Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 104: This Kind of Peace

Chapter 104: This Kind of Peace

Mark stepped inside, brushing the dust off his sleeves as the fading gold of dusk followed him through the cracks.

The door clicked softly behind him.

The house was unusually still. No voices. Just the faint shuffle of a newspaper and the clink of porcelain.

In the main room, Mr. Dand sat with his usual cup of tea in one hand and the newspaper resting flat across his lap.

The old man’s reading glasses were perched low on his nose, his eyes tracking the lines slowly, like he wasn’t really reading—just passing time.

The scent of the tea—mint and something faintly floral—lingered in the air.

Mark hesitated in the doorway.

Mr. Dand didn’t look up. "You’re back."

Mark nodded. "Yeah."

"They’re not home yet," the old man said, flipping the page with a soft snap. "Still at the shed, finishing up."

Mark gave a short hum of acknowledgment, rubbing the back of his neck.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—just... distant. Like two clocks ticking in separate rooms.

He moved past the doorway and sat across from Mr. Dand, arms folded loosely. The floor creaked beneath his heel as he shifted.

"Long day?" Mr. Dand asked.

Mark gave a slight shrug. "Somewhat."

Another sip. Another silence.

The sky beyond the window had darkened into a rich, bruised blue, streaked faintly with the last stretch of dying sunlight. Night was coming fast.

Mark rested his head back against the edge of the wall, eyes drifting toward the front door.

Still no sign of Billy or Artur.

Mr. Dand folded the edge of the paper, set it aside. His tea, still steaming gently, sat untouched now.

"You didn’t eat much today," he said, his voice low and calm, almost like he was speaking to himself.

Mark exhaled through his nose. "Didn’t feel like it."

Mr. Dand gave a soft grunt, neither approving nor questioning. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing Mark over his glasses. "I know that look."

Mark kept his eyes on the floor.

"It’s the look of someone carrying something heavy and pretending it doesn’t hurt."

Mark’s jaw tightened for a breath. He stayed silent.

"I’ve seen it before," Mr. Dand continued, not pressing but not letting go either. "On Artur, On others too. Doesn’t get lighter just because you keep quiet about it."

Mark glanced up, his voice low. "It’s not that simple."

"No, it never is." Mr. Dand picked up his cup again, took a sip. "But sometimes saying something, even halfway, can make the silence less cruel."

Mark let that sit between them for a long moment. His fingers traced the edge of the wooden armrest.

I made a choice knowing I’d hate myself for it. I did it anyway.

Mr. Dand didn’t react, just waited.

And I can’t take it back... and I knew, even as I was doing it, that I’d regret it." Mark’s voice was barely more than a breath. "And now, all I can do is wait for it to catch up."

Mr. Dand gave a slow nod. "Regret has a long reach. But you’re not the first to make a mistake. The question is—what are you going to do about it?"

Mark looked at him then, really looked. And for a second, his defenses slipped just enough to show the storm inside.

Before he could answer, the sound of distant footsteps crunched against the gravel outside.

Mr. Dand glanced toward the door. "They’re home."

Mark sat up straighter but stayed quiet, his thoughts suddenly louder than the room itself.

The door creaked open.

Billy stepped in, brushing a hand through his slightly wind-tossed hair.

A faint trace of sawdust clung to his sleeves, and he carried the familiar smell of pine and cool earth.

Mr. Dand looked up. "Where’s Artur?"

Billy paused, closing the door behind him gently. "He’s outside with Mr. Tomas. They were still talking when I left.

"He gave a small shrug, then glanced at Mark without missing a beat. "Fresh air’s nice tonight. Want to join?"

Mark blinked, caught off guard by the offer. His eyes flicked to the door, then back to Billy.

There was no pressure in it. Just a pause wide enough to step into, if he wanted.

Mark hesitated, then leaned back slightly on the couch. "I’m good," he said after a moment, voice even.

Billy didn’t push. He nodded once and offered a small smile — not pitying, not forced. Just something soft that passed like a breeze.

"I’ll bring in some firewood then," he said, and was already stepping toward the back door.

Mr. Dand watched him go, then glanced at Mark. "You sure you’re good?"

Mark didn’t answer right away. His eyes remained on the doorway Billy had disappeared through.

"I don’t know," he admitted. "I think I’m trying to be."

Mr. Dand gave a nod — slow, understanding. "That’s something."

The sound of the back door swinging open and the quiet clatter of wood outside filled the silence that followed.

And for a moment, the quiet inside the house was deeper, heavier — not empty, but waiting.

The air outside was cool, touched with the earthy scent of damp soil and wood smoke drifting from nearby chimneys.

Billy stepped onto the porch, drawing in a slow breath as he rubbed his arms lightly. A single lantern hung beside the door, casting a muted glow across the yard.

He made his way toward the woodpile near the fence, crouching down to gather a few logs.

The movements were steady, practiced — but his thoughts drifted, unsettled.

From across the yard, the soft murmur of voices carried on the breeze.

Artur’s voice, low and patient, blended with Mr. Tomas’s gruffer tone. Billy didn’t look up. He didn’t want to interrupt.

Instead, he paused for a moment, resting his arms over the top of the log pile, gaze lifted toward the sky.

The stars were faint tonight, veiled by thin clouds, but the village felt alive in its own quiet way — soft footsteps, distant laughter, the rustle of trees in the wind.

He leaned back slightly, exhaling.

It was peaceful.

But it wasn’t still.

He glanced once toward the direction of the voices, then back at the house behind him.

Something was shifting again — in the way Mark looked at him, in the way Jay hovered nearby. Even in himself. The unease hadn’t left him. Not entirely.

His fingers tightened just slightly around the firewood.

Then, before the quiet could get too loud, a familiar voice cut through it.

"You’re stacking them like you’re building a wall," Artur said lightly, stepping into view.

Billy turned, a soft smirk curving his lips. "Maybe I am."

Artur reached for the rest of the wood. "Let me help, before you fortify the entire house."

Their fingers brushed briefly as they gathered the last pieces. Billy didn’t pull away.

"Thought you were still talking," Billy murmured.

"Wrapped up a while ago. Just wanted to watch you pretend you weren’t waiting."

Billy looked down, smile deepening. "You’re imagining things."

"I always do," Artur said quietly, eyes holding his a beat longer than necessary.

They walked back toward the house together, side by side.

The door creaked softly as Billy pushed it open, holding it just long enough for Artur to follow.

The warm air inside met their skin like a blanket, chasing away the edge of the night’s chill.

Mr. Dand glanced up from his armchair, his tea cupped loosely in his hands. "That took a while," he said, though his tone held no complaint. Just observation.

Billy dropped the firewood beside the hearth. "Had to convince the logs to cooperate," he replied dryly, brushing off his hands.

Artur gave a low chuckle, stepping out of his boots near the door. "They were stubborn."

Mr. Dand shook his head with a soft grunt, folding his newspaper. "Dinner’s already set — just warm enough now. Sit before it gets cold."

Mark was still at the far end of the room, half-leaning against the kitchen doorway, his expression unreadable.

He gave Billy a brief glance, then turned away, sipping from a cup without a word.

Billy hesitated for a beat, but Artur’s hand brushed lightly against his back — not pushing, not pulling. Just steady.

They stepped into the kitchen together.

The food wasn’t elaborate, just the same steady kind Dand always prepared: warm stew, roasted roots, thick slices of bread stacked on a wooden plate.

The kind of meal that sat heavy in the stomach and softened even the roughest day.

Artur grabbed two bowls and handed one to Billy.

"You always eat this late?" Billy asked, sitting at the corner of the table.

"Only when I’m waiting on someone," Artur replied, seating himself across from him, his voice quiet — but the words held weight.

Billy lowered his gaze, suddenly focused on his spoon. "Sorry."

"I’m not complaining."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was something else — something gentler.

Their eyes met in the quiet, no need to speak. Just the sound of the fire crackling behind them, and the soft clink of spoons against ceramic.

From the living room, Mr. Dand’s voice came again, muffled, speaking to Mark about something mundane — fence work, perhaps, or tools that needed mending. But it faded into the background.

Here at the table, it was just the two of them.

And for tonight, enough was more than he expected."

"It wasn’t everything, but it was a place to rest.