Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 108: Count the Stars With Me

Chapter 108: Count the Stars With Me

The silence between them stretched, but not uncomfortably so.

It was thick, warm in its own way, like a blanket neither of them had asked for but had ended up sharing anyway.

Jay glanced at Mark again.

Still no words. Still that weight behind his eyes.

He leaned back fully, letting his head rest against the wall behind him. The wood was cool, the night breeze brushing over them like it, too, was holding its breath.

"...You ever count the stars?" Jay asked suddenly, voice quieter now.

Mark blinked, the question catching him off guard. "What?"

Jay tilted his head toward the sky. "Back in school, I used to try. Lay out on the roof at my uncle’s place and just... count.

I’d never get past twenty without losing track. But I kept doing it anyway."

Mark let out a faint exhale that might’ve been a chuckle. "Why?"

Jay shrugged. "Guess I liked the idea of something endless. Something too big to hold, but still worth looking at."

Mark turned his head slowly, eyes on Jay now—not with guarded walls, but with something softer. Something raw.

Jay didn’t look at him, just kept his gaze skyward. "I don’t do that much anymore. Life gets noisy."

He paused, then added, "But tonight’s quiet. Kinda nice."

Mark said nothing.

And still, Jay didn’t fill the silence with more words. He just sat there, letting it settle again. But this time, the quiet had shifted—less heavy, more intentional.

Finally, Jay looked over at him. His voice came low, almost teasing, but it trembled with something deeper underneath.

You always this good at brooding, or is this your special edition village version?

Mark rolled his eyes lightly, but his lips twitched into a smirk. "Maybe you just bring it out of me."

Jay laughed—genuine, low, a sound that warmed the cool night.

Then, in the pause that followed, something lingered.

Their shoulders brushed again, but neither of them moved.

Mark turned slightly, the space between them feeling smaller now.

Jay’s gaze flicked to him—just briefly—and held.

The wind shifted.

Something unsaid pressed at the edges.

Jay’s voice lowered, almost careful. "You know... sometimes, I think you talk more with your silences than with your words."

Mark’s eyes didn’t move from his. "And what do you hear now?"

Jay searched his face. "Something I probably shouldn’t be falling into."

The words hung there.

Heavy. Unavoidable.

Mark felt his pulse jump. He didn’t look away, but the old part of him—the part that feared good things—tightened in his chest. "Then don’t fall."

Jay’s lips parted slightly, caught between a response and something riskier.

But then—just as the moment teetered on the edge—Mark glanced away, breaking the gaze with a slow, uneven breath.

Jay leaned back again, heart pounding.

"Stars are still there," he murmured, more to himself than to Mark.

And Mark replied, just as softly, "Yeah. So am I."

They stayed like that. No kiss. No touch.

Just a moment that felt like it almost became everything.

The air between them had quieted again, but this time it was filled with something different—an understanding, a closeness that didn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

Jay reached down, idly picking at a thread on his shirt before speaking, his voice gentler now. "So... why’d you come back?"

Mark shifted slightly, eyes still ahead but brows drawing together as if he hadn’t expected the question—not tonight. But he answered anyway, quietly. "My dad got a promotion back then.

Took us out of the village when I was still figuring out if I liked muddy roads and sheep." He smirked faintly. "Turns out I did. But life got busy. City caught up to us fast."

Jay nodded, listening, his body angled toward him now.

Mark continued, more thoughtful. "After he passed... I just stayed. Got a job. Pushed through. But lately—" He stopped, exhaled.

I needed a pause. I thought of this place. Thought of Artur. Figured, why not hide out here for a while before the world eats me up again.

Jay’s gaze softened. So this is just a break for you?

Mark looked down at his hands. Maybe. I don’t know. Feels like I’m trying to remember something I didn’t realize I lost.

Jay nodded slowly, eyes scanning Mark’s face as if trying to read between his words. "It suits you, you know. This village... the quiet. You seem more like you here."

Mark raised a brow. "More like me?"

"Yeah." Jay shrugged, his voice light but sincere. "Less guarded. Less ’I’m-fine-leave-me-alone.’"

Mark laughed under his breath. "That version of me still exists. I just didn’t bring him tonight."

Jay smiled. "Well... thanks for that."

They sat for another long beat. Then Mark tilted his head. "Your turn."

Jay lifted a brow. "What?"

"You asked me. Now I ask you—why do you keep coming back?"

Jay grinned, but there was something honest in his eyes. "After harvesting season ends, I get a few weeks off.

Thought I’d spend it somewhere that didn’t smell like machine oil and overheated dirt. Plus—" he looked toward the hills in the distance—"this place raised me.

I come back every week when I can. I like the idea that the village doesn’t forget me."

Mark studied him for a moment. "You afraid of being forgotten?"

Jay gave a small laugh, not defensive but honest. "Aren’t you?"

Mark didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Jay looked over again, his voice lower. "Besides... someone’s gotta keep the rest of you from falling into brooding pits."

Mark smiled faintly, then leaned back with him.

They didn’t talk for a while after that.

But they didn’t need to.

The stars above stayed exactly where they were, and for once, both of them did too.

By the time the stars scattered fully across the sky, the faint hum of the night wind slipped in through the open windows.

Billy sat on the wooden steps outside the house, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze loosely following the sway of the trees.

His hair was still damp from washing, and the night clung to his skin in a cooling hush.

He looked peaceful—content, even—as if the weight of the world hadn’t yet tapped on his shoulder.

Behind him, the door creaked open, and Artur stepped out with two mugs in hand.

"You still out here?" he asked, voice low and roughened by the day. "Was gonna drink this alone, but you looked too relaxed."

Billy glanced over, smile lazy. "Lucky me, huh?"

Artur handed him a mug and sat beside him with a soft grunt. Their shoulders brushed, but neither moved away.

The warmth between them didn’t come from the tea.

A long pause.

They’ve been quiet in there, Artur said eventually, tipping his head toward the house.

Mark and Jay? Billy asked.

Artur hummed. "Guess they had things to talk about."

Billy didn’t ask what things. He simply took a sip and nodded. Feels like everyone’s dealing with something lately.

Artur shrugged. Nothing unusual. That’s life. Sometimes we carry it quiet.

Billy smiled faintly, tilting his head toward him. You sound wise tonight.

Artur gave him a sideways glance, a playful glint in his eyes. Don’t get used to it.

They both chuckled softly, the laughter fading into the quiet of crickets and wind.

Billy leaned back slightly, letting his shoulders rest against the doorframe. "It’s a nice night. Doesn’t feel like anything’s wrong."

Artur looked at him for a moment longer, the way one might look at a photograph they didn’t want to forget.

"Because right now," he said, "nothing is."

And for that moment, they believed it.

Billy let the steam from his tea brush over his face. "When I first got here... nights felt heavier. Like I didn’t belong in the quiet."

Artur turned toward him slightly, brow lifted. "And now?"

Billy’s lips curved into something softer—wistful. "Now I think I’m scared of waking up one day and not having it."

Artur didn’t answer right away. He watched Billy’s fingers wrap around the mug, the way his eyes refused to meet his own. Then, with quiet steadiness, he said, "You belong here more than you think."

Billy’s throat bobbed. "Do I?"

"You do," Artur said firmly, then added, more gently, "At least, you belong with the people who want you here."

Billy chuckled dryly. "That’s vague."

"I didn’t say I was good with words," Artur replied with a smirk. "I just... feel things, I guess."

Billy turned to look at him, finally. Their gazes held. Steady. Open. A silence grew between them—not awkward, but alive. Something unsaid hovered there, unformed yet undeniable.

Artur broke it first, voice lower. "You know, sometimes when you talk, it’s like you’re trying to remember something that never happened... or maybe something that did, but you’re afraid of it."

Billy’s smile faltered. "That obvious?"

"To me? Yeah."

A breeze passed, brushing against them like a nudge from the night. Billy shifted closer, shoulder pressed fully against Artur’s. "You’ve been patient with me. I know I’m... a mess. I don’t say it enough, but—thank you."

Artur let the weight of those words settle. "I don’t need you to say it."

Billy tilted his head slightly, teasing. "So you just enjoy the mystery of having a confused stranger sleeping under your roof?"

Artur looked at him, this time with a different kind of warmth—quieter, deeper. "You’re not a stranger anymore, Billy."

Billy didn’t answer. His breath caught in the stillness, and his fingers brushed Artur’s. Not by accident. Not anymore.

"I’m not ready to remember," Billy whispered. "But I’m more afraid of forgetting... this."

Artur turned to him, their foreheads nearly touching now. "Then don’t."

And there, with no rush and no labels, they leaned into each other—just enough to feel what words couldn’t carry. A kiss not asked for, but offered; not desperate, but steady. The kind that says: I’m still here. I’m still choosing you.

Their mugs sat forgotten beside them, cooling with the night. But neither of them noticed. Not when the quiet between them finally felt like home.

The village had long gone quiet.

Crickets whispered from the tall grass. The occasional rustle of wind tapped against the window frame.

Mark lay on his bed, one hand tucked behind his head, the other thumbing through his phone without much thought.

He wasn’t looking for anything in particular—just trying to distract himself from the weight of the day.

Until the screen lit up again.

Jay:

Still alive, city boy?

Mark huffed a quiet laugh, biting his lip. He sat up slowly, fingers tapping a reply.

Mark:

Barely. Was hoping silence would kill me gently.

Jay:

Dramatic. You missed your calling — should’ve gone into theatre.

Mark:

I did. I just chose internal suffering instead of applause.

Jay’s typing bubble popped up, disappeared, then returned again.

Jay:

So... you good? You looked like you wrestled with a ghost earlier.

Mark stared at the message for a moment. He could lie. Or deflect. But something about Jay’s tone—even through a screen—made it feel... safe.

Mark:

Yeah. Just... weird day. But thanks for not pushing it.

Jay:

Would’ve poked harder if I thought you’d cry. Still might.

Mark rolled his eyes.

Mark:

You’re so generous. Truly.

Jay:

Don’t let it go to your head. I’m only nice to lost puppies.

Mark:

Good. Because I bite.

There was a long pause before the next message appeared.

Jay:

...Should I be concerned or slightly interested?

Mark smirked. The tension in his shoulders had slowly started to fade.

Mark:

Depends. Do you flirt with all the village returnees?

Jay:

Only the ones who look like they’re one heartbreak away from writing poetry under a tree.

Mark:

And here I thought I was hiding that well.

Jay:

You’re not. But hey, it works for you.

Mark leaned back into the pillows, the faintest heat rising to his cheeks.

Something unspoken hung in the space between their texts—playful, yes, but edged with something softer... quieter.

Mark:

Why are you still up anyway?

Jay:

You ever try sleeping when someone’s stuck in your head?

Mark’s heart skipped.

He didn’t type for a while.

Then finally:

Mark:

That supposed to be me?

Jay:

Maybe. Don’t let it go to your head.

Mark:

Too late.

Another pause. Longer this time.

Jay:

Sleep, Mark. Before I say something stupid.

Mark:

Say it anyway.

Mark waited. Then waited a little longer. The pause stretched like a breath held too long.

Jay’s typing bubble appeared, disappeared... then nothing.

Just a single emoji appeared.

Jay:

Mark stared at it, a smile tugging at his lips—small, private, real. He set his phone down on his chest, blinking up at the dark ceiling.

Somehow, the quiet didn’t feel so heavy tonight.

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