Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 105: Peace, Interrupted

Chapter 105: Peace, Interrupted

Artur took the empty bowls to the sink while Billy lingered at the table, fingers gently tracing the rim of his cup.

The warm hum of the house wrapped around them — low and still, like the night had curled up beside them and settled in.

"You can leave that. I’ll wash up later," Billy said softly.

Artur glanced over his shoulder. "You sure?"

Billy nodded. "Yeah."

The light above the sink cast a gold halo around Artur’s shoulders as he rinsed his hands, then dried them on a faded towel hanging by the window.

For a moment, he didn’t move — just stood there, staring out into the dark through the glass, as if waiting for something he wasn’t sure would come.

Billy rose and moved to his side in silence.

Their reflections barely showed in the window — more shadow than shape. But Artur turned toward him anyway.

"You tired?" he asked.

"A little," Billy murmured. "But I don’t really feel like sleeping yet."

"Come on," Artur said, his voice quiet but certain. "Let’s sit for a bit."

They moved through the narrow hallway, their steps light on the wooden floor. Inside the room, the lamp glowed soft and steady.

No words were needed as Billy eased down onto the bed, shifting to one side. Artur followed, their shoulders brushing, knees almost touching.

Billy leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a long breath. "It was a good day," he said finally.

Artur turned his head, watching him. "Yeah," he said. "It was."

Billy looked down at his hands in his lap — then up again, slower this time, like letting himself breathe a little deeper. His gaze met Artur’s and held. Neither of them looked away.

Artur reached for him gently, his hand resting against the side of Billy’s face — a touch not urgent, not rushed. Just... there.

Billy leaned into it, eyes half-lidded, his lips parting just slightly as he closed the distance.

Their kiss was soft. Not new — not anymore — but still quiet and uncertain in the way first warmth lingers on cold skin.

They didn’t say anything afterward, didn’t try to name the way the air changed between them.

They just sat there, legs tangled, Artur’s arm around Billy’s waist, Billy’s fingers curling into the fabric of Artur’s sleeve.

The world outside stayed silent.

And for now, that was enough.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of Mark’s phone screen.

He lay sideways on the bed, one arm tucked beneath his head, thumb slowly scrolling through old messages, photos, stories — anything to fill the quiet.

But it wasn’t noise he needed. It was something else. Something he couldn’t name.

His eyes paused on a post he’d already seen.

Then the screen blinked.

Jay: "You still up?"

Mark blinked.

He stared at the message longer than he meant to, thumb hovering. Then — a slow inhale — and he typed back.

Mark: "Yeah."

A beat passed.

Jay: "Can’t sleep."

Mark: "Same."

There was a pause. Then the typing bubble appeared again.

Jay: "It’s quiet tonight."

Mark let the words settle. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Mark: "Too quiet, maybe."

Jay sent a half-laugh emoji, followed by:

"You thinking too much again?"

Mark’s lip tugged slightly — almost a smile.

Mark: "Always."

Jay: "Want to talk about it?"

Mark stared at that message for a while.

Then, simply:

Mark: "No. But thanks."

A minute passed. The blinking dot appeared again.

Jay: "You know... I don’t really get you. One minute you’re a storm. The next, you’re just... there. Quiet. Like a window someone left open."

Mark read that line again. And again.

Mark: "What does that even mean?"

Jay: "Means I notice. Even when you think no one does."

Mark turned onto his back, the ceiling suddenly feeling too close.

Mark: "That sounds like a terrible idea."

Jay: "Why?"

Mark: "Because I’m not that interesting."

A pause.

Jay: "You’re wrong."

Mark stared, not just at the words but at everything between them — the silence, the distance, the weight of something unnamed pressing just beneath the surface. he dropped the phone to his chest and exhaled.

It lit up again.

Jay: "I liked today."

Mark: "Even when I ignored you half the time?"

Jay: "Especially then."

A breath escaped Mark’s nose — not quite a laugh, but something like it.

Mark: "You’re annoying."

Jay: "But you’re still talking to me."

Mark: "Shut up."

Jay: "Make me."

Mark shook his head, smiling despite himself. His fingers hovered again — but he didn’t type anything more.

Just stared at the screen...

until it dimmed.

Then went dark.

And still, he didn’t put it down.

The sharp buzz of his phone dragged Mark from the edge of sleep.

He groaned, squinting at the ceiling, arm blindly reaching for the phone buzzing across the wooden nightstand.

Vrrrr. Vrrrr. Vrrrr.

"Ugh..." he muttered, dragging the phone toward his face. "Who on earth is disturbing me this early?"

His vision adjusted to the screen’s harsh glow — a string of missed calls from an unsaved number. Then more — three messages from Jay, and several more from the same unknown sender.

Mark blinked. His stomach turned cold as he tapped open the first message.

Unknown Number:

"Mark, where are you?"

"It’s urgent."

"I’m here — I’m in Solmere. Guest House, just arrived."

His thumb hovered.

The name at the top flickered into focus — Mr Frank.

He bolted upright, sheets tangled around his legs, heart suddenly racing.

Jay’s messages popped up underneath.

Jay:

"Hey. Are you up?"

"You good?"

"Something’s off. Let me know if you need anything."

Mark ran a hand down his face, exhaling through his teeth.

"Damn it..." he muttered. "He really came..."

He swung his legs off the bed and sat there for a moment, still in disbelief. The early sunlight crept through the window, soft and golden — almost peaceful.

But the peace outside felt like a lie. In his chest, something old and unsettled had already started to stir.

He stared at the messages again, thumb twitching to reply... but didn’t.

Instead, he stood, moved to the window, and pulled the curtain aside.

Down the dirt path, life in Solmere was beginning — quiet footsteps, distant voices, the sound of someone splitting firewood nearby.

But somewhere out there... Mr Frank was waiting.

And Mark already knew...

He had no idea what he had just started.

The faint creak of the window drifted into the room with the early hush of dawn.

Artur stirred first, his arm draped over Billy’s waist, their legs tangled beneath the thin blanket.

A quiet breath escaped him as his eyes blinked open slowly. The room was warm with sleep and the soft light filtering through the curtains.

Billy shifted slightly but didn’t wake. His hair was tousled across the pillow, one hand resting near Artur’s chest.

His face, calm and unguarded, made something settle gently in Artur’s chest — that quiet, vulnerable peace he’d grown to crave.

Artur leaned in, brushing his lips to Billy’s temple — soft enough not to wake him, but real enough to be felt. Billy hummed faintly in his sleep, eyebrows twitching, then slowly blinked awake.

"Morning," Artur whispered, his voice low and warm.

Billy blinked at him, then gave the faintest sleepy smile. "Hey..."

They lay there in the stillness, neither rushing the moment. Billy scooted just a little closer, his hand resting flat over Artur’s chest now. "What time is it?"

"Still early," Artur murmured, fingers tracing light shapes across Billy’s back. "We’ve got time."

Billy didn’t respond, only nestled against him with a quiet sigh.

A beat passed. Then another. Then Billy whispered, "Feels like I haven’t rested like this in a long time."

"You needed it."

"So did you."

They shared a small, quiet smile. No need for more words. The world outside could wait.

Eventually, Billy sat up and stretched, the blanket falling around his waist. "Come on. If we wait any longer, your dad will be yelling from the kitchen."

Artur chuckled, rubbing his face. "You say that like it hasn’t happened before."

Billy threw a pillow lightly at him, already halfway off the bed. "Because it has."

As Artur sat up and pulled on his shirt, he looked toward Billy at the basin, splashing water on his face.

There was something about this — the simplicity of morning routines, the sound of water, the soft light and shared glances — that felt like the calm before a wave neither of them could see.

Moments like this, where time felt slower and love spoke through silence, were becoming the home Billy never knew he needed — and feared he might someday lose.

But for now, they didn’t know.

For now, they were just two boys in love, starting a morning like any other.

Billy stood at the small basin, shirt half-buttoned, damp fingers brushing through his hair.

Behind him, Artur leaned in the doorway of their room, watching with quiet affection.

He liked seeing Billy like this — in the half-light of morning, comfortable, unguarded, his movements unhurried.

Home had slowly taken shape between them, not with grand gestures, but with moments like this.

Billy turned slightly, meeting his gaze. "You’re staring," he said with a soft grin.

Artur tilted his head. "Can you blame me?"

Billy rolled his eyes, but a faint blush crept along his cheek. "Help me find my boots instead of flirting."

Artur chuckled, moving to kneel near the corner of the room, rummaging through the scattered pair. "You say that like you didn’t misplace them again."

As they stepped out of the room, shoulder to shoulder, the warm scent of tea and firewood lingered in the air.

The house was waking slowly, distant sounds of Mr. Dand moving about in the kitchen.

Outside, the morning spread with a golden haze — light catching on dew and wood smoke curling from distant chimneys. They walked toward the side path, the early breeze brushing past them.

Just as they reached the porch, footsteps came fast from the left.

"Whoa—!"

Mark barreled past, breath ragged, eyes wide with something like panic. His shoulder clipped Billy’s, but his gaze never met theirs — locked instead on some invisible threat ahead.

"Mark?" Billy called out, confused.

But Mark didn’t respond. His brows were furrowed, phone clenched in one hand.

His jaw was tight, lips parted like he’d just come out of a restless sleep and straight into a sprint. He passed them in a blur, heading toward the road.

Artur turned his head, frowning. "What the hell’s got into him?"

Billy looked over his shoulder, watching Mark disappear down the lane. "He looked... off."

Neither of them knew that Mark wasn’t running from something — but toward it.

Mr. Frank’s messages were still buzzing in his phone.

And Solmere’s quiet peace was about to fracture.