Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 102: This Kind of Real

Chapter 102: This Kind of Real

The breeze rustled gently through the trees lining the edge of the yard. Dust floated in the morning light, lazy and golden.

Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers loosely tangled as if holding back something he couldn’t name. Jay didn’t say anything, just sat beside him, close but not crowding him.

After a stretch of quiet, Jay reached into his pocket and pulled out a candy bar—half-crushed, wrapper torn at the edge. He held it out without looking.

Mark blinked. "What the hell is that?"

"A peace offering," Jay said, his voice low, casual. "Or a distraction. Whichever you need more."

Mark stared at it, then at Jay, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "Do you always carry sugar like some street dealer for emotions?"

Jay’s mouth tugged into a lopsided grin. "You learn things when you grow up around people who yell more than they talk."

Mark didn’t answer that. But he took the candy.

He unwrapped it slowly, chewing without saying anything. Jay stayed still, his gaze focused on the dirt under his boots.

A few minutes passed. Then, softly—

Mark’s gaze drifted past the trees, toward a memory he hadn’t meant to carry this far."You ever regret something the moment you do it?"

The question was barely above a whisper, like if he said it too loud, it’d become too real.

Jay turned slightly to look at him. "Every damn time I open my mouth around you."

Mark gave a short laugh—but his eyes were tired.

Jay’s smirk faded. "Yeah. I know what that feels like."

Mark didn’t meet his gaze, just nodded once, the weight of that quiet admission settling between them.

Jay leaned back, supporting himself on his palms. "Whatever it is, I’m guessing you can’t take it back?"

Mark shook his head. "Already done."

Jay didn’t ask what.

Didn’t press.

Just said, "Then maybe what matters is what you do next."

Mark went quiet again, but something in his shoulders eased—just slightly. Like he was still stuck inside his thoughts, but no longer drowning in them.

Jay gave him a light nudge with his elbow. "You still look like crap, by the way."

Mark glanced over. "And you still sound like a mosquito in heat."

Jay grinned. "There’s my boy."

Mark rolled his eyes, but his mouth curved—only a little.

The sun shifted overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a bird screeched. Life went on.

Jay stood and brushed off his jeans. "Come on. I’m not dragging your emo ass inside, but I’ll wait at the door like a dramatic date if I have to."

Mark didn’t move right away. But when Jay turned toward the porch, Mark slowly pushed to his feet and followed—silent, but no longer shut down.

As they stepped inside, the warmth of the house greeted them, and from the kitchen, faint sounds echoed—plates clinking, low voices, laughter.

Unaware of what had just happened outside.

The workshop smelled of sawdust and clean earth. A breeze drifted in through the open window, stirring the edge of a folded tarp in the corner.

Billy stood near the long table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, carefully sanding down the edge of a wooden frame.

Each motion was steady, his focus tight—but not heavy.

Artur was across the room, lifting a crate of small tools and placing them back into the cabinet.

The clink of metal against wood broke the calm rhythm between them.

"You missed a spot," Artur said casually, gesturing with a nod toward the board in Billy’s hands.

Billy didn’t look up. "Liar."

Artur smirked faintly. "Just wanted to see if you were still awake."

Billy huffed under his breath, but the corner of his mouth twitched with a faint smile. "You really know how to flatter a guy."

"Only the ones who make it this easy."

They worked side by side in quiet for a while, moving in sync without thinking—passing tools without asking, stepping aside without needing to speak.

There was something easy in it now, something that didn’t need explanation.

Billy finally straightened up, brushing fine dust from his palms. "Think we’ll finish early?"

Artur glanced toward the light streaming in. "At this rate, yeah. My Dad said not much needs to be done today."

Billy looked toward the open door, the village beyond it. "Feels strange. Like a calm before something."

Artur turned to him. "You think too much."

"Probably," Billy admitted. "But I’ve earned it."

Artur studied him for a moment. "You okay?"

Billy nodded once, but there was a hesitation in his breath. "Yeah... I think I just needed this."

Artur didn’t ask what he meant. He just walked over, took the sanded piece from Billy’s hands, and set it aside.

"Then come help me put these up. Before I start talking like Dad and scolding you for daydreaming."

Billy rolled his eyes but moved to follow.

Outside, the village moved slowly—quiet footfalls, the occasional bark of a dog, distant voices.

But inside that small space, between the scent of cedar and the scattered hum of chores, there was only the sound of them—working, quietly together.

The light shifted through the slats of the window, drawing thin lines across the floorboards.

The room was warm with the scent of wood and earth, a faint echo of birds outside threading through the quiet.

Billy crouched by the lower shelf, sorting through worn boxes filled with nails, hinges, and scraps of old plans.

His fingertips were dusty, smudged with graphite from a half-drawn sketch he’d found tucked into one of the corners.

Artur was beside the cabinet, unfolding an old wooden ladder with a practiced hand. "That thing’s older than you," Billy muttered, glancing up with a raised brow.

"Still steadier than you," Artur replied without missing a beat, testing the rungs with a careful stomp of his boot. "Grab the oil can. It’s creaking like your bones when you wake up."

Billy reached for the small rusted can on the side shelf, twisting the cap off with a grin. "You’re one to talk, old man."

They worked quietly after that—Billy holding the base while Artur climbed to fix a shelf that had come loose above the workbench.

The creak of the ladder, the soft grind of wood against wall, the slow twist of screws—all familiar sounds, the rhythm of their day settling into something steady.

Billy looked up, catching a glimpse of Artur’s focused profile. Hair pushed back, a smudge of dust on his cheek.

The sunlight hit just right, and Billy blinked slowly, his hands tightening slightly on the ladder without meaning to.

Artur noticed. "You fine?"

Billy cleared his throat. "Fine. Just... don’t fall."

Artur glanced down, a knowing look flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing.

When the shelf was secure, he stepped down, brushing his hands on his shirt. Billy set the oil can aside and handed him a cloth.

"I missed working like this," Billy said, voice low, almost to himself.

Artur gave him a sidelong glance. "Like what?"

"Just... hands-on. Quiet. Real."

Artur leaned against the bench, arms crossed. "Then stay."

Billy didn’t answer right away. He leaned beside him, letting the silence stretch—unawkward, full, and quietly understood.

"I’m glad you didn’t fall," Billy muttered, more serious than he meant to sound.

Artur looked at him—really looked—but only said,

"I’m harder to break than I look."

Billy smirked. "I wouldn’t test that."

Artur nudged his shoulder gently. "Come on. We’ve still got shelves to clean and hinges to fix."

Billy followed, a quiet smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

Work, yes—but something else was being built too. Steady. Quiet. Real.

Billy was wiping down a shelf, sleeves rolled, when he heard footsteps approach from behind the shed.

He looked up just as Jay’s voice cut through the air.

"Well, well... look at you two, building a new empire?"

Billy chuckled, leaning the cloth against the wood. "We’re barely halfway through cleaning this shed. Not sure it counts as empire-level work."

Jay stepped inside, eyes sweeping the space, then pointed to a crooked stool in the corner. "If you let Mark near that thing, it’ll collapse in two seconds."

Mark, just a step behind, shot him a flat look. "That’s funny. Coming from someone who broke the fence. trying to ’fix it.’"

Artur glanced between them. "You two going to keep talking or help us finish this before the sun melts our backs off?"

"I vote we put them in charge of hauling," Billy said, tossing the cloth aside and stretching his arms overhead.

Jay groaned. "Manual labor? I thought I came here to supervise."

"You’re five minutes late," Artur replied. "You forfeited your right to supervise."

Jay sighed dramatically, peeling off his light jacket and tossing it near the door. "Fine. Where do you need me, boss?"

"Back corner," Billy said, gesturing with his chin. "There’s a stack of planks we need to move outside. Carefully—some are split."

Mark crossed the room without a word, grabbing a pair of gloves from the work table.

He didn’t look at anyone, just picked up a plank and carried it out like he’d done it a hundred times.

Jay blinked. "Is it just me, or is he unusually... quiet today?"

Billy shrugged, heading to the opposite side to sort through the smaller pieces of timber. "Maybe he finally ran out of insults."

"Or saving them up," Artur murmured.

Jay laughed under his breath and followed after Mark, who had already dropped the first plank and returned for the next.

Outside, the four of them fell into a rhythm—planks stacked, nails sorted, tools cleaned and placed in their boxes.

Billy knelt to gather the final handful of screws, dust on his hands, when Jay dropped beside him.

"I’ll admit it," Jay dropped beside him, eyes flicking to the way Billy’s hands curled, always fidgeting when something was on his mind. "you three actually make this kind of work look good."

Billy smirked without looking at him. "You mean we make you look good."

Jay bumped his shoulder. "Exactly."

Behind them, Mark and Artur stood near the open shed door, Mark resting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the cleaned space.

"Not bad," he muttered.

Artur looked over. "It’s better than I expected with you and Jay here."

Mark gave him a sideways glance. "Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment."

Artur didn’t respond. He just turned back to gather the tools.

Billy clapped his hands together, brushing off the dust. "Alright. That’s the last of it."

Jay stretched his arms overhead and let out a loud groan. "Someone owes me a drink."

Mark tossed a glove at his back. "You’ve been here for what, twenty minutes?"

"And I made them count," Jay grinned.

Billy smiled faintly, his gaze drifting to Artur, who gave a small nod as if to say: Not bad. Not bad at all.

They didn’t need to say it out loud. The work was done. For now, that was enough.

They were halfway down the hill path when Jay suddenly stopped walking, clapping his hands once like he just had a revelation.

"Alright, enough of this peasant labor," he announced. "Time to eat."

Billy raised a brow. "You say that like someone else packed lunch."

Jay turned to Mark with a bright grin. "Exactly. Our generous sponsor over here promised to feed the team."

Mark shot him a deadpan stare. "When did I say that?"

Jay slung an arm around his shoulder anyway. "When you woke up this morning and thought, ’You know what? I haven’t suffered enough.’"

Artur gave a quiet snort, amused despite himself.

Mark sighed, shrugging Jay off. "Fine. But don’t expect anything fancy."

"No one’s expecting fancy," Billy said. "Just edible."

Jay followed behind, hands tucked into his pockets, still smirking. "I expect flavor. And maybe dessert. I’ve suffered too much to accept plain rice."

"I can make you eat dirt if you’re desperate for flavor," Mark shot back, but his pace didn’t slow.

By the time they reached the old bench near the walnut tree behind the house, Mark had disappeared inside and returned with a modest tray. Bread, stew, and a few oranges. Not much, but it was enough to make Jay whistle.

"Look at that—miracles do exist."

They sat in a loose circle under the shade. Jay exaggerated his delight at every bite. "Tell your pops this hits the spot."

"I’ll let him know," Mark replied dryly, chewing with less enthusiasm but still finishing everything on his plate.

Billy sat beside Artur, their shoulders brushing now and then as they leaned in to talk between bites.

The rhythm between them had grown familiar—quiet, unspoken, but warm.

Jay glanced between them, then looked over at Mark, who was unusually quiet again, eyes fixed on his lunch but chewing slower now.

"You okay?" Jay asked low, nudging him with his knee.

Mark didn’t answer at first, then muttered, "Yeah. Just tired."

Jay narrowed his eyes slightly but didn’t push. "You don’t get a pass. After lunch, you’re still helping clean up."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I figured. You’re the kind of guy who eats and runs."

"I’m staying. Mostly to make sure you don’t skip your turn," Jay grinned.

Artur stood, brushing his palms together once he finished. "Alright, you two can argue over who cleans what. Billy and I will handle the rest outside."

Billy smiled, standing too. "We’ll need the tarp and the ropes from the side shed."

Mark stood next, reaching for the plates. "I’ll wash these."

Jay blinked. "Volunteering? Who are you and what have you done with the real Mark?"

Mark didn’t respond. He just walked toward the house, plates in hand.

Jay stared after him, lips twisting. "Something’s weird."

Billy glanced over his shoulder, soft but measured. "Maybe. Or maybe he’s just changing."

Jay didn’t say anything.

He just followed him in.

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