Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 115: Who I Was and Who I Am

Chapter 115: Who I Was and Who I Am

The road home felt longer than usual. Each step carried the weight of his mother’s words, her presence still lingering like perfume in the back of his throat.

His thoughts echoed with every step — his mother’s voice still fresh, the weight of her request pressing on his chest.

By the time he reached the gate, the sun had lowered, casting a warm hue over the house.

He paused for a moment, exhaling through his nose before stepping inside.

The faint clatter of a pot in the kitchen drifted from within. Mr. Dand’s soft humming accompanied it, low and tuneless.

The air was laced with the scent of simmering soup and herbs.

In the small main room, Artur was standing by the window, arms crossed. He turned the moment Billy stepped in, eyes scanning his face for a sign — of anything.

Billy offered a weak smile.

"Hey," he said quietly, stepping out of his shoes.

Artur met him halfway. "You okay?"

Billy nodded, though it wasn’t convincing. He looked toward the kitchen and raised his voice just a little. "Evening, Pops."

"Billy, that you?" Mr. Dand called from the kitchen. "Come sit, dinner’s almost done."

"I’ll be right there," Billy answered, then looked at Artur. "Can we sit for a sec?"

Artur gave a nod and followed him toward the couch. Billy sank into it slowly, his fingers locking together in his lap.

"I went to see Mr. Frank," he began. "He asked me to meet someone."

Artur’s brows lifted slightly, curious.

Billy paused, his thumb brushing over the curve of his palm. "It was my mom."

Artur blinked. "Your mom?"

"Yeah... from the video call," Billy said softly. "She’s here. In the guest house."

Artur leaned back slightly, watching him, his expression unreadable.

"She wants to take me back," Billy said, like he was trying to convince himself it wasn’t already happening. "Back to the city. Says there’s... a lot waiting for me there."

The silence hung between them, just long enough to let it settle.

"Are you going?" Artur asked after a beat, his tone even — too even.

Billy looked down, then away. "I don’t know. I don’t want to just disappear. But I also... I don’t remember that life."

He didn’t mention the fiancé. Not yet. That was a thread still tangled in his own mind.

"She said she’ll come by tomorrow," Billy added. "To talk with Pops."

Artur’s jaw tensed a little. He gave a nod, but said nothing for a while.

From the kitchen, the sound of Mr. Dand stirring the pot and setting down utensils filled the gap.

Billy leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I just wanted to tell you."

Artur finally looked at him, his voice lower now. "Thanks for not keeping it to yourself."

Billy looked back, their eyes meeting for a brief second — a flicker of something unspoken passing between them.

"Come on," Artur said gently, standing up. "Let’s eat."

Billy followed, quieter than usual. But even in the silence, the comfort of being home surrounded him like a familiar, warm blanket — fragile, for now... but still real.

The table was already set when Billy and Artur stepped into the kitchen.

A simple pot of vegetable stew steamed gently at the center, with fresh bread resting in a cloth-lined basket nearby.

Mr. Dand, sleeves rolled up and towel slung over his shoulder, gave them both a glance as he set down the last set of cutlery.

"Just in time," he said, half-smiling. "Soup might not wait, but I do."

Billy offered a small smile in return as he took his seat. Artur sat across from him, hands folded.

The warmth of the room wrapped around them like a shield, even as quiet tension curled underneath the surface.

Mr. Dand ladled the stew into their bowls and sat with a soft groan, stretching his legs beneath the table.

They ate for a few moments in peaceful silence, save for the occasional clink of spoon against ceramic.

"So," Mr. Dand said casually, "how’s Mr. Frank? He seemed like a decent fellow when I saw him from the porch."

Billy looked up slowly, fingers tightening slightly around his spoon.

"He’s alright," he replied. "Just... family, you know?"

Mr. Dand gave a slow nod, glancing between him and Artur. "Family’s like river water—can soothe or drown you. Sometimes both."

Billy didn’t answer, but something flickered in his eyes. He took another spoonful, letting it cool against his tongue.

"You don’t have to rush anything," Mr. Dand added gently, tapping his bowl lightly. "If there’s one thing I’ve learned about time—it doesn’t care how fast we want answers. It takes its own damn pace."

Billy gave a quiet hum in response, gaze fixed on his stew.

Artur didn’t speak, but he was watching. He hadn’t looked away from Billy once.

There was a stillness to him, like he was holding something steady—like a beam supporting a house just beginning to tremble.

"So..." Mr. Dand leaned back after a while, patting his stomach. "I’ll take care of the dishes. You two go rest up. Tomorrow’s bound to be a strange one."

Artur stood up slowly, glancing at Billy, who took a few more bites in silence before nodding.

As they stepped out of the kitchen, Billy turned back for a second. "Thanks, Pops."

Mr. Dand looked up from the sink and gave him a wink. "Anytime, son."

The word son lingered longer than it needed to—but it held something quiet. Something grounding.

Billy turned, and followed Artur down the hall, the flickering light from the kitchen stretching their shadows behind them.

The crickets outside chirped lazily as the stars stretched over Solmere like scattered diamonds.

Mark stood by the window of his room, his phone in hand, the screen dimmed but glowing.

A quiet sigh escaped him before he finally unlocked it.

A message waited.

Jay:

Still busy? Or should I assume you’re avoiding me again?

Mark huffed, a soft breath of amusement escaping his lips. He sank onto the bed, replying without thinking too hard.

Mark:

You’re exhausting, you know that?

A moment later, the typing bubbles danced.

Jay:

Admit it—you missed me a little today.

Mark:

Delusional.

Jay replied with a photo. A blurry shot of Mark earlier that afternoon, caught mid-eye roll as Jay teased him.

Jay:

Caught in the act of pretending you don’t like me.

Mark stared at the photo. His fingers hovered above the screen, hesitant, then curled inward—like he didn’t trust the smile tugging at his lips.

Mark:

You really don’t get tired, do you?

Jay:

Not when it comes to you.

That gave him pause. The screen lit his face, but it was the words that made something stir—subtle, but impossible to ignore.

Mark laid back, head resting against the pillow. He typed slowly this time.

Mark:

Why are you like this with me? You flirt like it’s a reflex.

Jay took longer to respond this time. Then:

Jay:

Because with you... it doesn’t feel like flirting. It just feels real.

Mark swallowed hard, staring at that message longer than he meant to.

Jay (again):

But if I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.

Mark hesitated. His thumbs hovered.

Mark:

No. It’s not that. It’s just... new.

Jay:

New isn’t always bad.

Mark:

No. It isn’t.

There was silence again—just digital and real space shared between them.

Jay:

So... same time tomorrow? I’ll walk slower if it means I get a few more minutes beside you.

Mark’s face tilted to the side, fighting back a smile he didn’t want to admit was there.

Mark:

We’ll see.

Jay:

Take that as a yes.

Mark set the phone down gently on his chest. He stared at the ceiling, heart not racing—but certainly no longer still. Something had begun. Quietly. Naturally. And he wasn’t quite ready to stop it.

Not yet.

Mark didn’t sleep right away. He kept the lights dim, phone screen lighting up every few minutes with nothing but silence in return. Yet his mind lingered on Jay’s last message.

He got up, walked to the open window. The breeze brushed past his face like a whisper, carrying the scent of distant soil and burnt firewood.

Then—buzz.

Another message.

Jay:

Still awake?

Mark:

I figured you’d be asleep by now.

Jay:

I don’t sleep well when something’s unfinished.

Mark smirked faintly, thumbs moving slower now.

Mark:

And what’s unfinished exactly?

Jay:

You. And me. Whatever this is.

Mark leaned his shoulder against the window frame, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Mark:

You’re not going to let me ignore it, are you?

Jay:

Not a chance. But I’ll wait. However long you need. Just don’t shut me out.

There was a quiet vulnerability in that message. The kind that lingered under skin and stayed behind the eyes.

Mark stared out at the soft night, the houses dim, the world resting. His thumb hovered, then:

Mark:

Okay.

A pause.

Jay:

Okay?

Mark:

I won’t shut you out.

And that was it. Nothing grand. Nothing overly romantic. Just a quiet promise. The kind that matters more than a thousand confessions.

Meanwhile — Billy & Artur’s Room

The silence between them wasn’t heavy. It was warm. It was full.

Artur sat on the edge of the bed, towel-drying his hair from a quick rinse after dinner.

Billy stood by the small window, fingers brushing the sill. He hadn’t said much since they returned, but his expression had softened.

"You’ve been quiet," Artur said gently, folding the towel. "Was it too much seeing her?"

Billy turned around slowly. His eyes weren’t red, but they shimmered faintly with something unspoken.

"I didn’t expect to feel anything," he said. "But when she hugged me, it... it felt like something I’d forgotten but still missed."

Artur nodded. He patted the spot beside him.

Billy walked over and sat down, shoulders brushing lightly.

"She wants me to go back," Billy added. "There’s a lot waiting in the city. People, places I don’t remember... and a life I never got to finish living."

Artur didn’t speak right away. He let the words breathe.

"And do you want to go?" he finally asked, voice calm, even.

Billy shook his head, slow. "I don’t know. "I’m scared if I go back, I’ll wake up as someone else—and forget the version of me who found peace here... with you."

Artur reached out, slipping his fingers into Billy’s, interlacing them tightly. "You’re not going to lose me.

Even if you go, even if you remember everything... what we shared doesn’t vanish. Not for me."

Billy stared down at their hands, thumb brushing Artur’s knuckle.

"Promise?" he asked.

Artur leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Billy’s.

"Promise."

And for a while, they stayed like that—breathing in sync, heartbeats slow, the night wrapping around them like a quiet vow neither of them dared to break.