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You've struck gold this brisk Fall morning.  Well, figuratively- although part of you wishes you'd see this amount of fortune in the mines on your next visit- your delight is uncontained when you enter your coop and spot your long awaited treasure.

Bleary eyes only just wiped of the sleep crusting them- you step into the coop- sleepy gaze scouring the floorboards as though your chickens could have laid diamond eggs overnight. But your squinted eyes land on an iridescent feather instead. Sir Quackington- your recently acquired duck- has finally shed one of his precious coverings. Plucking the soft frond from the floor and shaking off the hay- you beam at the long plume. Deep blues and bright greens glitter in the faint morning sunlight. Blending into each other and shifting as you twirl the precious item in your fingers. The hollow shaft where the fluffy afterfeather ends is thick and strong. Perfect for a quill.

"May your feeding troughs always be overfilled. And the biggest puddles meet your every step, my good Sir Quackington-," you say, regarding the generous bird that stares up at you expectantly. Marnie had tried to convince you to get a Lady Quackington- slightly concerned about your animal husbandry knowledge when you insisted on your first duck being of the non-egg-laying variety- but Sir Quackington had been worth the hefty 1200g adoption fee. Not to mention the cost and resources you spent on the coop expansion with Robin. Despite the loss you've incurred- Sir Quackington's exquisite plumage has already paid off.

Getting to work on the blessing you wished on your darling waterfowl and were inherently responsible for- you place the feather behind your ear while you unload hay into the coop's feeder. Dropping an extra handful as a treat into Sir Quackington's trough specifically before you take your leave.

Busying yourself around the farm- you tick off chores. Buzzing with happiness like a bee in the plentiful sunflowers around your hives. Every so often you admire the feather- careful not to get it too dirty or sweaty- you can't help your smile when you imagine gifting it to Elliott in a short few days time. 

Already you'd managed to get the squid ink prepared. A few dangerous levels in the mines had revealed a pink orb with a face. An unsettling foe that spits fire when you got too close to it- but thankfully had been slaughtered with a single slash from your sword. Staggeringly, it had dropped squid ink as its loot- and as you stared into it's dark, swirling depths- an idea had formed. A gift. For a writer that had his fingers constantly covered in said substance. Whose birthday was only a handful of weeks away according to Leah. 

Even this deep into the mines- your mind was with Elliott. Wondering what terrifying beasts he was crafting in his novels while you slaughtered real ones in the shadowed caverns. Wondering whether you'd finally convince him to leave his cabin the next time it rains. Or take up your fishing rod the next time you're at the pier and Willy's giving you an impromptu bait lesson when you need to check your crab pots.

It'd been a few weeks since the bridge incident. The first week of recovery, Elliott and Leah had hovered over you like mother hens. Taking turns to visit your farm throughout the day- Leah would take up post when it rained and Elliott would arrive on the days where the sun threatened to turn his pale, freckled skin into the same shade as the tomatoes ripening on the vines in your field.

To your surprise and immense gratitude- your friends helped take up your chores on the farm so you wouldn't see a detrimental loss to your harvests or resources. Their kindness stood in stark contrast to your experience at Joja Co where your teammates were either exhausted and checked out or out for blood. Being cut throat was an unwritten part of your job description- but you managed to avoid partaking in the office drama and competition. Still, you became the target of your boss, Landyn- one of the sons of the board- whose job seemed to be reducing your sanity to non existent. Landyn never helped you- only hindered. Often- harmed. If he were to spawn on your farm- he'd probably burn your crops down and then your farmhouse and order to you to put out the flames with your tears. 

Leah and Elliott only wanted you to succeed and see your farm flourish. Eventually, despite their reservations- you'd managed to convince them you were back to your mostly healthy self. It helped that summer was transitioning to Fall. The heat dissipating from the air like a sparkler- fizzling out into hardly anything. Just a hint of its former warmth when you close your first around it- trying to pull as much crop from your field before the seasons turned over and you started anew with fresh seeds.

Slippery, white pumpkin seeds like coins that you shoved into the overturned dirt. Fat bean pods and dried corn kernels. Handfuls of dark gems of sunflower seeds. Fall held potential like an endless well. The final growing season before the land would be given over to the cold, barren hold of Winter. And then Spring would arrive- and so would the anniversary of your Grandpa's passing- and your first year marked at his farm. 

These last few months would be critical to your yield. The difference between profit and at the bare minimum you hoped for of breaking even. You'd told yourself you'd have the year- and then you'd decide if you would stay in Stardew Valley or sell the farm and move on from Pelican Town.

Of course, you didn't plan to stay idle in the colder months. Obviously, your efforts would need to pivot to more indoor pursuits. Like brewing ale, and pickling vegetables, and trying to find gold in the mines. And snuggling up to Elliott in his cabin- cuddling by the fire, watching icebergs drift on the black water while wrapped up in his blankets- kissing Elliott- . 

Well. There it was again. The thoughts that never strayed further than a stone loosed from your slingshot. Despite the chill that gusts through the air- you feel heat rush through your frame when you remember that morning with Elliott in his bed. Despite the weakness lingering in your body- or perhaps because of it- you'd felt the strength in his- all the long, lean lines of him pressed against you. Anchoring you to him with his hands and his mouth and your need meeting the one that you felt thrumming in him. It felt like his heart lay in his mouth- and you were trying to sink your teeth into it. 

This was your hungry season. The last opportunity to wrangle nutrients and plenty from the soil. Parts of you had been left neglected in your pursuits. Parts that Elliott seemed to pull forth with that half smirk of his and the intensity of his green eyes upon you. It's like something had awakened inside you- and despite your efforts to tamp down your feelings- it was like trying to wrangle slimes into a wicker basket. Your affection for Elliott was overflowing.

Shoving your spade into the dirt- keen on planting another bed of cranberries- you recall the ease with which Elliott had managed this task last week. Where you huff and puff through the digging, lifting and depositing of heavy dirt- Elliott had been as elegant as ever. Barely breaking a sweat- not one word of complaint as he helped you plant the Fall seedlings that couldn't afford one more day in their transplant pots. 

Elliott had forgone his usual flowy shirt- and instead arrived on your doorstep like a bonafide farm hand. Crisp white t-shirt and blue jeans. You didn't even think he owned denim anything. Short circuiting on your front porch as you imagined all the other possibilities of Elliott's mysterious wardrobe- Elliott admires you in turn with an amused smile. His long red tresses are pulled up into a messy bun. Elliott manages to make hard labor look like a modelling gig. It was all you could do to not stare as he toiled in the field- trying not to choke on the cold tea you'd made that morning when Elliott stabs his spade into the soil and rises to his full height. Casually leaning on the handle with one dirt stained forearm while he pulls one of his work gloves off to wipe the sweat from his brow. It's only when he takes a moment to regard the palm of his hand that you come back to your senses. There's a wince in his face when he stares at his hand- but the glove is pulled back into place and he's grabbing the shovel again in his next breath.

"Elliott-," you call from the comfortable shade of the porch- lifting a sweating glass of tea towards him. The soft tinktinktink of the ice settling in the amber liquid betrays your shaking hands. The adjacent hard toktoktok of your heartbeat as you appreciate Elliott's good looks on his approach.

Elliott smiles like he's got the sun between his teeth. It's blinding even from a distance. Something burns through you that you dare not name when he's centered you in his attentions so completely. Sauntering up to the porch- Elliott discards his gloves and accepts the drink. Elegant fingers brushing yours when he collects the beverage. His hands are hot from the work. His usually pale digits are red and swollen and when he drains his glass and sets it down- through the condensation you spot the blood smeared across his palm.

"Oh- Elliott- your hands," you say, latching onto his arm so that Elliott turns it over when your fingers clutch onto him with concern. Elliott allows you a moment to inspect the blisters. The skin broken and angry looking- before he begins to wave off your attention. The muscles of his arm flex in your grip- he's more solid than his appearance lets on.

"Do not fret, sweet farmer," Elliott says on a warm chuckle, bending to collect his gloves- slipping out of your grasp and suddenly you don't know what to do with your searching hands so you shove them into the pockets of your overalls instead. Elliott offers you a rippling display of the muscles across his shoulders and wide back through his sweat damp shirt. He might as well be shirtless with how it clings to his frame. You try not to stare. You fail because Elliott's laugh changes into something more amused.

"This type of work does me more good than it ails me," Elliott tells you with a wink before he nods at the empty glass. Oh- Yoba knows, you could get used to that. To Elliott flirting with you while you worked the farm- something stirring in you. A sense of missing out before the chance has even arrived. The tea on your tongue is bitter. The after taste sweet as the red haired writer standing before you.

"Thank you, for the refreshment," Elliott says- ever polite whilst being devastatingly attractive. You're left to gape- no protest to be heard when Elliott returns to the field. It takes less time than you would have for him to complete the row of planting. By the time he's done he's acquired a shade of pink across the bridge of his nose and the back of his neck. Inwardly- you curse yourself for not offering to reapply his sun lotion- given his raw callouses and his determination to never ask more of others even when it'd be understandable for him to do so- he went without.

"You're sunburnt," you inform him when he drops himself into the cushion beside you. The overfilled loveseat was dragged out of Robin's garage and transported to your farm when she came by to expand your coop last week. It's meant to be indoors- but the thick scent of sawdust and whatever garage debris it's acquired being in stale storage for Yoba knows how long- probably since Robin had Seb with her first mysterious husband- means you've let it air out on your front porch for a time. Coupled with your wavering health and demanding chores to catch up on- you can't be bothered to drag it inside. Your grandpa's farmhouse is already crowded as it is. You've set up five kegs and two storage chests- your little bed crammed into the corner next to the fireplace. It's an awkward set up but it's practical.

"The sun was angry today...My skin is a bit too delicate, I'm afraid," Elliott remarks as he lifts his arms and regards them thoughtfully. Beneath the dirt staining them- he's a raw sort of pink color and you swear you can see at least ten more freckles splashed across his fair skin than when he started this afternoon. Tracing the splattering of marks up his arms- you wonder how they meet the ones that cascade down his throat. It must be somewhere along his wide chest.

"Are you well?" Elliott asks, his usual warm smile dipping into a frown while he regards you- and your attention snaps away from where you'd been staring at his collar. Instead, you admire your recently crafted wind chime. Tittering in the wind where it hangs from your rafter- nodding as you swallow hard. Your mouth is dry. 

"Fine," you say, offering a strained smile and unable to meet his eyes. Elliott parses you with ease- green gaze roaming your features as he'd done during your recovery. Its like a habit- one you hope he never breaks because your gut swoops and swoops. Whatever he discovers seems to merit no immediate action on his part because he lolls into the cushion further. Head thrown back on the loveseat- Elliott sighs reverently while the sun sinks into the tree line. The sky is a a vivid orange- the kind of light that washes everything in gold. 

A new topic of conversation makes itself known to you through the distraction of Elliott's closeness and the very real sense memory of the last time you'd been so near to each other. 

"Mayor Lewis has a statue of himself in his backyard," you announce with an expression that Elliott rights himself to witness. Leaning forwards to cement you more plainly in his gaze. The old springs of the couch creak under his weight. One of his denim clad legs pushes into yours. The heat of him spreads into your bare thigh. Beneath the sunburn- Elliott gapes at you- brows nearly meeting his lush hairline in disbelief.

"Yoba, you're serious," Elliott surmises, one hand sweeping across his face- stuttering when his rough stubble meets his blisters- and a smile plays on your lips because you're not sure if he'll believe this next bit. It's outlandish even to you and you'd been the one to witness it in the flesh- err- metal. 

"I'm pretty sure it's made of solid gold," you say- wincing to recall that one time you'd lifted the lid on Mayor Lewis's garbage can- expecting to find the usual trash or small treasure- and inside lay a damn gold bar. Who under Yoba's light, throws away a bar of precious metal?  you'd wondered, practically climbing into his trash to retrieve said item. Not even caring for the lecture if someone were to find you. Yoba, how could Mayor Lewis behave like this? That was what you thought even before you found the statue. Then you had more questions and even fewer answers.

Elliott flounders for a few moments like one of the fish you hook. Pretty mouth opening and closing over words he can't seem to find. Once again, his hand stutters through a sweeping motion. This time it threads its path through his hair- still mostly contained in a loose bun at the base of his neck- but Elliott winces and you're not sure if its for his farming wounds or the idea of your small town Mayor embezzling coin for his injurious form of narcissism.

"Was this recently?" he asks and you nod and Elliott's brow furrows. A crease of concern dividing the strong red lines of his eyebrows in a familiar expression. It's one he's worn often in these last few weeks- whenever he thought you weren't paying attention and he was silently appraising your wellbeing between farm chores. Doctor Harvey's lecture had left him unsettled like he'd never known it. 

Elliott lifts a blistered hand towards you, turns it over and presses the back to your forehead- holds it there for a serious breath. Giggling, you shove his attentions away.

"I wasn't hallucinating," you say, and Elliott smiles despite the serious look he tries to maintain. Letting his hand remain in yours- Elliott leans on his free arm- propped up on his knee- and regards you with a fond affection.

"I never said that," Elliott says, and when you pull your hand from him in mock affront- his own tightens around you- gentle enough you could be rid of his grip if you wanted to but you allow him to center it to him. Elliott tucks your arm into his side, tugging you more firmly to him- your shoulder brushing his while his own shake through a rumbling laugh. It builds and builds- drawing your own to join.

Together, in the blazing final light of the setting sun, you come up with a hundred million motivations as to why Mayor Lewis would do such a thing. Elliott doesn't even ask you for proof- and you suppose his writerly imagination doesn't need such silly notions. The clouds shift from soft purple to deep blue as you write Mayor Lewis into one of Elliott's novels. Transcribing your small town Mayor into a villain character with enough separating characteristics to dispel any accusations of living or dead comparisons. The stars twinkle and the fireflies blip near the long grass and over the frilly ears of corn you'd planted in summer while you plot with your flame haired author. Surely, Mayor Lewis could brew tea with how fiercely his ears must be burning.

Eventually, the lantern on your porch is the only light you have left- and it's hardly enough to enjoy Elliott's smiles- so you invite him inside with the promise of a hot meal and first aid for his blisters.

"I could never refuse you," Elliott says with an soft look from where he rises to stand and while you ruck off your boots- Elliott growls through a long stretch. Admiring him before you step inside- Elliott's arms stretch overhead so that his fingers graze the ceiling slats of your porch- despite all the dirt and grime- he's a picture of beauty that you could get used to.

A tug in your chest at the thought. Of the chance to see Elliott with a chicken held under his arm while he rakes hay over their run, looking serene with his tiny feathered dinosaur companion. Of returning to him at the end of a long day in the mines- cozying up with a book on the porch or beside the fireplace. The idle fantasy of a happy life with him on the farm trickles alongside the view of him. Yoba, why is he so attractive? you wonder while he undoes the tie from his hair- red locks flowing over his broad shoulders before the screen door slaps closed behind you. Why is the quiet farm life you've enjoyed alone up to now suddenly feel empty?

A short while later, where you pray to Yoba that somehow you've managed to impress Elliott with the heated up can of HarvestHaven beans and a few fried up farm eggs and foraged mushrooms- you're sitting on your bed with Elliott. The contents of your first aid kit are sprawled between you while you gently apply ointment to his blisters, Elliott's soft hisses the only sound while you work. His breath feathers across your crown with his elegant hand in your lap. His closeness to you making your care linger longer than it really needs. But you're no Doctor Harvey, so you suppose it's an acceptable amount of time. It's certainly longer than you give yourself- more often rubbing dirt into your blisters and moving on.

Elliott doesn't rush you, nor does he complain as you wrap his hands with bandages to cover the raw sores. A pang of guilt thrums through you- to think of his injured hands tinkling across the keys of his piano or lifting a pen to scrawl a new chapter for his novel. Whatever Elliott choses to pursue creatively will be tinged with the sting of his labor in your fields. You loose an unhappy sound at this thought, and Elliott adds his own. 

Despair claws in your gut as he shifts in his spot- one long leg crossed under the other- his shoulders sloped inwards to allow you easier access to his hands. Although he's curled in on himself like a shy hermit crab in the mouth of its shell- you still have to lift your gaze to see the thin line of his mouth. Curled into a frown, Elliott's eyes are focused on where your hands flutter over his as you tape off the end of the wrapping in his wide palm. The raised callouses on your own hands have broken and healed over countless times. The skin rough with months of acclimatizing to your work and you're about to assure Elliott that he need never take up a spade on your property ever again when he speaks.

"Sometimes I wonder if I might just have an inflated self-image and no real skills...," Elliott remarks with a tight sigh as he flexes his newly wrapped hand while you begin unrolling gauze around the other. 

Surprise flickers across your face- and you're sat too close to Elliott for him to miss the expression. How could he say such a thing? you wonder, thinking of the hours and hours he's dedicated to his craft. Shutting himself in whenever it rains because he has no other obligations during the downpours. Yoba, the man even moved to Pelican Town- seeking isolation and inspiration for his novels. Despite being a stranger, he'd made himself a notable member of the town which spoke to his keen sociability. It would be easy to remain the strange outsider, especially living as he did- but nonetheless Elliott had made a well respected name for himself whilst pursuing his goals. 

Elliott was abundant with skills that you both admired and envied. 

"You have taken up the spade faster and far better than I would a pen," you tell Elliott who huffs a laugh. Amusement and pride playing across his face at your praise. The sunburnt bridge of his nose and cheeks turns a deeper shade of red. Pulling the lantern closer, you pretend it's to get a better look at his hands despite the fact you continue to stare at his blushing face.

"No No… I'm not fishing for compliments. Though they are appreciated...," Elliott says, his hand shaking through the laugh he allows himself. His handsome features wilt as quickly as the amusement arrives to your dismay.

"I've been working day and night to finish my novel," Elliott tells you and the darkness beneath his eyes when he arrives in the mornings speaks to this. The way he should look refreshed- should be collapsing in his cot after the long days tending your farm in your stead- and yet he picks up pen, paper and post at his writing desk. "It's driving me insane," Elliott adds with a heavy sigh and shake of his head, red locks swaying over his frustrated look.

"These last few days of ensuring your care- the occasional tune played upon my piano- is all the recreation I allow myself- and even then- I'm plotting and mentally editing as I go," Elliott admits, emerald gaze tracing over an invisible manuscript with fervor. His fingers twitch in yours- as though he grasps a pen. Shame storms his face in the wake of this admittance and his free hand clasps yours for a firm squeeze.

Guilt threatens to swallow you up despite his touch. Elliott registers the stillness in you with a small gasp- as though realizing the weight of his words in their entirety. Did you believe yourself a burden to him? When it was his own lambasted brain to blame for becoming infernally distracted. In truth, caring for you has only spurned ideas for his romance novel. The intimate setting of your farm. The closeness of you and the small understanding he's gained of the extent of your work here. If he's honest- which he'd never admit out loud so crassly- he's allowed himself the indulgence of another type of recreation. The kind that saw him fisting himself at his writing desk after a day spent at your side. An ache in him like a wound- longing for your touch and attention. The sort he wrote of in his novel. 

Elliott clears his throat. 

"Please do not parse my words as complaint," Elliott hurries to assure your crestfallen state, "I've enjoyed getting my hands dirty," he says with a reassuring grin, despite the betrayal of his words for the state of his mind. It didn't help that you insisted on helping with the tasks he was meant to complete for you. Elliott tried to keep you away- bringing books he thought you might enjoy to distract you- insisting you rest, but nonetheless he found you with spade or watering can in hand whenever his back was turned for longer than a few breaths. While he admired your work ethic, he fretted for your condition- and so he paid close attention lest a repeat of the day at the beach occurred. Or that's what he tells himself, when his focus is locked on your form. The way your body moves to easily adjust to whatever chore. The invigorating sounds you made while you toiled. The little noises beside him- your grunts, curses, words of admonishment or praise while you throttled the dried up crops from the soil in order to plant new ones. Yoba shines, Elliott had too much inspiration for his writing.

Despite his lack of acquaintance with regular hard labor, he'd found his stride in the farm chores quickly enough. Arguably too soon as he often found himself fantasizing. Imagining pulling those pretty sounds out of you with his hands, his mouth, his cock.

Yoba, does he want you.

"I'm only upset with my own workload- my writing," Elliott clarifies, "There's so much to do. And my bank account is running dry," Elliott says, a forlorn expression lancing through his usually pleasant features. Something spears your heart alongside it. The thought that Elliott might up and leave Stardew Valley at a moment's notice is enough to make you want to burst into tears. The idea of him or Leah leaving- especially with all the help they've given you- and what if you don't have the chance to repay their kindness? The beans in your gut churn at the thought.

"Sometimes I wish I could throw it all away and become a farmer like you," Elliott remarks- and you can see that truth buried in his green eyes. The sea reflects in them. Soggy pages floating on the tumultuous surface before they'll sink to the bottom while the writer stands on the pier. Relief and agony written on his perfect face. Somehow the solution arrives in your mind- even though you also see Elliott- ever the tortured writer- diving into the ocean and fervently splashing about until all his notes are collected.

"Come live on the farm," you blurt out before the words can be ground into silence, and yet you dig the hole further- because that's what you were good at after all these months on the farm alone, "I could use the extra help."

Your words hang in the silence left behind them with the grace and tact as though you'd hammered them into Elliott's perfect forehead. The nervous laughter you tack on the end of them arrives too late- all strangled up in your throat and hollow once its done echoing around your teeth- gritted in a strained smile.

Elliott startles at your invitation- fingers twitching in yours before he stiffens. The air turns to paste and you attempt to breathe but inwardly wish your lungs would simply stop working- that you could pass out and avoid this next part. Crawl into the hole you've just made and disappear.

"Seriously?" Elliott asks, shock and surprise blending in his features before he turns away- allowing you a moment to steel yourself as you hurry to finish wrapping his hand. Elliott peers around your crowded cabin- so full of random items and oddly placed farm machines- opposite to his minimally decorated home- which only furthers your wish to fade away from his impending response.

Yoba shine upon you, you berate yourself, Illuminate me from within so I don't need to witness that which I have brought upon myself, you pray despite the fact that you knew Yoba was responsible for such enlightening's. There won't be any looking away from this- at least Elliott's worth it you suppose. Yoba knows you'd expressed your silly ideas to less prettier or thoughtful people. And Elliott takes up your social slack with ease- with unbothered, easy affection.

But there's something considerate in Elliott's gaze. In the way he shuffles beneath your awkward invitation, hand clenching in yours to wrap around your fingers for a brief instance. Thumb worrying over your own so that something warm and hopeful rises from the pit your gut has become. Where all your thoughts have plunged into darkness.

Elliott's smile is fond when he turns back to you.

"It sounds wonderful...," he begins, leaving enough room behind the compliment to allow you an intake of breath that you hold- waiting for the other star to drop from the sky because the first one that ever fell became the Stardrop-- and whatever came after was just wishful thinking.

"But I cannot give up on my novel. It's already half-way done," Elliott says with a gentle tone and you nod with a half smile that Elliott returns with a wide one of his own- and to your massive relief it crinkles his face. Meeting his eyes with sincerity. It's not forced or strained. It's no different than the one he sent you from the field this afternoon. The flash of his teeth bolsters you against your word vomit- and you laugh nervously before taping off the wrap on his palm. No longer held hostage to your mediocre first aid- you expect him to stand and take his leave. Yoba knows, you'd want an escape route if you were in his boots. But Elliott remains. Only adjusting his seat to face you more completely.

Pleased that you are no longer distressed, Elliott can't help the heavy sigh that falls out of him as though he was holding his breath, "Sorry I'm complaining like this. I just need someone to talk to now and then," Elliott adds and although the words of his kind rejection sting- landing in the hollow part of you that echoes with grief and loneliness- you can't help but be pleased that you've become that someone to him. Of course, he and Leah had been fast friends even before your arrival in Pelican Town- but Elliott's honesty this evening feels like a secret pact. A shared pain found in the burn of blisters- of burden spread. Given his sleep deprivation- you can't blame him for venting, especially when you're own overworking was now causing his. You're delighted to be his confidant. 

"Could I implore you to share one last burden with me, dear farmer?" Elliott asks and you nod, which Elliott smiles at for the hastiness of your agreement.

"Would you apply this to my face?" Elliott says, sliding a botte of green goo out of his pocket across your bed sheets, "My cabin does not have a mirror," Elliott says and you're about to offer up your own- its a small cosmetic one attached to your bathroom wall. But Elliott's leaning into your space- and he smells pleasantly of soil and sweat and salt. It's as though your farm has claimed him in some small way. His own words echo back to you from the porch.

"How could I refuse?" you ask with a teasing grin and Elliott shimmies closer to you- long legs caging you in between his strong thighs.

"Doctor Harvey gave it to me last summer. I went for a regular check up- the first time we met- and he immediately warned me about the dangers of the sun," Elliott remarks with an amused chuckle while you brush a soft lock of hair behind his reddened ear. Elliott ducks his head to be closer to you- the tresses you'd only just contained falling free once more.

"Sorry," Elliott says, bashful, before he lifts his hands only for them to pause before the bandages graze his locks awkwardly. It's like he's trying to stir a pot with oven mitts on- his fingers barely curl around his hair.

"Allow me," you say, carefully gathering up his soft, long hair behind his head and tying it all together in a loose pony tail. The action draws you closer- your arms hooked over his wide shoulders- your cheek nearly pressed to his so you can observe your progress on your task. Elliott has a lot of hair- and you enjoy the momentary closeness especially when Elliott's breath fans over your face and throat.

The morning in his bed springs to mind- and the springs of your old mattress give under your shifting weight so that the cushion dips on your retreat. The leg holding your weight drops towards the floor- and you jerk in response- afraid to fall but Elliott grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him. Instinctively, you latch onto your savior- fingers clutching to broad shoulders which shake under your touch with gentle amusement.

"Careful," Elliott admonishes playfully and you huff- trying to find the jar of goo you dropped in your blankets. Amidst your efforts- you slide further into his lap. Your legs straddling his solid torso and then his hips until you're seated a top him. Elliott's hands anchor you to him- thumbs rubbly idly on your thighs. Content to observe your struggles while you twist on his lap and rip apart the blankets. 

Finally, cool glass in hand you turn back to him. Elliott's gaze is scorching. Once again his cheeks are a deeper shade of red than the sunburn. The furious blush competes with the green of his eyes- now hooded with longing that turns them a darker shade. Like the deep forests behind his cabin. You feel like a figure in the distant tree line- about to be swallowed whole. 

The room feels as though you've got a fire raging in it. Elliott rubs a pattern into your legs- hands twitching to move but resolutely still while you lift the green tinged goop to his face and begin to apply it. The scent is like cactus plant flesh. Elliott's eyes flutter closed at your touch and part of you is grateful. His skin is warm like a fever- and his longing gaze makes you want to combust. Squirming slightly because you're all too aware of where your center is slotted over his hard length- Elliott's wrapped hands twitch and lift to your hips- squeezing while a strangled noise shakes through his chest.

A stuttered breath follows.

Your own breathing becomes rapid when his brows furrow- the crease between them betraying his words.

"I'm fine," Elliott says, "It doesn't hurt-," he adds when your fingers hover over his nose where you're starting to rub the product into the mild burn there. 

Well, maybe you're sitting on him isn't comfortable- you move to rise and remove yourself- but Elliott's hands grasp you more firmly. A soft growl joins the insistent action.

"Sorry-," Elliot says, eyes flashing open to meet yours- longing blowing them out to brushed velvet, "You feel so good-," Elliott admits, his voice deeper than before. Your own gaze is all pupils. Flustered glances between his face and where your bodies meet- and the green goo in your hands like you can't land on the path forward. Elliott knows a place where you can land- over and over - writhing against him until you make a pretty series of sounds. Just for him. All for him.

Elliott inhales sharply before his hands push at you, and he all but stands on your bed. Depositing you beside him before he's striding to your door.

Oh. This rejection stings a little more than the earlier one. The loss of his hands- the closeness of him- the loss of him is like the ache of a raw wound.

"I'm sorry," Elliott says as he tugs on his boots, "I lose all control around you, my sweet," Elliott says- a pained expression when he turns to you- one bandaged hand on your doorknob- the other fisted at his side. The bulge you'd felt between your thighs is evident in the straining of his jeans- and Elliott doesn't bother to hide it. His lust written all over him. Your own is clawing in your gut. Lifting the green goo out to him for something to do despite your clouded thoughts- Elliott strides back to you. Collecting the glass bottle, his touch like a spark against your buzzing skin- Elliott's next move surprises you. Bending, Elliott places a soft kiss upon your crown before he's gone.

The screen door of your farmhouse squeaks and slaps closed in his wake. The rush of cool autumn air that it allows in does nothing to assuage the heat coursing through you. Despite his sudden departure, your heart thrums a happy song. As delicate as a squash flower- hope unfurls in your chest.

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Elliott's birthday arrives. Giddy as soon as your eyes open- you grab the wrapped package of ink and duck feather and dash outside. Rain pelts you with heavy, cold droplets and your heart sinks to the muddy puddles around your boots. Clutching the gift to your chest, you retreat inside with a frustrated sigh.

You know the man too well to make the journey to the beach. Elliott won't have visitors- not even to celebrate- when it rains like this. Leah drops by in the evening- the rain still holding strong despite your prayers to Yoba to make it leave- if only for long enough the driven writer might notice you peering in his window expectantly. But alas, the weather channel is always right. You'd just been too tired to check it last night before collapsing in your bed. The Stardew Valley Fair is right around the corner- and Leah uses the topic to distract you from your woe. 

"What are you doing for your first grange display?" Leah queries, a carving knife whittles a piece of wood in her hand while you crack eggs for your mayonnaise machine. The pile of wood shavings at her feet grows while the egg shells are rinsed- you'll dry them and feed them back to your chickens. You don't miss the number Leah's attached to your competition at the Fair- your first time attending. Leah wants you to stay in Pelican Town and host innumerable grange displays.

"I have a few iridium quality fish that I salted," you say, and Leah's face scrunches up like when she shares memories about her ex. You think it's because- like you- she's not from here- that she doesn't share the townsfolk appreciation of fish.

"I also made some cheese. And wine. But they're not even silver quality," you say, disappointed in your efforts and Leah's knife stutters to a halt.

"What kind?" she asks.

"Cow's milk," you reply and she shakes her head.

"The wine--."

"Salmonberry," you reply, wincing apologetically because Leah makes a gagging sound. The item she works on is held up as she heaves into her elbow- and you notice it's a shaped like a peg doll. The wooden person has a tiny pointed hat. Based on the beard- of which you've seen Leah carve once before when she made Linus into a doll- the person is male- which must make it the wizard. Jas will be pleased with Leah's latest creation for her doll house- which at this point was nearly a full recreation of Pelican Town- and you suspect this doll was specially requested with how often Jas jumps rope and admires Rasmodius's tower from afar.

Leah's face is pinched when she finally returns to her task of freeing the mage's hand from the wood prison it once was. He's clutching a book in the other- and it only serves to remind you of Elliott. You sigh a sad little sound, forcing away your unhappiness at the weather for the fortune of spending time with your friend.

Leah's been trying to get her art business off the ground. Starting with the success of her art gallery hosted in town in late summer- she's now setting up an online shop. You're impressed by her tenacity- despite the fact that her ex, Kel, had shown up at the gallery- Leah didn't let him shake her up. You admired your friend's resilience. That she pursued her dreams with a fierce some intensity even in the wake of Kel's abuse. Thankfully, he'd only appeared during the auction- and had lingered at the edges of it all. Still, it bothered you- the way he stared at Leah obsessively, without saying a word and disappearing before you'd helped her take down the booth. You hadn't wanted to mention his presence- with Leah being so thrilled at the turn out of followers from her social media- and the townsfolk's support. But she'd noticed him from the stage- her eyes darting to his form like a habit. Her voice thin and tight all of a sudden- a thread of fear weaving its way into her words. Elliott had noticed Kel next- tracking Leah's focus to the stranger- you didn't even know what he looked like until Elliott's gaze verged on murderous and the stars connected. Gut dropping to your boots when Elliott placed himself beside Kel- arms crossed, brow furrowed- letting his disregard be known in the way he glared at Kel who eventually tore his eyes away from Leah. Afraid a fight might happen- you'd braced yourself at Elliott's side- but Kel had tucked tail and run off like a coward when faced with Elliott's quiet fury. 

It infuriates you to think of what Leah faced before she came to Pelican Town. How she'd startle when you stumbled around a berry bush while she foraged for mushrooms or ferns in the secret woods. Her knife trembling in her hands until she marked you as friendly. The way she watched the door of the Saloon like a constant dark vigil- sipping on her one and only glass of wine- afraid to let loose and be caught off guard. In those nights you walked home with her- taking the route past Marnie's farm to her cabin by the river- Leah had shared the awful ways Kel had treated her. Like she only felt safe enough to repeat them beneath the cover of the stars.

Deciding to keep the topic light- you deposit the egg mixture in the mayonnaise machine and drag one mismatched wooden chair from your dining table to join her.

"What's it like at the Fair?" you ask and Leah's fingers pause over her whittling for her gaze to regard you for a moment as she ponders.

"Well, Gus is at the grill all day. Mostly burgers, some hotdogs and the odd veggie skewer for the weirdo out of towners like me," Leah says with a roguish smile, " I've never tried it- but Shane says his barbecue sauce is the best he's ever had," Leah says with a shrug, "I wonder if I bring him a chanterelle- if he'll throw it on the grill for me?" Leah wonders, musing thoughtfully.

"Oh, mushroom burger?" you say, and Leah nods hungrily despite the fact that every mushroom you'd foraged so far this season has ended up in her hands. Small thanks for her help on your farm while you recovered.

"There's a few booths set up across from the grange displays. Typical fair games," Leah adds, "Pierre and Marnie are the usual winners for the granges- but Robin always has a gorgeous assortment of wood. And Clint and Marlin are in their own silent competition. Solid spreads, the both of them," Leah says, her focus straying from the conversation as she carefully carves a face into the doll.

"Is there a lot of tourists?" you ask, curious about how busy the event will be- most of the ones you'd attended had only been with the inhabitants of Pelican Town. 

"They come from all across Stardew Valley- hence the name. It's the place to be," Leah says with a proud smile before it falters, "I've heard some people travel in from Zuzu city," she says, the tension clear on her face. Kel lives there. You pray to Yoba that's where he ran away to after Elliott scared him off at the gallery and that's where he will remain.

Leah admires her work before she stands the doll on your worn dining table and twirls it to face you. An angular, wooden little wizard stares back at you. A fierce expression on his tiny face- like he's in the midst of casting a spell. As though procuring her own sort of magic, Leah slides a paint palette towards you and a few paint brushes. 

"Jas liked your painting of Shane," Leah says with a fond smile and your own proud one is reflected- you'd worked hard to add as much details to the small doll. Shane's facial hair, the ever bedraggled Joja sweater- the blue chicken held under his arm. You'd even managed to dot on a few pieces of pepperoni onto the pizza slice in his grasp.

There's a funny blob on the wizard's shoulder- and Leah snorts a small laugh when you look puzzled.

"Those magical apple creatures you keep telling me about," Leah says and your mind is flung to the old community center- where the strange, colorful blobs had made themselves known to you. "I think I saw one by the river last week," Leah adds, "Maybe it was an old fisher's bobber," she says with a shrug but her face is whimsical- like a child's. Her happy wonder makes your heart shine. Ever since Kel's unwelcome appearance- Leah had been tense. Honing her sculptures with an intensity- like she could wear down her lifted edges. The ones that Kel had uprooted. Destroying her sense of anonymity- of safety- that she'd found in Pelican Town.

"I'm proud of you," you say and Leah startles- her hands twitching over the handle of her carving knife. "For putting yourself out there with your gallery- being vulnerable with your art," you continue, offering your friend a big smile between brush stokes as you paint on the wizard's night sky cape.

Leah blushes- a ruby color filling her freckled cheeks- the same shade as Elliott's, you muse warmly, before the lines of her eyes grow wet and her lip trembles. Leah flings her carving knife aside- and hauls you into a big hug. Her shoulders shake under your chin- as she weeps in your embrace. She smells like sawdust and fresh air. Something earthy in the perfume she wears underlying a sweet berry scent. 

"I'm proud of you too," Leah warbles from the side of your head- her fingers clutching to you before she pulls back and cements you in her blazing sights. Your usually stoic friend is a flurry of fierce emotions.

"You've done so much with this farm," Leah says- gesturing at the space around you- her arm casting out to the fields. "I've read a lot about sustainable agriculture-," she says, and you nod- she's given you a lot of helpful advice and references from the library, "I'm so impressed with what you've done here," Leah says- beaming at you, her features still a little wild with her tears.

Leah squeezes your hand- mouth twitching through a smile that plays over her face before she exhales shakily.

"I'm so grateful we've become friends," she says and your smile joins hers.

"Me too," you say- the doll temporarily discarded to give your friend another hug.

When Leah retreats- she swipes the wet from her face and sniffles harshly.

"I know you're sad you couldn't see Elliott today," she says and you try to disguise the pang of disappointment that racks through your frame at her assessment of you- wishing you'd hidden your emotions better for your friends sake. Sure, you feel like you'd missed something important with Elliott- but you enjoyed spending this evening with Leah despite it going differently than you'd hoped. 

A bubble of laughter titters out of your friend.

"I know I'm not the red head you'd hoped to be getting cozy with tonight-," Leah says with a suggestive wiggle of her own scarlet brows and you fluster- taking up the doll and dotting stars across the mage's cape. Paint brush trembles in your fingers as you plop too fat blobs of white onto the doll's outfit.

"You're falling for him, aren't you?" Leah asks and your shocked gaze meets her dreamy one. That same whimsical look from earlier dancing over her expression. There's something safe there- like a spacious room for you to admit your truth and although Leah was quick to tease- she was equally quick to soften.

"I think I am," you whisper- because giving any more voice to the words- especially sat in your grandpa's farmhouse- feels like you're confessing your shadows to Yoba. Leah's answering smile is bright. 

"I knew it," she says, wiggling in her seat like a child waiting for their gift beneath the tree of the Winter Star. 

"What if he doesn't feel the same as me?" you ask, and Leah laughs- it's a mixture of a surprised guffaw and titters off into a warm fondness at your creased brow.

"Have you seen the way he looks at you?" Leah asks, and you fluster. There were moments you could hardly look at Elliott he was so devastatingly handsome alongside his quick wit. The flourish of his words- the nearness of him to you- all of it stacked up in your awareness so that you were full of him without even needing to look. Given his height- and you'd find a comfortable resting spot for your eyes to remain just below the collar of his shirt where his vest was buttoned up. The tresses of his dangling hair making it evident enough that he kept you well within his sights despite you averting your own flustered gaze.

"There's definitely something there," Leah surmises confidently and you can't help the smile tugging at your lips.

"You think so?" you ask, a fierce hope swelling in your chest while your gut swoops and swoops.

Leah nods with a wide grin- her expression falling when yours does on a heavy sigh.

"The rain was a bit of an unexpected plot twist," you say sourly- eyeing the package on your kitchen hutch that contained the ink and quill. Said rain pelts the roof of your farmhouse- bucketing down with sustained gusts of wind that rattled the shutters and panes of your windows.

"Last year, he went to visit his family," Leah tells you and you perk in your seat- curious as you dab your paintbrush into the purple pot and scrawl the color along the spine of the wizard's book.

"He'll probably visit them tomorrow," Leah continues, and you flick through your memories with Elliott- trying to recall any previously mentioned relatives. Anguished when you come up with blanks- Leah sets her chin in her hand and sighs tightly- reluctant to continue lest it disappoint you further.

"He stays with his parents in Zuzu City for a few days- and then goes to visit his brother and sister in Grampleton," she says- offering a sympathetic look as your mind tracks the maps and math. Elliott would be gone for a week and a half if Leah is right. A sense of loss rips through you. Not that you wouldn't have your own work cut out for you- preparing your grange display and for the Fair. Would Elliott return in time to see your efforts and still wish to celebrate his birthday? you wondered.

Leah tries to lift your disappointed mood.

"Last year he came back in time to eat his bodyweight in burgers," Leah chuckles, "And he told me he wouldn't miss this year's Fair for anything," she says- another suggestive wiggle of her ruby brows sent your way- causing your own to lift in surprise. Hope bubbles up in your chest- shredding the seeds of doubt that tried to take root.

"Don't worry," Leah says, reaching out to rub your arm in a soothing gesture. "You'll get your chance to shine in front of your second favorite red head," Leah says and you chuckle at her tease.

"Robin is a strong, admirable woman," you retort with a hint of sass in your tone so that Leah rips her hand away from you- mouth agape with scandal but a smile threatens to curl her lips.

"You want to turn impromptu girl's night into a war?" Leah says, arching an eyebrow playfully.

"How about a truce?" you say, rising and depositing the partially painted doll to raid your kitchen. 

Leah quietly considers your proposal while you gather wine glasses and a bottle opener. 

"If it's salmonberry..." Leah lifts her carving knife and stabs the air with a mock furious look that makes you snort.

Cranking open the selected bottle, you stride back to the table. Setting a glass in front of your friend- you pour while staring at her. Leah's gaze tracks from the purple red liquid to your assured smile before she leans in and inhales from her freshly poured glass.

A wide grin breaks her mock serious features. For her birthday, you'd gifted her some Stardrop tea- and after collecting enough blackberries to fill every container in your farmhouse- you'd decided to ferment them with some of the left over Stardrop tea you'd been saving.

Leah takes a sip and gushes.

"Oh, wow... I had a sip of this stuff when I was a kid, and I've never forgotten the taste,” Leah says with a happy grin before taking another sip, "What is it? There's blackberry-," she wonders, trying to identify the cut of dryness the tea adds.

"Stardrop tea," you say proudly.

Leah kicks her feet and lifts her glass triumphantly.

"You need to add this to your grange! You'll win guaranteed. Mayor Lewis can't resist a good cup of tea- let alone adding it to wine!" Leah says excitedly and you drink deeply from your own glass, amusement alight in your features at your friends enthusiasm.

"This is the only bottle," you say and Leah deflates for a breath before she beams once more.

Leah murmurs into her glass before smiling through another sip. Licking her newly berry stained lips to appreciate the taste of your ingenious flavors and precious token of friendship. From across your dining table, strewn with wood shavings and marred with wet paint, Leah's voice carries through her grin.

"I knew I was your favorite." 

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The day of the Fair comes faster than you anticipate.  You'd been more eager for Elliott's return than anything else- counting down on your calendar according to Leah's recollection of his previous birthday trip. Finally- the fourteenth of Fall arrives. You'd even crawled into your bed earlier than your usual 2AM collapse- just so unconsciousness would carry you faster to Elliott's arrival. 

Morning crows all too quickly- and the sound of the winged beasts tugs you from your dreams. Only a figment of your imagination, you assume as the sky has barely shifted from night to dawn. The length of its wide expanse is a paler shade of indigo- but deep and dark nonetheless. Like a crow's wing. The stars refuse to leave as the mountainous horizon lightens. Rolling out of bed- far earlier than even you're used to- you trudge into your kitchen- rejecting the idea of starting this day with anything less than one cup of coffee in your system. 

A mental checklist of tasks is already scrolling through your sleepy mind. Eyes barely cracked as you slide a pot of water onto your stove. Procuring your chosen mug from the dishrack where it rests with one lonely set of cutlery and a singular plate- what was the use of putting away your dishes when you used the same ones over and over? You tug off the lid of coffee container only to stare into its depths and see your butcher block counter through the clear glass bottom of the jar.

It's empty.

Shit, you curse. With all the madness that had been your days of preparing for this one- you'd forgotten to roast a new batch of coffee beans. Dismayed, you scrounge for the last remnants of fine grounds- feeling like a miner panning for precious grains of gold. You barely fill a teaspoon. It'll be the weakest cup of coffee that's ever been brewed- but alas it would have to get you through. There weren't any cafes or coffee shops in Pelican Town. One of the few downsides you still considered of staying or leaving once the one year anniversary arrives.

But the town was yet young despite it's long heritage. There was still time for the youthful blood within to establish their own businesses much like you were trying to do. Emily comes to mind- perhaps even Haley might join such a venture. A sister owned and operated café full of plants, crystals and aesthetic menus with pictures of the organic, fair trade food and beverage options. Emily's experience with bartending at the Stardrop combined with Haley's no nonsense attitude and strong social media presence might just form the perfect team. Yoba, with all the space in their parent's home- they could probably run the business out the back. A neat little home run café near the town courtyard. A little bit of landscaping in the back garden, some minor renovations by Robin- it could be a perfect little addition to Pelican Town's food fare, you muse.

The first sip of the so called coffee you'd desperately brewed is enough to jump start your day with just how awful it tastes. Discarding the pitiful cup after choking down a few mouthfuls, you push off the thought of the impending headache and start your daily chores. Caffeine deprivation be damned. You had stuff to do- grange displays to win, out of towners to impress- hopefully striking produce delivery deals. There was much potential in the day to be had.

The Fair would have to wait until your hens and Sir Quackington were fed, the crops watered, corn harvested and honey collected. Already you'd neglected many aspects of your farm for planning, collecting and organizing your grange display- let alone a full days work abandoned for fun and festivities. Striding past the collapsing fences, half-tapped trees and a myriad of other tasks you wanted to complete before Winter arrived- you get to work.

By the time the sun has fully crested the mountains- you've finished all you need to do. Wagon packed with your grange items, chickens clucking in their run, sunflowers lifting their frilly heads to the morning light- you take one mostly satisfied look at your little farm and offer a small prayer to Yoba for letting you get this far. In all your years at Joja Corp, you'd never been given a proper chance to display all your hard work and efforts for any sort of recognition or reward. This grange competition could highlight the time and energy you've poured into restoring your Grandpa's farm. It could help your produce and goods reach further than Stardew Valley. 

Leaving the farm, you take the South route to town. Marnie's cows bellow from her fields and you're tempted to drop by Leah's cabin to beg a cup of coffee- or three- but she's likely already at the fair. Continuing on, the Wright family waves as they file out their front door- Kent leading their march to the town courtyard. Sam hangs back and pauses by the river- pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jean pocket and waving off his little brother.

"Go on, Vince," Sam chides, lighter flicking in his fist over and over but he doesn't light the stick until Vincent has punched his thigh and run off with a chirp of excitement. Galloping in his parent's wake- young Vincent is clearly delighted for the sights and sounds to be seen. 

"You should quit," you say with a soft chuckle at Vincent's skip as he latches onto Kent's hand. Sam rolls his eyes as he inhales sharply. The same cutting gaze as his father is both jarring and stunning when it lands on you- although you know it'd bother the shit out of him if you ever brought the comparison up. 

"That's going to hurt when he grows up if you don't," you add, tipping your head in Vincent's direction of departure and then nodding at Sam's leg. Despite the surly look he tries to maintain- the one he reserves for all attempts at authority upon his rebellious person- Sam's lips curl behind the rising smoke in an amused grin.

"You're funny, farmer," Sam teases before he casts a look to the wagon you tug behind you, "Need help with setting up?" he asks, admiring the bulging paper bags you've stacked. Despite his recalcitrant and troublemaking nature- Sam's manners were still forged by his small town upbringing. He only got in as much bad behavior as he could get of with one of those well meaning smiles.

"I'm okay," you say, returning his smile with a pleasantly surprised one of your own, "Thank you," you add and Sam shrugs one broad shoulder before he lifts the cigarette and inhales deeply. Taking your leave- you strain to get the wagon moving once more- and Sam exhales tightly before the cigarette is stubbed out. In a moment- with the ease of being an oldest son- Sam takes up the handle in your stead with a shake of his head.

"My Dad'll kill me if I don't help you," Sam says- a smile playing at his lips when you protest- mildly- because you suspect Sam's aid is offered less for the threat of Kent's disapproval and more for the way Sam steals glances of you whenever he thinks you're paying him no mind. Following in his wake- you admire Sam's kindness- and the ease in which he pulls your overfilled carrier- a pang of guilt that despite the fact he leads the way further into town- that you might be leading him on instead.

You know you're not the first to break the man's heart- Yoba, you'd heard the rumors of near everyone's love life in this little town- but still- you feel a bit heart broken for his impending heart ache. Once he realizes all your affections lie with Elliott- you wonder if your friendship will shift. In your own prior relationships and friendships- you'd felt the rifts of divide rise and cut off your fledgling bonds. It would hurt to lose Sam's sweet presence in your life. You sincerely hope he will take it better than you've known others in your life to. Something tells you he won't become angry or bitter. That he's witnessed too much within his family to allow himself- and even Vincent- to feel anymore of it if its within his control.

Sam takes the cobblestone path between Emily and Haley's house and the little park- shouting his greetings to Grandma Evelyn who waves from the bench.

"Morning, Miss Evelyn," Sam bellows, extra loudly for Grandma Evelyn's aging ears- and she beams from a far. Heads turn in your direction- a lot of them. And a lot of faces belong to strangers. Despite the early hour- the stalls and games booths were still being set up- the courtyard is bustling with activity. 

In the crisp air, strangers carry and drop supply crates, tables and awnings. Others are in the process of setting up their displays. Robin drops a heavy log onto the ground- the loud thump drawing both yours and Sam's attention. The carpenter peers back confused for a moment at Sam and your wagon before she finds your form. Robin lifts her gloved hands in a happy cheer.

"Ohh, you're doing a grange too?" Robin squeals- skipping over to give you a hug and you tuck the extra package carrying Elliott's gift to your side so it won't be crushed with her giddiness.

Robin pulls away, excitement uncontained except to brush some sawdust from your shirt.

"Ahh- sorry, you know how it is," she says, and you nod.

"I've probably left some mayonnaise or honey on your flannel," you retort with a soft laugh when Robin cringes. She loathes mayo for it's tanginess- and bees for the way she mistakes them for the wasps that set up nests in her woodshed.

"Well, you go on up to Mayor Lewis- he'll have your space allotted," she says, "I'll come by later to see your stuff," she adds with an eager grin before she secures Sam in her maternal gaze- her lips tugging into a mild frown.

"You mind her things, Sam," Robin admonishes- the same way she says Sam's name as when she lectures Seb before he's done anything to merit it. From behind her- you offer Sam an apologetic smile that he absorbs into one of his wolfish grins.

"Yes, Ma'am," Sam says- offering a mock solute that Robin huffs at before you continue up to the center of the courtyard where Mayor Lewis stands- directing a group of punctual tourists towards the one, always available attraction. 

The beach.

You can't help but follow his pointed finger as he gives directions to the young family. Hoping to see another redhead in town. Disappointment clunks through you when Elliott is nowhere to be seen despite how desperately you scan the crowd. 

Perhaps, he's slept in, you wonder- having arrived on the late bus last night. After so much travelling, your poor hermit crab of a writer was probably exhausted. Yoba, give him energy, you urge, willing your sleepy Elliott to come out of his shell soon.

"One grange display for the farmer, good Mayor," Sam says to Lewis who chuckles- pulling up his clipboard and adjusting his glasses. After a moment's scrutiny, Mayor Lewis's mustache shuffles beneath his ruddy nose- an amazing likeness to the gold statue he's got stowed away in the corner of his back yard- before he points towards Pierre's grocery store.

"Between Pierre's and Marnie's," Mayor Lewis says with a laugh and wink, "Gotta keep them on their toes," he says, clapping you on the shoulder as you pass in Sam's wake, "Go get 'em, Farmer."

Laughing awkwardly- because you'd imagined your grange would be tucked into a forgotten corner given its your first time of entering the contest- you arrive at Pierre's overflowing stall first. It's closest to the courtyard. Where the other displays are tucked behind the games tents- these granges are the first the tourists will be afforded when they arrive. And you're the second one based on the empty slots between lush vegetables and Marnie's clutches of different colored eggs and the biggest wheel of cheese she could fit. Did she take measurements of the display? Reinforce it? She must have been making cheese for days, you muse, in awe of her efforts.

Already, a steady stream of visitors pours out of the path near the bus stop and you're happy you chose the South route because getting through that crowd would have taken forever. And you had less time than you hoped to set up if you wanted all the arriving eyeballs to see what you had to offer.

Sam parks your wagon close to the wood display and greets Pierre- seemingly intent on giving you a distraction to set up. Thankful for the help- you smile at Marnie as you begin unpacking your items.

She polishes an egg with an old dish towel. The shell is a soft blue color and the pride in her eyes is clearer than the sky above. Not a cloud to mar its surface or Marnie's mood- and keep your Elliott from venturing outside.

"It's good to see you, fellow farmer," Marnie says with a maternal wink that is charmingly awful as she squints her entire face to achieve it and you wonder exactly how much time she's been spending with Mayor Lewis to start adopting his exaggerated mannerisms. Shaking your head to dispel such thoughts- you offer your admirations to her display while you set up yours. Marnie giggles like a school girl before she gushes over the blue chicken eggs that she continues to clean. Freshly laid, she claims they're still warm to the touch.

"Shane just has a way with them, you know?" Marnie says, a note of astonishment and love in her compliments to her nephew who is busy setting up the petting zoo with said blue hens.

Behind you, Sam continues to chat with Pierre. By the time you've finished unpacking your display they've discussed the weather, their projections for how busy the fair will be and at what time, Gus's secret burger recipe, and the economics of hosting such a festival in their town every year. Despite Sam's usual immature topics when he's hanging with Seb- and his interest in arcade games and other such childish pursuits- his answers are thoughtful. Guilt slaps you inwardly- for assuming Sam was immature and childish at all- when clearly his time spent with close friends were ways to blow off steam when every other aspect of his life was rife with responsibility. Being an older brother, the son of a father at war, trying to find a meaningful career path when he's from a small town and options are limited- Sam was far more serious than his usual unbothered disposition lets on.

Even his rebellious streak was always well contained. Never anyone harmed. Never in front of Vincent. And only on the far end of being considered a true nuisance. 

Amidst your quiet admiration of the man- you realize with a dropping sensation in your gut that you're one item short of your nine items required to compete. Hands thrusting in and out of the brown paper bags as you desperately recount your goods- Marnie notices your distress first.

"What's wrong, dear?" Marnie asks, crouching beside you as your head begins to throb. 

Shit, shit, double shit, you curse inwardly. There's a pounding behind your eyes as your stress mounts and you're not sure if you'll grind your teeth to nubs or burst into tears first.

"I'm an item short," you whisper harshly- your breathing picking up as you debate your options. You could return to the farm and grab something- but the crowd has thickened. The courtyard was brimming with people and you don't even want to imagine what it might be like in front of the bus stop. The South route would take too long. There was only a quarter hour before the competition would begin.

Marnie gasps softly beside you- her eyes scouring your items before her own display.

"I'd offer you something of mine-," Marnie says with a distraught look before she holds up a blue egg, "But this is the only extra I have," she says, and the We're the only farm with blue eggs need not be said. You smile at her nonetheless- thankful for her intentions if not for the still empty slot in your grange.
A part of you doesn't want to compete that way regardless. Sure, your chickens came from Marnie- but the eggs they produced were all with your efforts. To take from her would feel like cheating, even if she's offering to help. 

You wanted this grange to be all you. Your hard work. Your blood, sweat and tears. Which the latter was looking to be what would fill your grange slot. Full to the brim with your crying if you didn't figure out something quickly. Marnie squeezes your shoulder when you sniff harshly and Sam's head snaps to you.

"What's wrong?" Sam asks, concern rife in his voice as he crouches beside you. 

"She's one item short," Marnie says over your head while you haul air into your lungs- scared you're going to launch into a fit of tears in front of a hoard of strangers. You didn't want to be disqualified before the competition even began.

"Can't be-," Sam says, the sound of paper bags crinkling as he sorts through your items. Carefully he bends and rises- placing your chosen items into the grange as he counts beneath his breath. The same way when he counts his band into a song. 

"- six, seven, eight. Fuck," Sam curses and Marnie scowls beside you while one slot- the middle one- glares back at you. Hollow as your gut that drops to the ground and you curl around it- pleading with Yoba for an answer.

"Language!," Marnie hisses above you, eyeing the children on the other side of the cobblestone path but Sam ignores her- bending to meet your gaze.

"I can run," Sam says- imploring you with a look, "To the farm. Tell me what to get, I'll bring it back," Sam says- urging you to give him permission but you shake your head. Sam pushes.

"I'll rip off an ear of corn. Climb a tree for apples, just tell me," he says, bargaining with you like when Vincent falls off his bike, scrapes his knees and Sam's trying to waylay the worst of his meltdown. In the next moment he'll be offering you ice cream, a piggyback ride, anything he thinks will negotiate you against tears and you snort through the sniffles at the thought.

"There's- n-no-- time," you say, a sob working its way up your throat and Sam's hand wraps around your shoulders while he looks around- large arm sweeping your back as the tears begin to blur your vision. Marnie makes a sympathetic sound before she starts distracting the crowd whose attention is being drawn.

"There's a petting zoo that way," Marnie advises the gawking onlookers, "You can meet the chickens who laid these eggs," she says, a little forcefully until their footsteps retreat while fat, hot tears fall onto the cobblestone beneath your boots. Staining the stone dark as your hopes have fallen into a pit of despair.

"Come on, there's still time," Sam says but you know there's none. Clawing his arm through your paper packaging- searching with renewed determination in your wagon as your cries get louder despite your attempts to contain them.

You should be searching for a late blooming blackberry bush or rooting out a hazelnut. Not uselessly blubbering in a little ball in front of your grange, you inwardly admonish as your headache strikes through your brain like your pick when it meets stone. Even if the nut is unroasted it'll at least be silver quality, you try to implore yourself to action. The option to forage in the park north of the courtyard remains but you're one tear drop away from collapsing into a heap of a mess even worse than Marnie's manure pile. Your head hurts and your eyes blur. Hope fizzles out like the sparklers the clown on stilts uses to entertain a throng of children.

"You missed one!" Sam rejoices with a chuckle beside you- tugging a small package from the depths of your wagon and your gaze locks onto it for one delighted moment before your face falls- and so does Sam's. His happy laugh cut off to heavy silence because scrawled across the brown butcher paper is Happy Birthday Elliott in your handwriting. While he thought he'd saved the day- he's merely dug the grave for his affections for you.

"Oh," Sam says, turning the package over in his hands like he can't bear to read the message once more. His blonde head turning away from yours for one long heartbeat before he inhales sharply and metaphorically stubs his emotions beneath one of his worn converse. 

"Never mind," he says, tucking the package carefully back into your wagon, and you don't miss the pain in his gaze as he rubs at his chest. Coughing once gruffly like he can quit his feelings for you as easily as his cigarettes. 

"Thank you-," you warble and Sam bears his own pain to look upon yours, his eyes crinkled with sadness upon you, "For helping me," you say, swiping at your eyes and trying to give him a smile, but it's wavering- as are you. Sam sighs tightly, shrugging one shoulder casually. As though he gets his heart broken every day. 

"I'll see if Clint has a spare gold bar," Sam says with a playful smile, although you both know the blacksmith would never hand over something so valuable to the town's infamous rascal. Again, it would feel like cheating, so you shake your head even through the real smile Sam has drawn out of you at the thought he might just abscond with said gold bar for your sake.

"You spend enough time in those mines," Sam says, bumping his shoulder into yours, "You deserve it," he adds, face serious for a long moment before it splits on a wide grin. Laughing despite your tears- you wave him off. Sam's smile deepens as he rises.

"I'll do time for you, farmer," Sam says with that roguish grin before his lighter clicks and he disappears into the crowd that clears in his smoky wake. He avoids the route around the petting zoo- lest his strategic smoke affect the children or animals- and you watch him depart. Feeling a tiny bit better for his continued friendship despite his newly acquired heart ache.

Your own threatens to overwhelm you when you turn back to your grange. The empty slot stares back at you and your head pounds like Clint's hammer upon his anvil when you give 25g to break open your geodes. Agonized, you rack your sore head to figure out how you messed up so badly.

As though the answer manifests, Elliott's deep voice appears at your back. Not that you blame him- just your own brain for being so infernally distracted in his absence.

"Hello, my dear," Elliott says and you sniffle harshly, wiping fiercely at your face before you turn to him. At least one thing will be good today- you get to see Elliott! You only wished you didn't look like you felt- messy and out of sorts. Your face drenched in your anguish. Your overalls stained with dirt and sweat from your chores. 

Elliott is a perfect depiction of attractive small town male. A toned down version of his usual fancy outfits- he looks like he's stepped off a modelling gig set on the pier and he's the hot fisherman come back from a month at sea. Dressed in casual jeans and a cozy red sweater you've never seen before. With a white shirt collar at its neck and cuffed at the end of his sleeves- pulled up to his elbows for its a warmer Fall day than most- Elliott looks at you with a sweet smile before it dips into a deep frown.

"What ails you, dear farmer?" he asks, voice hard- one large hand lifting to brush his thumb over your wet cheek- his touch so gentle that it makes you want to weep even more. 

"It's nothing-," you say through a pathetic hiccup because its not like Elliott can fix your mistake- despite the fact you know he'll wish to. Its evident in the concern that carves his handsome features into something hard. Beside you, Pierre and Marnie cast sad looks in your direction- and Elliott- clever, tall Elliott, tracks their gaze to the empty slot in your grange behind you.

The hand on your cheek shifts. Sliding to cup the back of your neck- Elliott pulls you to his chest where you sink your face into the soft wool material he wears. His other arm secures around you in a tight hug as you tremble through another round of tears that bursts from you uncontrollably.

"Oh, my sweet farmer," Elliott coos into your crown- his long hair falling to cascade beside yours- blocking the kisses he presses alongside his words from Pierre's and Marnie's curiosity and you could weep for the way he holds you. Solid yet tender. You feel like if you fell apart- which really you were- he'd keep you contained in his arms. And he does. Elliott holds you as the crowd becomes louder- like you're the only person in the world and this was all he'd been designed to do.

"Breathe," Elliott coos as you soak the front of his sweater with your tears and you hope not with your snot. Elliott nuzzles his nose into your crown, murmuring soft words only for you, "Breathe deeply. Do you notice it?" Elliott asks and you lift your scrunched face to meet his intense green gaze. "The smell of the sea," he adds. "How does it make you feel?"

Sniffling hard, you try to smell beyond your stuffed nose. All you smell is Elliott. The wool of his sweater. The cedar deodorant he uses. Salt. Like the sea. You smile a little and Elliott's lips lift to meet it with one of his own.

Your heart beats against him with your chest pressed into his torso. Elliott's voice rumbles through your body whenever he speaks.

"Whenever I smell the sea, it reminds me of my youth," Elliott tells you- and you're pleased to realize your brain is processing more than the glaringly empty slot behind you. Did Elliott used to come here as a child? you wonder. Perhaps with his family? Maybe they'd visit for his birthday- it's right around that time. 

Yoba, his birthday!! It feels wrong to wish him a happy birthday when you've been so miserable in his recently returned presence but you wish to anyways. Elliott interrupts you- perhaps afraid you're about to burst into another fit of tears.

"The ocean really impressed me as a child," Elliott informs you before his arms shifts at your shoulders and he spins you until your gaze tracks where he points at your display. Leaning against him, your spine to his chest, Elliott bends around you like a shell of warmth and safety.

"But I've grown older, and you impress me more," Elliott says, lips pressed into your crown and the rest of the world dissolves as his fingers reach out to admire each item. Plucking the label for each salted fish, Elliott hums with happy acknowledgement as he reads them. Then his long fingers trail the neck of the wine bottle- fluttering over the label and you realize for the first time ever- his hands aren't stained with ink. Did he not write during his travels? Was he taking a break or didn't have the time?

"Remarkable," Elliott says, admiring the jar of fairy rose honey. Strategically, Elliott avoids the empty slot- instead he quietly reads the label on your jar of blackberry jam. 

"You've been busy, my industrious little farmer," Elliott remarks, and something in his pleased tone makes you shiver. Elliott must mistake your movement for upset- because his free arm joins the one clasped around your shoulders- and he squeezes with a sympathetic sigh.

"Breathe, my love," Elliott whispers, and you could melt like the caramel on the candy apples that kids and adults alike keep walking by with. Elliott's presence is a sweet, warm rush. Blanketing you with his affection, you don't even care how the nearby townsfolk gawk at his very public display of adoration in front of your grange display. 

You don't even hear Mayor Lewis decree the start of the competition. Not when Elliott sways at your spine- holding you to him like he's the anchor in your sea of chaos. Keeping you grounded but allowing the waves of emotions to hit. Breathing in and out, eventually you calm until you feel like you can leave the security of him. The temporary shield he'd built to protect you from prying eyes during a vulnerable moment that he knows means an incredible amount to you. To them it might be a silly small town tradition of a competition- but to you it meant marking your place in Stardew Valley as the new farmer of your Grandpa's farm. The need to prove yourself- as clever and capable and meet the purpose your Grandpa had left for you- was why your hands were covered in callouses, and your clothes always stained with soil- and your face constantly pinched with that determined expression that Elliott harbored in his heart.

Mayor Lewis reaches Pierre's display- and you decide to distract yourself from your imminent dismissal. Within the wagon you procure Elliott's gift and when you hand it to him- the smile that sweeps his face as he reads your message grows until his cheeks must ache with it.

"A birthday gift? That's very kind of you. I love it!" Elliott says despite the fact it remains unopened. He attempts to turn his attention to Mayor Lewis- who has been less than tactfully drawn to Marnie's display with a mischievous wiggle of eyebrows from her- skipping your display albeit temporarily.

Elliott cracks open the paper at your urging- green eyes widening in surprise as his fingers pick up the duck feather. Twirling the fancy plume in his fingers- Elliott holds it up to the light and admires its beautiful, iridescent sheen.

"This will make a beautiful quill. I feel inspired already," Elliott says, gaze falling to you with sincerity and your happiness could burst from you as easily as the previous dismayed tears had. Next, Elliott plucks the bottle of ink from it's nest of paper. The liquid swirls and glimmers and his teeth flash as he admires the set.

"Ah... a writer can never have too much ink. And it's quite expensive, thank you!" Elliott says- broad shoulders shaking as he chuckles in wonder at your thoughtfulness. Pierre grumbles from beside you- having encroached into your area to observe Mayor Lewis and Marnie. Muttering under his breath- the grocer shoots a sharp look between you and Elliott before his gaze lands on the writer's gifts.

Pierre looks to you- then glances at Mayor Lewis who laughs beside Marnie whose whispering in his ear. Pierre lowers his voice to a harsh snarl.

"Do you want her to win?" Pierre asks, shooting blades at the older couple beside you and you gape- shocked. Elliott shuffles across from you, clearly uncomfortable with Pierre's anger. Unsure who he refers to- you or Marnie- but the malice in his words speaks to the other farmer that's infatuation with the Mayor is raising eyebrows amidst the tourists.

"You know they've got a deal going on-," Pierre growls as he spears Mayor Lewis with his gaze, "Our only chance was you," Pierre says, glaring at your empty slot and then at you.

"Wh-what?" you stammer, confusion boiling in your mind as Pierre becomes more upset. The usual grumpy grocer is enraged as he stomps tightly in front of your grange while ripping off his eyeglasses to clean them aggressively.

"If it can't be me that wins, then it has to be you," Pierre says before he jabs a finger at Elliott's hands, indicating his gifts.

"If you don't put one of those there," Pierre stabs a finger in the empty slot of your display, "Then so help me Yoba, I'll never by another case of produce from you again," Pierre growls and you flounder- confused with Pierre's entire train of thought. 

"But those are his birthday presents-," you stammer and Pierre shakes his head, heaving a tight sigh of frustration.

Mayor Lewis sways on his feet- his tell that he's about to wrap up his assessment of a grange. Once the man pries himself away from Marnie- your grange would be next. Elliott steps between you and Pierre- and places both his gifts on your display, carefully turning the label on the ink pot to the front and balancing the quill prettily beside in the empty space. You're about to take them down when Pierre smiles at Elliott's sacrifice- the expression still strained with his anger.

"Here you are getting in a tizzy when you had enough for your display. You get to take all of this home with you-," Pierre says, hands shaking as though he pleads with you and wishes to throttle you all the same. Clearly frustrated with your lack of knowledge with the competition. This fact truly surprises you. Honestly, you thought it would all get donated to Mayor Lewis- if the greed gleaming in his backyard was any indication. "Was that so difficult?" Pierre grumbles and you flinch. Elliott inhales sharply- and although all you can see is the back of his head where it's snapped to Pierre- the grocer's face contorts from surly anger to a mix of shock and embarrassment as he gapes up at Elliott.

Elliott doesn't move where he stands at your display- the only action he offers is the contortion of his fingers into fists. Pierre takes a hasty step back from the glowering author. Seeing the true sacrifice Elliott would make- the use of his hands if the grocer doesn't leave you alone, a funny tug in your gut strikes a thrill through you at Elliott's protectiveness.

"I'm sorry- I get heated easily with these competitions," Pierre hurries to explain but whatever look Elliott shoots him makes his mouth snap shut and he darts behind his grange to hide beside his wife who scowls at him. After a long moment where Caroline begins to lecture her husband, Elliott's tight shoulders drop a bit from his red tipped ears. 

Turning, Elliott's expression is still full of fury before he sighs and finds you peering up at him. Dragging a hand down his face- the faint, fair colored stubble scrapes against his palm- all the more lending itself to him being a model of a disgruntled fisherman. 

"You didn't have to do that," you say and Elliott gestures back sharply at the fearful grocer, irritation lancing his voice like Pierre has insulted his catch of the day.

"No one speaks to you like that," Elliott growls, and you shake your head- pointing at his gifts that Mayor Lewis is quickly approaching although Marnie tugs at his suspenders. Spotting the now filled slot on your display, Marnie releases the bands to clap excitedly for your sake. Mayor Lewis makes a little yelp as his suspenders strike his shoulders before he throws a saucy look back to Marnie who giggles furiously.

"You sacrificed them," you say to Elliott, a little hurt by the action despite his well meant intentions and Elliott's anger at Pierre dissolves for the distraught look you bear and the pain in your words.

A crowd has appeared in front of your display- and the tourists crane their neck to peer around you and Elliott at your items. The townsfolk however, lean in to better observe the next juicy gossip that Pelican Town has to offer them. Vincent chomps loudly on fistful over fistful of kettle corn. Josie stands, mouth agape as though she listens to the latest radio drama. Kent, beside her, throws back a coffee and your own head throbs hard at the scent of it. Yoba, this day had been a trial, and you're not genuinely upset with Elliott. Not when his actions have meant you still have a chance- the only real chance in the grange competition.

"I'm sorry-," you say, deflating, wishing this whole competition could be over with and that you and Elliott might enjoy some of the food or games- if he even wanted to spend any more time with you at all after your outbursts.

Elliott has a serious look. Mayor Lewis lifts a finger from his thick moustache towards you- as though he has a question- but pauses when he sees the storm in Elliott's eyes.

"It doesn't matter the novels that could have been written with that beautiful ink and quill," Elliott says- his words are softer than you expect and even the murmuring tourists become quiet, "It wouldn't have mattered that I may have held this side of the Gem Sea's best selling book in my hands just then--," Elliott says with a sigh, said hands shaking with his emotion- with his need for you to hear him because what he says next is delivered with an intensity you've never witnessed in your usually stoic writer, "Because if I'd kept those words at my fingertips- there wouldn't be enough in the world to apologize for ruining all your efforts. I would be stained with dishonor. Marked with it for destroying your chance at recognition for all your hard work of which I'm so proud," Elliott says, a hand lifting your trembling chin so you meet his hopeful gaze. Fresh tears burn in your eyes for Elliott's heartfelt confession.

From the group of onlookers, you catch Sam's soft whistle of admiration. 

"That guy weaves words better than Grinkpellnimstaff spins gold," Sam whispers to Seb at his side. In front of them, a kernel of popcorn is lobbed at Elliott. It catches in the Fall breeze and floats away before three more are thrown. They land at Elliott's boots as the thrower stomps closer to toss another handful. Vincent's eyes blaze from where he stands- glaring- appalled between the two of you.

"Kiss her!" Vincent screeches at Elliott before Kent slides a hand across his mouth and hauls him away in a flurry of kettle corn. An amused smirk on the soldier's face at his son's outburst before they disappear into the throng of fair goers. Josie smiles with glee- practically jumping up and down at the romance unfolding in front of her and Sam and Seb snicker before Sam throws a calculated shoulder into the crowd causing a disruption amidst the audience of tourists. They disperse to the rest of the fair, following the scent of popcorn or burgers. Mayor Lewis takes the opportunity to disappear with Marnie to the north park and Pierre is nowhere to be found.

It's just flame haired Elliott- staring at you with an equal heat in his green eyes. Before you can busy yourself with packing up your display to distract yourself and him from all that's happened- Elliot's hands lift towards you. Reaching out- long fingers slide under the straps of your overalls until they're secured in his grip. With a firm tug- Elliott hauls you to him and lifts until your nose grazes his freckled one. Leaning in- Elliott lingers with his lips near yours- waiting until you meet your mouth with his. Tipping your head back- you press your lips to his with a sigh.

Elliott kisses you hard despite his soft reassurances from earlier. His hands hold you to him- your own locking around his neck. The front of your boots scrabbling over his- undoubtedly making them muddy but Elliott doesn't care. You could be covered in grime and dirt from the mines and he'd kiss you as senselessly as he does now.

"Fuck-," Elliott curses lowly, his lips mouthing the word against yours like he loathes to separate from you even slightly and your eyes blink open- shocked at his divergence from his usual polite language, "I missed you so much," Elliott husks out as he breathes kisses into your face- his mouth peppering you with affection both chaste and filthy.

The smile that curves you lips can't be helped.

Elliott missed you.

Elliott missed you!

Your fingers tangle in his long hair- his broad shoulders trembling under your arms so that you pull away, afraid you've become too unruly for him to hold. Elliott lets you slide down his front with a strangled groan that he tries to bite into nothing given you're standing in Pelican Town's front yard. It only turns the sound into a rumbling growl that lands in your gut and then lower. An aching heat between your thighs to answer the need growing in him too.

"Happy Birthday, Elliott" you breathe- using him for balance because you don't trust your knees. Elliott chuckles. The deep vibration of it in his chest makes you sigh. Elliott hugs you- because it's the only socially acceptable thing to do when this is the busiest you've ever known Pelican Town. Eventually he releases you and tugs off his red sweater. Despite the long time apart- and the wear of travel- Elliott looks amazing. Perhaps its still the effects of all the hard labor on your farm- but you can't stop staring. Not until Elliott begins to carefully fold the crumpled paper surrounding your display and placing it in your wagon.

"Are you hungry?" Elliott asks, and you nod despite the way knives stab into your brain every time a seagull squawks.

"I would give up Mayor Lewis's statue for a cup of coffee," you admit, wondering if Gus might have some of the liquid gold.

"He won't announce the results for another hour. We should let the tourists admire your hard work while we get something to eat," Elliott says- holding out his hand and you accept it eagerly while he leads you to where the smell of smoke and barbecue concentrates.

At the grill, Gus accepts the hefty parcel of mushrooms you've kept in your pocket all day. Delight swarms the saloon owner's face when he peeks inside the bag and Elliott silently asks you why you didn't choose the fungi for your display with one perfectly arched eyebrow.

"So Leah can have a mushroom burger," you say and Elliott smiles as he bites into his own burger. Red lashes flutter closed as Elliott groans indulgently as he chews. Yoba, you need to find Gus's weakness and make him give you that recipe, you muse. Despite your full belly, and Gus's amazing spread of barbecue sauces- your headache only throbs harder. Pain spears through your brain and Elliott- ever observant- notices with a concerned hum.

"I ran out of coffee this morning," you say, rubbing your temple to get a modicum of relief and trying to breathe through the agony. A warm hand is pressed to your forehead- Elliott's concern for the sun's effects on you unending since the beach incident.

Leah's happy squeal carries over from the grill to where you sit on a shady picnic table. Before you can open your eyes- footsteps pound over the grass and a pair of arms lock around you in an embrace that threatens to bring you to the ground.

"You brought me mushrooms!!" Leah shouts while Elliott chuckles across from you.

"Shhh," you admonish although you smile at her joy.

"Her head hurts," Elliott supplies when Leah makes a confused noise. "She needs coffee."

Hands wrap around your head before Leah knocks on it gently, making a series of hums and hah's as though you've found yourself in Doctor Harvey's clinic.

"Nope," Leah says above you, "We gotta remove it," she says before she strokes your crown affectionately, "I've got an axe in my bag," she says and you snort.

"I have weird friends," you remark, and Leah laughs around a mouthful of what you assume is mushroom burger.

"Says the farmer that walks around with a sword on her hip," Leah says although her fingers massage at your neck- trying to work out the tension she feels in your form. A pleased groan escapes you, and Leah works the knot more.

The picnic table shifts as Elliott adjusts himself- unfolding his long legs from beneath it and you crack open your eyes when he stands.

"Happy Birthday by the way," Leah says and Elliott smiles tightly before he gestures back towards the fair.

"Thank you. I'll meet you at the display," Elliott says and you and Leah nod.

"That was weird," Leah remarks before she plops down beside you. "Could have sworn I saw him green with jealousy," Leah remarks, "Suppose its his eyes."

"He just kissed me silly," you say with what must be a dopey smile and Leah's jaw falls to her lap before she bites into her mushroom burger once more. A short while later- which feels like an era with the ache behind your eyes- you and Leah hobble back to your stall. You, for the head pain- and Leah for being so full of mushroom burgers. Leah's had her fill of the grill and the day's turn of events with Elliott. Only hungry for the results of the competition.

Elliott waits at your grange- a tray of four coffees in one large hand- his gifted feather twirling in the other while he quietly admires it.

"I could kiss you," you say, when Elliott lifts one of the beloved drinks out of the tray and hands it to you.

"Apparently, you already have," Leah grouches while Elliott hands her a drink as well. 

"Oat milk," he assures before she can even ask and Leah echoes your words.

Having chugged halfway through the tall beverage- your mind seems to come back online. Gesturing at the fourth drink still untouched in the tray, you ask Elliott whose it for.

"Marnie," he says, and you and Leah's curiosity deepens. "I asked her to distract Mayor Lewis while I plotted," Elliott says with a grin that belongs to books with schemes and villains. 

"I think she took her task a little too seriously," Leah says- scouring the crowd for Mayor Lewis's cap. 
Maybe its the caffeine coursing through your system- but your anxiety rachets up at the idea of the winner of the grange display and who it might be. Your gaze roves over your items- at the tourists that admire them with pleased smiles. Elliott's writing set sits proudly in the center- and you realize it doesn't matter if you don't win. All the pressure you'd placed on yourself to prepare and do well- when what really mattered was the community around you. That came together and supported you despite your failings- because even with your mistakes- they still believed in you. They cared.

"You know we're proud of you, right?" Leah says while Marnie accepts Elliott's thank you drink behind her with a surprised gasp. 

"Where did you get these?" Marnie asks, taking a sip of milk tea. 

"Caroline's way of apology," Elliott says and Marnie's smile becomes strained.

"Every year he thinks I cheat," Marnie says sadly of the paranoid grocer. Leah rubs her arm in an attempt to console.

"I don't even eat dairy," Leah says- a fierceness in her gaze and really it was odd that both your friends were fiery redheads when they wanted to be, "And I would eat your entire cheese wheel, Marnie. Every year," Leah informs her with a seriousness that makes it sounds as though she would burn the entire world if it would make Marnie happy.

"I would, Marnie," Leah says nodding gravely while Marnie titters a nervous laugh over the lip of her drink.

Caroline's delicious beverages carry you through to Mayor Lewis's slightly delayed arrival- strategically later after Marnie's appearance. 

"Ahem-," Mayor Lewis clears his throat into the mic, "I'd like to thank you all for visiting us here in Pelican Town to join us at the esteemed Stardew Valley Fair. Every year we host and highlight the best that Pelican Town and the surrounding valley has to offer. There's a whole lotta good here-," Mayor Lewis chuckles wholesomely, "It's time to announce this year's winner of the grange display," he continues and the crowd whoops and claps while your stomach clenches into knots.

Leah hauls you into a one armed hug and Elliott tugs your drink from where its clenched in your hand so that his fingers can thread through yours. You're not sure why this feels so important- except you do- you've given yourself a timeline for success. A goal to work towards. And you've been at it like a nothing else you've ever done. This feels like a mid term report at Joja Corp. It reminds you of getting your test card in grade school.

Would your efforts match the estimation?

"The winner is.... Marnie!" Mayor Lewis shouts, and Marnie gasps behind you. 

"What- that's not what we discussed-," Marnie says before her mouth clamps shut at the three of you who turn to congratulate her.

Marnie hauls you into a hug. "Ohh, it should've been you!" Marnie says and you smile at her despite your crestfallen heart. If you were honest- if you were in Mayor Lewis's place- not the one gilded in his image in his backyard or sneaking around with Marnie- her cheese wheel would have impressed you let alone the assortment of eggs and milks.

Tired, a little sad and with your head still sore- you decide to retreat to your farm for a nap. Leah and Elliott promise to watch your stall for the remainder of the fair- and you vow to return to collect the grange items when Mayor Lewis sees you trying to leave.

Walking the north route back to your farm- you weave through crowds of people arriving and leaving the fair. This late in the afternoon- you're surprised that a steady flow of new groups spills from the buses. Sam and Pierre had been right. This is a busy day. 

Amidst the crowd- a familiar uniform appears in your path. The unsettling smile- the pale gray color feels like a slap in the face. Joja Corp. Bearing your old department logo.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Triple shit.

Landyn- your ex boss- stands between the bus stop entrance and the mouth of your farm along with three of his middle managers. The head of your old department corrals them- a weasel of a man that reminds you a lot of Morris if he were younger. Any handsomeness that Landyn may have possessed was lost to his ugly behavior. Landyn was slime personified and that was being unfair to slimes. At least they had something to offer you- but Landyn only had awful memories to haunt you.

They're all dressed in the same corporate get up. The same grey pattern repeating on their pants or skirts. The brightly colored canopies of red and orange leaves only serves to contrast their drab, grim appearance. It's like all the joy and life is sucked out in their orbit. 

Thankfully, they haven't noticed you amidst the shifting crowd. Focused on their clipboards- you duck instinctively when one of them with a map in hand glances around. The woman is pretty and her sharp eyes cast from your farm to the town- and when she turns you recognize her instantly. Ruthy. Once, she'd been your old coworker. Yoba only knows what Landyn offered her to join his ranks and become another extension of him to torture you.

Terrible memories invade your throbbing, exhausted head. Of getting a drink from the gurgling, too-warm water cooler, making a pot of gross coffee at the neglected, poorly stocked refreshment station, of replacing the blasted toner in the rebellious printer, or trying to take your allocated ten minute rest in the janitorial closet because Joja Co didn't even have a proper employee breakroom. Always, Mr.Landyn would appear- and make your choice to leave your cubicle a living hell. The managers below him would gather around like vultures- keen for fresh meat that was your burnt-out sanity trying to maintain professionalism in the face of his bullying.

Deciding you needed a nap like another migraine- you dart behind a group of teenagers that spill over from the bus entrance. Eeking your way through the crowd of rowdy young'uns- you navigate past where Landyn is barking commands at his plebs. 

"Well, where is it?" Landyn shouts, gesturing tightly between the map and the crowd. "Which way do we go?" he asks, glaring as his manager minions pour over the map with renewed urgency if only for the excuse not to make direct eye contact. Landyn takes to tightly pacing where the crowd parts for his angry fuming.

Grateful he sticks to the other side of the path, you're about to exhale with relief when a familiar voice pipes up just as you're about to complete your escape into the path to your farm.

"Excuse me, Mister," Jas says- bright purple candy floss in hand and its waving under Landyn's nose to get his attention from where she's stepped in his path.

Shit, shit, shit. shit. you think, Does she need help? Has she strolled into the bear's den and now gone as far to poke it?

Jas peers up at the Joja Co group- likely believing them to be spokespeople confused with the fair crowds. Daring a glance back from the safety of a bush that has yet to drop it's leaves- you worry when Shane is nowhere to be seen. Her usual uncle shaped shadow probably got separated from her in the chaotic group of people coming and going from town. Maybe Jas needs help finding him?

"Are you lost?" Jas asks your furious ex boss, and despite the fact she knows better than to talk to strangers- perhaps the happy smiling logo on the backs of their suits and embroidered over their hearts is enough to convince the child of their trustworthiness.

Not wanting Jas to face Landyn alone- you brave a few steps forward. Landyn doesn't notice because he's too caught off guard at Jas's brazenness. He won't take it for a friendly small town request for help or to offer aid. He'd only view it from his power hungry lens- take it as a distorted challenge to his unquestioned authority despite Jas being only a small child.

"Where are you trying to get to?" Jas asks in rapid fire- only pausing to chomp on the fluffy candy and await Landyn's response. The three middle managers are quick to intervene. Flurrying around the inquisitive girl as though to herd her away from Landyn. But Jas is wise to herding tactics- and easily side steps their attempts to distract her. She's like a truffle pig with their nose to the ground- chasing the scent and uprooting everything in their determination. Jas wants answers.

"Oh no, sweetie, we're not lost!"

"We're just on our way to JojaMart!"

"Go on back to the fair, dear!" Ruthy insists- crumpling the map to gesture at the crowd. 

Jas chews thoughtfully at the scrambling, desperate employees as they try to direct her away from Landyn's impending wrath and with a bluntness only a child can possess- directs yet another question at Landyn whose hands clench into fists.

"You look like you're lost, Mister. Do you need directions?" Jas asks Landyn- clearly ascribing him as the group leader. Landyn sputters before he gathers the fabric of his slacks in his fists and tugs so he can bend to meet her at eye level.

"Do I look like I need help from a child?" Landyn asks, frowning deeply. Jas's candy floss bobs under his nose when she shrugs.

"You're stomping around like a raccoon that can't topple a trash can. People do that when they're lost or mad. Which one are you?" Jas quips and Landyn rises sharply, huffing with irritation. Displeasure pulls his movements tight as he rolls his shoulders in aggravation. Landyn cranes his neck down from his full height to glare at the girl.

"Neither," Landyn says sourly, clearly irritated for being read to filth by a kid and Jas squints her eyes at him. It's the same look she hurls at Shane when he tries to secretly recycle his beer can empties into the bin on garbage pick up after he told Marnie he was getting sober.

"Nope," Jas says, popping the p and shaking her head. Landyn's brow furrows further. "You're acting like you're a big deal so I guess you're important. Even important people get lost," Jas informs him and Landyn's hands twitch.

"Are you challenging my authority?" Landyn shouts, his voice rising from his gnashing teeth. Jas stops chewing- floss sticking out of her frown. The air goes stale. Recycled. The musty taste from the water cooler lingers on your tongue. Mr. Landyn's barking in your ear about a typo on your not even submitted report- and you're so, so tired.

That same question had been screamed at you far too many times. It pissed you off. But you couldn't let it show then. Not without risking your job.

But that was then. There's dirt under your nails now. Grit between your teeth when you let yourself glare at your old boss with intensity. JojaMart will fail. Your farm will be the one to thrive. Your farm has heart, honesty, hard work. Pelican Town had been your safe harbor- and now you would defend it. Joja Co was all self inflated egos and lack of sincerity. All the stuff you'd left behind almost a year ago for greener pastures. And now they'd shown up in Pelican Town, spreading like rot. Appearing like weeds. Thick and thorny and you want to rip them out at the root.

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Stalking forwards- you step between Jas and Landyn- shoving your face close to his- not even caring when surprised recognition and then something darker flickers in his cruel gaze. 

"Is there a problem here?" you grit out, glaring at your ex boss with quiet fury. Landyn huffs a derisive chuckle through a snide smile. From beside him, the middle managers gasp and your name chirps through them like the ripples from a stone thrown into a river.

"No problem here," Landyn replies dryly with a frown directed behind you to Jas who furrows her tiny brows at him, clearly on your side despite having none of the lore. Landyn's mean nature was enough to make him the bad guy in less than two minutes of meeting him. To think you'd given him almost ten years of your time-, "Just dealing with another twirp with no respect for authority," Landyn says darkly, before he jabs a finger into your overalls, "Reminds me of someone else. A worm," he says before his gaze drops to where you shove his hand away from you- recoiling at his touch while his cruel eyes rake over your outfit. 

Landyn laughs at the dirt on your denim uniform but you keep your trembling chin held high. Shit, shit- shit- you were about to cry. Chest tight- a sob shuddering up from your aching lungs- a reaction that Landyn had carved into you with his sharp words and relentless bullying. Years of putting up with his abuse and the almost one year away from it wasn't even to undo the knots of awful sense memory he'd instilled.

"Come on, let's go Jas," you say to the little girl- voice shaky as you hold her shoulders gently- clad in a puffy tuille dress that Marnie had sewn special for the fair. Guiding Jas back to town- the wall of people prevents your escape- and Landyn gets bold. He'd never dared to put his hands on you at Joja Co- but perhaps the anonymity of rural small town made him slip.

Grabbing your shoulder strap- Landyn tugs hard- jerking you back to him so that you release Jas with a scared yelp. The crowd spins away from you as Landyn hauls you back into his orbit.

"Do you know what you cost me?" Landyn says, leaning into your space so his hot, sour breath bursts across your face alongside a few droplets of spit. Recoiling from his touch- you glare at him. At Ruthy. The rest of his minions refuse to meet your eyes or each others- and Ruthy flinches when Landyn gathers up the denim at your chest in his fist and throttles you. 

The crowd around you that isn't plastered with Joja Co logos gasps-- a ripple of shocked murmurs as the strangers witness the confrontation.

Good, you think, let them see how awful Joja Co is- but Jas's angry cries from your leg that she clings to makes your heart clench. A striped paper baton is smacking at Landyn's thigh. Jas's tiny fist bringing the candy floss uselessly down upon Landyn's suit clad leg.

"Let her go, you butt wipe!" Jas screeches- tears in her eyes and one hand latched onto the pocket of your overalls. Yanking desperately to free you from Landyn's fierce grasp. Lifting your own hands to his- you shove and flail, kicking your available boot at his slack covered shin. Trying to aim your knee at his center but Landyn doesn't allow you enough space with how he gathers you to his body.

"Leave me alone! You're not the boss of me anymore," you scream- lungs tight with your anger- your fear. Landyn had always terrified you- but he'd never been dumb enough to put his hands on you. Maybe the anonymity of Stardew Valley made him feel bold. Who would care for the dirt covered, exhausted looking farmer? Apparently a lot of people- because they yell at Landyn to let you go too. None of their voices are recognized aside from Marnie's daughter.

Struggling against Landyn- you curse and spit like a cornered animal. All the while Landyn launches into a rant about how you cost him a promotion because you quit. Like you cared. By leaving, you dropped your workload and his- because he'd forced you to complete his tasks by threatening your job. 

"I've lost everything!" Landyn despairs- but anger is still his first emotion as he thrashes your frame, "They sent me out here as punishment! Now I'm stuck in your shitty little Podunk town!" Landyn shouts and Jas answers it with one of her own.

"You're scaring people, you butt wipe! That's bad for business! Even I know that!" Jas yells- her own fear rife in her small voice and you try to nudge her away- scared Landyn might hurt her in his attempts to punish you.

Landyn's fury twists back to the girl and your heart beat trips over itself.

"You're just a child! You don't know anything about business!" he screams back- one hand lifting from where it bruises your arm to reach for the girl.

SMACK

Your hand collides with Landyn's cheek. Startling him so that he pauses in his attempt to grab Jas and then his furious eyes snap back to you. The smile you can't contain quirks your lips for a triumphant moment as Jas darts away with your distraction. It's long enough- and Landyn's so close that he registers your brief victory with malice forming behind his dark eyes. The angry chuckle he allows himself to indulge in sends alarm bells blaring in your mind. All of Landyn's focus returns to your now fearful face. Inches from his- you pound at his shoulders. Trying to get away before you find yourself in the eye of the storm that his mean gaze promises.

"You've done it now, worm," Landyn growls at you and his free hand lifts- arm tucking to his side before its drawn behind his back and you close your eyes and tuck your chin- bracing for impact, "This is for all those HR reports you filed against me," Landyn whispers harshly- apparently enjoying the opportunity to strike fear through you so he can feel your hammering heart where you're held against him. Drawing out your torture the way he would hang your dismissal over your head.

"I don't care," you hurl at him, daring to look at him when his grip loosens a fraction on your overalls. Landyn's eyes flicker with something that makes you flail against him harder. Joja Co has stolen his soul. There's nothing behind his eyes but hatred. All Landyn ever wanted was for everyone to care about him- he'd lecture all of you about what a hard job he ha of keeping you all in order. Your quitting was the first straw- and although you'd been professional the entire two weeks you'd given them to find your replacement- you'd finally voiced what he'd felt since you handed him your resignation letter.

"I. Don't. Care," you repeat, grinding the words out as you fight his grip. You didn't have to explain anything. He never needed to know about your inheriting your Grandpa's farm. He wasn't your boss anymore. He was just a maniac in a suit that made the mistake of putting his hands on you.

"Are you following me?" Landyn asks- something wild in his gaze, "Are you the one trying to get this JojaMart shut down? Like a little worm eating the foundation? Now you're coming after me?" Landyn asks- questions launched in quick succession- his words tripping over each other as his paranoia and fury collide.

"He's a maniac!" Jas hurls from the sidelines where the crowd stands in shocked horror. Hushed whispers and shuffling at your spine as a few break off to run to town- trying to find someone to help.

Yoba, you thought you left this all behind. You'd thought you'd been bold venturing out alone to revive your Grandpa's old farm but now your shadows have crept up behind you. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you grit out- although Pierre's grocery warfare comes to mind instantly. Last month, Joja Mart had a massive frozen food delivery arrive right when their freezers were being reorganized. Poor Shane was stressed- working overtime to keep the goods rotated. Morris was on the phone all day- trying to track down whoever placed the order- only to be told it'd been him when clearly that wasn't the case. Pierre's and Shane's hushed conversation at the Stardrop the week before the delivery springs to mind.

Despite the audience, Landyn's fist drops instead to grip your arm once more. Fingers pressed so hard into you that it feels like your bones bruise and you cry out- meeting Ruthy's concerned gaze. She looks from you to the other managers- who dart their gaze away from her. Cowards. 

"You're hurting me, Landyn," you cry, trying to speak some sort of sense into the unravelling man and Ruthy's discomfort grows- her voice a whisper.

"Mr.Landyn," she says but he snaps at her.

"Shut up!" Landyn snarls. The other managers retreat-disappearing into the crowd. Ruthy wavers. Did she think she'd be safer in his orbit? On a rung nearer to his? You suppose you can't blame her. But this you could- she throws you a sorry look and follows her counterparts.

Leaving you and Landyn to become the latest sideshow at the Stardew Valley Fair. Beneath the colorful canopies of trees that lead to your farm- you remember the first day you arrived here. How Spring had filled the air with sweetly scented petals. The trees bursting with flowers and pollen. The fresh floral scent so thick you forgot all about the choking city air you'd come from. Or Landyn's gross cologne.

"Tell me your schemes, worm," Landyn says, and you snarl.

"Let me go," you growl but Landyn shakes his head, his whole body thrown behind the motion so that his fingers tightens on your arm further. 

"You know who it is. I can see it," Landyn says, wild desperation weaving into his expression. Pinching his face into a plea. The edges of his eyes white as the waves on a storming sea. 

Danger. Everything about how Landyn has devolved into anger like he lives in it alerts you to the threat he's become in your absence.

"Please if I give Morris nothing he'll fire me," Landyn says, and you remember all the times he begged you to format his reports when you were reaching the limit of your patience- once you'd read your Grandpa's letter and were deciding what path to take. When his threats to fire you didn't hold any more weight. When you stopped giving a shit.

Despite the pain of his grip on you- you give him nothing. Only your bared teeth- your absolute distaste for him in your eyes before they slide into aloofness. Distant. Far away from Landyn and Joja Co and all its dumb shit. You think about watering your crops and other mundane tasks. Chores that you'll be grateful for the rest of your days as long as you're meant to do them.

Familiar with your shut down process, Landyn huffs in frustration. His grip is tight enough that tears brim in your eyes despite your separate musings. To him- it's something. And that mean smirk curls his lips over his sharp teeth- drawing you back to him with one derisive laugh. He shoves you towards your farm- and you cast a desperate look to the crowd. Jas takes off running- her dolly shoes clapping on cobblestone that leads to town.

The audience has dispersed for the majority- hopefully seeking authorities too. Jas was the only Pelican Towny to witness your past come to pummel you- and guilt pangs through you. Hurting far more than Landyn's cruelty for the distress carved into Jas's small face.

Before Landyn can interrogate you further- a familiar mane of red hair appears at the entrance to town. Jas points wildly at you from Elliott's knee- her frantic shouts carrying even with the distance.

"He's a bad guy from her old job!" 

Elliott stares from the far end of the path. Still for a breath- long enough for the pain in your expression to register- and Landyn's place in it being there.

Elliott closes the distance between you- eyes alight with fury- and Landyn's so focused on having your attention that he hardly notices your approaching savior until Elliott collides with him. Shocked, Landyn releases you- but not before Elliott's thrown him to the ground- and you huff when you land beside them. Rolling away from the barrage of fists and snarls that Elliott unleashes on the poor idiot- you stand and brush off the dirt when Leah sidles up next to you- your wagon full of grange items tugged in her wake.

For a few moments, you both quietly observe Elliott pummel the shit out of Landyn. Elliott's long arms snap out in quick succession from where he cages Landyn between his thighs. Landyn spits and yelps- his own hands hardly protecting anything from Elliott's onslaught of bruising punishment. 

It's only when Seb appears and attempts to peel Elliott away from Landyn that your ex boss manages to get one of his own fists into the mix. One wavering fist skirts Elliott's jaw while Elliott struggles against Seb's grasp to meet Landyn's wayward punch with an answering one of his own. Elliott breaks free of Seb's grip- and rucks his fists into Landyn's collar- shoving up into his throat. Seething but more restrained than a moment before, Elliott hovers over your ex manager before he leans over him. Red hair falling beside Landyn's face to pool beside his head like a mimicry of blood as Elliott growls into Landyn's ear. It's a strangely intimate position- but Landyn blanches beneath Elliott. Hands splayed out- Landyn doesn't even resist when Elliott lifts him and shoves him back into the dirt as though to accentuate his dominance. Sam appears beside Seb and together, finally, they manage to extract Elliott from Landyn- although you think it's only because Elliott lets them.

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Landyn- scared and bruised- quickly rises to his feet and runs off- if not unsteady. Not even glancing in your direction even slightly. Leah watches him leave and then purses her lips thoughtfully- no less imagining Landyn as Kel.

Elliott's breath stutters together as his chest heaves with his exertions. His arms hang at his sides and he shakes out his hands a few times- flexing his fingers while Sam advises him on how best to prevent swelling. Elliott listens with half a mind- one on his writing at all times- but the other lies with you- as evident by the intense look he captures you within. Roving over your frame- Elliott looks for damage. 

"I know its awful," Leah says beside you, low enough that Elliott doesn't hear her- not that he would with how much adrenaline is dumping through his veins, "But damn do I wish he'd have done that to Kel," she says and you nod absently because Elliott strides over after Seb and Sam realize he doesn't intend on hunting down Landyn for another bloody round.

Elliott lifts your arm in his warm hand- the knuckles over his fingers split and bleeding. The expression on Elliott's face is unreadable- despite it never being that way ever before. Elliott was an open book. A library of pleasant emotions laid out for all to see. There's something dark flicking behind his gaze- a solemness in his features that conflicts with the thrill in yours. Is it awful that part of you liked his protective streak? That Landyn had finally met his just desserts?

Leah lifts her voice- suddenly realizing you'd been caught in your own scuffle with Landyn before she'd arrived.

"Yoba, did he hurt you?" she gasps, hands fluttering alongside Elliott's as they assess you.

"I'm okay," you say- eyes tracking to where Jas is sobbing in Shane's embrace where he stands to the side. When your eyes meet his with concern- he approaches. Leah steps back to allow them in- but Elliott remains at your side. A hovering sentinel that refuses to let you out of his sight and reach.

Shane hauls you into a one armed hug and you embrace Jas's trembling form within it.

"Thank you. We got separated. I was so scared and then she told me what happened" Shane says with a stuttering sigh, and Jas nods tearfully at you. The only physical injury is a scraped knee from when she ran towards town but you worry for the nightmares she may have incurred from witnessing your plight. Yoba knows, you'd have your own to deal with in the wake of this.

"You saved me!" Jas says brightly and you shake your head sadly.

"That should never have needed to happen, Jas. You were only trying to help them," you tell her and Jas nods solemnly.

"He was such a butt wipe," Jas tells Shane, who doesn't even attempt to correct her name calling.

Shane offers his thanks again before they depart for their farm- taking the quieter route through yours to get there. Elliott gently tugs you towards town. 

"Doctor Harvey needs to look you over," Elliott tells you- his face still unreadable- his voice harder than you've ever known it. Leah takes your grange items back to your farm while Elliott escorts you to the clinic. Landyn's brutal focus upon you has made you sore and even more tired- but you mostly allow Elliott to take you to Doctor Harvey so he'll have his hands treated.

In the quiet of Harvey's empty clinic you and Elliott wait patiently for the Doctor to arrive. Outside, the fair plods along noisily even though the sun begins to set. Elliott sits in one of the waiting room chairs- looking far too large for the small plastic seat. Long legs splay out- blocking you from the doorway along with his crossed arms over his bloody white shirt. It seems Elliott has caught your staring- because he shoves his bloody hands further beneath his arms to hide them.

The tears come regardless. Guilt threatens to swallow you up- that Elliott has gotten hurt for your sake. The blisters on the farm pale in comparison because at least he'd had a choice- but his hands were forced this afternoon even if he would argue they weren't. Honorable and sweet as he is, those qualities only serve to plunge your thoughts into sadness further. 

"I'm so sorry-," you start but Elliott leans forward and hauls you into him. Tucked in his arms, Elliott holds you tightly, one large hand sweeping over you back in a soothing gesture while he murmurs above you. The position reminds you of this morning- when he'd held you like this in front of your display and the tears come on even harder.

"Please never apologize for that lout bastard," Elliott says on a tight sigh- his chest shuddering beneath your face. Elliott's soft hair cascades over you- tickling your cheek. Humming a soothing tune that's reminiscent of a sea shanty and vibrates from his chest into your being- Elliott sways you in his arms until your sobs become soft and sparse.

By the time the clinic door squeaks open- because despite the fresh coat of paint on all the buildings and the new star token prize system being a digital version this year- Pelican Town still held onto her old charming ways- rusted hinges and all- you've fallen asleep in Elliott's embrace.

Leah drops by for a moment to announce Landyn's been run out of town before she heads home at Doctor Harvey's reassurances of both your states. After Doctor Harvey completes assessments and treatments on the both of you-thankfully nothing is broken or requires more than some glue- the night is late. When you exit the clinic- the stars shine brightly above- and the courtyard is an abandoned expanse of cobblestone spread out before you. There's no granges or game tents- not even a piece of shredded balloon or stray piece of popcorn in the fair's wake. 

It's like none of it ever happened.

The ache in your head and body tells you otherwise- and Elliott's heavy look remains. 

"What did you tell Landyn?" you ask- lingering in the courtyard because neither you nor Elliott makes a move to either of your homes. 

Elliott startles out of his dark musings if only to be plunged deeper within them at your question. That hard look snaps over his handsome features- his strong jawline clenching as he recalls what he'd growled directly into Landyn's ear so that it couldn't be misheard.

Elliott shuffles where he stands. Bandaged hands thrust into the pockets of his baggy jeans- his white shirt lopsided and unbuttoned for Doctor Harvey's stethoscope. The fisherman model from earlier has been replaced with a blood speckled rapscallion. It'd almost be amusing if it all wasn't so fresh. The salty air of the town washes you with its freshness- and you take a step towards the beach. The deeply shadowed path to the bus stop makes you shiver. You'd always found it unsettling- and tonight it was especially so. Part of you expects Landyn to pop out of a bush at any moment.

Elliott finds his stride beside you in an instant- remaining close by as though it's his first instinct.

Gus's Saloon is dark- and his heavy snoring makes you snicker as you pass by.

Elliott sighs tightly beside you, although you've given him space to leave your question unanswered- he stops beside Mayor Lewis's yard and the cemetery. Fingers wrap around your uninjured arm and Elliott pulls you to stand in front of him. Dry leaves rustle against the gravestones at one side of you- and branches tap against the wood slates of Mayor Lewis's fence on the other.

Elliott stands- one side of his face hidden in deep shadow- but the light of Mayor Lewis's front porch casts enough for you to see the frown that sets the lines of his features into what looks like the center of him. 

"If he ever touches you again, I'd kill him," Elliott says- his tone darker than the sea when it storms, "And because I'm a writer- I offered a very creative method of doing so and which I will not repeat to you directly," Elliott adds, and his jaw ticks through the long silence following his confession.

You laugh. Bright and wild and loud. It surprises even you- your hands sliding from Elliott's to slap over your mouth because Mayor Lewis is probably tucked into bed just an arm's reach away. 

From the dark in front of you- Elliott chuckles. It's not dark and murderous as his previous statement would imply- but lighter and it rolls out of him in a way that you've desperately wanted to hear in his absence. Yoba, you've missed him so much.

Keen to hear more of his laughter- you grab one of his bandaged hands- gently- and tug him onwards. Elliott follows- snickering behind you in the shadows. Only pausing when you take a left at Mayor Lewis's old truck and not the right turn he'd anticipated.

Using the fence as your guide- you carefully tread into Mayor Lewis's garden and to his back gate.

"Why do I feel as though I'm being led to my death?" Elliott whispers above you- and despite it being the perfect opportunity to flee- he pulls you upright when you trip on a paving stone. Strong arms centering you against him for a brief moment before you continue.

"Is murder all you think about?" you ask through a chuckle, and Elliott hums in agreement. It's a thoughtful, firm Hmm. that gives you pause- your feet coming to a halt as you try to ascertain your position in Mayor Lewis's backyard and where exactly Elliott's mind has strayed. 

This explains Elliott's hard look since his pummeling of Landyn. Your terribly creatively inflicted writer had likely inflicted Landyn with at least nine hundred thousand fictional deaths by now. Somehow its the most romantic notion you've ever known.

"Elliott," you whisper out into the dark. What sounds like a watering can scrapes across the ground somewhere deeper into Mayor Lewis's yard. You're desperate to kiss him silly- so you move towards the metallic grating noise.

Ducking beneath a branch- you stumble into Elliott's spine with your searching hands- happy to have found a familiar landmark. Elliott grunts at your touch and the metal scrape resumes before a heavy thump rocks the ground beneath your boot and Elliott curses softly.

"What are you doing?" you whisper and Elliott's rumbling laugh turns to you before his chin grazes your crown and then his nose brushes over yours. Lips pulling into a smile- your teeth are met with Elliott's chaste kiss before he answers you with another grunt of effort. 

"I've found Mayor Lewis's naughty venture," Elliott informs you and you gasp excitedly- jumping in place while Elliott carefully maneuvers around you. This was exactly why you brought him here. 

"Where are you taking it?" you ask, only intending to show Elliott the statue, your curiosity- and appreciation for Elliott's strength- growing as he carries the statue towards the gate.

"Patience, my love," Elliott grits and your gut swoops and swoops at the endearment- and the groan of exertion Elliott places in the word as he lifts the statue once more.

Slowly, with much giggling from you and effort on Elliott's part- the statue is hauled into the center of the courtyard. Steadying it- Elliott sighs with deep satisfaction before he throws a tired arm over your shoulders.

"That should help things," Elliott says- something serious in his voice that makes you tip your head back to throw him a confused look.

"Tomorrow, this-," Elliott flicks his hand at the golden monstrosity, "And the fair- will be the talk of the town," Elliott says with a wide grin, "They'll forget all about your lout bastard of a boss," Elliott says- something flickering in his narrowed eyes as he glares at the gold rendition of Mayor Lewis. The thoughtful action is so unexpected that you gasp. Elliott snaps his gaze to you- concern rife in his face and the weight of his arm lifts from you but you wrap your own around him.

"That's so sweet, Elliott," you say, rising to press your lips to his chin. Elliott dips his head and meets your eager mouth with his in a fierce kiss. There's something possessive in it- the way he anchors you to him. The shake in his solid frame betraying the stiffness of his spine- as though he keeps a part of himself held back. It was the same as when he'd searched you out after dealing with Landyn. The same as when he'd stood at your back like a grim reaper of sorts while Doctor Harvey applied salve to your bruises. A distant quality to his closeness- like he had something to lose but he'd never looked at the whole of it until now.

The whole of you is in his gentle grasp- your arms wrapping around his neck. Your tough, farm chore hardened fingers surging through his soft locks to tug him further to you. Elliott gives. The soft scrape of your fingernails against his scalp sending a shiver through him. His wide shoulders sloping inwards as his hands lift to cup your face. The brush of his bandages floods you with a heady mix of warmth and guilt- but Elliott's already plotted a red herring to distract you with his searing kisses.

"They'll forget how we kissed like this-," Elliott presses the words into your mouth fervently, "In front of your display. In front of everyone," he says, voice deep with his need. That same possessiveness hardening his voice while his firm hands haul you against him more completely. The muscles of his torso bunching and flexing beneath your fingers before your hands are scrabbled up in his shirt. It's stained with Landyn's blood and part of you likes that. Also thrilled at Elliott's public affection as though he'd spent his entire trip envisioning the moment he'd have you in his reach again- his mouth pressed to yours. The town might forget what you'd shared today- but you would see it in the stars for the remainder of your days if the Oracle had anything to say.

"How I threw my tearful self into your arms after your long absence?" you tease, teeth biting playfully at Elliott's chin. The groan he lets out is sent to the center of you. 

"I would leave out your tears unless they were drawn from you by pleasure," Elliott admits- and although you think he intends the sentiment with wholesomeness- there's something wholly not that in his eyes as he devours you with a scorching look. Quietly begging you to read the hunger he leaves within his gaze plainly for you to witness.

And oh, you would read so, so, sooo many chapters of that, you muse happily.

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