Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 99: Splinters and Silences

Chapter 99: Splinters and Silences

The morning sun sliced through the trees in sharp beams as the four of them worked the clearing, sweat and silence hanging between them.

The scent of fresh-cut wood clung to the air, thick and grounding.

Billy adjusted his grip on the beam, sweat beading along his temple. He glanced at Artur, who was already lifting the other end.

"Ready?"

Artur gave a small nod. "Lift."

Together, they moved in sync, each step steady despite the weight. Across the clearing, Jay wrestled with a half-sized log, muttering curses under his breath as it slipped from his shoulder.

Mark, not far behind, smirked. "Need help, or are you trying to impress the squirrels?"

Jay straightened. "At least I’m doing something."

"You call that doing something?" Mark asked, tossing a smaller plank with a practiced motion. "You look like you’re in a wrestling match with a tree limb."

Jay walked past him, bumping his shoulder—just enough to make a point, not enough to push. "Keep talking, city boy. Maybe someone’ll mistake you for useful."

Mark scoffed, biting back the urge to shove him. He dropped his hands to his hips instead, turning toward Billy and Artur, who were setting the beam onto a waiting pile.

Billy caught his eye but said nothing.

Artur, sweat glistening along his jaw, rolled his shoulders. "There’s still the back lot. The older ones need to be shifted too."

Jay wiped his brow, looking toward the stacked timber in the shade. "Great. Manual labor’s exactly what I signed up for."

Mark leaned on a nearby stump, stretching his arms back. "What did you sign up for? The village’s sarcasm contest?"

Jay threw a glance over his shoulder. "If I did, I’d still beat you."

Billy chuckled quietly, voice calm in the middle of the firestorm. "Can we not break each other before the second half of the day?"

Artur nodded toward the stack. "Take five. Then we move the last round."

The four of them eased into a pause—Jay stretching with exaggerated effort, Mark settling with his back to a tree, and Billy pulling his flask from his bag, offering it around.

Artur stood for a moment, arms folded, surveying the team.

They were mismatched, loud, and barely cooperative—but for now, they were getting the job done.

Billy crouched near the stump, unscrewing the flask’s cap. He offered it first to Artur, who took a sip without a word, then handed it back. Billy didn’t drink—just held the metal cool against his palms.

Jay stretched his legs out across the grass, boots dusty and worn. "So, is this what you guys do every day?" he asked, not really directed at anyone.

"Not always," Artur said, wiping his hands on a rag. "Some days we fix fences. Others we carry wood till our arms fall off."

"Sounds like a dream," Jay muttered, head tipping back.

Mark didn’t speak. He sat a short distance away, one knee bent, arms slung across it. He picked at a splinter in his palm, watching Jay under half-lowered lashes.

Billy finally sipped the water and stood. "We can split again if you want. It’ll go faster."

"I’ll take the back pile," Artur said.

Billy nodded.

Jay stood, brushing off his pants. "Guess that leaves me with you," he said to Mark, a thin smile curling his lips.

Mark didn’t move. "Lucky me."

Jay stepped closer, offering a hand to pull him up. Mark looked at it like it might be a trap. "I can get up myself."

"Didn’t say you couldn’t." Jay dropped his hand, already turning away. "Just being polite for once."

Mark stood, slower, brushing dirt from his shirt. He followed.

As the two walked off toward the side lot, their voices trailed in sharp little jabs.

Billy watched them go, the corners of his mouth tightening—not enough to speak, but just enough to betray the thoughts he couldn’t quiet.

Artur nudged his shoulder. "Let them wear each other out."

Billy turned to him with a small smile. "Or break something."

They moved to the back of the shed, the silence more companionable between them.

"You’ve been quieter today," Artur said after a moment, lifting a smaller log.

Billy shrugged. "Just thinking."

"About?"

Billy didn’t answer right away. He picked up a board, brushing his fingers along the edge. "About how fast things change. How people show up. And how some things stay... quiet."

Artur glanced at him, the weight of those words sitting between them.

But neither pushed.

The work continued. Around them, the wind shifted—light but present, like something gathering on the edges.

Jay tossed the first log down with a grunt, wiping sweat from his brow. "You always this quiet, or am I just that unbearable?"

Mark didn’t look up. "You’re unbearable, but I’m trying to work."

Jay smirked. "Good to know I’m not losing my touch."

They worked in a sync that neither would admit—passing boards, hammering pegs, resetting old beams that had shifted with time.

No real words, just the sound of movement, wood, and breath.

But tension clung to them.

Mark straightened up, hand pressed to the small of his back. "You always talk this much when no one wants to hear it?"

Jay leaned against the shed wall, crossing his arms. "You always this defensive when someone gets under your skin?"

Mark scoffed, wiping his hands with a cloth. "Don’t flatter yourself."

"I’m not. Just calling it like I see it."

Jay took a step forward—not threatening, just... there.

Mark didn’t move. "What do you want from me?"

Jay studied him, his expression suddenly less mocking. "I don’t know. Maybe... to get why you’re always so sharp. What is it about me that bothers you so much?"

Mark held his gaze. "You act like you know people the second you meet them. Like your charm gives you insight."

"And I’m wrong about you?"

Mark opened his mouth, then closed it again. His jaw tightened. "You don’t know anything about me."

Jay nodded, slowly. "Then tell me."

A beat. A long one.

Then Mark stepped back. "We should finish this."

Jay let him go, but not without watching him. Not without noticing the way his shoulders hunched a little tighter. Not without hearing the unsaid.

They went back to work.

But the air between them had shifted. Not softened—but changed. Like a storm not far off, still hidden—but coming.

They finished the section in silence, both working harder than necessary—hands moving fast, shoulders tense, wood hitting earth with a thud that echoed too loud in the quiet space between them.

Jay finally sat on a low beam, catching his breath. "You always run from conversations too?"

Mark didn’t answer right away. He picked up the water flask, took a long drink, then tossed it over to Jay.

Jay caught it one-handed. "Thanks."

Mark leaned on a post, eyes out toward the trees. "I just don’t see the point of talking for the sake of it."

Jay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What if it’s not for the sake of it? What if someone’s just... trying?"

Mark glanced at him then. Just for a second.

Jay shrugged. "Look, I’m not saying we have to like each other. You clearly hate me—fine. But every time you look at me like I’ve wronged you in some epic past life, I start wondering if there’s something more."

Mark looked down at his boots. "You’re too loud."

Jay blinked. "What?"

"You’re too loud," Mark repeated. "You say everything out loud like the world needs to hear it. Like your thoughts aren’t safe if they stay inside."

Jay tilted his head, brow furrowed. "And that bothers you."

"It makes me tired," Mark said. "It’s exhausting watching someone act like they’re immune to silence."

Jay stood slowly, dusting off his hands. "Maybe I’m not immune. Maybe I just learned how to survive in it."

The silence that followed was different now—not sharp, not charged. Just... present.

Jay turned away first. "Come on. If we finish this row, maybe we’ll get lunch before the others eat everything."

Mark hesitated, then followed. But as he walked behind Jay, his gaze lingered—not on his steps or the path, but on the way Jay had said that.

Like someone who knew silence too well—but never made peace with it.

They drove the last stake into the soil together, shoulders brushing for the briefest second.

Mark stepped back, dusting his palms while Jay let out a sharp breath, half a laugh, half a sigh.

"That’s the last of it," Jay said, looking over the row. "We didn’t kill each other. That’s progress."

Mark didn’t reply, just crouched to tighten a knot on one of the ropes before standing again.

Jay wiped his brow with the hem of his shirt, revealing the glint of sweat across his stomach before it dropped back down.

Mark caught the motion—sweat glinting across Jay’s stomach—and turned away a breath too late, like the moment had dragged its feet before letting him go. "Let’s go."

Jay’s brow lifted. "Leaving Billy and Artur behind? I thought you were the helpful type."

"They can manage," Mark said flatly, already walking.

Jay lip curved in a half-smile. but followed, falling into step beside him. "I’m not complaining. I was starting to feel like the third wheel anyway."

Mark shot him a glance. "You’re more like the flat tire."

Jay snorted. "Still part of the ride."

They moved in sync without meaning to, boots kicking dust, arms brushing now and then with unspoken awareness.

The sun hung lower, casting long shadows behind them. They didn’t speak again for a while—but the silence wasn’t heavy this time. Just settled.

Behind them, Billy and Artur were still working in the field, unaware of the two figures moving down the slope, side by side,with tension that hadn’t eased—only thickened into something raw and unfamiliar, a pull neither of them dared name."

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