Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 88: This Time, I Stayed

Chapter 88: This Time, I Stayed

Jay kicked a loose pebble, each step slower than the last. as he strolled past the edge of the main road, hands in his pockets, shirt unbuttoned at the throat.

The market wasn’t crowded—half the stalls looked half-asleep—but that suited him fine. He wasn’t here for fruit or fabric—he just needed a place where the silence didn’t echo so loud.

A woman waved from a cloth stall. "Back again, city boy?"

Jay flashed a grin. "Miss me already, Auntie Mira?"

"Don’t flatter yourself. You just owe me for that scarf you borrowed last year."

He walked over, flicked at the corner of her display. "Still holding grudges, huh?"

"Only expensive ones." She swatted his hand gently. "What’re you doing here, anyway? You never show up this early."

Jay shrugged. "Thought I’d be useful this time."

Auntie Mira squinted at him like he’d spoken in riddles. "Useful how?"

"Helping with harvest. You know—sweating, pretending to care."

She gave a hearty laugh. "You? Work? Don’t lie this early in the day."

Jay grinned but said nothing. His gaze drifted across the market—few boys wrestling with crates, an old man counting coins with shaking fingers, smoke curling from somewhere behind the stalls.

He slipped a coin into Mira’s basket without picking anything up.

She frowned. "What’s that for?"

"Debt," he said. "And for still calling me city boy even when I keep coming back."

She softened, just a little. "Some people run away from places like this."

"Yeah. I used to."

Jay stepped back, hands sliding into his pockets again. "Now I’m not so sure."

He wandered on, slower now, passing the bread cart where an old vendor was nodding off.

A pair of little girls chased each other barefoot down the dusty lane, one of them nearly crashing into him before giggling and darting away.

He didn’t flinch—just watched them, something quieter slipping into his expression.

A young man at a pottery table looked up. "You here for the fair next week?"

Jay shook his head. "Nah. Just drifting."

"Thought you were gone."

"I thought so too."

The boy didn’t press. Just nodded and went back to smoothing clay.

Jay stood there a moment longer, then turned, heading toward the edge of the market—where the noise softened, and the road opened to fields again.

He didn’t know where he was going, not really.

But for the first time, he didn’t feel like leaving.

Maybe he’d always been good at leaving. But now—now he didn’t want to.

Jay leaned against the low stone wall near the well, the market slowly fading behind him.

A familiar voice called out before he could light the cigarette tucked behind his ear.

"Jay?"

He turned. A tall guy with wiry limbs and a lopsided grin approached, a sun-hat crooked on his head. "Don’t tell me you’re back for good."

Jay smirked. "Sorry to disappoint, Niko. Just haunting the village for a bit."

Niko gave him a half-hug, smelling faintly of earth and tobacco.

"Still shocking to see you around without a bag packed. You sick or something?"

Jay chuckled. "Not yet."

They stood in the shade, easy silence settling between them for a breath or two.

Niko leaned forward, voice dropping like he was sharing a secret he couldn’t hold in.

"So... what’s going on with Artur and that guy staying with them? Billy, right?"

Jay’s brow lifted slightly. "What about them?"

Niko tilted his head. "You haven’t noticed?"

Jay’s voice stayed even. "Noticed what?"

"You know..." Niko made a vague motion with his hand, something between a shrug and a smirk. "They’re always together. People are talking."

Jay took the cigarette from behind his ear, rolled it between his fingers. "People talk when there’s nothing better to do."

Niko gave a dry laugh. "Come on, you don’t find it odd? Artur was always so—"

Jay cut in smoothly, not cold but firm. "So what?"

"Just... serious. Reserved. Now suddenly he’s sharing space with some city stranger and they’re out there playing house."

Jay didn’t smile. He looked at Niko like he was checking whether this conversation was worth his time.

"They work together," he said. "They get along. That’s rare, not suspicious."

Niko lifted his hands. "Alright, alright. Just saying, it’s odd for Artur."

Jay slipped the cigarette back behind his ear. "Maybe it’s good for him."

Niko blinked. "You’re not bothered?"

Jay shrugged. "Why would I be? They’re not hurting anyone." Then, dryly, "Besides, I think they make a damn solid pair. Field’s never looked cleaner."

Niko stared at him for a beat, then snorted. "You’ve gone soft."

A crooked smile tugged at his lips, fleeting but real."Maybe I’m just finally growing up."

He clapped Niko’s shoulder once, then turned down the hill, leaving behind the gossip like dust in the air.

He thought about what Niko said—but only for a breath. The market faded behind him, and the smell of dry hay replaced the scent of roasted beans.

Jay stretched his arms overhead, the weight of the day making his steps slower than usual.

The market dust still clung to his cuffs, and the sun had softened into a quiet orange as he made his way back toward the path leading home.

Ahead, he spotted a familiar frame walking toward him—Mr. Dand, with his sleeves rolled up and a bundle of tools slung over one shoulder.

His steps slowed the moment he recognized Jay.

"Well," Mr. Dand said, stopping in front of him. "Didn’t expect to see you still around."

Jay pushed his hands into his pockets, half a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That makes two of us."

"You usually come, stir things up for a day or two, then vanish like a shadow."

Jay smirked. "Figured I’d try something different this time."

Mr. Dand’s gaze lingered. "Different how?"

"Help with the harvest. Actually stay a while. Maybe even get some calluses."

That drew a low grunt from the older man—surprise, disbelief, maybe even the start of amusement. "Did Artur bribe you?"

Jay snorted. "Nah. Just watching him and Billy work... something about it makes you feel like you should pull your own weight."

Mr. Dand adjusted the tools on his shoulder. "You serious about helping?"

Jay gave a small smirk. "Shocking, right?"

"What changed?"

Jay shrugged. "Got bored of pretending I didn’t belong here."

There was a long pause. Mr. Dand chewed a piece of fruit slowly, then said, "You were good with the boys today."

Jay raised a brow. "That sounds dangerously like approval."

"Don’t get used to it."

There was a pause. Then Mr. Dand gave a quiet nod. "Good. We could use the hands this year."

Jay chuckled. "Don’t get all sentimental on me now."

"You pull your weight, I won’t need to."

They walked the last few meters in silence until the crossroads split—Mr. Dand heading left toward his home, Jay turning up toward his.

Just before they parted, Mr. Dand said over his shoulder, "Start early tomorrow. Southern field."

Jay raised a hand in a lazy salute. "Wouldn’t miss it."

And for once, he meant it.

The village felt quieter today. Or maybe Jay was just hearing it differently.

Billy tied the apron behind his back, sleeves pushed up, and stepped barefoot into the kitchen.

The place still held the quiet warmth from earlier, with the windows half-cracked and a soft breeze brushing through.

He glanced toward the basket of fresh vegetables Jay brought back that morning and began sorting through them.

He spoke over his shoulder, knowing Artur would hear him from the door. "I’ll get dinner started before your father comes home."

From the porch, Artur’s voice came, muffled but clear. "You sure? I can help after I feed the sheep."

Billy sliced into a squash. "Nah. If we both cook, we’ll just end up arguing over how much salt to use again."

"That was one time, and you’re the one always complaining" Artur muttered, footsteps crunching toward the coop.

Billy smiled to himself. He tossed chopped greens into the pot, listening to the distant sound of grain scattering and the soft bleating of sheep.

The rhythm of it settled into him. Familiar. Whole.

Outside, Artur opened the chicken pen with a creak. "You think Jay meant it?"

"Meant what?" Billy called back, stirring.

"Helping out. Staying longer."

Billy hesitated. Then, "Maybe. Thought He looked tired today. The good kind, though."

Artur’s chuckle was soft. "Didn’t think he had that in him."

"He surprises people," Billy said, then tapped the spoon against the pot’s rim.

A pause. Chickens rustled. "You do too." Artur’s voice barely reached past the doorway, like he was unsure if he wanted the words to land.

Billy didn’t answer right away. He just added a pinch of salt and lowered the flame.

By the time Artur came back inside—hands dusty, curls stuck to his forehead—Billy had two bowls ready on the table.

Artur leaned over the pot. "You cooked the good rice?"

Billy smirked. "Thought I’d treat you."

Artur rinsed his hands at the sink, water running steady as he glanced over his shoulder. "You always do," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Billy didn’t reply, but the faint smile on his face lingered even as he turned to grab the pitcher of water.

The front gate creaked faintly in the distance.

Artur glanced at the door. "That might be Pa."

Billy nodded. "Then let’s feed him before he starts talking about field rotations again."

They shared a small laugh and waited for the door to open.