Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 144: Closer Without Words

Chapter 144: Closer Without Words

The sun hung gently overhead, not too harsh, softened by a few passing clouds. A light breeze carried the scent of dry grass and turned soil.

Artur knelt near a stubborn root, hands covered in soil, sleeves pushed to his elbows. He didn’t say much, but he worked with focus—measured, deliberate, like each motion was a step toward feeling whole again.

Mark crouched beside him, tossing weeds into a basket, his eyes occasionally drifting to Artur, watching him—not intrusively, just... quietly.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It had settled over time, becoming something that spoke even without words.

"You’ve gotten faster," Mark said eventually, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

Artur didn’t glance up, but a flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips.

"You’ve gotten softer."

Mark let out a breath of a laugh.

"Takes a village."

Artur sat back on his heels, brushing his hands off with a sigh. He looked out over the field—rows stretching, quiet and alive.

"It helps," he said softly.

Mark looked at him.

"The work?"

Artur gave a slight nod.

"The stillness."

Their shared quiet was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps crunching over the dry path.

Jay.

He walked up casually, hands in his pockets, a faint smile on his lips as the breeze tousled his hair. He looked a little sun-kissed, a little shy.

"Hey," he said, stopping a few steps away.

Both Artur and Mark looked up.

"You two always this dramatic in the fields?" Jay teased lightly, eyes shifting between them.

Artur stood and dusted off his hands, giving a subtle nod.

"Only when we’re starving."

"Perfect," Jay said, grinning. "I was just coming to steal you both. There’s a new tiny place by the market—nothing fancy, but they do grilled chicken and fresh bread. Come on, let me treat you both."

Mark raised a brow.

"You sure?"

"I’m working again," Jay said proudly. "Let me waste my paycheck on you before I regret it."

Artur glanced at Mark, then back at Jay. He gave a slow nod.

"Alright."

Jay smiled wider, like he didn’t expect it to be that easy.

"Cool. Wash your hands, farmers. I’m not letting you touch bread with fingers that have touched compost."

Mark laughed, standing up beside Artur.

"You heard the man."

Artur didn’t say anything more, but his steps felt lighter as they walked toward the well to wash. Jay followed behind, already pointing ahead, talking about which tables get the best shade.

And for a moment, it wasn’t about forgetting or waiting.

It was just three boys, the sun, and lunch at a place where bread came warm and life felt just a little bit ordinary again.

The market buzzed quietly with life—children running barefoot, women bargaining over herbs, baskets swaying on hips. The air was warm and fragrant, spiced with the scent of roasted garlic, sun-dried fish, and wildflowers being sold in bundles.

Jay led the way, a little bounce in his step as he weaved between vendors with a familiarity that made the village feel smaller.

Mark followed beside Artur, the two of them a step or two behind.

"He’s walking like he owns the whole market," Mark murmured.

Artur let out a faint, unexpected chuckle.

"He practically does. Half of them still ask him to sing during lunch rush."

Jay looked over his shoulder, grinning.

"What’s that? You want me to serenade you while you chew?"

"Please don’t," Artur said dryly.

Jay laughed.

"I’ll take that as a maybe."

They reached the restaurant—more of a shack, really—with four small tables under a cloth canopy. The grill smoked gently in the back, manned by a woman with salt-gray hair and hands that moved with precision.

Jay greeted her with an easy smile.

"Three plates, Auntie. And extra bread—we’ve got hungry men here."

She nodded and waved them toward a table shaded by vines. The wood was rough, the benches creaked, but the spot felt perfect. Quiet. Tucked away from the rush.

They sat.

Jay leaned forward on his elbows.

"Alright, serious question. If you could eat only one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

Mark squinted.

"That’s your serious question?"

"Answer first, complain later," Jay smirked.

"Rice," Mark replied. "With sauce. Anything else would be too risky."

"Boring," Jay said.

Artur glanced at him, expression calm.

"Bread and honey."

Jay blinked.

"Wow. Didn’t peg you for a sweet tooth."

Artur looked away slightly.

"It reminds me of someone."

Jay quieted for a beat. Then nodded slowly.

"Okay. Valid answer."

Mark tilted his head.

"And you?"

Jay grinned.

"Egg sandwich. But not just any. The one from that stall near the church—you know the one, Artur."

Artur gave the smallest nod.

"I remember."

The plates arrived—grilled chicken, stewed greens, soft bread still warm from the oven. Steam curled up between them. For a moment, they all just dug in—no words, just the comfort of shared food and the sound of the market humming around them.

Jay tore a piece of bread and dipped it into the sauce.

"You know, I used to come here alone after I moved back. Sat at this exact table, every Tuesday. Pretended I wasn’t waiting for anyone."

Mark looked over at him, curiosity gentle.

"Were you?"

Jay didn’t answer immediately. He looked down at his plate, then up—not at Mark, but at Artur.

"Doesn’t matter now. I’m not alone today."

A quiet settled over the table.

Artur didn’t speak, but he didn’t pull away either.

Mark smiled faintly and raised his glass of water.

"To not being alone."

They tapped their glasses gently, the clink soft but sure.

And for a little while longer, the three of them stayed there—letting the food, the light, and each other fill the spaces that silence had left behind.

The market sounds faded behind them, replaced by the softer rhythm of nature—wind rustling trees, birds flitting overhead, the occasional bleat of a goat somewhere in the distance.

They walked in no particular formation—Artur ahead, hands in his pockets; Jay and Mark just behind, drifting with no real urgency.

Jay tossed a small stone ahead and watched it skip.

"You two always this quiet after food? Or is it just me that turns philosophical with grilled chicken?"

Mark smirked.

"You were philosophical before the chicken."

"Fair. But now I’m full and reflective."

He looked around them—the path, the trees, the open stretch of sky overhead.

"I missed this. Back when I was away... everything felt too fast. Even silence was loud over there."

Artur glanced over his shoulder, then slowed down just a little to walk beside them.

"Here, even the noise has space."

Mark nodded, thoughtfully.

"It’s strange, isn’t it? How this place never changes, but still somehow keeps making room for us... even when we leave."

Jay gave a soft, surprised laugh.

"Whoa. Mark. That was deep."

Mark shrugged.

"Don’t let it go to your head. It happens once a year."

They shared a laugh, gentle and warm, and the kind that made the air feel easier to breathe.

Jay kicked a small pebble forward, hands swinging by his sides.

"You know," he said, quieter now. "I don’t know what it is about walking with you two, but it makes me feel... lighter."

Artur glanced at him, eyes steady.

"Maybe because you’re not pretending here."

Jay’s smile softened.

"Maybe."

They passed by a wooden fence, half-fallen with age, the same one that had marked the shortcut they used to take as kids. Jay touched it lightly as they passed.

"I once carved something into this fence," he said. "Like... ten years ago."

Mark tilted his head.

"What was it?"

"A name," Jay admitted with a grin. "But I scraped it off the next day. Chickened out."

Artur raised a brow.

"Whose name?"

Jay gave a small shrug, not answering.

Mark smirked.

"So mysterious."

Jay flashed a grin but didn’t push it. Instead, he reached up and broke a small leaf from an overhanging branch.

"This path feels like it holds pieces of all of us, doesn’t it?"

Artur looked ahead again.

"It does."

They walked for a while in silence again—not because there was nothing to say, but because not every moment needed words.

The sun slipped a little lower in the sky, casting longer shadows, wrapping the path in gold.

Mark finally broke the silence again, voice soft:

"Can we do this again? Soon?"

Jay smiled.

"Yeah. I’d like that."

Artur gave a faint nod.

"Me too."

And they kept walking—no rush to get home, just letting the afternoon carry them wherever it pleased.

The wind shifted.

And there it was—just past the bend in the dirt path. Their old high school.

Faded paint clung stubbornly to the building’s walls, windows smudged with time, the signboard above the entrance slightly tilted—but it was still standing, still stubborn, like it refused to forget any of them.

Mark slowed first, shoulders drawing back with something unreadable in his chest.

"Look..." he murmured. "Our school."

Jay stopped beside him, blinking at the sight.

Artur said nothing—only looked.

The three of them stood still at the low wooden gate, worn down where generations of hands had rested. A few kids ran across the far field, shouting after each other, but the main yard was quiet now.

"Feels smaller," Mark added, stepping forward.

"We got taller," Jay said, his voice light. "That or life just... stretched us."

They drifted forward, not inside, but along the corridor outside the classrooms. Mark glanced up at one window, squinting through the dusty glass.

"That was our homeroom, right?"

Artur nodded.

"Yeah."

Jay smirked.

"You mean your kingdom. Mr. Perfect. Always first to arrive, last to leave."

"And you? Always late. Always blaming the weather," Mark shot back, his lips twitching into a smile.

"I had allergies!" Jay defended.

Artur gave a small snort.

"To clocks?"

Jay laughed.

"Exactly."

They reached the side bench, worn down by years of shoes scraping underneath it, and the shadow of an old tree still stretched protectively above.

Jay kicked at a patch of dry grass.

"Funny, huh? We fought all the time, but still always ended up walking home together."

"Because I wouldn’t let you two walk alone," Artur said.

Mark chuckled.

"True. You were the glue."

Jay looked over at him.

"I hated you in school, you know."

"Hate is a strong word."

"Okay, disliked passionately," Jay said with a teasing grin. "You were everything I wasn’t. Neat, focused, annoyingly perfect."

Mark shook his head.

"And you were late, loud, and never prepared."

"But we always found each other," Jay murmured, quieter now. "In between all that chaos."

A silence hung between them—not empty, but full of everything they weren’t saying.

Artur stepped toward the classroom window and rested his hand lightly on the sill.

"This is where she used to stand," he said quietly. "My mom."

Jay and Mark both looked toward him.

"She had this habit of pausing before she spoke. Just one breath. Like she was making room for us to feel something before she gave us the words."

Mark’s voice softened.

"She was a good teacher."

Jay nodded.

"She scared me half to death."

Artur gave a tiny smile.

"She scared me."

They all laughed gently, the kind that thins out too fast but leaves warmth in its place.

Jay looked around again.

"We grew up here. Messed up, fixed ourselves, messed up again."

Mark glanced at him.

"And yet... somehow we ended up walking back here like this."

"Not fighting," Artur added.

"Not fighting yet," Jay smirked. _{f(r)eew(e)bnovel.(c)o(m)}

They stood there a moment longer, letting the sun slip a little lower, the building watching them quietly—like it remembered every version of them that ever passed through.

"Let’s not forget this," Mark said, almost to himself.

"We won’t," Artur replied.

And when they turned away from the school, they did so slowly—not with sorrow, but with a kind of reverence. Because the past didn’t have to hold them back anymore.

It just had to remind them of how far they’d come.