulder.

The door closed behind them with a gentle thump.

Mark remained seated for a while, elbows on the table, hands loosely laced.

The laughter and low voices from outside faded as they walked farther down the path, leaving the house still again.

He stood slowly, walked to the sink, and rinsed his hands—more out of distraction than purpose.

Outside, morning light spilled through the windows. The breeze carried faint sounds from the village—the soft bark of a dog, the creak of a wheelbarrow, idle voices. It all felt normal. Too normal.

But Mark knew what he’d done. And sooner or later, it would reach them.

He stepped outside quietly, standing on the porch. His eyes followed the curve of the path that led to the village center. From this angle, everything looked distant. Peaceful.

He sighed, rubbing his thumb over the edge of his phone.

It’s done.

You told him.

You just didn’t say when he’d arrive.

Still on the Porch

Mark sat on the wooden step just outside the front door, elbows resting on his knees, phone in hand.

He wasn’t scrolling anymore—just staring at the screen that had gone dark long ago.

A pit churned in his stomach. He had told Frank. Not everything, not directly. But enough.

And now... the silence felt heavier. He didn’t regret it. Not yet. But he knew he would.

The crunch of gravel under fast steps pulled him out of his thoughts.

He turned just as Jay rounded the side of the house, hands stuffed in his pockets, his usual half-annoyed expression stamped across his face.

Jay squinted at him. "What? No running today?"

Mark didn’t move. "Didn’t feel like it."

Jay climbed the last step but didn’t sit beside him. "Where’s Billy and Artur?"

"Went off with Pop earlier," Mark replied. "Something near the west plot. Not heavy work, they said."

Jay rocked back on his heels. "Tch. I thought I’d come early and make myself useful."

Mark snorted faintly but didn’t answer. It was the first time Jay hadn’t called him something irritating.

Alright, Jay said, frowning. What’s with the brooding?

Nothing, Mark muttered.

Liar. Jay kicked a pebble off the step. You only get quiet when you’re about to explode or cry.

Mark’s jaw twitched. "Cool theory."

Don’t play the ’nothing’ card. You usually talk back. Throw an insult. Roll your eyes. Something. You’re like—quiet.

Mark gave a weak shrug. "Maybe I’m tired of arguing."

Jay blinked, taken off guard. For a beat, he just looked at Mark like he didn’t recognize him. Then he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

"Okay... weird," Jay muttered, his voice softer this time.

Mark didn’t respond. He just leaned forward, elbows back on his knees, eyes distant again.

Jay hesitated, then turned slightly toward the road. "I’ll catch up with them, I guess."

As he stepped off the porch, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. "You sure won’t join?"

Mark shook his head slowly, still not meeting his eyes. "No. I’m good."

Jay lingered for a moment longer, like he wanted to say something else—but didn’t.

He just nodded and walked off, his usual quick, lazy stride heading toward the field.

Jay didn’t leave.

His footsteps stopped just past the first step down the porch, and he stood there for a second, frowning.

Then, with a sharp exhale through his nose, he turned back and dropped onto the step beside Mark.

Mark glanced sideways, surprised. "I thought you said you were going to find them."

"I was," Jay said, brushing invisible dust off his jeans. "But then I thought, why bother rushing into work when the human mood swing’s still brooding on the porch?"

Mark narrowed his eyes but didn’t bite. He just looked away again, jaw tense.

Jay studied him for a moment. "You’re not alright."

Mark leaned back against the doorframe, silent.

Jay looked forward at the empty yard, tone lowering, a bit more genuine this time. "Did something happen?"

Mark exhaled slowly. "What does it matter?"

Jay’s voice was quieter now. "Because... sometimes it does. Even when you don’t want it to."

Mark tilted his head toward him, sarcasm still present but dulled. "What are you now? A therapist?"

Jay smirked faintly. "I have layers, Mark."

A dry breath of laughter escaped Mark before he could stop it. He shook his head. "God, you’re annoying."

Jay smiled, something softer passing through his expression. "There’s the insult. I was getting worried."

They sat in silence for a bit, the air between them holding something more complex than before—not quite friendship, but no longer just friction either.

Jay rested his arms on his knees, gaze flicking toward Mark. "You don’t have to say what it is. But... if you need to punch something, I’m available."

Mark let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You’d enjoy that too much."

"Probably."

Another pause.

Mark finally said, almost like it slipped out, "I think I messed something up."

Jay didn’t respond right away. He didn’t push either.

Instead, he just said, "We all do. Some of us more beautifully than others."

And for once, Mark didn’t have a sharp reply.

They sat there for a while longer, letting the silence be enough.