Eighteen Years
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 11
Life in the Valley.
The second week after the accident brought a heavy, damp mist that rolled off the peaks and swallowed the valley whole, cloaking the landscape in a somber grey. It was the day of the funeral.
The little hillside chapel, built of dark Welsh slate and weathered stone, had stood against the elements for over a century. Today, it was completely overwhelmed. The news of the sudden, tragic death had reverberated through the tight-knit rural community, and everyone came to pay their respects. Relatives Aled hadn't seen in years, distant cousins from across the county, neighboring farmers in their stiff, unfamiliar funeral suits, and elderly women wrapped in thick black coats all crowded into the building.
The chapel was so packed that the air inside grew thick and warm, smelling of damp wool, old wood, and floral wreaths. Aled took his place in the front pew, his shoulder pressed against Gwilym's. Both brothers sat rigidly, staring straight ahead at the simple wooden coffin. Iwan was still too weak to leave his hospital bed in Bangor, which left the two of them to represent the family.
The service was conducted almost entirely in the low, mournful cadence of the Welsh language. The hymns rose up from the congregation, powerful and haunting, reverberating off the stone walls. Aled listened to the minister speak of his father—not as the harsh, unyielding patriarch Aled had known, but as a hardworking man of the soil, a good neighbour who never refused to help out when help was needed, and a husband who had never been the same since losing his wife. Hearing this version of his father brought a strange, quiet ache to Aled's chest. The anger he had carried for so long felt muted, replaced by a profound, hollow sadness.
When the service concluded, the pallbearers carried the coffin out into the graveyard. The congregation followed, spilling out into the misty air.
Everyone crowded around the open plot, the grass wet beneath their shoes. The graveyard was a sea of ancient, moss-covered grey stones, but this plot was different; it was the family grave. As the minister muttered the final prayers, the coffin was slowly lowered into the earth, coming to lie directly next to the stone marking the final resting place of Aled's mother. A mother he had hardly known, taken from them before Aled had reached his seventh birthday.
Aled looked down into the grave. The mist hung low over the mourners, blurring the edges of the hills and making the world feel incredibly small and quiet. Gwilym stepped forward first, dropping a heavy clod of earth onto the wood with a hollow thud. Then, it was Aled's turn. He picked up a handful of the damp, dark soil. As it slipped through his fingers, he felt a sudden, final closing of a chapter. The father who had rejected him was gone, laid to rest in the earth he had worked his entire life.
As the crowd began to slowly disperse, offering quiet nods and muttered condolences in the mist, Aled stood by the graveside for a moment longer. He looked up at the grey hills, feeling the cold air on his face, knowing that while the valley held his past, it no longer held his future.
The heavy silence of the Chester flat was shattered the following Tuesday by a dramatic, rapid-fire knocking on the front door. When Harry pulled it open, there stood Noah—a vivid explosion of colour against the dreary afternoon. His pink highlights were freshly touched up, glowing brightly under the stairwell light, and he was wearing an oversized neon windbreaker over a pleated plaid skirt, carrying a massive tote bag like a shield.
"Harry, darling!" Noah cried, breezing right past him into the living room without waiting for an invitation. "I came as soon as I heard. I simply cannot believe the things that have happened to that poor boy and I simply could not sit in my tiny flat a moment longer."
Callum, who was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a coffee, let out a startled, affectionate laugh. "Noah? What the hell are you doing here?"
"I am bringing life back into this mausoleum, Callum," Noah declared, dropping his tote bag onto the sofa and immediately sashaying over to the kitchen. He pulled Callum into a fierce, theatrical hug that smelled strongly of strawberry lip balm, before pulling back to look him dead in the eye. "Now, tell me everything. I ran into Ian at the pub, and he muttered something about Edinburgh and you actually talking to your father? The man you haven't spoken to since the dark ages?"
Callum's expression softened, a grateful smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, Noah. I went up there. We actually sat down and had a proper chat. No shouting, no storming out."
"And?" Noah pressed, leaning his hips against the kitchen counter, his larger-than-life persona suddenly sharpening into something intensely supportive. "Is the prodigal son returning to his roots?"
"I'm going back to university in September," Callum said quietly, a proud gleam in his eye. "To finish the degree. My dad offered me a place to stay while I get back on my feet. I'm just staying here for the summer to help Harry hold things down."
Noah let out a dramatic, high-pitched gasp, clapping his hands together. "Oh, thank god! You were far too pretty to spend the rest of your twenties wiping down sticky beer taps in Chester, Cal. Edinburgh won't know what hit it. Just promise me you'll visit me." He turned his bright, expressive gaze over to Harry, who was watching the exchange from the doorway with a faint, tired smile. "Which brings me to the real reason I'm here."
Noah's theatrical demeanour dropped away, replaced by a sudden, deep sincerity that caught Harry completely off guard. He walked over to Harry, reaching out to gently touch his forearm.
"Harry... I am so, so incredibly sorry about Aled's dad," Noah said softly, his voice dropping an octave. "And his brother. It's a total nightmare. How is Aled holding up in Wales?"
Harry let out a long, heavy breath, leaning back against the doorframe. "He's surviving, Noah. He's working himself to the bone on the farm just to keep his mind off it. He attended the funeral last week, and he's still visiting his brother Iwan in the hospital almost every day. It's just... it's a lot for him to carry."
Noah nodded slowly, his eyes full of genuine empathy. "He is so strong, Harry. When I met him that Sunday, I could see how much he'd been through just by looking in his eyes—but I can see how much he's bloomed with you and Callum. Don't let the valley swallow him back up, okay? He belongs out here in the world, with us."
Harry felt a sudden, unexpected lump in his throat. He nodded, squeezing Noah's hand gratefuly. "I won't. I'm going up to the farm this weekend to be with him."
"Good," Noah declared, his vibrant, larger-than-life energy immediately bouncing back as he marched back to the sofa. "Now, out of respect for the tragedy, I won't demand we go clubbing, but someone is going to pour me a glass of wine, and Harry, you are going to tell me exactly how many embarrassing baby photos your mum showed Aled in London."
The roar of a car engine echoing down the valley was a sound Aled had been waiting for all week. Harry had rented it for the weekend, and Aled new it was him as soon as he saw it coming up the dirt track of the farm. Aled was already walking out of the barn, wiping grease from his hands onto a rag, and a smile, rare these days, lit up his face.
Harry stepped out of the vehicle, looking completely out of place in his clean city clothes against the rugged, mud-splattered backdrop of the Welsh hills. It was the first time he had been back to the farm since that tense afternoon when Aled had packed his bags and left—back when his father was still alive, ruling the property with an unyielding iron fist.
Harry didn't hesitate. He marched straight over to Aled, pulling him into a fierce, tight hug that spoke volumes for how much he had hated the distance between them. Aled buried his face in Harry's neck, exhaling a breath he felt like he'd been holding since the funeral.
"Look who it is," a cold, flat voice cut through the reunion.
Gwilym stood by the farmhouse door, his arms crossed over his heavy canvas jacket, his eyes narrowed as he watched them. He stepped down onto the dirt, his boots crunching loudly. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes proving how brutal the last fortnight had been.
"Didn't think we'd be seeing you back here," Gwilym said, his tone biting. "We've got an actual farm to run, Aled. We don't have time for you to be playing house with your city boyfriend."
Harry didn't shrink back. He stepped slightly in front of Aled, squaring his broad shoulders as he faced the older brother. "I'm not here to play house, Gwilym. I'm here because Aled's father just died, his brother is in the hospital, and he's been working himself to the bone supporting you. I'm here to help."
"We don't need your help," Gwilym snapped, taking a step forward, his voice rising. "This is a family matter. A valley matter. You don't know anything about this life, and frankly, you're the reason Aled walked out on our dad in the first place."
"That is a lie and you know it!" Aled suddenly shouted, stepping out from behind Harry. His voice cracked with a fierce, sudden anger that made both Harry and Gwilym freeze. Aled's eyes were blazing. "Dad threw me out because he was a bitter, angry man who couldn't handle who I am! Harry didn't steal me away—Harry saved me. He gave me a home when my own blood locked the door!"
Gwilym glared at his younger brother, his jaw clenching hard. "Aled, you don't talk to me like—"
"No, Gwilym, listen to me!" Aled interrupted, his chest heaving as weeks of suppressed grief and anger finally boiled over. "I came back. I've been up at five every morning, getting the work done, minding the sheep, and driving to Bangor every single day to hold Iwan's hand. I am doing my duty to this family. But Harry is my life now. If you want me here to help you carry this farm until Iwan gets out of that hospital bed, you are going to respect him. Because if you make him leave, I'm getting in that car and I'm going with him."
The silence that followed was deafening. The only sound was the distant bleating of sheep on the hillside and the wind whistling through the valley.
Gwilym stared at Aled, completely shocked by the iron resolve in his younger brother's voice. The timid boy who used to hide in his bedroom was gone; standing before him was a man who knew exactly who he was and what he was worth.
Gwilym looked from Aled to Harry. He saw the fierce, protective way Harry's hand was resting on Aled's lower back, and the unshakeable devotion in the city boy's eyes. Gwilym let out a long, harsh breath through his nose, the fight draining out of him as the reality of his own exhaustion caught up. He couldn't lose Aled. Not now.
"Fine," Gwilym muttered, averting his eyes and looking out toward the tractor shed. "There's a leak in the roof of the lower barn. The feed bags are going to rot if it rains tonight." He shifted his gaze back to Harry, his expression grim but resigned. "If you're staying, you can get up on the ladder and help him patch it. There's a spare pair of wellies in the porch."
Without waiting for a reply, Gwilym turned and walked back into the farmhouse, slamming the door behind him.
It wasn't a warm welcome, and it wasn't an apology. But as Harry and Aled looked at each other, letting out a shared, breathless laugh of sheer relief, they knew exactly what it was: a begrudging, hard-won acceptance. Harry was part of the equation now, and the valley was finally going to have to deal with it.
The rain came as dusk settled over the valley, drumming a steady, rhythmic beat against the newly patched roof of the lower barn. Harry's hands were scraped and his muscles ached from the unfamiliar work, but as he followed Aled up the creaking stairs of the farmhouse to the tiny bedroom, none of that mattered. He only had this single night before he had to drive back to Chester for his shift at the pub, and the weight of their separation hung heavily in the air.
Inside the small room, the space felt incredibly intimate, lit only by the faint, amber glow of a bedside lamp. Aled closed the door, shutting out the rest of the farmhouse, the grief, and the looming presence of Gwilym downstairs. He turned to Harry, his eyes dark with a fierce, quiet determination. It felt like a lifetime since the warmth and freedom of their weekend in London, and Aled was resolved to claim this stolen night completely.
Without a word, Aled stepped into Harry's space, his hands reaching for the buttons of Harry's shirt. His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of wanting to be close. Harry covered Aled's hands with his own for a brief second, pressing a deep, breathless kiss to his forehead, before helping him guide the fabric off his shoulders. They undressed each other deliberately, shedding the heavy layers of the rainy valley until there was nothing left between them but bare skin and the heat radiating from their bodies.
Harry pulled Aled into a tight, enveloping embrace, his large palms sliding down the smooth plane of Aled's back, holding him flush against his chest. Aled let out a soft sigh, burying his face in the crook of Harry's neck, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him. They held each other like that for a long moment, fixing themselves in the absolute safety they only ever found in one another.
When Harry pulled back slightly, his thumbs traced the high line of Aled's cheekbones. They looked at each other with an intensity that needed no words—Harry's gaze full of a fierce, protective devotion, and Aled's reflecting a profound, unshakeable trust. In this tiny room, surrounded by the remnants of his childhood, Aled felt completely loved, completely accepted, and entirely himself.
The urgency of their limited time together pulled them toward the narrow single bed. Aled moved deliberately, placing his hands flat against the worn mattress and bending over the edge, exposing himself completely to the man who had saved him. Harry stepped up closely behind him, his hands holding firmly onto Aled's hips, his thumbs stroking the warm skin of his waist.
With a slow, deliberate pressure, Harry slid inside him, filling the space between them. Aled gasped, his fingers gripping the sheets tightly as his head fell forward, a sharp rush of pleasure overtaking the exhaustion of the past two weeks. Harry moved with a quiet, powerful rhythm, his chest pressing down against Aled's back, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Aled's shoulder blades as he whispered his love into the quiet room. They celebrated their love for each other in the shadows of the valley, their movements a passionate, fierce declaration that no matter how hard the hills tried to hold Aled back, they belonged entirely to each other.
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