Unwritten Fate [BL] Chapter 117: Kisses We Remember

The sun had already lifted itself over Solre’s rooftops, casting golden fingers across the dew-slicked grass as Mark walked toward the back path by the river bend.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the echo of last night’s conversation still tugging at his chest.

"If you’re not too busy... I’ll be waiting." Jay’s voice had been light, teasing—but underneath it, Mark caught sothing that stayed with him long after their chats had ended.

He found him where he always did—by the half-finished fence near the old fig tree, leaning casually with arms crossed, eyes narrowed against the light. Jay looked up before Mark could speak, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You made it," Jay said, feigning surprise. "I thought you’d flake."

Mark raised a brow, approaching. "I said I’d co, didn’t I?"

"You say a lot of things," Jay teased, pushing off the fence. "But showing up? That’s new."

Mark smirked but didn’t argue. He let their shoulders brush as they fell into step, walking along the dirt path without a destination.

"I like this hour," Jay murmured. "Before the noise. When everything’s still... kind of honest."

Mark humd in agreent. "It’s quieter. Easier to breathe."

Jay glanced sideways, his voice softer now. "So... about last night."

Mark’s heart tapped once—then again.

Jay laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "You flirt worse than you fight, you know."

"Oh, really?" Mark rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the slight smile. "And here I thought I was charming."

"You are," Jay said. He stopped walking. "That’s the problem."

Mark turned to him, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his tone.

Jay looked down, then back up. "I didn’t co back just to clear my head. I kept returning because... sohow, the village didn’t feel small when you were in it."

The silence between them stretched—comfortable, charged.

Mark exhaled slowly. "You’re good with words."

Jay stepped closer. "No. I’m just honest with you."

Mark didn’t step back.

The air shifted.

But instead of reaching for more, Jay stepped past him, nudging his shoulder gently as he walked on. "Co on. I’ll show you sothing."

Mark followed—heartbeat steadier now, but not calm.

And maybe that’s what falling felt like—not a single mont, but a quiet build, one glance, one step at a ti.

They walked in silence for a while, the dirt path curling along the edge of the river.

Birds stirred lazily in the trees, and the world still felt untouched by the noise of the day.

Jay kept his gaze ahead, but his fingers twitched slightly by his side. Mark noticed.

"You okay?" Mark asked.

Jay slowed down. "Yeah. Just thinking."

He stopped completely, turning to face Mark now, standing half in shadow under a large neem tree. "Actually, there’s sothing I’ve been aning to say."

Mark raised a brow. "That sounds serious."

Jay huffed a soft laugh. "It is. Kind of."

He paused—then looked directly at him. "I used to think you were the most irritating person in Solre. Loud, proud, always had sothing to prove."

Mark folded his arms but didn’t interrupt.

"But then I got older. And I realized..." Jay’s voice dropped slightly. "I was just paying attention too much. Watching you. Competing. Because you made feel sothing."

Mark’s breath caught in his throat.

Jay took one small step forward. "I know we weren’t always kind to each other.

But I think maybe that’s why this matters more now. Because when everything else changed, when the village changed, when I did... sohow you didn’t. You were still here. Still... real."

The wind picked up slightly, rustling the leaves above them.

"I like you, Mark," Jay said. "Not just because of what we used to be or what we are now, but because... when I’m with you, I don’t have to be anything I’m not."

Mark looked at him for a long mont. His jaw tightened slightly—not from anger, but from the weight of words he wasn’t ready to answer.

"Jay..." he started, his voice rough. " I.... He exhale I’m leaving next 2 weeks."

Jay blinked.

"My break’s almost over," Mark continued, quieter now. "I have to go back to the city. Work’s waiting. Life’s waiting."

Jay’s gaze dropped, the smile faltering just a little. "Of course."

Mark’s voice softened. "It’s not that I don’t feel sothing. I just don’t know if I’m allowed to... start anything when I’m about to leave again."

Jay nodded, but sothing dimd behind his eyes—like a curtain quietly falling. He didn’t argue. He just let the mont pass, unspoken and full.

Then Jay forced a smile—gentle, honest. "Well... thanks for not running away, at least."

Mark smiled faintly. "You didn’t make it easy."

"I wasn’t trying to." Jay’s eyes held his. "But I’m glad you showed up anyway."

And with that, he turned and began to walk back, leaving Mark standing beneath the neem tree, watching him—heart heavy, but not in the way it used to be.

Mark didn’t go ho.

Not right away.

After Jay’s confession and the quiet pause that followed, sothing in him felt too full. Too loud. He couldn’t bear the stillness of four walls, not when his mind wouldn’t stop playing Jay’s words on loop.

"I like you, Mark..."

So he kept walking.

Past the road that led to his uncle’s farm, past the mango trees where he once played tag as a kid.

The village felt too familiar and yet suddenly strange, as if the colors had shifted and he was seeing it through new light.

Children waved to him. An old woman offered roasted groundnuts. He smiled politely but didn’t stop.

He just... wandered. Trying to walk off the weight in his chest.

— ✦ —

Back at Mr. Dand’s fence, the afternoon sun clung low in the sky, casting warm gold across the dry grass.

Billy was crouched near the wooden trough, tossing handfuls of grain for the chickens, who clucked and flapped around his feet.

Artur stood by the sheep pen, adjusting the latch before throwing down hay.

The rhythm of it all was steady, comforting in its repetition.

"Hey," Artur called out, brushing dust from his hands. "You’re spilling more grain than you’re feeding."

Billy squinted at him. "That’s because your chickens are greedy. Look at them—they don’t even wait for to drop it."

Artur chuckled, walking over. "Or maybe you’re just bad at this."

Billy stood, brushing his palms together. "Maybe I am."

There was a beat of silence as they stood side by side, watching the animals settle into their evening feed.

Billy tilted his head, eyes following a sheep nudging a chicken aside. "This... all of this. It’s simple. I like that."

Artur didn’t speak, just glanced sideways at him—his gaze steady, unreadable.

Billy continued, quieter now. "I used to think not rembering who I was would scare .

But so days I wonder if... maybe it gave a better shot at being who I want to be."

Artur’s voice was low. "Maybe it did."

Billy looked at him. "You think I’m running away? From my life?"

Artur hesitated, then shook his head. "No. I think you’re walking toward it... even if it’s not in the direction everyone expects."

They stood in silence again, the kind that didn’t press but held. A rooster flapped onto the fence post nearby and let out a loud crow. Both of them laughed a little, and the mont softened.

"Dinner soon?" Artur asked, brushing a speck of hay from Billy’s hair.

Billy nodded. "Yeah... I’ll just finish up here."

Artur stepped back slowly, watching him for a mont longer before heading inside.

Billy stood alone by the fence, hand trailing along the wood. His gaze drifted toward the road—thinking of his mother, the city, the face of a sister he’d only seen once on a screen... and the quiet house behind him that now felt more like ho than anything ever had.

The sun dipped low beyond the hills as the last chicken scurried into its coop. Billy dusted his hands on his pants, glancing toward the house. "That’s the last of them," he said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

Artur nodded. "You’re getting good at this."

Billy smiled faintly. "Don’t flatter . I nearly fed one of them a pebble."

They stepped back inside, the door creaking softly behind them.

The familiar scent of ho lingered—rosemary stew warming on the stove, faint traces of soap and wood smoke.

At the sink, they washed their hands together, shoulders brushing, fingers accidentally touching under the running water.

Billy was the first to dry off. He moved to the couch and sat down with a long sigh, stretching his legs. "I don’t get why I’m tired." We didn’t even do much today."

Artur joined him, dropping down beside him with a groan. "You’re tired "Because your brain doesn’t rest."

Billy turned to look at him. "Do I?"

Artur leaned his head back against the cushion, side-eyeing him with a soft smile. "You carry everything on your face. It’s like watching the weather change in slow motion."

Billy blinked at him, and for a second, neither of them spoke. The air shifted. Stillness settled in.

Artur turned toward him more fully, elbow resting on the back of the couch. "You always do that when you’re nervous," he said gently.

"What?" Billy asked.

Artur’s eyes dropped to Billy’s hands—fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "That."

Billy looked down, then chuckled under his breath. "Maybe I am nervous."

"Why?"

A beat.

Then Billy looked up, t Artur’s gaze—and didn’t look away.

"I’m scared of leaving this," he said softly. "Of losing this."

Artur’s throat moved as he swallowed, then leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Then don’t lose it."

Billy’s breath caught as Artur’s hand brushed gently against his jaw, fingers warm, steady—inviting, not demanding. Billy didn’t move, didn’t flinch.

He leaned in.

Their lips t—slow at first, hesitant. Then deeper, like the words they hadn’t said found their place in that space between them.

Billy’s fingers curled into Artur’s shirt as Artur’s hand slid to the back of his neck, drawing him closer, anchoring him.

They kissed like they didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Like the only ti that mattered was now.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the quiet.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

Billy didn’t know who leaned in first.

Maybe it didn’t matter. Because once their lips t again, it wasn’t soft anymore—it was need.

The kind that lived in silence, that built over shared mornings, fieldwork, stolen glances, and quiet nights lying side by side without touching.

Artur’s hand slid behind Billy’s neck again, fingers threading through his hair. Billy shifted forward, deepening the kiss, his other hand pressed lightly against Artur’s chest—feeling his heart beating fast and steady under his palm.

It wasn’t rushed.

It was the kind of kiss that asked: Will you rember this?

The kind that said: I already do.

Artur tugged Billy gently closer on his lap until their bodies touched. The warmth of their closeness drowned out the world, all the uncertainty, the coming storm—none of it existed in that mont.

Billy sighed into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed. His hand moved to Artur’s jaw, thumb brushing along the stubble like he was tracing sothing he didn’t want to forget.

He whispered between their lips, "I don’t want this to end."

Artur didn’t answer with words. He simply kissed him again—slower this ti, as if trying to morize the shape of his mouth, the softness, the taste, the truth of it all.

Knock. Knock.

"The knock was sharp. Urgent. Billy’s heart lurched—not from nerves this ti, but instinct."

Billy froze, still close. His forehead rested against Artur’s. "Ignore it," he murmured, eyes still closed. "Please..."

But Artur let out a slow breath, smiled faintly, and touched Billy’s cheek. "I’d rather not.

Billy groaned and fell back against the couch, throwing his arm over his face. "They always find a way to ruin the best parts."

Artur stood, chuckling softly, ruffling Billy’s hair as he passed. "Don’t go anywhere."

Billy peeked out from under his arm. "I wasn’t planning to."

He sat up slowly, still flushed, watching Artur open the door.

It was Tomas’s wife, looking slightly breathless. "Oh—Artur. Sorry to bother you, but can you co help? Tomas dropped one of the barrels at the back and it’s leaking everywhere. He’s cursing like the devil himself."

Artur glanced back toward Billy, who gave a small shrug. "Go. Before she starts cursing too."

"I won’t be long," Artur said, slipping on his boots.

"I’ll keep the couch warm."

The door closed gently behind him.

Billy leaned back, lips still tingling, heart still full.

In the quiet of the room, he whispered to no one in particular—

"I’ll wait for you too."