Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 114: Not Billy. Not Yet Leo.

Chapter 114: Not Billy. Not Yet Leo.

The group reached the fork where the road bent just before the village homes came into view.

Jay slowed his steps, eyes on the worn path ahead. His house sat just around the corner, a familiar turn he always made alone.

Mark didn’t stop walking—until Jay reached out gently and touched his arm.

He leaned closer, voice a quiet thread between them. "I’ll see you tonight... if you’re less busy," he said, not quite a question, not quite a promise.

Mark didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. The way his eyes met Jay’s—steady, unreadable, but lingering—was answer enough.

Jay gave a half-smile and turned away, hands tucked into his pockets as he disappeared around the bend.

Mark stood there for a second, watching the place where Jay had vanished, before Artur’s voice pulled him back.

"Hey, you coming?"

Mark nodded and took a step forward—but then his phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration low but urgent.

He fished it out and frowned at the name flashing across the screen.

"Mr. Frank," he muttered.

Billy, just a few steps ahead, turned at the name.

Mark answered, voice low. "Hello?"

"Mark," Mr. Frank’s voice came, warm but firm. "Can I speak to Leo?"

Mark hesitated, eyes drifting toward Billy. Then he handed the phone to him without a word.

Billy took it slowly, pressing it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Leo," came the familiar voice, careful, gentle. "Can you come meet me, son?"

Billy blinked, his pace faltering.

"Now?"

"Yes. Don’t worry—nothing bad. I just... I’d like to see you. If that’s okay."

Billy glanced toward Artur, then back toward the road ahead. "Alright. Where are you?"

"Same place. Guest house."

"I’ll be there soon," Billy said, then handed the phone back to Mark.

No one asked questions right away. Not even Artur.

Billy didn’t explain. He didn’t have to. The air had shifted again—soft and quiet, like the first wind before a storm. But it wasn’t fear he carried as he walked.

It was weight.

He straightened his shoulders, face calm, though a flicker of something unreadable lingered in his eyes. Artur watched him carefully but gave him space.

The rest of the walk passed in near silence. Only footsteps. Only the sound of wind nudging the trees. Only the sense that things were about to change.

Even if they didn’t know how.

Billy stood outside the guest house, his fingers curled slightly against his sides.

The building wasn’t anything fancy—stone walls warmed by years of sun, a red roof faded from storms. It was quiet now. Even the wind seemed to hush around him.

He hesitated a second longer, then stepped forward and pushed the door open.

The room smelled faintly of travel—worn leather bags, old cologne, and fresh tea. Mr. Frank was there, rising from the chair as soon as Billy stepped inside.

But Billy’s eyes weren’t on him.

They were on the woman standing behind him.

She turned slowly, as if sensing him before seeing him.

And the moment their eyes met—Billy stopped breathing.

It was her.

He recognized her instantly—not just from the video call, but something deeper. Like a part of his heart had remembered her before his mind did.

Her features were soft, her eyes filled with a familiar warmth he couldn’t explain. Her hands trembled as she took a step toward him.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Instead, she closed the distance and wrapped her arms around him.

Tightly.

Tenderly.

Like she’d been waiting to hold him for years.

Billy didn’t move for a moment. He just stood there, stunned, surrounded by the quiet hum of her presence.

Then—slowly—his hands came up, wrapping around her in return.

His forehead pressed against her shoulder, and though no words had been said yet, something passed between them.

A quiet knowing.

A bond that never truly broke.

She pulled back only enough to cup his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing his cheeks. Her eyes shimmered, holding back tears.

"You’re really here," she whispered, voice trembling. "You’re really... my Leo."

Billy’s lips parted, but all that escaped was a breath—thin, uneven, like memory trying to find its shape.

"I don’t remember much," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "But I remember... how this feels."

Her smile wavered, fragile but full.

"That’s enough... for now."

Behind them, Mr. Frank quietly turned away, giving them the moment he knew they needed—no noise, no questions. Just time.

And outside, the village of Solmere held its breath, as if sensing that something long lost had finally been found.

They sat across from each other by the low wooden table, a small teapot between them. Steam drifted from the cups like breath on a winter morning.

Mr. Frank had stepped out, leaving them alone with the hum of silence and the weight of years unspoken.

His mother reached across the table, her fingers brushing lightly against his knuckles before settling on his hand.

"You look so much like your father when you’re quiet," she said, a smile tugging at her lips—soft, a little sad. "But your eyes... they’ve always been mine."

Billy blinked down at their hands. Hers were warm, her touch familiar even though his mind didn’t carry the memories to match.

"You must be so confused," she said after a moment. "I didn’t know what to expect... after all this time. But when I saw you on that screen, Leo... I knew. I never stopped looking. We didn’t."

He swallowed and met her gaze. "I don’t remember... not fully. I know my name’s not Billy. But I don’t know what it means to be Leo either."

"I understand," she said softly. "We can take it slow... but I want you to come home with me."

Billy stiffened slightly.

"There’s so much waiting for you in the city," she went on gently. "Your room. Your sister. Your friends. Your life. I know it’s overwhelming, but you don’t have to face it alone. We’ll help you, Leo."

He sat back, eyes flickering toward the window. The faint sound of village life echoed faintly—roosters crowing, wind brushing against tiled roofs.

He imagined Artur outside, maybe finishing up work with Tomas, or walking by the stream. The thought brought a strange ache to his chest.

"I’ve built something here," he said quietly. "It’s simple, but it feels... real."

His mother listened patiently, her expression unreadable. "I’m not asking you to forget that.

Or to walk away from it like it didn’t matter. I can see it in your face—this place changed you. Maybe saved you."

She leaned in. "But there’s a part of you that’s still missing, Leo. And no matter how far you’ve come here... don’t you want to know the rest of yourself?"

His eyes met hers again, the weight of her words settling into his chest like a stone in deep water.

"I’m scared," he admitted.

A pause. Then she reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind his ear like she used to when he was small.

"Then be scared," she whispered. "But don’t run. Come with me, even just for a little while. Let us remind you what it means to be you."

He didn’t answer yet.

But he didn’t pull away either.

His mother’s hands tightened around her cup, her eyes softening as she watched him take in everything in quiet uncertainty. She exhaled slowly, her tone lowering as if what she was about to say was heavier than the rest.

"There’s one more thing I need to tell you," she said carefully.

Billy lifted his gaze.

She hesitated, searching his face, then offered a quiet, reluctant smile — the kind that knew it might cause pain but chose honesty anyway.

"You were engaged," she said. "Before everything happened."

Billy blinked. "Engaged?"

She nodded. "It wasn’t yours to begin with. Your father arranged it. You wore the smile, played the part... but I saw the weight you never spoke of."

I could see it. You smiled through the meetings, played the part — like you always did. You were so good at making everyone happy, even when it cost you your own."

Billy stayed still. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected that.

"She’s kind," his mother added softly, "and she tried. But the two of you... it was never love. You barely spent time together outside the family dinners. You always said, ’There’s time, Mom. I’ll deal with it later.’ But you never did. Then the accident happened."

She reached over and gently placed her hand on top of his again. "I’m not telling you this to rush you. I’m telling you because when you go back... there will be expectations. From your father. From her family. From everyone who thinks you’re still the person you used to be."

His throat tightened. "But I’m not."

"No," she whispered, a smile forming — warm and sorrowful. "You’re not. And maybe that’s not a bad thing."

Billy leaned back, eyes scanning the ceiling, as if trying to picture a life he’d once lived but could no longer see clearly.

A life filled with yeses he never wanted to say. A life that had followed the shape of someone else’s path.

He spoke finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Did I love her?"

His mother didn’t hesitate.

"No," she said. "You didn’t."

Billy let the silence fill the room again. And in it, he felt something shift — not a memory returning, but a boundary breaking.

A life calling to him from far away.

But another holding him still.

His mother glanced at the time, then back at him, her tone softening again.

"I’ll come by tomorrow," she said gently. "To thank the man who took care of you. Mr. Dand, right?"

Billy nodded slowly.

"He brought you in when the world didn’t know where you were. I owe him... a mother’s gratitude."

She reached over again, smoothing a crease on his sleeve, a quiet gesture filled with unspoken affection. "I won’t stay long. Just a visit. I want to meet the people who saw you not as Leo — but as Billy."

Billy swallowed, moved by the warmth in her words.

He gave her a nod, then stood. She followed, walking him to the door.

Outside, the sky had begun to fade into a gentle gold, the evening breeze cool against his face.

"Will you be alright?" she asked.

"I think so," he said, though his voice carried a strange mix of certainty and hesitation.

She smiled, holding his hand for a brief second. "Whatever choice you make... it’ll be yours this time."

He looked at her for a heartbeat longer before giving a soft nod.

Then he turned and walked back toward the only home he truly knew now—each step steady, not toward answers, but toward the life waiting to be chosen.

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