Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Elliott was doing what he always did when he had writer’s block: tinkering away on the piano, hoping the keys of the instrument would be more amenable to creative ideation than the keys of his laptop.

It wasn’t working.

The piano keys made a plink, plink, plink as he poked from middle C to A4 to G3 to B2 to a high F# to a low D to Yoba, he was losing his mind. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t leave his cabin until he wrote something - anything at all, but it had been three days and had run out of bread yesterday and the endless plink, plink, plinking was doing absolutely nothing to clear the incessant blockage that had impeded his creative flow since the night market ended two weeks prior. He had no new ideas, no direction, no inspiration whatsoever. 

He sighed, pushing away from the keyboard and deciding it was in his best interest to just go to bed. It was only 7 p.m., but he figured that maybe he would dream of something that he could use. That, and his eyes were burning from looking at a blank computer screen and subsequently the empty music stand of the piano for the past three hours. It was time to cut his losses and call it a night.

That was, until the incessant sound of knocking on his cabin door sent him nearly jumping out of his skin.

He rushed over to the door and wrenched it open. The only person insane enough to visit him at the cabin like this was-

“Leah?” he asked, taking in her somewhat ragged appearance. Her orange braid had come slightly undone, and there was sand all over her pant legs. She was panting, and hunched over slightly as she braced herself on the doorframe.

“Is someone dying?” Elliott asked in a monotone, concealing the fact that he was quite glad to have a visitor. “And if so, why did you think I was the best person to call for help? Willy is right there, and he’s far more equipped to handle emergencies like that.”

“No one… dying…” Leah panted. “There’s a-”

“Did you run all the way here from your cabin?” Elliott interrupted. “You look terrible.”

“Yeah, I needed to tell you as soon as I found out-”

“What, did Lewis finally make his relationship with Marnie public? I hope he knows that their ‘secret’ fling is neither secret nor a fling.”

“Will you-” Leah spat, with an irritated huff. She covered Elliott’s mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding herself up on the doorframe, literally shutting him up. “Shush!” She took another few breaths. Elliott’s mouth quirked into a small grin. He quelled his immediate desire to guess something else and let her get the words out.

“There’s a new farmer living on Old Man Allen’s property!” Leah blurted out, her voice a fast continuous stream that was punctuated by a stupid grin. “And he’s hooooooot!”

Elliott straightened his posture to a comically erect stance. He placed his arm horizontally over his stomach, much like a butler would, and stepped back to clear the doorway for her. “Won’t you come in?” he asked in his most formal accent, and bowed slightly as Leah skipped giddily toward her usual spot at his kitchen table. He shut the door behind her and maintained his formal posture as he glided over to meet her.

“Do go on,” he said, gesturing to her with the same poise. 

His mock formality at the news was juxtaposed by Leah’s manic pounding of the kitchen table with her fists. “He just moved in this week - I saw him walking over to Marnie’s. He’s got a septum piercing.”

“How scandalous,” Elliott said, maintaining his formality.

“How queer,” Leah nudged.

“Please,” Elliott scoffed, dropping the act now. “That doesn’t mean anything ever since Mercury Man made it cool.”

“Not true!”

“Completely true.”

Leah tilted her head to the side with a huff. “Regardless. He’s hot, and he’s new in town, and word on the street is he’s going to be at the Saloon tonight!”

“So?”

Leah slammed her hands down in frustration. “So! Aren’t you curious? I mean, Old Man Allen’s farm has been defunct for how many years now, then all of a sudden a handsome young bachelor moves in, all mysterious-like, and you don’t want to meet him?”

“The only mysteries I’m interested in right now are the ones I’m writing into my bestselling novel.”

Leah perked up. “Oh? You’ve got some pages, then?”

Elliott sighed. “No,” he admitted. “In fact, I had just finished a night of staring at my computer and then my piano before you came.”

Leah frowned sympathetically. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad.” 

Elliott rested a frustrated chin on his hand. He puffed a wisp of hair out of his eyes.

“Will you come with me to Gus’s tonight, at least?”

“I said I wouldn’t leave until I wrote something down.”

“Come onnnn, it’s Friday! And the handsome farmer will be there!”

“Allegedly.”

Leah crossed her arms.

“What’s the point of setting writing goals for myself if I abandon them without making any progress?”

Leah tilted her head to the side. “No offense, Elliott, but you need to get out of this depression shack. You’re starting to look a little manic.”

Elliott scoffed in offense, but couldn’t find the words to protest.

“One drink, then I’ll let you go back to your melodramatic, self-imposed prison.”

“Rude!”

“I’m only half-joking.”

Elliott leaned back in the chair and tilted his head toward the wood board ceiling. He noticed a wet spot above him. He’d have to get that fixed before the rains picked up that summer, but the last thing he wanted was to hike up the mountain to Robin’s shop. Not that he would admit it to Leah, but he wasn’t in the best shape at the moment. Maybe he could fix it on his own and save himself the trip.

“Well?”

Elliott sighed again. “All right.”

“Yayyyyy!” Leah squealed, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him with her toward the door of the cabin.

Just one drink, then back to writing.

The Stardrop Saloon was patronized by the usual suspects. Abigail watched Sebastian beat Sam at billiards again. Shane and Pam loitered in their respective corners, the former scowling into his beer and the latter smiling over her ale. Robin and Demetrius danced to the music of the jukebox, occasionally accompanied by Robin’s yelps when her husband stepped on her foot. Marnie and Lewis made googly eyes at each other, Willy suffered through another one of Clint’s long and boring stories, and Gus and Emily worked tirelessly behind the bar.

Leah held the door open for him, so Elliott followed behind her and sat down at the empty table in the corner.

“Hiya, you two!” Gus called. “Welcome in! What can I get you?”

“Two glasses of red, please, Gus!” Leah answered for both of them. Gus nodded and bent to retrieve the bottle from the rack behind him. Emily placed the glasses on the counter, and Gus filled them, then - after examining what remained in the bottle - asked if they would just like to have the whole thing. Leah shrugged and nodded, and so Emily brought the bottle and two glasses over on a tray to their table.

As soon as the glass was in front of him, Elliott took a prolonged sip of his wine. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and upon finding it knotted in several places, worked to detangle it. 

“Manic”, Leah had called him. Perhaps she was right. But if he was truly in a mania, that would imply he’d been working fervently, which was the opposite of the truth. He took another gulp of wine.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ellie,” Leah said from behind her glass.

“You know I hate when you call me that.”

“And I hate seeing you like this,” she responded with an exaggerated pout. “You put all this pressure on yourself to produce, but I think that’s hurting you more than it’s motivating. I can’t imagine locking yourself up for days is good for you. When was the last time you ate a decent meal?”

Elliott thought for a moment. “The Feast of the Winter Star?”

“Dude.” Leah shook her head. “Gus! Can we have a salad and some crab cakes as well?”

“Coming right up!” he answered.

“Leah-” Elliot said. “I don’t have a lot of cash right now-”

“It’s my treat,” she interrupted, waving a hand at him. “I just sold a piece to a collector in Zuzu City. Honestly, I insist.”

Elliott’s face flushed, embarrassed. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and took another sip of his wine.

Leah’s foot nudged him under the table. “Ellie,” she began to say, and Elliott made his scowl clear. “Elliott,” she amended. “I’m not buying you dinner because I pity you. I’m doing it because I want to, and you’re my friend, and I know you’ll do the same for me when your luck turns around. So drop the frown, okay?”

Elliott took a deep breath and did his best to do as she said. He thought idly about how mediocre the wine was, and how he wished someone local would make something more high-quality. He had heard Demetrius ramble once about how the mountain climate was perfect for growing grapes, and how he would get into winemaking if he had the time, but of course he was just to darned busy with all his surveys and experiments and important research that he couldn’t possibly find the time to-

Elliott exhaled a puff of air. It was unfair to be mad at Demetrius for being passionate about his work. He was just being bitter. If only there were someone he could talk to about his writing - someone who didn’t know him, who would have an unbiased opinion-

The saloon doors swung open, announcing the entrance of a new customer. Leah gasped and kicked Elliott under the table again. “Hey! What-” he began to protest, but she shushed him and pointed over his shoulder, mouthing “It’s him!”

Elliott turned to look. It was, in fact, him. The new farmer was somewhat short - barely taller than Shane. His brown hair was unkempt, its length alternating between his chin and his ears. His skin was oddly pale for someone who Elliott assumed spent most of his time outside. He wore an almost stereotypical set of overalls over a red plaid shirt, which were both covered in dust. He had an axe strapped to his belt and a backpack that was so full it seemed to be bursting at the seams. By all accounts, he looked like a lost teenager that was given a toolkit and the keys to the farmhouse and left on his own. And yet, Leah was right - he was unequivocally handsome. 

An uneven set of curls shrouded his eyes, and, as Leah noted, a silver ring adorned his nose. It looked oddly out of place with the rest of his outfit - almost like he had gotten it pierced recently, on a whim. Or that he had trashed whatever set of clothes went with the piercing and exchanged them for his dusty farmer’s clothes. The contrast added a certain pull to his appearance - Leah’s chosen word “mysterious” came to mind - and Elliott found that he couldn’t help but stare at the man. Then, realizing he was staring, quickly turned his eyes back to the table.

The mayor had also turned when he’d entered, and his face stretched into a smile of recognition. “Ah, you made it!” he said, setting his drink down on the table next to Marnie and striding over to meet the farmer. “As you can see, the Saloon gets quite the healthy crowd on Friday evenings. What better way to meet your new neighbors!”

Lewis turned to place his arm over the farmer’s shoulders. The man seemed to shrink under his touch, but didn’t pull away.

“Everyone,” the mayor announced, “this is our old friend Mr. Allen’s grandson. He just moved into the farm out west, and he’s been working diligently to get it up and running again. I want you all to give him a warm welcome!” 

There were a few “hello”s and raised glasses around the room. Lewis started pointing, “you’ve met Marnie, and that’s Abigail, Samson, and Sebastian, then behind the counter of course is Emily and Chef Gus, you’ve met Robin as well, that’s her husband Demetrius, and uh- there’s Shane, he’s Marnie’s nephew - over here is Clint the blacksmith and Willy the fisherman, and there’s Pam, and on the left there are our local artist and writer, Leah and Elliott.”

Being introduced to the farmer as ‘the local writer’ made Elliott oddly self-conscious. He briefly raised two fingers in greeting and returned his attention back to his glass. At that point, Emily brought over their food and Elliott made quick work of stuffing his face. Leah was right, he was in dire need of a good meal.

“See what I mean?” Leah whispered.

“Huh?” Elliott asked through a mouthful of crab cake.

“Isn’t he hot?”

“I don’t know,” Elliott lied. “I didn’t really get a good look at him.”

“Well, it looks like you might get a chance!” she whispered back. He followed her gaze, trying to understand what she meant.

The farmer was shuffling toward them, his eyes on the empty chair between them. Elliott choked on his food. His eyes watered as the mouthful of crab cakes scratched their way into his throat. After a few hacking coughs, he was able to wash the food down with another gulp of wine - and realized that the farmer was still standing awkwardly next to their table, now visibly more uncomfortable than he was before, but seemingly reluctant to backtrack and sit with someone else. 

Leah enthusiastically waved him over and patted the seat of the empty chair.

“Hey there, have a seat!” she said with a smile. The farmer sat. Elliott coughed.

“Are you all right?” the farmer asked, so quiet Elliott almost didn’t hear.

“Yes!” Elliott said too quickly. He cleared his throat. “Just went down the wrong pipe is all.” He flashed a smile, trying to be convincing.

The farmer nodded and placed his interlaced hands on the table. “I’m Gravy,” he said after a moment.

Leah’s brow furrowed. “You’re…?”

“A childhood nickname that stuck. Gravy. I haven’t been called anything else in twenty years.”

Leah nodded once, then took another bite of her salad. A silence fell over the table.

“Is this your first time in the saloon?” Elliott asked, attempting to break the silence.

The farmer - Gravy - nodded. Silence again.

“Have you met everyone in town yet?”

Gravy shook his head. “That’s why Lewis invited me here.”

More silence. Yoba, this guy really wasn’t a talker.

Elliott cleared his throat again, although there was nothing left in it. He poked his crab cake with a fork.

“Who’s who?” Gravy asked.

“Sorry?”

“Who’s the writer and who’s the artist?”

“Oh!” Elliott said. “Leah’s the artist, and-”

“And Elliott is working on a bestselling novel!” Leah interjected. He kicked her under the table. She responded with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin.

“It’s a little early to determine its popularity, but yes, I’m working on a novel.” Gravy nodded in either approval or simply acknowledgement - Elliott couldn’t tell.

Leah nodded along. “I live in the cabin in the woods south of Marnie’s ranch - you passed by it earlier today - and Elliott has a gorgeous little seaside cottage.”

Odd. She had described it as a “depression shack” just an hour before.

“You should visit it sometime!”

Elliott tried to give her a death stare from across the table, but she seemed to be ignoring him.

“That does sound nice,” Gravy said softly, then turned toward Elliott. His expression faltered, and looked down at his hands, still interlaced on the table. “But I have a lot of work to do on the farm, so I don’t have much time for the beach right now.”

A mixture of relief and disappointment swirled in Elliott’s stomach. That and the wine and crab cakes.

“Well,” the farmer said, standing. “I’ve taken up enough of your Friday night.”

“Oh not at all-” Leah tried to say, but Gravy was already halfway out of the Saloon.

Elliott watched him leave, his brow furrowing as he did so. That was… abrupt. He turned back to his dinner.

“That was odd,” he said, before shoving the rest of his crab cake into his mouth.

“Gravy, huh?” Leah said, her eyes still on the door. “Where do you think he got the name?”

“Probably from Old Man Allen.” Elliot scoffed. “He was a total crackpot.”

Two empty plates and an empty wine bottle later, the two friends parted ways for the night. And although Elliott promised himself he would get back to writing as soon as his time in the Saloon was over, all he could think about was the new farmer.

Chapter Text

Elliott stared wistfully out the window. He told himself that he was just taking a moment to admire the ocean, but really, he was hoping to catch a glimpse of Gravy.

In the three weeks since he had met the new farmer, Elliott hadn’t had another conversation with him. He had seen him a few times - fishing on the beach, at the counter in Pierre’s, or sprinting through the woods on the single occasion he’d gone to visit Leah, but the two of them just passed by each other without speaking. Like ships in the night.

Since that first night, Elliott had also begun writing no less than five new stories. He’d gotten four paragraphs into a historical drama about the Stardew Valley Railroad before realizing that the constraints of historical accuracy would do him more harm than good. He’d tried his luck at science fiction, but found that his story was suspiciously similar to the plot of a space exploration movie he’d seen the year before, and thought it best to start over rather than risk a lawsuit.

The furthest he’d gotten was with a mystery - he’d even gone so far as to give the first five chapters to Leah to read - but when she guessed the secret of the titular manor after the end of Chapter One, he’d abandoned the novel in a fit of frustration.

Once again, he was back to square one.

Elliott pushed away from the window and sat in his armchair picking up the stack of pages he’d left on the tea table. He skimmed through the horror chapter he’d begun that morning, stopping to read the final line aloud:

“I’m so excited for the movie!” I exclaims with excitement. Little did I know it would be a feature. A creature feature. Featuring: The Creature.

Elliott let out an exasperated sigh and let the pages fall to the floor. He leaned back in the chair, staring up at the leaking board in his ceiling. The wet spot had grown larger.

While he was contemplating asking Willy to borrow some tools, his phone rang. He watched it for a moment, considering not picking up. Then, relenting, he walked over and answered.

“Hello?”

“Elliott!”

“Good afternoon, Leah.”

“It’s 8:00 p.m.”

“Good evening, then. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“How are you doing your hair for the Flower Dance tomorrow? I want to match.”

“The what?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“It’s tomorrow?”

“Of course it’s tomorrow! Didn’t you watch the news this morning?”

“I don’t have a TV.”

“Ugh, regardless! Tomorrow is the 24th! It’s the same day every year!”

“I must have forgotten.”

“So caught up in your writing that you haven’t bothered to check your calendar?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“What’s unfortunate about that?”

“That everything I’ve written in the past three weeks is complete and utter crap.”

“Hey! I liked the pages you showed me!”

“You guessed the ending in ten minutes!”

“So change the ending!”

“That’s not the point!”

“So what’s the point then, Elliott? Perfection?”

Elliott didn’t answer.

“That’s why I love carving wood so much. If you make a mistake, it’s impossible to go back and fix it, or start over. You’re forced to work with what you’ve got, and sometimes, you’re steered in a direction you never would have chosen yourself, but it ends up being the best thing for the piece. You let the wood tell you what it wants to look like, rather than the other way around.”

Elliott sighed. “That’s a nice sentiment, Leah, but my muse isn’t talking.”

“Maybe you haven’t really been listening.”

A moment of silence passed between them. “We’re getting off-topic,” Elliott said. “You mentioned matching our hair tomorrow?”

Elliott could hear Leah smile through the phone. “So you’re coming, then?”

“Of course. Tradition is tradition, after all. And it would be nice to see all the flowers.”

“And,” Leah said with a conspiratorial tone that Elliott didn’t like, “Everyone in town will be there.”

“Everyone in town is always there.”

“ Including Gravy. ”

Elliott’s heartbeat quickened. Somehow, he had forgotten. Of course the town’s newest resident was invited to the festival. Lewis had probably sent him an invitation personally.

“So, I was thinking a braided bun,” Elliott said, changing the subject again. What did he care if the farmer was there? It’s not like they were friends. They’d had one conversation. He didn’t even know Gravy’s last name. Or his first name, for that matter. Him being there changed nothing. It was highly doubtful he was able to find a dance partner anyway, being so busy with his farming and fishing and whatever else he’d been getting up to.

“Braided bun it is,” Leah said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll be the one in the blue suit,” Elliott said, then hung up.

Elliott’s attention was drawn to the window again. Of course, the farmer wasn’t there, just like he hadn’t been when he looked five minutes ago. Willy was out fishing, and, Elliott supposed, he might as well join. Maybe he could get something for dinner. He glanced back over his shoulder at the discarded pages on the floor, then, with a sigh, grabbed his fishing pole and headed out the door.

***

The sun was shining the next morning, like it always did on the day of the Flower Dance. Elliott took one last look in the mirror. His bun was as good as it was going to get, even if the braids were a little lopsided. He’d shaved, pressed his shirt collar, and tucked a daisy into his jacket lapel - he’d successfully scrubbed away all remnants of the ragged appearance he’d amassed from another self-imposed, isolated writing stint. He was presentable. In fact, he dared to say he looked good . He tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, then, nodding to himself, draped his ceremonial blue jacket over an arm and began the long walk to the woods where the festival was taking place.

When he got into town, he ran into Penny. After a brief hello, Elliott pretended he needed to tie his shoe to avoid the awkwardness of making small talk with her on a walk together. He could not handle being asked how the book was going today, especially by Penny. She was always so… enthusiastic when asking him - she was such an avid reader, so disappointing her with lack of progress stung a little extra. Especially because he knew that she had read every book in the town’s meager library twice, and was simultaneously desperate for something to read and unable to afford ordering a new book. Telling her that he was no closer to a finished novel than the last time she had asked would feel like telling a child that The Feast of the Winter Star was cancelled.

After Penny was a comfortable distance ahead of him, Elliott stood again and resumed his walk. He didn’t encounter anyone else as he ambled past the townhouses, Leah’s cottage, and the forest lake until he finally crossed the bridge into the west woods. 

Elliott took a look around. It seemed he was one of the last to arrive - all of the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes were dressed in their respective blue and white outfits -  some looking far more enthusiastic than others. Haley’s blonde hair swirled around her as she spun in circles, evidently practicing for the dance. Alex watched her with folded arms, seemingly feigning indifference, but Elliott was sure he caught a smile on the boy’s face when Haley wasn’t looking.

Vincent and Jas chased each other around in circles, and Mrs. Mullner watched them fondly. She was carrying a pink tulip. Pam was chatting with Gus by the buffet.

He found Leah then - she was hovering by the punch bowl, a glass in each hand. She smiled when she saw him, and raised one of the glasses, indicating that it was for him.

“Nice of you to show up!” she jeered when he was within earshot. 

“Easy for you to say, you live next door,” he retorted, and took the glass from her. She looked as beautiful as she always did - her matching braided bun was far more skillfully made than his, but still close enough to match. The white dress suited her, and she had put on some makeup for the occasion. Elliott thought she looked better without it, but felt no need to tell her this. She liked getting into the festivity of it all, and if this was part of the tradition for her, so be it.

He took a sip of his punch. It was quite nice - it tasted almost exactly the same as it had every other year, but with a certain… sweetness. 

“I like the punch this year, Gus!” Elliott called over to him. “What’s the new flavor?”

“Like I’d tell you my secret recipe!” Gus answered with a sly smile. “Let’s just say I added something locally grown.” He winked.

Elliott shook his head and took another sip. Floral , he thought. It would make sense.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Elliott turned, expecting to find one of the parents asking to get to the punch bowl, or maybe Emily or Willy saying hello, but instead he found-

“Gravy! Hello!”

Elliott hadn’t been face-to-face with the farmer since they had met at the Saloon. He looked… different. His skin was tanner, and it seemed he had cut his hair so it no longer obscured his eyes. They were a delicate green, he noticed, like two spheres of jade - and were twinkling in awe. Elliott couldn’t blame him - he too was in awe at his first Flower Dance six years ago. The woods were truly transformed with the springtime decorations, lilting music, and delicious aromas of the feast.

His outfit was different as well - instead of the worn work clothes he was usually wearing when Elliott caught sight of him, he was in a clean blue button-down and a brown pair of slacks. He was wearing a worn set of leather boots, but they seemed to have been polished recently. Despite his outfit being rather plain, he looked radiant.

The farmer raised his hand to wave. “Hi, Elliott,” he said, almost a whisper. “You look nice.”

Elliott’s heartbeat quickened slightly. He flashed a smile. “I wore my best shirt for the dance... This sort of thing doesn't happen very often!”

The farmer nodded, then took in a breath, seemingly steeling himself to say something else. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling to Elliott’s shoes. 

The poor fellow. Still quite shy, it seemed.

“...Yes?” Elliott prompted.

Gravy looked over to the field where Haley was still spinning in circles. “Would you be my dance partner?”

Elliott’s brow furrowed. “Oh,” he said. Whatever he was expecting the farmer to say, it wasn’t that. After all, they hardly knew each other - did he even know the steps? And he wasn’t dressed properly for it, and anyway, he-

“Sorry, Gravy,” Elliott said. “Leah and I dance together every year.” He gestured to his hair. “As you can see, we matched our hairstyles for the occasion. I-”

“No, right, of course,” Gravy said, shaking his head. “Never mind. I’ll, um-” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Have fun.”

Then, much like he had the first time they’d met, ran off before Elliott could say anything else.

Leah watched him go silently. Elliott blinked. What had just happened?

“Real smooth,” Leah said.

“What?” Elliott said, indignant. “Was I supposed to dance with him? I hardly know the guy! You and I are matching!”

“You could have let him down a little easier,” she said.

“I let him down plenty easy! I said nothing untrue!”

“Yeah, but cut the poor guy a little slack here. He’s new in town, he hardly knows anyone, and it took some real guts to ask you to dance with him. Especially ‘cause he seems so darned shy.”

“He’s not much of a talker, that’s for sure.”

“And yet, he took the time to tell you that you look nice.”

Elliott’s cheeks burned. “I do look nice!”

Leah drained the last of her drink and set her glass down on the table. “Come on, the dance is starting.”

Elliott followed her over to the center of the field and took his place in line next to Dr. Harvey. He cycled through the choreography in a daze, barely hearing the music or making eye contact with Leah as the song progressed. Instead, his eyes kept returning to the farmer - standing alone in the corner of the field, burying his face in a glass of punch, a crumpled tulip lying at his feet.

Chapter Text

The sun forced its way through Elliott’s windows, informing him that yet another beautiful, sunny summer day had arrived. He squeezed his eyes shut, the familiar dread of his pile of empty pages growing in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and forget the insane goal he had set for himself. Forget that he’d quit his perfectly respectable, stable job at Zuzu University to follow his fever dream of being a successful writer. Forget the vacant pit that had settled into his stomach for the past six weeks, as the realization that he’d made a huge mistake sank in.

Who was he kidding, thinking he could write a bestselling novel? He could hardly stick to one story for four chapters, let alone commit to a full-length, fleshed out, edited, beta read manuscript that was worth pitching to a literary agency. The distance to the finish line seemed to stretch further with each uninspired, unproductive day. He had spent the week since the Flower Dance trying his hardest to follow Leah’s advice - to “listen” to his muse, as she had said. But the muse had been frustratingly silent, no matter how much he plinked away at the piano or re-read one of the ten books he owned or stared aimlessly out the window.

He felt like Sisyphus, except when Sisyphus rolled his damned rock up his mountain, it actually moved. Sisyphus made progress. That was more than Elliott could say for himself.

Elliott had just about resolved himself to a day spent lying in bed, ignoring the gorgeous weather and his blank pages and his dread, when something on the floor caught his eye.

An envelope had been pushed under his front door. Someone had left him a note. Elliott struggled to think who would write to him - everyone that would hike all the way down to the beach to say something would knock, rather than leave a note. It’s not like his family was sending him letters after he had disappointed them so thoroughly with his career choices.

With great effort, he wrenched the covers off of himself and shuffled over to the door where the letter lay. He bent to retrieve it, and cringed at the pain that shot through his back as he did so. He paused for a moment, waiting for it to subside, then stood back up.

There was no addressee on the envelope, but considering he lived alone, there was no one else it could have been intended for. He opened it with a single motion and read the letter inside:

Elliott,

I need to go into town today for some errands, but I’m short on tuna. Can you fish up five and bring em to the shop tomorrow? I’ll pay you double the normal rate.

Thanks pal.

Willy

Elliott sighed. It’s not like he had any other plans for the day, and he was half-decent at fishing. Maybe he could work for Willy full time. He’d ask when he made his delivery.

Elliott folded the note back into the envelope and laid it on the table. He discarded the t-shirt and boxers that had served as his pajamas for the past three nights and stepped into the shower. Hair care was one of the few joys he still had left in this world, so he took extra time to shampoo and comb his hair through with conditioner. It took effort to prevent his locks from constantly smelling like the ocean, and it was one of the only things he remained proud of. Vain as it was, having well-taken-care-of hair was a standard he refused to let falter.

After drying himself off, he pulled on a white button down and brown pants. Nothing fancy, he was going fishing after all, but more put together than anything he’d been wearing around the house in the days since the Flower Dance.

With a final, approving glance at himself in the mirror, Elliott grabbed his fishing pole and exited his cabin, ready for a morning alone on the beach.

Except he wasn’t alone.

There, fishing pole in hand and eyes fixed on the ocean, was Gravy.

Elliott considered for a moment turning around and hiding in his cabin until the farmer left, but then he remembered that he had no legitimate reason to be avoiding Gravy. He would just fish on the other end - there was plenty of space, after all.

But Gravy turned his head and noticed him standing there. He waved and gave an inexplicably warm smile. After Elliott had rejected Gravy’s request to be dance partners, he expected the farmer to want nothing to do with him. At the very least, he didn’t think Gravy would be greeting him with… a smile. 

Gravy’s hand transitioned into a gesture that said, “plenty of room next to me.” He was… inviting Elliott to fish with him. And, despite it all, despite the foul mood he had woken up in or the resolve he had just finished forming to spend the morning fishing alone, Elliott wanted to stand with him. So he did.

The farmer didn’t say anything when Elliott took his designated place next to him. This wasn’t entirely unexpected, seeing as the farmer didn’t seem to say much in general. But Elliott felt compelled to fill the silence. He cast his rod out into the ocean, took in a breath, and said, “So, Gravy… how are things going on the farm?”

“Um, good,” Gravy said softly. “I just planted some peppers, and I’m saving up for a fruit tree.”

“That sounds nice,” Elliott said, relieved the farmer had done more than just answer his question. “What kind of fruit tree?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’ll take a while to grow, so maybe something that is in season in the fall. So I can sell the fruit. I’m still learning what’s in season when.”

Elliott tilted his head. “Your grandfather didn’t teach you?”

Gravy shook his head. “Not really, no.”

“Oh,” Elliott said. “I just figured, you know, with you taking over the farm for him, he would give you some pointers.”

“He actually left it to me in his will.”

“Oh,” Elliott said again. A beat of silence stretched between them. “I… didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“That’s okay,” Gravy said. “We weren’t particularly close. I was just his oldest grandchild.”

Another beat of silence. Then two. In fact, there could have been a whole symphony in the awkwardness that grew with each moment. Elliott needed to change the subject, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Fortunately, the eternal silence was broken by something pulling on Elliott’s line. He reeled, struggling a little, but after a minute was able to pull a respectable tuna out of the water. He breathed. One down, four to go. He cast the line back in. Gravy gave him an approving smile.

“If you’re new to farming, what were you doing before you came to Pelican Town?” Elliott asked.

“Working for JojaCorp, actually,” Gravy answered. “Sales.”

Elliott laughed. “How was that?”

“Soul-sucking, as you could imagine.”

Elliott nodded along. “I also quit a stable job to pursue my passion.”

“Your writing, right?” Gravy asked. “How’s that been?”

“Completely unsuccessful, disheartening, and thankless, I regret to say.”

The farmer frowned. “Really? That’s too bad.”

Elliott sighed. “Leah thinks I’m not ‘listening to my muse’, but let me tell you, I’ve been doing nothing but listen for I don’t know how long and I can’t hear a single thing. I’m starting to think I made a mistake.”

Elliott clamped his mouth shut. Why was he telling Gravy this? Yoba, he hadn’t even admitted the thought out loud before, and now he’d just told a practical stranger that he’s thinking of giving up on his dream - a stranger who he’d rejected at the Flower Dance -

“I don’t think following your dream is a mistake,” Gravy said.

“I-” Elliott paused. “You don’t?”

Gravy shook his head. “It was really hard for me to move to a brand new town and take over a decrepit old farm that I had no idea how to run, and plant seeds and take care of chickens and meet a bunch of new people and learn the unique customs of the town and its festivals-”

Elliott’s cheeks heated a little -

“-but I’ve never been happier in my life.”

Elliott staggered at that. “You- really?”

“Yeah.”

They stood for a moment, not saying anything. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. 

“By the way,” Gravy said after a minute or two. “This washed up on shore. Do you think you could use it?”

The farmer dug something out of his pocket. It was a bottle filled with something dark. Elliott took it with his free hand and held it closer to his eyes. It was squid ink. Elliott’s heart fluttered. 

“Ink! Gravy, this is… wow, one of my favorite things- I-”

He gripped the bottle tighter. Maybe this was what he needed to listen to. Maybe the new farmer was the voice in the wood.

“Gravy, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What types of books do you like to read?”

“Romance,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.

Romance. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

An idea came to him like a crack of lightning. The setting: a train, just like his historical drama. But instead of focusing on the history of the railroad, a romance between a stewardess and a passenger… the first scene was already forming itself in his mind…

“A romance,” Elliott said, almost to himself. “Yes. Yes! A romance! Thank you, Gravy!”

He turned and sprinted for his cabin. His single caught tuna still lay in the sand. Ink in one hand, his fishing rod in the other - the still-baited hook of his fishing line trailing behind him, Elliott raced to sit down and write.

Chapter Text

Elliott let out a gasp and shot up in his bed. His heart pounded, fighting to break out of his ribcage. His breathing was rapid and the foggy wisps of a nightmare receded at the edge of his vision. He couldn’t remember what it was about, but the effect it left on him remained.

He dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, sending his vision swimming in swirls of black and red. When he blinked the images away, he squinted to look at his alarm clock. 

2:00 a.m. He’d barely been asleep for an hour. He had spent the entire day writing furiously - the story had just poured out of him, he could scarcely stop to attend to his needs. By the time his hand was so sore that his writing was becoming unintelligible, he’d realized he had been at it for eight hours straight. He’d dragged himself into bed and forced himself to sleep, but it seemed his subconscious mind had other plans.

Elliott let out a prolonged sigh. It was far from time to start the day, but there was no way he was getting back to sleep with his heart racing like this. He shuffled out of bed, his bare feet padding along the wooden floorboards of his cabin. He navigated in the dark until he was in front of the fridge, and gently pulled it open. The light from inside it flooded his vision, and he blinked away the blinding stream until his eyes adjusted and he could properly see its contents.

Just as he expected: empty.

He let out another sigh, then glanced over to the fishing rod in the corner. He’d failed to catch Willy’s tuna, and it was too late at night to catch any now, but he might as well make use of the night’s insomnia and catch something to eat tomorrow. He didn’t want to waste his first strike of inspiration in months by starving. He padded over to the fishing pole and slung it over his shoulder, not bothering to put on shoes as he made his way to the front door. The sand would feel good on his bare feet, and would hopefully double as a way to ground himself in this reality, and not whatever his imagination had conjured up for him to be scared of that night.

He shook his head, a futile attempt to clear it, then pushed his front door open.

An image from his nightmare greeted him. A corpse - black and rotting with glowing eyes and jagged teeth, covered in an incomprehensible script -

Elliott screamed and dropped his fishing rod. He scrambled backward, and his back hit the door of his cabin. He took in a sharp breath, then blinked a few times in quick succession, his pulse racing. Blood pounded in his head. He scrambled for the light switch next to the door and finally, mercifully, found it and flicked his porch light on.

To his immense relief, the decrepit corpse at his feet wasn’t a decrepit corpse at all. It was a man. The unconscious but breathing heap was clutching a leather backpack in one hand and a fishing pole in the other.

Elliott inched closer. A sand-covered mop of hair obscured a concerningly pallid face - eyes contorted closed, mouth pulled in a line, and nose with a silver hoop through the septum -

“Gravy?” Elliott asked. He didn’t respond.

“Gravy?” Elliott asked again, louder. He nudged the unconscious farmer with a foot. Still nothing.

He took a few calming breaths, then crouched down so he was closer to the farmer’s face. He grasped his shoulder and shook a few times. Gravy’s face pinched more, and he curled into himself.

“Out cold,” Elliott whispered. “Have you been fishing all this time?” He looked over to the backpack that the farmer clutched in his right hand. He pulled gently on the flap, and was greeted by the familiar yet pungent smell of fresh fish. 

It seemed the farmer had fished himself to the point of complete collapse. The poor thing - he probably didn’t know how physically draining fishing could be, and had found out the hard way.

Elliott gingerly picked up the farmer’s fishing rod, and his own, as well as the leather backpack that lay in the sand. He opened the door of his cabin and set the items inside, then turned back to the unconscious farmer. He hovered over him, unsure of how exactly to approach attempting to pull him into the cabin. After a moment, he decided on the under-the-arms approach, and looped his hands under Gravy’s armpits.

He pulled. The farmer didn’t budge.

Elliott took a deep breath, trying to suck some strength into his lungs, and tried again. His arms strained. His face reddened. His breath caught, then released. No movement.

Yoba, why was this guy so heavy? He’d only been farming for a season, and before that he worked a desk job, so there was no way he could amass fifty pounds of pure muscle in that time, and yet-

Elliott let out a strained noise, his bare feet sliding through the sand underneath him.

This wasn’t working. He needed reinforcements. 

Knock knock knock.

“Willy?!” Elliott called. He waited a few moments. “Willy!” he called again. “It’s an emergency!”

Elliott breathed a sigh of relief when he heard movement from inside Willy’s shop. After a moment, the door unlocked and Willy opened it, looking understandably grumpy in a faded red bathrobe.

“Somebody better be dying,” Willy said, by way of greeting.

Elliott didn’t respond, only motioned toward the beach, where his porch light illuminated the still-unconscious farmer, curled up in the sand.

Willy’s eyes followed the gesture. “Aw, lad,” he sighed. “He was still out fishin’ when I came home late this evening. I told him not to wear himself out, you know. To take a break and eat something when he needed to. Seems he ignored my advice.”

“Will you help me get him inside?” Elliott asked. “I can’t move him by himself, he’s too heavy.”

“Aye.”

The two of them walked down the dock and up the beach until they were at Gravy’s head and feet. Elliott hooked his arms under the farmer’s armpits again, and Willy hooked his under his knees. On the count of three, they hoisted the slumbering thing through the open door of the cabin.

“On the floor?” Willy asked. Elliott frowned. He didn’t want the farmer to wake up on his floor, and there was very little chance he was getting back to sleep that night. He shook his head.

“Put him in my bed,” Elliott said. Willy, unreactive, nodded and helped Elliott over to the corner where they laid Gravy down on the mattress. Almost immediately, the farmer curled up in the blankets and positioned himself on his left side.

“Will that be all?” Willy asked. 

Elliott gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Willy, Truly. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Sure thing, son.” Willy said. Then, with a yawn and a curious final glance over his shoulder, he walked out of the cabin and shut the door behind him, leaving Elliott alone. With the farmer in his bed.

Chapter Text

Elliott spent the next few hours continuing to write by candlelight. He didn’t want to disturb Gravy by turning his lights on, and anyway, he found the ambient lighting added something… rather romantic to the setting. He was writing a romance, after all. He worked quietly, filling page after page as the candlestick grew shorter and the sun grew higher in the sky.

Just as the digital clock on the table changed from 5:59 to 6:00 am, a groan came from Elliott’s bed. Elliott turned, and watched the farmer sit up, rub his eyes, and mechanically swing his feet onto the floor. Then he froze.

His eyes swept the floor in confusion, then caught on the royal blue quilt that rested on his hips. Slowly, as if dreading what he might see, he raised his head until he had locked eyes with Elliott.

“Um. Hi,” Gravy said softly. His posture was rigid with an emotion Elliott couldn’t place. “Did- um, did we-”

“No!” Elliott said, a little too quickly. “No, of course not. I think you were out late fishing, and you passed out on the beach. Willy helped me carry you in.”

Gravy’s eyes returned to the quilt draped over his waist. “Of course not. Right,” he said, almost inaudible. “Sorry for taking your bed.”

“That’s quite all right!” Elliott said, waving his hands to illustrate how all right it was. “I actually spent most of the night writing - a romance book, I might add - our talk yesterday was quite inspiring, you see.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Gravy said, seeming to deflate in relief. Then, after a moment, “That was probably the most I’ve spoken at once since I moved here.” He kicked a foot on the floor beneath him, drawing a circle with it. “People think I’m quiet or shy, but, I actually like talking when, um, when it’s with the right people-”

He stopped. The rigidity in his body returned. “I, anyway, I should get going. I’ve imposed enough.”

“Oh, no! I don’t mind at all!” Elliott said, again too quickly. “Can I make you some, uh-” he thought of his empty fridge. “Can I make you some tea?”

“No, really, you’ve done so much, and I have to water my crops-”

As if being answered by Yoba himself, a crack of lightning interrupted him. The strike shook the flimsy walls of the cabin, and immediately after, the rhythmic tapping of rain sounded from the rooftop.

Gravy looked out of the window, watching the rain fall for a moment, then a small smile stretched onto his face. “Tea sounds great.”

Elliott nodded, his own smile forming. He retrieved the kettle from his kitchen cabinet, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. While he waited for the water to boil, he shuffled around the cabin and tidied his things. He stacked his written pages on the corner of the kitchen table, screwed his bottle of ink closed, and cleaned his quill pens. He straightened his fishing pole in the corner, and laid the farmer’s neatly next to it. The place wasn’t messy per se, but Elliott felt a sudden self-consciousness about Gravy seeing his home. He didn’t get visitors often, and Leah’s standards for cleanliness were measured by how much wood shavings or sawdust-covered tools littered the floor. Elliott wanted his house to- well, look nice.

Gravy stood and began to make the bed. The sight of it made Elliott a little sad - despite the nightmare and the jump scare of the farmer’s unconscious body and the effort it took to get him off of the ground, Elliott had quite enjoyed having Gravy over while he wrote. The past few weeks had been quite lonely, and the farmer’s quiet, sleeping presence in his bed had brought a sense of… calm to the place. He was glad that Gravy wasn’t leaving just yet. 

When the kettle whistled, Elliott retrieved it from the stove and poured the hot water into two mismatched mugs. He put a teabag in each, then brought them both to where Gravy had taken a seat at his kitchen table. He held both hands out, indicating that Gravy could take his pick of mug - it was a tough choice between “World’s Best Admissions Counselor” and “Stardew Valley Fair”. He went with the Fair one, leaving the title of World’s Best Admissions Counselor with Elliott.

“Thank you,” Gravy said, wrapping his hands around the mug.

“Oh, no problem,” Elliott said. “I love drinking tea myself, so-”

“No, I mean,” Gravy said, shaking his head. “Thank you for dragging me into your house and putting me to bed after I collapsed. Willy told me to take a break, and I didn’t listen, and I probably would have been out there all night and maybe gotten robbed, or worse, so- thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, Gravy. It was the least I could do after you got me out of my Writer’s Block. Just- try and take care of yourself, okay?”

Gravy nodded, then sipped his tea.

They sat there for a moment, just drinking tea and listening to the rain. Elliott thought idly that he could get used to this. Then, realizing what he had just thought, his heart began to pound. By all accounts, Gravy was a perfect stranger. A nice stranger, to be sure, who gave him squid ink and the miraculous inspiration to write with passion for the first time in months, whose presence in his bed was comforting when it should have been awkward, and-

“Admissions Counselor, huh?” Gravy asked.

Elliott’s brow furrowed, then looking down at the mug in his hands, realized what prompted the question. “Yes,” he said. “I worked at Zuzu University before I moved to Pelican Town.”

“You must have read a lot of essays.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Elliott said, chuckling. He took a long sip of tea. “I actually quit my job because of one.”

“Oh?” Gravy said.

“The kid wrote about how she wanted to join ZU’s creative writing program to follow her lifelong dream of being a writer. How her parents didn’t believe she could do it, and that she wanted to prove them wrong and show them that she could do anything she set her mind to. That she would make them proud of her. It- well, it hit a little too close to home. It was all I could think about for weeks. When the admissions season was over, I quit. Found this old place for cheap, packed up my meager belongings, and moved to Stardew Valley.”

His eyes fell to the stack of pages on the corner of the table, then back to Gravy’s face. The farmer hid a smile behind his mug. The sight of it made Elliott’s cheeks heat. Yes , he thought again. I could get used to this .

The sound of a drop falling on the table between them snapped him out of his train of thought. He checked his teacup, thinking he had tipped it too far and spilled some, but found it was empty. The drip sounded again, right in the center of the table. Realization dawned on him. He looked up, just in time for the leaky board in his roof to completely collapse under its own weight, sending rotten wood and buckets of water raining down on both of their heads - and the stack of pages on the table.

Chapter Text

It felt impossible to do anything but stare. Elliott’s eyes were locked on his kitchen table, now flooded. On the mugs that rested atop it, overflowing with rain water. On the farmer that sat across from him, his shocked expression framed by the hair plastered to his head, and the drip, drip, drips from the water that saturated his clothes. To the stack of pages on the corner of the table. Although, it would be more accurate now to describe them as a soggy pile of pulp.

Gravy blinked, seeming to finally process what had happened. His eyes followed Elliott’s, and landed on the waterlogged pages on the table.

“Is that…” he began.

“The pages I spent the past twelve hours writing?” Elliott finished for him. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t…”

“Type them up or copy them or save them anywhere? No.”

“Elliott…” Gravy said, his expression carefully calm. He was clearly unsure how to react. Elliott couldn’t blame him - he himself didn’t know how to feel. The only feeling he could identify with clarity at the moment was wet .

Rain continued to fall through the hole in the ceiling, and water was spreading from the tabletop to the floor. It flowed in the gaps between the floorboards, moving out in perpendicular streams at their feet.

Another crack of lightning sounded from above them. Elliott felt his heart crack with it. His face contorted into an agonized grimace, hot tears gathering in his eyes. His chest was suddenly tight, his breath labored - his legs grew weak beneath him -

Then Elliott was sitting on the wet floor, clutching his face in his hands and sobbing uncontrollably. 

For weeks , hell, for the past six years Elliott had been trying and failing to write something worthwhile. Submitting story after story to literary magazines, and receiving a mountain of rejections. Barely scraping up enough money to buy the things he needed, living without luxuries, rarely going out, never seeing his family - living the miserable life of a practical hermit because he had followed the fever dream of becoming a successful writer.

And then, one glorious afternoon - he had the inspiration to write something good . Something people would want to read. Something he was proud of. And it was snatched away from him in less than a day. He couldn’t even get a full day of thinking he could actually accomplish his dream before it came literally crashing back down around him.

Elliott pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. His breath hitched. His mop of hair fell wetly over his shoulders, which shook with each miserable sob.

A small voice in the back of Elliott’s mind told him that he was embarrassing himself. That he was carrying on like a melodramatic fool in front of his guest, who was just as soaked as him - who was in all likelihood widely uncomfortable by the display he was putting on.

Elliott tried to force himself to calm down. He pressed his palms further into his eyes, willing the tears to stop, willing his breath back under control. But before he could, another sensation surprised him. A weight on his shoulder.

Gravy had placed his hand there.

Elliott lowered his hands. There, in front of him, wearing a sympathetic frown and still dripping from head to toe, was the farmer - his hand on Elliott’s shoulder.

“Elliott, I am so sorry,” Gravy said.

Elliott sniffed and shook his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine, for not getting the damned roof fixed. I knew it was leaking, but I didn’t- I couldn’t-”

“No,” Gravy interrupted. “It’s not your fault. And I’m still sorry, even though it’s not my fault either. Sometimes, it feels like life really kicks you when you’re down, and there’s nothing to do about it but be upset. So if you need to cry, or scream, or throw things or rot in bed all day- whatever you need. You should do it. Because what just happened, truly and unequivocally, fucking sucks.”

Gravy’s eyes were intense. There was something oddly calming about how fiercely he was telling Elliott that it was okay to be upset. It made Elliott want to curl into him - to fold himself into those toned arms and be held - how he missed being held - made him think that in the farmer’s arms, everything would be okay.

But the voice in the back of his head piped up again - telling him that he shouldn’t overstep. That he shouldn’t make Gravy uncomfortable like that. Elliott suddenly couldn’t maintain eye contact. He took in a shuddering breath, then shook his head.

“I need to call Robin,” he said, and abruptly stood up. Gravy’s hand fell off of Elliott’s shoulder and into his lap. He stayed there, seated, getting rained on. Elliott shuffled quickly over to his phone. He wiped the mixture of rain and tears away from his eyes and sniffed once before dialing. Robin picked up on the third ring.

“Robin’s Carpentry Services,”  she answered.

“It’s Elliott,” he said. “Can you come to the cabin? My roof just caved in from the storm. I-” he lowered his voice. “I don’t have a lot of cash to pay you, but- I- I can help Maru with her college applications, or- if you need anything written, like a print ad or something- or if Demetrius needs any help with his research paper, I could, maybe-”

“Elliott, you poor thing,” Robin interrupted. “Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll figure something out. I’ll be over right away - it’ll probably take me thirty minutes to walk down there. Do you have someplace to stay in the meantime? We have a pull out couch. Or, I’m sure I could ask Sebby, he has plenty of room-”

“That’s very kind of you, Robin, but I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“Nonsense, Elliott! Pack a bag. I’ll be over with my tools in a little while. In the meantime, see if you can collect the rainwater somewhere so it doesn’t get all on the floor. And try and keep the floors dry - we don’t want any further damage, okay?”

“Oh-okay,” Elliott said, his eyes tracing the lines of water that had already spread throughout the floorboards. They followed the streams on the ground until they reached the flooded kitchen table, where Gravy was no longer sitting. The still-overflowing mugs sloshed rainwater onto the tabletop - which was now empty. Both the farmer and Elliott’s waterlogged pages were gone.

Chapter Text

“Tickets, please,” Elliott said. He adjusted his conductors’ hat as he waited for the next passenger to pull their ticket out. When they did, he punched it and returned it to them, tipped his hat, and moved on to the next train car. The door slid open with a prolonged squeak, then shut behind him. 

The next compartment had only one passenger, who was sitting slumped over with his head leaning against the half-opened window. He was wearing a worn gray hoodie that obscured most of his face. Elliott clicked his hole puncher, announcing his presence. The passenger didn’t stir. “Tickets,” Elliott said. No response.

Elliott tapped the glass of the window. “Tickets,” he said again, more loudly this time. Nothing.

“Sir?” Elliott said, reaching over to tap the man on the shoulder. Once, twice. Slightly frustrated, Elliott placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and shook. The passenger startled awake, revealing from beneath the hood a brown mop of curly hair and a silver septum ring.

“Gravy?” Elliott asked. Gravy looked up at him, his eyes intense. Then they drifted to Elliott’s hand on his shoulder. Elliott’s heartbeat quickened, and he pulled his hand away. Gravy frowned in response, then fumbled around in his pockets before producing a shiny golden ticket and handing it over.

“This- isn’t a valid ticket for this train,” Elliott said, holding it between two pinched fingers.

Gravy tilted his head. “Are you sure?” he said, his frown deepening. “What if all the other tickets before weren’t valid? What if this is the only good one you’ve ever had?”

The ticket slipped from Elliott’s fingers. “No!” He tried to snatch it back, but a gust of wind pulled it out of the open window and into the landscape that rushed past.

“No!” Elliott cried again, shoving his arms out of the window in a vain attempt to get the golden ticket back. It glinted in the sun as it drifted away, floating on a breeze toward the horizon.

“Don’t be upset, Elliott,” Gravy said. “Why don’t you sit with me for a while? I’ve enjoyed the journey so far.”

“But- the ticket-” Elliott said, still looking out the window.

“Another one will come along,” Gravy said softly. “Who knows? Maybe I can get that one back.”

“How could you possibly-” Elliott said, snapping his head toward Gravy. He blinked.  The seat was empty. He blinked again. Still empty. The passenger and the golden ticket, both gone.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP B-

The shrill sound was cut off by a heavy thwack .

Elliott rubbed his eyes. His surroundings were unfamiliar, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. He was on a futon. Band posters on the wall. A desktop computer. An abandoned board game on a low table. Right, he was in Sebastian’s room.

“Mmph,” Sebastian said from under a pillow. His hand still rested on the alarm clock’s snooze button. Elliott knew the drill at this point. This dance would go on for another forty-five minutes - Sebastian would snooze the alarm every ten minutes, maybe roll over once or twice, until eventually checking the time. Then would follow the “Shit! Shit! Shit!”, quickly pulling on a pair of pants, and logging into his computer.

Elliott didn’t want to be around for it, so he dragged himself out of bed, quickly brushed his teeth, washed his face, and combed his hair, and ascended the stairs before the second snooze sounded.

He had offered to take the couch in the living room when he’d started crashing at Robin’s house the week prior, but she had insisted he share Sebastian’s room. She noted multiple reasons, including that the couch was a central location in the house, and he’d be in the crosshairs of hers, Maru’s and Demetrius’ daily routines, and that Sebastian’s room was quieter and more private, but he suspected the real reason was that Robin thought both he and “Sebby” could use some company.

Sebastian hadn’t shared the sentiment. Elliott had tried on that first day to write while Sebastian did his programming, but he could feel the coldness of Sebastian’s shoulder from across the room. It seemed he too wasn’t used to sharing space while working.

Elliott had quickly discovered that Robin was right about the living room - between her walking through to retrieve carpentry orders from the back room, Maru going back and forth from her bedroom to the front yard while she worked on her robot, or Demetrius’ endless interruptions to ask him his opinion or this or that sample, Elliot hadn’t had a moment alone in days. He tried his best for the past week to write through it, but after the eerie feeling his dream had left him with that morning, he needed a change of scenery today.

Elliott retrieved his laptop from the living room and stuffed it and a few incidentals into a tote bag. His stomach growled and he was desperate for a coffee, but going into the kitchen meant running into Demetrius, and he could not handle another conversation about soil specimens. He was beginning to understand why Sebastian spent so much time in his room.

He gave Robin a brief goodbye on his way out, but she stopped him to say, “Wait- before you go! I’m almost done with your roof, you can probably go back today or tomorrow.”

Thank Yoba .

“That’s great news!”

“That eager to leave, huh?” Robin said with a raised eyebrow.

“No!” Elliott said quickly, embarrassed. “No, you’ve been so kind, and hospitable, I’m eternally grateful to you for fixing my home, and letting me stay here in the meantime- I still haven’t paid you-”

“I’m just pulling your leg. I’m sure it would be tough to go from living alone to having roommates of any kind, let alone this family. I know we’re an eclectic bunch.”

“It’s really not like that,” Elliot began, but Robin waved him off. 

“Don’t worry, Elliott, I’m not delusional. But you’re very polite. And you can pay me back in kind when applications for Zuzu University open next month. Maru doesn’t think she needs any help, but as bright as the kid is, she can’t write worth a damn.”

Elliott tried to suppress a smile. “Scientists,” he said. Robin winked. “I’ll see you later,” he said, and resumed his walk out the door.

He ambled down the mountain path, past the old abandoned Community Center, the Jojamart, and Clint’s shop until reaching the library. Elliott breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Gunther was the only one there. He quickly found a seat in the back, retrieved his laptop, and cracked it open.

“Now, where did we leave off?” he asked himself. Since ‘the incident’ the previous week, Elliott had tried diligently to recreate the pages he’d lost, but the combination of… well, everything that had shaken up his writing routine had made it difficult to recapture that spark. He hadn’t seen Gravy in that time, either - well, not in real life, anyway, but Elliott thought that was a good thing. All he pictured when he thought of Gravy now was his intense eyes, and the hand on his shoulder, then the frown when his hand fell into his lap after Elliott had gotten up so quickly. The images cycled over and over in his mind, and they were distracting, if he was being honest. He had far more pressing things to worry about than the farmer’s judgement when he was having a breakdown over his lost pages.

No, ‘judgement’ wasn’t the right word. Disappointment? Yes. He had seemed… disappointed , somehow. Elliott couldn’t blame him. He too would be disappointed if he’d witnessed such a display. It was better that the farmer left. He probably took the ruined pages as fertilizer, or to recycle, or… whatever farmers did with paper pulp. It didn’t make a difference to Elliott anyway.

He pushed away the mental image of Gravy again and skimmed the last few lines of the most recent page. Rather than recreating what had come before, Elliott had simply picked up where he had left off, with the conductor waking a sleeping passenger to ask for their ticket. 

The woman’s locks of auburn hair obscured a quietly beautiful face - she blinked upon waking, and looked up at the conductor with a shy smile-

“LET’S LOOK AT SOME BOOOOONES!”

“Yoba!” Elliott hissed, suppressing a startle.

Vincent bounded into the library, followed closely by Penny, with Jas at her heels.

“Vincent! Shhhh!” Penny scolded. “This is a library, you can’t scream or run.”

Vincent skidded to a halt and looked sheepishly back over his shoulder. “Sorry, Miss Penny.”

Penny’s eyes met Elliott’s. “Oh, hello! I didn’t expect to see you in here.”

“Needed a change of scenery,” Elliott said. It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Oh, are you writing?”

“I was, yes.”

“Please, don’t let us interrupt! We’re just here to look at the artifacts that Gravy’s been donating.”

“It’s a field trip!” Vincent said brightly.

Elliott blinked. “The… artifacts?”

“Miss Penny said Mr. Gravy was hoeing and dug up some bones and old spoons and stuff! She’s gonna tell us about them!”

“Vincent, Shhhh,” Penny said again. “Mr. Elliott is working.”

“Oh, sorry!” Vincent said in a stage whisper.

Elliott gave the boy a wink and returned his attention to his laptop.

The passenger opened her purse, her expression turning surprised and then worried when she realized it was empty- both her money and her ticket were gone…

Had he really dug up ancient artifacts on his farm? How much history was buried under the surface there, just waiting to be discovered? Gravy could have sold those artifacts for a fortune, and instead, he decided to donate them to the museum. What else had he been getting up to over there?

Elliott shook his head. He needed to focus.

“Oh my,” the conductor said, shaking his head at the dilemma. It seems you’ve been pickpocketed-

“WOAHHHHH!”

“Vincent!”

“Sorry!”

Elliott snapped his laptop closed and shoved it into his bag. Then, remembering himself, took a calming breath and turned to the group standing at the display cases. “I was just leaving, Penny. Please, carry on with your lesson.” He smiled at Vincent. “Being enthusiastic about history is admirable.”

Elliott heard Vincent whisper “what’s ‘ad-mur-a-bull’, Miss Penny?” as he walked out. He chuckled in spite of himself, and continued his search for somewhere quiet to write. He checked the clock at the top of Pierre’s: only 10am. The Saloon wouldn’t be open for another two hours, and he doubted it would be quiet anyway. The beach would be too loud with Robin’s construction work. Maybe the bench over by the old Community Center… Yes, that might work.

Elliott took the short walk through town and up the stairs to the hillside that hosted the Community Center - or - what was left of it. He looked over to the bench next to it, and found it mercifully empty. Bag in hand, Elliott made his way over to the bench and let out another calming breath as he sat down. No one came over here, the building being defunct as it was, unless they were passing by on their way to and from the mountains. Maru and Robin would be at work for the next few hours, and the rest of the clan at 24 Mountain Road didn’t have any reason to leave home in that time. Elliott breathed once more, in, then out, and opened his laptop.

“Not to worry, miss! I can look you up on the passenger registry. What’s your name?”

“Elliott?”

“Yoba, what now?!” Elliott slammed his laptop closed. 

There in front of him was Mayor Lewis, looking startled by Elliott’s reaction. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, but Elliott didn’t feel very placated.

“Hi, Lewis. Just trying to write.”

“Oh, well don’t let me interrupt!” he said with a low chuckle, adjusting his bow tie.

“Thanks,” Elliott said. He opened his laptop again.

“My name is Rose,” she said. “Rose,” the conductor repeated. “That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you, it was my grandmother’s.”

“And your last name?”

“I heard about the cave-in at your house. Nasty business.”

Elliott let out an exasperated breath. “Yes, which is why I’m here and not writing in my cabin. I actually lost a lot of work in the flooding, so I’ve been trying to catch up.”

“Of course, of course!” Lewis said. “Please, carry on.”

Elliott nodded.

“And your last name, Mrs…?”

“It’s Miss, actually. Miss Rose Vandermeer.”

“Miss Vandermeer,” the conductor said, a small smile growing on his face. “It’s-

“I was just taking a look around the old Community Center here.”

Elliott’s nostrils flared. His eyes raised to look at the mayor, but his head didn’t follow. “Is that so?” he said.

“Yes, indeed. Farmer Gravy and I were here the other day. I was just showing him around, you see, and we heard these odd noises. Probably rats or somesuch. But get this- I went in today, just to set some traps, and found something strange in the boiler room.”

Elliott sighed and raised his head. “Strange how?”

“Well, that’s the thing - there was nothing strange. You see, the building has been abandoned for, well I’m not sure how many years, and yet - when I went in there, the boiler room looked to be in complete working condition. All the other rooms were still  in disrepair, but the boiler room was, well, intact.”

Elliott narrowed his eyes. “That is strange.”

“I had mentioned to the boy how sad I was to see the old Center in its current condition, and I guess he really took it to heart. He must be working to restore the place.”

Elliott’s eyes narrowed further. “But why would he start with the boiler room, of all places?”

“Perhaps he was cold when he was walking around in there.”

“It’s summer.”

Lewis’ face pulled into a small frown. “That’s true.” Then, seeming to stop considering it, said, “Well, I think it’s just marvelous! I hope he keeps at it.”

“So you can keep doing fuck all,” Elliott said under his breath.

“What was that, son?”

“Nothing. It seems like Gravy is a real model citizen.”

“Well, he has been the talk of the town, for all the right reasons. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the eligible bachelorettes snapped him up sooner than later. It seems he’s been spending some time with Leah.”

“Oh?” Elliott frowned. Leah hadn’t told him that. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard all about it, with you two being such good friends,” Lewis said.

“Right,” Elliott responded. His frown deepened. Then he shook his head, attempting to clear it. “Well, Lewis, this has been great, but I really need to get back to work.”

“Of course, of course!” Lewis said. “I’ll see you around, Elliott.”

“See you.”

Elliott closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his flow back. He imagined the train car, and the passenger who’d lost her ticket…

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. Rose lifted her own silk-gloved hand to meet his. He shook it politely, but found himself wanting to kiss it instead-

Why hadn’t Leah told him she was spending time with Gravy? How much time were they spending together? Was Lewis right - was there a chance they could get married? No, Leah would’ve said something if that was the case. She was his best friend. She practically broke his door down to tell him about Gravy’s arrival, there’s no way she could keep a budding romance like that to herself- 

And why did he care so much? Leah could date whoever she liked. He had no claim over the farmer. They barely knew each other.

So why was what Lewis said making him so nervous?

Chapter Text

Elliott was doing… quite well, all things considered. After Robin finished restoring the roof of his cabin, the quiet and solitude of his home was near ecstasy in comparison to the constant chaos and interruptions at the carpenter’s. He’d been in a flow state for eight hours a day for the past three weeks, and two nights before he’d finally finished his first draft - and after a quick celebration with Leah at the saloon, had jumped right into editing. Elliott kicked himself again for never considering writing romance before. It came shockingly easy to him - he had Gravy to thank for the suggestion. He had Gravy to thank for a lot of things, he realized. Elliott made a mental note to send the farmer something nice in the mail as a thank you. That was a thing people did, right?

Elliott blinked. That’s enough editing for now , he thought. He saved his draft document - once to his hard drive, once to the cloud, and emailed a copy to Leah. He wasn’t taking any chances this time around. Satisfied, he closed his laptop and allowed himself a glance out the window. The last few days of summer were receding into the chill of fall, like a wave retreating back to the ocean. A chill wind would pass through the valley every so often, carrying aloft a few fallen leaves.

Elliott didn’t mind one bit. He loved the fall - celebrating Spirit’s Eve, carving pumpkins, drinking apple cider - he spent more time than normal in Leah’s cottage during those months. She had the best view of the changing leaves, and her placement near both Marnie’s ranch and the Cindersnap Forest made it all too convenient to gather ingredients for mushroom omelettes. How Elliott adored them. Yes, he had no qualms about the chill breezes and the falling leaves.

Elliott wondered what Leah was doing that afternoon. He was satisfied with his progress on his edits, and he wouldn’t mind taking a break for an afternoon walk or some ice cream. He picked up the phone and dialed Leah’s number, and to his surprise, she picked up almost immediately.

“Elliott! Perfect timing, I was just about to call you! Are you free this evening?”

“How providential. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“So you are free? Fantastic! I’m having an art show in town, around 6:00 pm - it was Gravy’s idea, actually - I have a few pieces I haven’t sold so I’m bringing them all. I’d love to have you there!”

“An art show? How marvelous!” Elliott said. “Of course I’ll be there!”

“Yay! Okay, I have to get ready, but I’ll see you soon!”

Elliott hung up the phone with a smile. He turned, hung up his best shirt for the occasion, and stepped into the shower - he wanted to look the part for his friend’s show. It seemed they were both having success in their respective crafts, thanks to Gravy. He truly was a… special person. Between his donations to the museum, his delicious cheesy contribution to the communal soup at the Luau the week before, and his apparently extreme dedication to fulfilling every “Help Wanted” request on the town bulletin board, Gravy was quickly becoming a beloved member of the community.

Elliott still saw him from time to time: at the saloon, at Pierre’s, or when he would occasionally come down and fish at the beach - he hadn’t passed out again, thank Yoba - but it was only in passing. They’d exchange a greeting, or a few words of small talk, but it seemed the farmer was a busy man, so they never spoke for long. He hadn’t been back inside Elliott’s cabin since the morning his roof caved in, despite Elliott’s reassurance to him that it had been fixed. Elliott thought sometimes that it might be nice to invite the farmer over - that they could “redo” having tea in the kitchen, but every time Elliott thought about it for too long, he would get anxious.

Elliott wasn’t the most social of men, to be sure. He was “friendly” with a few people in town - Penny, Willy, Robin - but the only person he could truly say was his “friend” was Leah. And he had been neglecting even her with his recent writing fervor. He’d always had some trouble getting to know people, especially if he wasn’t sure how they felt about the queer community. His near instant connection with Leah was the exception, not the rule - and before Elliott knew it, he’d been living in Pelican Town for six years and he barely knew anyone.

And yet, Gravy had been living in the Valley for less than two seasons, and he already seemed to be everyone’s favorite person. He made it seem so easy .

Elliott sighed. He rinsed the conditioner from his hair and turned off the shower. He would make an effort to talk to people at the art show, he decided. He’d be… sociable. Elliott was a writer. A storyteller. He could create an entire fictional world in his mind, then translate it to the written word - surely he could invent a version of himself that could make friends.

With his best shirt freshly ironed, his hair combed and neatly tied into a low bun, and a positive attitude, damn it - Elliott began the walk into town.

When he rounded the corner past the Saloon and saw the town square entire, Elliott’s face stretched into a grin. There, glinting in the late summer sun, was a collection of sculptures as unique and beautiful as Leah. A stone statue of a woman with an unamused expression, her arms crossed in dismissal. A looping tangle of pink that reminded Elliott of an earthworm squirming to escape a grasp. A stack of squat creatures in green shirts and top hats that Elliott found extremely amusing. And the crown jewel of the collection - an impossibly smooth carving of a single spiral, its raw wood unpolished, pedestal and sculpture alike made out of a single, knotless log.

A few other residents had already arrived - Lewis and Marnie, Dr. Harvey, Mr. and Mrs. Mullner, and Maru. Elliott spotted Leah standing in front of the clinic.

“Elliott!” Leah squealed, and ran to him. She hugged him tightly, then rested her hands on his shoulders as she backed up to give him a smile. “I’m so glad you came.”

Her hair was twisted into an updo as intricate as her sculptures, and it was peppered with sprigs of baby’s breath, the white dots looking like flakes of snow on her orange hair. Her makeup matched it - white eyeliner curved into a five-petaled flower, and her taupe lipstick was the same color as her freckles. She wore a simple coffee-colored dress with more white flowers stitched into the hem - Elliott suspected Emily had a part in creating it.

“Of course I came! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t celebrate your accomplishments with you? And, may I say, what an accomplishment. They’re absolutely stunning. And so are you.”

Leah beamed further. “It seems we’ve both been quite busy this summer, Mr. Author.”

Elliott nodded. “We’ve had no shortage of inspiration.” 

Leah turned as more attendees arrived - Haley and Alex ambled over from the Mullner’s house. “Go on,” Elliott said. “Greet your guests. Don’t worry about me.”

“Thanks,” Leah said, seemingly relieved, and walked over to them.

Elliott looked around once more. It seemed more people were trickling in - it was only 5:45, so there was a bit of time before the show officially started. Plenty of opportunity to… be social. How hard could that be? He scanned the growing crowd again. Dr. Harvey seemed nice enough. With a fortifying breath, he walked over to where the doctor stood and put on a winning smile.

“Dr. Harvey! How excellent to see you!”

Harvey blinked, squinting for a moment to see who was calling out to him, then shifted into an awkward smile. “Elliott! Um, nice to see you too. How are things down on the beach? Your roof is fixed, right?”

“Oh yes - our local carpenter made quick work of it. I’ve been right as rain - well, perhaps that’s not the best choice of words-”

Harvey chuckled. Elliott felt an odd sense of relief to have made him laugh.

“I’ve been all set-” he winked, “for a few weeks now.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Harvey said. He looked at his shoes. “You, uh, ever been to an art show before?”

“Oh sure,” Elliott said. “I had a colleague at Zuzu University who painted. I went to her shows whenever I could. It was a great way to meet people.”

“Oh, you’re a ZU alum too, then? That’s where I went to med school.”

“Ah- no, I just worked in their Admissions department,” Elliott said, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Oh. Gotcha.”

“Yeah.”

They fell into an awkward silence. Elliott couldn’t think of something new to say. Yoba, this was torture - how did people do this? How could anyone talk to someone they didn’t know already? Why was it so difficult to-

“...the farm?”

Elliott blinked. “What was that?”

“Sorry, I-” Harvey coughed. “Have you been over to the new farm? You know, since Gravy moved in?”

Elliott’s eyebrows pulled together. “I- no, I haven’t. Have you?”

Harvey nodded. “A couple of times, yeah. Gravy needed some stitches once - had an accident with his axe - and he was nice enough to give me some pickles he’d made, and I brought his cat home once after I saw it in one of Mrs. Mullner’s planters.”

“He has a cat?”

“Yeah. Her name is Meatball, I think. Anyway, the farm’s looking a lot better than it did. He’s got some beehives and a chicken coop, and it looks like he’s clearing the western part for something.”

“Oh.” Elliott’s neck felt hot. He had no reason to be bothered by the fact that Harvey had been to Gravy’s farm, multiple times apparently, and he hadn’t. Why would he? It was a two mile walk, and he and Gravy weren’t friends, not in the way that he seemed to be with every other damned person in town-

“All right, everyone! I think we can get started!” Leah called out. 

Elliott shook his head and let it go. He was here to support Leah. Positive attitude. Smile.

“Nice chatting with you, Harvey.”

“Likewise.”

Elliott joined the others as they gathered around Leah in front of the sculptures.

“Thanks for coming, everyone! I came to Pelican Town to draw inspiration from the beautiful surroundings, and I have to say, it really feels like home now. So I’m excited to present my sculptures that reflect some of my thoughts and feelings from the past few months!”

Everyone offered polite applause. Elliott whistled. Leah turned to the stone sculpture of the woman.

“I haven't named this one, yet. She started out as an exercise in human anatomy, but I ended up seeing her through to completion. Her expression is intentionally unclear... is she embarrassed, amused, pained? I'll leave that for you to decide.” 

She moved over to the worm sculpture.

“This one's called 'Post-Dimensional Nullspace'. It represents the boundary of human imagination. The shape and color came to me vividly when I was in a ‘trance state’.” 

She pointed to the creatures in top hats.

“I've been calling this one 'Egg Heads'. I wanted to create an animatronic humanoid statue to toy with the viewer's ability to properly attribute personhood to a physical entity.” 

Finally, Leah walked over to the wooden sculpture. She had an unusually shy smile as she approached it.

“And the last one is called… 'Wood Sculpture 3'. It's, um, a celebration of my favorite sculpting material... wood. And- I want to thank my special friend,” Elliott’s ears perked up. He was not expecting this, but he was grateful to Leah for- “who gave me the idea for the art show and the courage to go through with it. So thank you, Gravy!”

Gravy. Of course. Elliott applauded with the rest of the group, his brow furrowed. Leah had mentioned that Gravy had given her the idea for the art show, but she hadn’t said that they were friends, let alone- ‘special’? Lewis had mentioned a few weeks ago that she and Gravy had been spending time together, but-

Elliott shook his head again, willing himself to calm down. He was being ridiculous. He was here to support Leah, not craft some melodrama in his mind. He walked over to the wood sculpture - the clear star of the show - and checked the price tag Leah had written. It would be a lovely addition to his home, and maybe he could arrange some sort of deal or payment plan with Leah - he wanted to pay her for what she was worth, of course, even if he couldn’t do it all at once.

He bent down to examine the tag further. “Wood Sculpture 3,” he read aloud. “Of course.” He flipped the tag over. There was no price listed, but - what was that? There was something written faintly on the other side of the tag. He angled it so the light caught it better, and looked closer - “How I Feel…” Elliott made out, then, his heart dropped, “About Gravy.”

“How I Feel About Gravy”? How Leah feels about Gravy ? She had dedicated an entire, beautiful, flawless sculpture- to him?

The heat returned to Elliott’s neck. His heart leapt from the depths of his stomach to his throat, where his breath caught and his eyes watered.

They- no, of course they- and he was so handsome, and Leah was so kind- and of course Gravy wasn’t into- and they had been spending time together after all, while Elliott had been locked away on the complete other side of town for weeks- he was a practical hermit, of course they would- and they lived so close together, they were bound to- Leah herself had said that he was-

Elliott realized he was clenching the tag in his hand. He forced himself to let go. What was he doing? He should be happy for her. Gravy, as everyone continued to remind him, was a wonderful person and a great addition to the community. Far more than he had ever been. It made total sense, the two of them.

Blinking back useless, stupid, asinine tears, Elliott wrenched back control of his emotions. He would not make a scene. He had nothing to make a scene about! He-

“Hey, Elliott- you alright?”

Elliott looked up. It was Harvey, concern clear on his face. Elliott sniffed.

“Perfect. Wonderful,” Elliott responded quickly. “Must be my allergies. The fall pollen, you know.”

Harvey nodded. “Feel free to stop by if they get worse. I can write you a prescription.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” Elliott said, pasting on another winning smile. He turned to Leah, his arms spread wide, and enveloped her in a hug.

“My dear friend! I’m so proud of you!” Elliott sniffed again. Get it together . “That Wood Sculpture 3 is a real winner. I’m sure someone far wealthier and more influential than I can pay you what you’re worth for it. I can only humbly offer you a nice seafood dinner and wine in celebration. You’ll stop by soon, won’t you?”

Leah giggled. “Of course. Thank you, Elliott.”

“And I hope you and Gravy are really happy together,” Elliott said before he could stop himself. It came out icier than he intended, and he didn’t know why.

Leah’s face fell. “I don’t know how you- well, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t- we’re not. He’s, you know-” her hand flopped in the limp wrist gesture.

“Oh,” Elliott said. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning for it to be genuine, but he didn’t feel sorry at all. In fact, his mood had immensely improved upon hearing that. “I’m glad you two are still friends.”

Leah shook her head and smiled. “Nothing to be sorry about - It was just a little crush. It got me back into sculpting wood, so I have him to thank for that. I think you two would get along really well, actually.”

“He seems to get along with everyone.”

“He is a nice guy, but that’s not what I mean. I’m your friend, so I’m allowed to say this - you need to get out more. And Gravy’s farm is really turning out well, have you been?”

“Has everyone been to his farm but me?”

“Everyone who doesn’t live two miles away,” Leah chuckled. “You should get over there sometime. He’d love to have you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Trust me.”

Elliott didn’t know what she meant by that, but before he could ask, she was being pulled away by Robin asking about prices. Elliott watched her go, still confused, but feeling oddly lighter. It was good to be reminded every so often how nice it was having friends. Maybe he could stand to make another one.

Chapter Text

Another beautiful summer day, and Elliott was in an excellent mood. He’d been in high spirits ever since Leah’s art show two days before, although he couldn’t place exactly why. He chalked it up to being proud of Leah, and didn’t look a gift optimism in the mouth. It was Willy’s birthday, and Elliott was engaging in a rare opportunity to bake. He loved to bake, but didn’t often have a reason to, thanks to Leah’s celiac and his own reluctance to be alone with more than one serving of baked goods at a time. He didn’t want to relive the Snickerdoodle Cookie Incident of the Feast of the Winter Star three years prior…

Regardless, Elliott was humming along to his favorite record, measuring out dry ingredients as he followed along with his cookbook propped up against the kitchen counter, and feeling altogether pleased with himself. He adored indulging Willy in his secret sweet tooth, and he wouldn’t mind getting a single slice of cake for his efforts. With the flour measured and added to his mixing bowl, all that was left was to add in a few eggs. 

Elliott danced over to the refrigerator, whistled a few notes, and pulled it open. He pulled out the egg carton, and was cut off mid-whistle when it felt suspiciously light. He opened it - empty. Elliott sighed. “Who would dare use all the eggs and not replace them?” He looked around the apartment, making sure he made eye contact with every imaginary camera. Looks like he would need to take the long walk over to Pierre’s…

The calendar on the wall caught his eye. It was Wednesday, and that good-for-nothing spectacled twit’s store was closed. That left him making the even longer walk over to Marnie’s. Holding fast onto what was left of his positive attitude, Elliott turned off his record player, donned his favorite green tie and red coat - the days were chillier - and prepared himself for the trek. At least he could say hello to Leah on the way - he was overdue for a visit.

Still humming the same tune from before, Elliott walked up the beach and onto the forest path. After about thirty minutes, he’d made it to Leah’s cottage. He knocked a few times and waited for her to answer. He knocked again, and still no response.

“Leah?” he called. “It’s me. Are you home?”

Apparently she wasn’t. It was unusual for Leah to leave her cottage before noon, and yet-

Oh well. Elliott continued on until he reached Marnie’s ranch. Before he could even pull the door open, he was greeted with a paper note pasted to it.

Exercise class moved to today - shop is closed!
-Marnie

Elliott heaved a sigh. Shane was probably at work, and Jas was at school - where was he supposed to get his eggs now? How was it that everyone in Pelican Town was away from their post today?

Elliott’s eyes shifted to the building behind Marnie’s. Old Man Allen’s farmhouse… although, Elliott supposed, it was Gravy’s farmhouse now. Harvey mentioned he had chickens, and Leah seemed confident that Gravy wouldn’t mind him coming over… but, he might have been away, or busy - Elliott didn’t want to trespass…

Elliott looked back at Marnie’s locked door, then again at the farmhouse. It had been repainted, and was now a brilliant jade green. Just like Gravy’s eyes , Elliott recalled. Well, there was no harm in seeing if he was home.

A short walk later, Elliott had made it to the farm. Harvey was right - Gravy had really cleaned it up. Most of the stray boulders and logs that had been there were cleared away, two lines of beehouses stuck out among beds of summer spangles and sunflowers, and, to Elliott’s relief, three chickens basked in the sun outside of a red-roofed coop. And past it, straw hat on his head and watering can in hand, was Gravy.

“Gravy!” Elliott called out. The farmer raised his head, squinted briefly as his eyes met Elliott’s, then raised his free hand in a wave.

“Elliott! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you over here?”

Elliott walked to meet him, careful not to step on any sprouting crops as he made his way over. “I needed some eggs, and both Pierre and Marnie are unfortunately closed.”

“Oh,” Gravy said, scratching his head and looking oddly sheepish. “Well, it’s good to see you! I can definitely get you some eggs, but are you in a hurry? Do you want to have a look around?”

Elliott’s cheeks became hot. He blamed it on the summer sun and his lack of hat. “Well, I was actually in the middle of making a cake for Willy - it’s his birthday today, so-”

“Oh yeah, I saw it on the calendar!” Gravy said. “I was planning on giving him some mead at the saloon later. Mayor Lewis told me it’s his favorite, and the honey harvest has been really good this summer.”

“That’s really great,” Elliott said with a smile. Then, “I suppose I can stick around for a little.”

“Oh! Great! Yeah, I mean- as you can see, these are my crop fields. Right now I’m growing blueberries and hot peppers, I have a tomato plant over there, and I’m watering my radishes. You can see my beehouses, and that’s my chicken coop. Let me get you your eggs before I forget - how many do you need?”

“Three, please.”

“Got it! Do you want to meet the chickens?”

Elliott paused. “Oh, um, I’ve never really been great with animals…”

“Aw, don’t worry, they’re really nice. Look-”

Gravy opened the fence to the chickens’ enclosure and picked up the nearest hen. “This is Mochi, she was my first one. Here,” he said, holding the chicken out towards Elliott. Elliott gave it a tentative pat on the head. Mochi clucked in response.

“And, over there is Luau, and the white one is Poppy. I actually hatched Poppy from an egg- I have an incubator in the coop, and it was really exciting watching her grow, and-” he cut himself off. “This is all probably really boring to you, isn’t it?”

Elliott’s face flushed again. “No, not at all! I think it’s really sweet, actually… I remember you telling me how happy you were to be here. It’s… nice.”

Gravy’s face quirked into a shy smile. “Yeah, the day I passed out in front of your house.”

“Heh, yeah.”

“I’m happy to report I have not fainted since. I’ve been, well, like you said, trying to take care of myself.”

Elliott felt the sudden urge to shove his hands in his pockets. “That’s, well, that’s really great, Gravy.”

Neither of them said anything else. Mochi clucked from within Gravy’s arms, and it sounded vaguely to Elliott like the word “awkward”. Gravy put her down and mumbled that he’d be right back. He stepped into the coop, presumably to get Elliott’s eggs. Elliott retrieved his wallet from his pocket and shuffled between his feet while he waited for Gravy to return. Mochi clucked again. Elliott recommended she keep her opinions to herself. Elliott looked around the farm, and a tree next to the farmhouse caught his eye. It wasn’t producing fruit just yet, but it looked almost fully grown and was in a picturesque spot. Something about it looked familiar…

Gravy returned from the coop, eggs in hand. He followed Gravy’s eyes to the tree.

“I see you saved up for your fruit tree,” Elliott said. “What is it?”

“Pomegranate,” Gravy answered. “It should start producing fruit in the fall.”

“Pomegranate,” Elliott repeated wistfully.

Gravy smiled. “Leah told me you like them.” Then, his eyes widened and his tan face became a little paler, as if he hadn’t meant to say that. Had… had Gravy chosen a pomegranate tree because of him? No, there was no way he would, what reason would he have-

“Like I said, it’s not producing fruit just yet, but- hmm…”

“Hmm?” Elliott repeated.

“Well, I’ve sort of, um, made friends with the bats in the cave at the back of the farm, and they… bring me fruit sometimes. I can, uh, I can see if there’s a pomegranate in there.”

Elliott’s heart fluttered. “You- what?”

“I know it’s kind of strange, but, well Demetrius came over and told me he was doing research on the bats, so I’ve been trying to take care of them, and sometimes… they bring me… fruit. It’s, uh- never mind. I know it’s weird-”

“I’d love to see your fruit bat cave,” Elliott said with a grin.

“You- really?

“Yeah.”

“Well, great! Let’s- oh, here are your eggs,” Gravy said, holding them out.

“Right! Here you go.” Elliott pulled a few coins from his wallet.

“Oh no, you don’t need to- I’m practically drowning in eggs, you can just take them.”

“No, Gravy, I couldn’t- this is your livelihood.”

“It’s really all right.”

“Well, thank you, Gravy,” Elliott said, accepting the eggs. “I see why everyone in town has such great things to say about you.”

Gravy blushed at that, and scratched the back of his head. “Well, uh, the cave is right this way.”

Elliott followed a few paces behind as Gravy led him past the beehouses and toward the back of the farm. Just as he’d said, a short walk away was a stone archway which seemed to lead into a cave. Gravy lit a flashlight and shone its beam into the opening. There was the flutter of wings from inside, and squinting, Gravy stepped further inside. Elliott followed behind him, intrigued. The opening in the cave was somewhat small, scarcely larger than the interior of his house. Gravy’s flashlight illuminated most of it, and the bats all seemed to fly out of a hole in the ceiling, presumably further into the cave.

“Is it… safe in here?” Elliott asked.

“Oh sure, I come in here all the time,” Gravy said. “When it’s especially hot, it’s nice to step in for a few minutes and cool off. And sometimes…”

Gravy shone the beam of his flashlight along the walls of the cave, squinting as if looking for something. Then, they widened, and Elliott followed his gaze to see what he was looking at. A smile creeped onto his face. There, resting on a ledge in the rock wall, was a perfect pomegranate.

“I have to say, Gravy, I didn’t believe you at first. But… wow.”

“It’s all yours.”

“Gravy, I couldn’t- you’ve already been so generous with the eggs, and I’ve already taken you away from your farmwork-”

“It’s really no trouble. I… like having visitors.”

Elliott’s cheeks heated again, but he couldn’t blame the sun this time. Despite how cool it was in the shaded cave, Elliott was feeling unusually warm.

“Well,” he stuttered. “It is a long walk, but I can try and swing by more often. And- if you’re on the beach, please, um- I can stand to be interrupted while writing more often.”

Gravy nodded, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’ll keep it in mind.” Then after a moment, “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Thanks for having me. And for the eggs, and-” his eyes fell on the pomegranate again. He hadn’t had one since last fall, and the very thought of it made his mouth water. “Would you… like to share it?”

Gravy grinned, and turned to look at Elliott. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

“So, this is it,” Gravy said, unlocking the door to the farmhouse and opening it. Elliott tried to temper his expectations - the place was practically falling apart before Gravy moved in, so he had no idea the state it would be in.

He stepped inside, and assessed that reality lied about halfway between the two extremes Elliott had pictured - not a sparsely-decorated set of walls with nothing but a bed and kitchen table, and not an image pulled straight from a luxury home decorating magazine - it was… nice. And not “nice” in the way that people say politely when they can’t think of a genuinely good thing to say about someone, “nice” in that Elliott thought the place, despite its small size, seemed homey.

A few glowing embers rested in the brick fireplace behind a stuffed armchair and a box TV. To his left, a simple kitchen with hanging pots and pans and a small statue of a chicken atop a square oak table. To his right, a single bed with a red quilt, a black cat curled up on top of it - and an alarm clock on a wooden bedside table. There were a few decorations on the walls - a landscape painting and a felt garland, and a drawing on the fridge that seemed to be by either Vincent or Jas of a black cat - probably Gravy’s.

Gravy was examining Elliott’s face, probably waiting for his reaction to the house. Elliott put on his winning smile and said, “Your home is lovely. What’s your cat’s name?”

“Meatball,” Gravy said with a chuckle. “I wasn’t sure what to call her at first, but she made a devious attempt to steal some of my dinner that first night, and ended up trying to stuff a whole meatball in her mouth, so…” he trailed off, looking over at her affectionately. Meatball had raised her head at the sound of her name, and she blinked once, yawned, and resumed her nap. Gravy turned his attention back to Elliott. “I’ll get a knife for the pomegranate. Have a seat.”

Elliott did as instructed, and from this angle, he noticed something in the corner of the room, across from the bed - a white sheet was covering a box-shaped structure. “Dare I ask what’s under the sheet?” he said.

Gravy, kitchen knife in hand, followed his gaze to the corner where the hidden object sat. “Oh, it’s a piano,” he said with a half-smile.

“You play?”

“No, it was in here when grandpa left, and I haven’t been able to move it yet. I was tired of dusting it, so…”

Elliott nodded.

“Do you play?”

Elliott’s heartbeat quickened a little. “Not so much recently, I’ve been too consumed with my writing, but I do know how.”

“Oh yeah, I do remember a piano in your house,” Gravy said, his eyes still on the sheet in the corner. “I can’t imagine you want this one, then. I do miss having music in the house, so you’re always welcome to play it when you’re here. I mean- uh- if you’re here. You know. It’s a long walk.”

Elliott smiled. “Well, who would I be to deprive you?” He walked over to the sheet, removed it with a flourish, and folded it up before placing it on the floor next to the piano. Then he pulled the stool out from underneath the instrument, sat, and barely suppressed a gasp when he saw the name in gold foil on the lid.

Old Man Allen had left a Steinway behind in his rotting old farmhouse? Did Gravy have any idea how valuable- how high-quality an instrument like this was? His own piano was a secondhand mid-range he’d bought at a flea market, but this - this was a masterfully crafted- who knew how much Allen had paid for it-

“It might be out of tune since it hasn’t been played in so long,” Gravy said from the kitchen. He’d sliced the pomegranate in half and was working on retrieving the seeds from it, gathering them into a bowl on the counter. 

Elliott blinked. “I’ll give it a go.”

He opened the lid to the piano, marveling again at its craftsmanship, and pressed a tentative finger to a key. It rang out clear and true - perfectly in-tune, as if the piano’s strings had been preserved by magic somehow. He tried another - just as perfect. He played through a quick chromatic scale, and marveled to find each note within it sounding exactly as it should. He blinked again.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

Elliott turned to the farmer. “Your grandfather must have taken excellent care of it - it’s in perfect condition.” Then, after a moment, “Any requests?”

“Do you know ‘Dashing White Sergeant’?”

Elliott smiled again. “That’s one of my favorites.” He took in a breath, placed his hands on the keys, and began to play. He started with just the melody at first, using only his right hand, before adding his left hand to accompany the chorus. His fingers bounced off of the keys, adding energy to the lilting dance number. Elliott could hear Gravy tapping his foot as he worked through the rest of the pomegranate seeds, then he heard the sink run, and halfway through the second verse Gravy was approaching where Elliott sat. 

He looked over his shoulder, and saw Gravy pick Meatball up from the bed - she let out a surprised “Mrrow!” as he did - and begin to dance with her. He was doing the dance moves for the piece - walking back and forth across and spinning around and circling the room. Elliott missed a few notes of the song, distracted by how adorable the farmer looked dancing with his cat. Blush crept into his cheeks, and a stupid smile formed on his lips before he caught himself and returned his attention back to the keys. He focused on finishing the song, and after playing the last chords of the final chorus, placed his hands in his lap and chanced another look over his shoulder. 

Gravy was grinning and giving Meatball a few affectionate pats for her trouble. Then, looking up at Elliott, he said, “You sounded great! You’re really good - do you think you could teach me how to play?”

Elliott wavered. It was such a long walk to the farm, and he had only just gotten his writing flow back, but Gravy seemed so happy - he couldn’t imagine saying no to him.

Gravy’s smile faded a little when Elliott didn’t respond right away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- it was a dumb idea-”

“No!” Elliott interrupted. “It’s not a dumb idea. I’d love to teach you, I just- you live so far away, and my writing, but- I think I could manage once a week if-” An idea struck him. “Once a week if we alternate - one at my house, one at yours. Does that work?”

Gravy’s smile returned. “That works.” He gave Meatball a kiss on the forehead and set her back down on the bed. She did an exaggerated stretch and fluffed out her tail, seeming to voice her annoyance at her nap being disturbed, then licked her front paw and settled back down.

Gravy walked over to the kitchen counter and retrieved the bowl of pomegranate seeds, placing it on the square table. Elliott closed the lid of the piano, tucked the stool back in, and walked over to meet him. He sat, scooped up a handful of seeds and dropped them into his mouth - and his eyes involuntarily closed in pleasure when the sweet, tart fruit burst over his tongue. He hadn’t had a pomegranate in ages , and somehow, Gravy was able to procure one from-

“I can’t believe you got cave bats to bring you fruit,” he said after swallowing. “All of the bats I’ve encountered have been complete menaces!”

Gravy laughed. “I don’t know, I’ve always been good with animals.”

“Makes sense, with you being a farmer and all. Well, one time, one of the little devils got into my cabin, and its powers of evasion were unmatched - I contended with the thing for hours before I called in Willy to-”

Elliott froze. Willy .

He’d completely lost track of time- he was in the middle of making a cake when he’d left home- it had been hours- He checked the clock. It was almost 4:00 p.m. He’d been at the farmer’s all day, and he had nothing to give to Willy for his birthday, and even though he knew the fisherman would never say it, he’d be so disappointed if he didn’t get his cake-

Gravy’s eyes widened. He seemed to have made the same realization. “Your cake!” he said through a mouthful of pomegranate seeds. 

Elliott’s heart sank. “It would take me forty minutes to walk back home, then another hour to bake the cake, and to let it cool enough to frost it, by that time Willy would have probably gone to bed already…”

“Oh no, I feel terrible,” Gravy said with a frown. “I mean, it was my fault you’ve been here so long, with showing you around and the cave and the piano-”

Elliott shook his head, scrambling for a solution. “Maybe, if I run over to the Mullners’, I can see if Mrs. Mullner has some baked goods I can borrow - she likes Willy, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind-”

Gravy’s hand met his forehead with a smack. “Of course!” He stood abruptly from his chair, ran to the fridge and pulled it open. He rooted around for a moment, the cat drawing pinned to it in Elliott’s full view, before slamming it closed and revealing a perfect pink cake.

“Ta da!”

Elliott stared at him, speechless. “Just how in the world did you-”

“Mrs. Mullner came by the other day with it as a thank you for an errand I did for her - I had no idea how I would finish the whole thing by myself, but it was so sweet of her to bring it over, and-”

“How is it you’ve been here for two seasons and you’re best friends with everyone in town?” Elliott asked, surprising himself with the harshness of his tone of voice. The “but me” was left off of the end of his sentence, but its implication hung in the silence between them. Elliott’s brow furrowed, a mix of emotions swirled through his chest. An unplaceable jealousy, guilt at the frown that had formed on the farmer’s face, anger at himself for neglecting one of his only friends in town in favor of wasting the day on Gravy’s farm, and- beneath it all- the low scratch of loneliness that had seeped into his gut over the past few weeks.

“I was just trying to help,” Gravy said, barely above a whisper. His lip trembled slightly. At the back of Elliott’s mind, he felt awful for eliciting this reaction from the farmer - he had done nothing wrong - quite the opposite, he was saving Elliott’s ass, providing the exact solution to the problem he had caused by his lack of preparedness. And yet, the only thing Elliott could feel with any clarity right now was bitter. He tried unsuccessfully to fight the scowl, his clenched fists, his flared nostrils. His next words came spewing out of him like venom, the acid singing his tongue on the way out.

“You may have the rest of this town fooled with your bulletin board chores and your museum donations and your pickles, but I see them for what they really are: bribes. You’re trying to trick all of us into liking you so you can use us for- for sculptures or chickens or piano lessons, but it’s not going to work on me.” His eyes fell onto the cake. “Do you expect me to believe that you just happened to have my favorite fruit, or a perfectly-tuned fucking Steinway piano, or a last-minute birthday cake that I needed just lying around? That you somehow knew my favorite song, and its dance moves, and just nonchalantly requested it while making some pomegranate for me? No wonder everyone in town loves you - you’ve probably been looking up all of their favorite things and giving them gifts and mentioning the shows they like or the sport they follow or giving them their favorite, obscure type of alcohol on their birthday - you’re manipulating people into liking you! And now, apparently, you’ve wrapped up with everyone else in Pelican Town, so it’s my turn! How convenient for you that I stopped by today - or, I guess not, because Leah said that you’d love to have me over, so I guess you had time to plant that seed and prep the piano and the pomegranate and- and-” Elliott gasped to catch his breath.

Gravy stared back at him, pink cake still in hand, his expression fixed into a wretched expression. Elliott faltered, his violent stream of words suddenly run dry.

“I don’t know about you, Elliott,” Gravy said softly, “but learning what people like and doing nice things for them is how I typically go about making friends. And after leaving my whole life behind to move here, it was kind of a priority of mine.”

Elliott’s bitterness evaporated, and a wave of shame replaced it. He fumbled for words, opening and closing his mouth a few times before landing on, “I’m so sorry. I- I don’t know where that came from. That was- I’ve never- That was incredibly mean, and- and paranoid- I don’t know what came over me- I’m so sorry, Gravy.”

Gravy’s rigid posture sagged a little. “I know you’re probably lonely in that cabin all by yourself. But if you’re trying to be less lonely, that was a really funny way of showing it.”

“I know, I- I think I have some things I need to work out. I’m truly- I’m really so sorry, Gravy.”

Gravy nodded, raised a hand to wipe his nose, and placed the cake down on the table in front of Elliott. Elliott looked up at him, his eyebrows pulling further together. “You’re… still giving me this? Even after I said all those horrible things?”

“You’re a writer. I guessed the melodrama was hiding beneath the surface, I just hadn’t spent enough time with you to see it in full force.”

Elliott laughed at that, a single squawk. He covered his mouth to stifle it, and the corner of Gravy’s mouth quirked. He continued, “I would just appreciate not being the subject of it next time.”

Elliott nodded, a cocktail of mixed emotions swirling in his stomach. He stared at the cake, still in disbelief, but forced himself to see the gesture for what it was: not manipulation, not a bribe - just a gift to a friend. Maybe Gravy truly was that kind, and Elliott could learn something from him.

“Willy’s usually fishing around this time, right?” Gravy said. “Would you like to walk down to the beach with me to deliver his birthday gifts?”

Elliott took in a cleansing breath and looked up at Gravy. “Only if you come in to Willy’s house with me for some cake.”

Chapter Text

“I cannot believe you yelled at him like that.”

“I didn’t yell , I was- I mean, sure I was abrasive , but my voice-”

“Abrasive? That’s the word you’re going with?”

“Oh, you have a better one?”

“Psychotic? Raving? Delusional, maybe?”

“He produced a cake out of thin air! What would you have thought?!”

“I don’t know, maybe ‘wow, Farmer Gravy totally saved my ass right now’, or ‘Gee, how helpful! I’m so glad I’m getting to know him better’, or, hear me out, ‘What an incredibly nice person!’”

“How was I supposed to know that he has that magical ability to have exactly what people need all the time and gives it away for free?”

“You could try talking to him every once in a while instead of keeping yourself constantly holed up in here.”

“I don’t-”

“Or, if that’s too much effort, you could pick up the phone and talk to me . The guy’s been practically living in my cottage and the last time I saw you was my art show.”

“How’d selling go, by the way?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry I’ve been missing. I’ve just been-”

“I know. You’ve been getting swept away by your writing, and rewriting, and revisions. I’ve been getting the emails."

"There's something missing! It's almost there - I can't put my finger on it. It's driving me crazy."

"I get it. I do. I just- I miss having you around. I had to carve my pumpkins by myself this year.”

“I really am sorry, Leah. I have been kind of a hermit.”

“There’s no ‘kind of’. By the sound of it, the only time you left the house since then was Willy’s birthday.”

“That’s not… entirely inaccurate.”

“I’m glad someone has seen you in the meantime, even if it’s not me.”

“Has Gravy really been living at your house?”

“Well, he swings by every time he goes foraging or fishing in the woods, which seems like every other day at this point. Sometimes it’s just to say hi or to bring me some horseradish or something, and sometimes he comes in for a while, but he never stays long. An hour, tops. He always, I don’t know, starts fidgeting after too long - like he feels like he’s imposing. I always tell him he’s welcome to stay as long as he wants, but he always ends up leaving anyway. Says something about his crops or his chickens, or needing to get to Pierre’s before it closes, and runs off.”

“You know, I don’t have trouble believing that. The one time he came over here, he ran out pretty quickly too.”

“Didn’t your roof cave in on his head?”

“Semantics.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, I might be able to break your record this afternoon, if I can convince him to stick around a little longer after…”

“After what?”

“He, well, he asked me to teach him piano. I told him I could do an hour a week-”

“He WHAT?! You’re WHAT??!”

“Woah, relax! I’m just- I’m teaching him piano!”

“Since when do you teach piano?!”

“Since he asked me!”

“Elliott, do you know what this means?”

“That he wants to learn piano?”

“That he definitely has a HUGE MAJOR CRUSH ON YOU!”

“Ugh, shut up.”

“I’m being completely serious! Dude! Do you know how much that man talks about you? I’ll give you a hint - way more than he should considering the two of you have been in the same room like four times.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Half of the time I can actually get Gravy to come over, he’ll ask me about you. How your writing is going. When the last time I saw you was. What your favorite food or favorite color or favorite book is - half of it’s shit I don’t even know -”

“He does that with everybody! He gave Dr. Harvey pickles - Evelyn gave him a whole cake, for Yoba’s sake-”

“I’m sorry, were you there in the room with me when he was asking when your birthday was for the fourth time ‘just so he could be sure’?”

“He brought Willy a bottle of mead for his birthday! He knew Willy’s favorite drink too! Why should I be special? You were just saying how nice and helpful of a person he is!”

“I know, that but- I swear, Elliott, this is different. It’s not just what you like or your birthday-”

“Which he knows about everyone in town-”

“It’s more than that. He’ll ask me what your life was like before Pelican Town. How long we’ve been friends. Probing questions, like if you’re always at home because you don’t like crowds, or if you live so far away from town because you don’t want people coming over.”

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing untrue! That you’re an introvert. That you have trouble trusting people, but are loyal as hell when you like someone. That you’re a peacock.”

“Hey!”

“I’m kidding. Well, that I said that to him, not that it’s untrue.”

“You seem to enjoy the view just fine.”

“Yeah, too bad you don’t play for my team, huh?”

“The writer and the artist? Isn’t that a little cliche?”

“I think it’s romantic.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Regardless, I imagine Gravy would ask you more questions himself if you left your hovel every once in a while.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, thanks for the exercise, asshole.”

“Whatever.”

“Carved pumpkins. By myself.”

“Okay, okay. I need to get out more. I get it. This is our season, and I’m neglecting it, and I will do better. What does this have to do with me teaching him piano?”

“Hello! He wanted a reason to spend time with you! Alone! Regularly! What’s not adding up?”

“That’s all conjecture.”

“Fine, if you want to be an imbecile about it, be my guest. Just don’t do what you did at the flower dance and be a complete jerk about it.”

“That was six months ago!”

“And yet, Gravy has brought it up with me no less than four times since. It was under the guise of ‘learning the steps for next year’ and ‘making sure he honors the town traditions’ or whatever, but just because he won’t call a spade a spade-”

“Wow, the two of you have really gotten close, huh?”

“Well, what did you expect, Elliott? I got lonely!”

“Okay, valid.”

”And he- he honestly is a good guy. And after Kel, I really needed a good guy.”

“Is she bothering you again?”

“Penny told me she tried showing up to my art show.”

“No-”

“Yeah, she got as far as the bus stop before Penny saw her and told her not to come. Knowing Kel, I’m sure she could have shoved Penny aside with one hand, but Sam was with her, and he apparently ‘waved his skateboard super menacingly’ - that’s what she said anyway, and they got her to leave. I’m- honestly really glad I didn’t see her. I think it would have thrown me off, bad.”

“Penny is great like that. Ugh. Yeah, I have been a shit friend, huh?”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You would have done the same thing if you had seen her.”

“Yeah, I’m sure my feather quill would have been real intimidating.”

“Hey, pity party, you were asking about me?”

“My apologies. Please go on.”

“No, Kel hasn’t been bothering me, thankfully. But even hearing about that from Penny- it- I don’t know. It reopened that old wound. My tiny- tiny - it went away quickly- crush on Gravy was the first time since her that I had- that I had let myself feel like I could get back out there, and hearing that she came- not that I want to get back with her, of course I don’t, but- I don’t know. Packing up my life and moving to a cabin in the woods didn’t ever feel lonely before, but now…”

“I can see why you and Gravy get along so well.”

“Starting life over in Pelican Town does that to a person, huh?”

“Are you trying to wink?’

“Am I not winking?”

“No, just… blinking. Weirdly.”

“Well, that makes many past moments in my life significantly more awkward.”

“That is so embarrassing for you.”

“Oh, you do not want to start the ‘embarrassing’ game with me, writer boy. Don’t make me bring up your fan fiction.”

“Okay! I take it back!”

“That’s right. Know your place, Willow Ravencroft .”

“I told you to never say that name out loud!”

“The internet is forever, Willow.”

“Please, I beg! Don’t expose me like this!”

“ Your misdeeds have dishonored the legacy of your family! The only reparation we will accept is the blood of a thousand innocents! This is your duty as the sovereign prince of the nine crowns! ”

“Do not quote the ancient texts to me, witch. I was there when they were written.”

“And they will haunt you for your remaining days.”

“Yet somehow, you have that quote memorized.”

“Duh. I read ‘Willow’ like once a month.”

“You- what?! Why on earth would you read that trash? Monthly, no less?”

“Because, Elliott. You’re my favorite writer. And I’m strapped for new content.”

“That’s… actually really sweet.”

“I’m known to be, from time to time.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Eh, remains to be seen.”

“There she is.”

“Hah! Well, if you’re trying to win my favor, you could start a new book…”

“I haven’t even started querying this one!”

“What better time to write a sequel!”

“You were just complaining you never see me because I’m always holed away in here! Which is it?”

“Okaaaay. I’ll read Last Train to Romance again.”

“Ever patient, you are.”

“Maybe I need a new hobby.”

“Ever thought about learning piano?”

“You wish, pretty boy. You’re not making a teacher’s pet out of me.”

“Your loss.”

“When is he coming, anyway?”

Knock knock knock.

“It’s open!”

“Guess that’s my cue to leave. Don’t break his heart, alright? I don’t want to pick up the pieces.”

“Goodbye, Leah.”

“Hi Gravy! Bye Gravy! Bye Elliott!”

“Bye?”

“Gravy! Come in. I have the piano all set up for you.”

Chapter Text

Gravy shuffled into the cabin and closed the door behind him. He hovered in the entrance for a moment, having already been invited in but seemingly unsure where to go from there. Elliott thought he caught the farmer cast a nervous glance up at the ceiling. He pretended he didn’t see it.

They looked at each other for a moment. Elliott’s gaze caught on the farmer’s curly hair - it looked like he had just gotten it cut. He was wearing an… oddly formal outfit, considering they were just there for a piano lesson, and he’d had to walk two miles to get there. A green cable knit sweater that looked too warm for the early days of fall, plaid slacks that appeared freshly pressed, and those same scuffed leather boots, recently polished. His septum piercing was different too - this one was gold, and had a little star in the center. He still had that overstuffed backpack, which he had slung over one shoulder. 

“Hi, Elliott,” Gravy said. Elliott blinked. He realized he had been staring. His cheeks heated, embarrassed. “You look nice.”

“Oh!” Elliott said, his cheeks heating further. He put a hand to the back of his head, and realized that it was still in the half-up half-down style Leah had put it in earlier that day. She said the top knot suited him, and she practically foamed at the mouth to do his hair whenever she could. He obliged her most of the time, although considering she had almost the exact same hair as him, he didn’t really get the appeal. She’d said something about it being ‘more difficult to style your own hair’, and Elliott didn’t mind having his hair done nicely, anyway… and-

Snap out of it, Elliott. Gravy had complimented him, and all he’d said was “Oh.”  Stop being an idiot. Winning smile. 

“Thank you, Gravy! Leah did my hair this morning. She’s quite good with that sort of thing, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Gravy made a little “heh,” in response. He was still hovering in front of the door.

“Please, sit!” Elliott said, motioning for the piano bench. “Can I take your bag?”

“Oh. Sure,” Gravy said, moving it off of his shoulder to hold it in one hand. Elliott closed the space between them and took it, barely suppressing a grunt upon realizing how heavy the damned thing was. How was Gravy holding this hundred pound barbell in one hand like it was nothing? What sort of muscles was he hiding under that chunky sweater?

He hung the bag on his coat rack by the door, worrying for a moment that its arms would snap under the weight of the backpack. They didn’t. Elliott let out a miniscule breath of relief. It was entirely possible that the bag wasn’t all that heavy, and he was just weak. Comme ci, comme ça.

Gravy had taken his seat on the piano bench, and Elliott dragged one of the chairs from the kitchen table behind him until he was sitting next to the farmer.

“Welcome to your first piano lesson!” Elliott said with a “ta da” gesture and another winning smile. “Before we get started, I have a few questions for you.”

“Shoot.”

“All right, first question - do you know how to read music?”

“A little, yeah. I did band in school for a bit, but I was never very good.”

“Oh? What did you play?”

“Flute. I didn’t put a lot of work in, and it got competitive after a while, so things sort of naturally… yeah.”

“I see. Okay, question number two - what do you hope to accomplish in your lessons?”

Gravy looked down at the piano keys and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not really sure… I mean, Grandpa was a great piano player, and I’m already trying to carry on his legacy with the farm, but… I did always regret not trying harder at music. It always made me happy, but I needed to put so much time in to keep up with the other kids, and… I don’t know. Like I said, I miss having music in the house, so as long as I live by myself, I figured I might as well try.”

Elliott nodded along. “A noble pursuit, indeed. And final question - what benchmarks would you like to work towards? Is there a specific piece you’re hoping to learn, a recital you’d like to perform in, an event you’d like to play? How would you like to measure your progress?”

Gravy fidgeted with his hands. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess if there was a song I wanted to learn, it would be ‘Moonlight Sonata’. I know it’s sort of difficult, but it’s always been one of my favorites.”

Elliott’s eyes widened. That piece was one of his favorites, too. Did Gravy know that? Was he just saying that to appease him? And how did he find that out, anyway? Did Leah tell him? How was he-

Relax , Elliott told himself. He was being paranoid again. Acting the perfect part of the crazy old hermit. It was just a coincidence - Gravy wasn’t some kind of crazy stalker. Winning smile.

“A lovely choice!” Elliott said with a wide grin. “It’ll certainly be a challenge to play, since you’re starting from scratch, but I have faith that you can accomplish your goal. Now-” Elliott rose and walked to his bookshelf, retrieving his copy of “Methods for Beginner Piano, Volume 1.” It had been gathering dust on his shelf for the past few years, and he was grateful for the chance to crack it open again. He held it in front of himself with a flourish. “We’ll be starting with this book, which should allow you to build the foundational skills you’ll need. You’re welcome to take it home with you to practice between lessons. How does that sound?”

“Good, but-” Gravy stopped himself, as if deciding whether he wanted to continue speaking. “Why are you acting like that?”

Elliott lowered his hands, the book falling to his side. “Like what?”

“Like,” Gravy made a vague gesture, “a used car salesman. What’s with the bravado?”

Elliott’s cheeks heated again. He put the back of his hand to his face in an attempt to quell them. 

“Sorry, that was probably out of line,” Gravy said quickly. “Forget I said anything-”

“No,” Elliott interrupted. “Leah tells me I do that sometimes. That I put on airs when… I’m nervous.”

Gravy’s eyebrows pulled together with a half-smile. “Why are you nervous? I’m the one who’s taking lessons.”

“Funny how that works, huh?” He scratched his arm. “To my credit, I’ve never taught piano either. And I guess I’m not used to, well, Leah’s sort of the only one who comes here, so-”

“Elliott, if you’ve changed your mind about teaching me, it’s-”

“I haven’t! It’s okay, it’s just- It’s something to get used to. And I, well, I want to get used to it. I know that the last time you were here, you were soaking wet and I was crying, but- I mean, I was enjoying myself. Before that.”

Gravy’s half-smile stretched into a full one. “Yeah, I was too. Too bad about your pages, though.”

Elliott let out a prolonged sigh and looked over to the kitchen table, eyes resting on the phantom outline of where those magical first pages had been. “Well, lesson learned, I guess. As much as I love the feeling of feather quills and squid ink, it’s just too much of a liability.”

“Come on, Elliott. That was a freak accident.”

“Even so, it was by my own doing. I neglected to get the roof fixed until it was collapsing under its own weight, and my passion project got destroyed because of it. It’s poetic, in its own way.”

“Yeah, but- I mean, you were writing all day and night. You were clearly on a roll. You haven’t tried the old pen and paper method since then?”

“Like I said, it’s a liability. I’d rather do it on the computer, where I know it’ll be safe.”

“Even if that’s not what you prefer?”

“It’s- hey, aren’t you here for a piano lesson? Let’s get back to that.”

Gravy opened his mouth as if to respond, but seemed to decide against it. He gestured for the vacant chair beside him, and Elliott moved to fill it. He placed the book on the music stand in front of Gravy.

“Okay. Let’s start with a few scales, to get you used to the hand positions. You remember the C scale?”

“No sharps or flats?”

“That’s the one. Put your thumb on this one - that’s middle C. It’s your home base on the piano. And then you’ll just go left to right on the white keys here - you have to kind of loop your thumb under once you get to F so you can do the rest of the scale, ending with your pinkie on the next C. Want to give that a try?”

Gravy nodded, and placed the fingers of his right hand as instructed. He stepped through the scale, slowly, but deliberately, until the last note of the scale rang out.

“Good!” Elliott said. Gravy smiled. “Now we do it backwards. Remember to loop your middle finger over when you get to the E.”

Gravy did the scale in reverse, still slowly, but proceeding without mistakes until he landed back on middle C.

“Well done!” Elliott said. “Think you can do it all at once?”

Gravy did, and Elliott nodded along as he progressed through the full scale, genuinely impressed by how quickly the farmer took to it. He looked to Elliott when he had finished, and Elliott smiled. Gravy smiled back. After a beat, Elliott said “Let’s try it with the left hand.”

“Okay.”

“As you can imagine, this one is mirrored, so you’re starting with your pinky and looping your middle finger over when you get to A.”

“Got it.” Gravy played through the scale, forwards and backwards - slowly, but without mistakes.

“Okay, hot shot,” Elliott said. “Think you can do them both at once? Having your hands do two different things at the same time is the tricky part about playing piano.”

Gravy nodded once, placed his hands, and played through the scale - quicker than he had before - without mistakes. 

“Do it again, faster.”

Gravy did.

“Faster.”

He did it faster.

“Are you sure this is your first time playing piano?”

“I never said it was.”

“You asshole!” Elliott said, shoving Gravy’s shoulder. The farmer giggled. Elliott crossed his arms and frowned.

“I’m sorry!” Elliott kept frowning. “Really, I’m sorry.”

“Grandpa taught you, huh?”

“Only the basics, I swear! Just a few scales and like, ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’. And it was a long time ago, when he would actually come visit me and my mom. I really do need lessons. But-” Gravy began to giggle again, “the look on your face!”

A grin tugged at Elliott’s lips despite himself. “Just for that, you’re getting extra homework this week.”

“Nooo!” Gravy said, still giggling.

“I’m serious! Since you’re so well-learned already, I’m sure you can handle it.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“Now, show me what you can actually do,” Elliott said, nudging him with a shoulder.

“Let’s see if I can still do ‘The Saints’.” Gravy placed his hands back on the piano, took in a breath, and plunked his way through the song. It was a little hesitant, but the tune was recognizable and he was able to match the chords and melody with relative ease. Elliott nodded approvingly, then reached over and grabbed the Methods book, opening it in the middle and paging through until he found the piece he was looking for.

“Give that one a shot,” he said, placing the book in front of Gravy again.

“You Are My Sunshine?”

“The very same.”

“All right.”

Gravy leaned forward to look at the notes, mouthing something to himself as he read through the music. His hands twitched as he did, seemingly practicing the notes in his mind. Then, with a final nod, he leaned back on the bench and placed his hands on the keys.

What followed was a respectable effort at the tune - a few wrong notes here and there, and a couple of restarted measures - but overall, a valiant attempt to play the song. Elliott felt a small amount of relief that Gravy had struggled at all, and that he wasn’t lying about being a beginner.

“Good, at least I have something to work with here,” Elliott said with a chuckle. “It helps when you’re learning a new piece to practice the left and right hand separately, and I know it might be difficult with your strong farmer hands, but when you’re playing, it’s not like typing with flat fingers. Try and-”

He looped his fingers under the palms of Gravy’s hands, trying to arc them upward. Gravy sucked in a breath, and Elliott yanked his hand back. 

“Sorry,” Gravy said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t expecting you to-”

“No, that’s my fault! I should have said I was-”

“Of course you’d want to show me-”

“I didn’t realize you would-”

“It’s fine if you want to-”

“I don’t have to-”

They both stopped. Gravy clamped his mouth shut and gestured for Elliott to continue.

“Sorry. I was just saying you should try and keep your hands and fingers tall. Like arcs.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to try again, doing that with just your left hand?”

“Yeah.”

The lesson proceeded from there. They ran through “You Are My Sunshine” a few more times, eventually adding in the chords from the left hand. Gravy made sure to keep his hands arced, and would occasionally glance over to Elliott for reassurance that he was doing it right. After a few iterations, the piece was sounding respectable, and Elliott had assigned him another two pieces from the book to practice that week. Thanks to Gravy’s surprise experience, they’d progressed further than Elliott had expected, and he would have to update his lesson plan for the next week. Elliott found that he didn’t mind, and was actually quite excited for the next time they would play together. Piano had always been a nice hobby for him, but teaching felt… more rewarding. He liked the warm feeling he got when Gravy made progress in the piece. By the end of the lesson, Elliott was grinning like an idiot, looking over at Gravy with pride.

“Let’s end there,” Elliott said, pushing his chair back and standing to stretch. “Well? How was that?”

“Really great!” Gravy said, smiling over his shoulder at him. “You’re a much better teacher than Grandpa ever was.”

“Well, I-” Elliott responded, scratching the back of his head again and trying to suppress the heat returning to his cheeks. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Oh! And-” Gravy rooted through his pockets, “Here.” He held out a 500G piece, and the warmth came back to Elliott’s face with full force.

“Gravy, that’s- you don’t need to-”

“Elliott, I’m not going to let you teach me for free. Don’t even try and tell me no.” He held the coin out in front of him with an emphatic shake. 

“All right,” Elliott said, bowing his head. “Thank you, Gravy.” He reached out to take the coin, and his breath caught in his throat when his fingers brushed against Gravy’s. Elliott looked up, catching the farmer’s eye, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment before Gravy coughed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I should get going,” he said.

“You don’t have to- I could make us some tea, or-”

“Thank you, but I have to, um- get to Pierre’s before it closes. I need to get some seeds, and-”

“Oh! Of course, go right ahead. First of the season, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you next week?”

“My place?”

“Yes.”

“See you then.”

Gravy took his bag one-handed from the coat rack, placed the piano book into it, waved, and closed the door behind him - leaving Elliott alone in his house with sweaty hands and a pounding heart. 

His mind reeled. Things had been going so well until- Of course Gravy would want to pay him, so why did it feel so- It’s not like they’d never made physical contact before, but after what happened when he’d tried to adjust Gravy’s hands- He probably just didn’t like to be touched - when Lewis had put his arm around his shoulders in the Saloon, he didn’t seem to like it. That was probably it…

Elliott looked up to the ceiling of his cabin, to the mismatched boards that marked where the cave-in had been repaired. He thought about how he’d cried over his ruined pages, and how Gravy had placed his hand on his shoulder - how he and the ruined pages had disappeared when Elliott was on the phone with Robin -

He looked over to his kitchen counter, where his feather quill and ink bottle had been resting unused since then. Maybe if he… 

No. It was too big a risk.

He sucked in a breath and shook his shoulders to try and rid himself of the mix of feelings that was swirling in his chest. He caught sight of himself in the mirror above his bed, noticing the still-perfect top knot that Leah had woven his hair into earlier that day. He noticed also that his cheeks were bright red, and his eyebrows were knit together in an unnamed expression. Confusion? Contemplation? Neither felt right. What would he be contemplating, anyway?

He shook his shoulders again. A strand of hair pulled itself loose from the updo and fell between his eyebrows, tickling his nose. The curled end of the strand looped between his nostrils, giving the perfect illusion of a septum piercing.

Chapter Text

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Ngh,” Elliott said from beneath a mountain of blankets. What was that noise?

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Elliott groaned, raising his head from his pillow to check the time. 7:00 a.m. What in the world-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK-

“ALL RIGHT!” Elliott yelled. “I’m coming!”

He threw his feet onto the floor and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He rubbed until he saw swirls of color, took two deep breaths, and stood. He shuffled bare footed over to the door, unlocked it, and prepared his best death glare for whatever idiot was behind the door.

The idiot was a box, about half his height, topped with a bow and a label that read “Open Me.”

If Elliott was more awake, he may have considered all sorts of sinister objects that could be hiding in a box on his doorstep. But he wasn’t. He bent down, grabbed the top of the box, and pulled.

He blinked. He placed the box top to his side, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again.

Yep. He was looking at “Wood Sculpture 3”, which was sitting unabashedly on his doorstep.

“SURPRISE!!!”

Elliott practically jumped out of his skin. It was a small mercy that he didn’t knock the sculpture over in his fright. Then a set of arms crashed into him, leaving him unable to stop himself from being scooped up and swung in a circle.

Leah placed him down, then threw her arms instead around his shoulders and half-screamed, half-sang “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” directly next to his head. Elliott winced at the noise, still not entirely sure what was going on. It was only when Leah took a step back, hands still on his shoulders and smile stretched wide across her face, that Elliott’s brain caught up.

He looked down at the sculpture, then back up at Leah. “You’re giving me this?”

“Duh!” Leah said with a little shake of his shoulders. “Ever heard of a birthday present?”

“But Leah, this- it must be worth so much- it was the best piece of the show!”

“Do not even start with me, Elliott! This is not a fight you want to take on! You’re my best friend, it’s your birthday, this was your favorite sculpture, and I sold all the rest so it’s yours! End of!”

“I’m in my pajamas.”

“I wanted to make sure you were home.”

“But-”

“Help me move this inside! I saw the perfect place for it when I was here the other day.”

Elliott, without the conviction to protest, did as he was told and helped Leah carry the sculpture through the open door. She guided him over to the corner where his writing desk was. They placed it down, then after Leah took a step back and rotated it a few degrees to the left, she gave it a thumbs-up of approval.

“There!” She said, grinning. “Now you can always remember to listen to the wood while you’re writing.”

“Leah, are you sure? This is really-”

“La la la! Not listening! Now sit down so I can make your mushroom omelette!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elliott sat at his kitchen table, still somewhat dazed, and watched Leah empty the contents of her backpack onto the kitchen counter. She navigated it like she owned the place, pulling a frying pan out of the cabinet, lighting the stove, and making quick work of cracking and mixing eggs.

“I brought only the finest, freshest ingredients for your birthday breakfast. Mushrooms I picked myself, a lovely sourdough from our friend Mrs. Mullner, and four gorgeous eggs from You Know Who…”

“Leah, please. It’s too early to be having this conversation again.”

“Fine, but only because it’s your birthday. Can you put a record on, then? Dealer’s choice.”

Elliott again did as he was told, selecting an indie rock album from his vinyl rack and placing it onto his turntable. The low music filled the cabin, and mixed with the delicious smell that wafted over from the kitchen to create a pleasant ambience. Satisfied, Elliott sat back down in his chair.

“Thank you,” Elliott said finally. “I had honestly forgotten it was my birthday.”

“I know. You do it every year. Not on my watch, buddy!”

Elliott’s heart felt suddenly full, with the sound of music and the warm morning sun and the smell of his favorite breakfast - and his eyes welled. He blinked back the tears, writing them off as the remnants of the sleep he had left not too long ago, but no matter how much he blinked, they wouldn’t go away.

He swiped at his eyes, willing himself to just relax, but Leah picked that exact moment to look over her shoulder at him. He guiltily tried to hide his face, but it was obvious Leah had seen.

“Oh Elliott, you big softie,” Leah said with a warm smile. She held her arms open wide. When he didn’t get up, Leah shook her hands in the “come here” motion, and Elliott relented.

He walked over to her, she fully dressed and spatula in hand and he in his t-shirt and boxers, and folded himself into her hug. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, and despite his best efforts, Elliott began to cry again.

“What’s going on, bud?” Leah asked, not shying away from Elliott’s shaking shoulders or the tears that were wetting her shirt. She was decent like that.

Elliott didn’t even know why he was crying. There was nothing “going on”. It was his birthday, it was his favorite season - he had nothing to be crying about. So why did everything feel so heavy right now? Why had his friend giving him a gift and making him breakfast turned him into a complete mess?

Elliott did what he always did when he didn’t know what to say: he started speaking. “I just- that was so nice of you and you’re such a good friend, and you know that mushroom omelettes are my favorite and you walked all the way here to surprise me, and I’m thirty four today and my book isn’t done and I know my family isn’t going to call me and I don’t know if I even want to leave the house today because I don’t want anyone to see me and ask me how I’m doing because I don’t know how I’m doing, I feel like I don’t know anything about myself anymore, who I am or what I like or what I’m feeling or whether I’m ever going to make it as a writer, and I forgot it was my birthday and now I’m feeling all these things and I can’t sort any of it out, and you gave me your wood sculpture but I haven’t been listening to the wood since the wood of my damned ceiling fell in on me and maybe I lost my golden ticket and I should just give up and Gravy told me he didn’t know how to play piano but he did , and then he told me I was being a used car salesman which was stupid but it was true , and I don’t know why I did that but I did and then he wouldn’t stay for tea and maybe I scared him off and I haven’t- I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Wow. That was… a lot,” Leah said, rubbing circles into his back. “How long have you been keeping all that bottled up?”

“I don’t know,” Elliott breathed. “A while.”

“Seems like it.”

Elliott sniffed, and retrieved his right arm from Leah’s shoulders to wipe his eyes.

“Nothing like a birthday to give you a little existential crisis,” Leah said, and squeezed his shoulder. “But I have good news for you, buddy.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re omelette’s ready.”

 That got a surprised laugh out of Elliott, and Leah grinned in response. “Sit.”

Elliott sat.

Leah scooped the omelette onto a plate and brought it and a mug of coffee over to the table. She placed them in front of him and took her usual seat opposite him.

“Aren’t you eating too?” Elliott said with another sniff.

“After I give my speech.”

Elliott assumed his poised posture, leaning into the antics of it to try and get his emotions back under wraps, and took a delicate sip of his coffee. “Do go on.”

“First off, Elliott, I’ve read your work. You do know what you’re doing. You’re a great writer, as much as you try and tell yourself otherwise. You’ll find the missing piece because you’re working so damned hard to find it. You know how many works of art never see the light of day because the artist just gave up? You want this, so much that you turned your whole life around to pursue it, and you refuse to give up. That’s what makes you great. Understood?”

Elliott nodded with dramatic formality, forcing himself to believe her.

“Second, you’re thirty four, so what? Anyone who tells you you need to do whatever thing at whatever age is just trying to sell you something. It’s all bullshit. You’re not too old to do anything, period. Get that through your head.”

Elliott took another sip of his coffee.

“Number three, you are so emotionally constipated it makes me want to scream. Elliott, I love you, you’re my best friend and I would do anything for you, but I can’t feel your feelings for you. That one’s all on you, and the more you keep them bottled up, the worse you’re going to feel. You can’t keep ignoring the leaks until your roof floods. You can’t go weeks without talking about your feelings. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Gravy - I don’t even know if you know yourself, but you need to stop pretending that nothing is going on. He’s either your friend, or you want him to be more than your friend, but you can’t keep pretending that he’s nothing to you. I know feelings are scary, I know being vulnerable is scary, I know getting older is scary - Yoba , do I know that - but you can’t deal with the fear by pretending it doesn’t exist. Feel scared and do the thing anyway. Risk breaking your heart and love anyway. Get older and celebrate your birthday anyway. Do your hair, eat your omelette, admire the gorgeous statue I carved and write your little heart out. That’s what life is for. Speech over.”

Elliott breathed. He looked over at the statue, then at his omelette, then back at her. “I love you too.”

“Hey! That’s how you do it. Happy birthday, you idiot. Your food’s getting cold.”

With a wry smile, Elliott began to eat. The omelette was delicious, of course. He expected nothing less. Leah stood to cook her own, and by the time she was finished, Elliott’s plate was clear and he was draining the remains of his coffee. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“I’m actually headed out to the desert to meet with a shop owner there - she said she was interested in commissioning a few things, and she wanted to see some samples in person. She’s Emily’s friend, I think.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, so I wanted to make sure I got to you early.”

“I’m really glad you did. Thank you again.”

“What are friends for?”

“I mean it. I don’t deserve-” He breathed. “I’m really grateful to have you in my life.”

“He’s on a roll, ladies and gentlemen!”

Elliott kicked her under the table. She gave her signature shit-eating grin in response. “What about you, birthday boy? You better not spend the day holed up in here.”

“Well, considering I had forgotten it was today until your rude awakening - yes I mean that in both the literal and figurative sense - I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“When’s your next lesson with Gravy?”

“Monday.”

“Well, it is Friday. You could go to the Saloon.”

“People might sing!”

“So?”

“Off-key!”

“Yeah, fair enough. Too bad the Community Center is all busted. We could have had a party.”

“A true tragedy.”

“You don’t think Willy will come over?”

“He might.”

“The Saloon has a pool table.”

“Who would I play with?”

“Well…”

“Leah.”

“Elliott.”

“I’m already seeing Gravy on Monday.”

“It’s your birthday! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Didn’t you say he asked you four times when my birthday was?”

“...yes?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about his plans, then?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Leah.”

“Just go to the Saloon, okay?”

“Fine.”

“And if you want to save yourself another one of my speeches, try and not immediately regress into your constipated self when I leave, okay?”

Elliott frowned at her. She pointed an accusatory finger at him. He sighed, relenting. Then, after a moment, “Will you do my hair?”

Leah grinned. “Of course.”

***
Just as he was asked to, Elliott strolled through the doors of the Stardrop Saloon at 6:00 p.m. His hair was in a half-up, half-down style courtesy of Leah, the top half in a delicate braided bun and, per Elliott’s request, a single strand of hair was hanging down by his left cheek. He wore his best shirt and tie, his favorite red coat and green trousers, and the wing-tipped brown oxfords he only wore on special occasions. He may have gotten the celebration started a little early with a glass of prosecco in his cabin, but who was counting? It was his birthday.

Gus raised the towel in his hand in greeting as he entered, and said “there’s the birthday boy!” A chorus of cheers came from around the Saloon. Even Shane, grumpy as he always was, raised his beer in acknowledgement.

The usual Friday crowd was there, as was Willy and Maru. Willy had stopped by with a single cupcake earlier that day - he’d drawn a crude fish in blue icing and had used a match as a candle, which, coming from Willy, had been so endearing that Elliott had grinned from ear to ear for the next ten minutes straight. Willy tipped his faded fisherman’s cap and winked. Elliott looked over to the pool table - it was, of course, occupied by Sam and Sebastian, with Abigail spectating. He had expected that Leah was just grasping at straws by suggesting it, and he had no intention of embarrassing himself with his poor billiards skills. Sam was doing a fine job of that on his own.

Instead, Elliott took a seat at the bar and ordered a glass of red. Emily was happy to oblige, and wished him a happy birthday as she poured it. He accepted gratefully, and after taking a sip, looked closer at the contents of his glass. The wine was… good. Not just fine, not mediocre like the wine in the Saloon usually was. Good . 

“Gus?” Elliott asked.

“Yeah?”

“Where is this wine from?”

“I am so glad you asked! This is our newest stock of the Stella Farm original, bottled this past summer by our very own Farmer Gravy.”

Elliott’s eyebrows raised. “Gravy made this?”

“I bought the bottles from him myself!”

“It’s good!”

“I like to think so!”

Elliott took another sip, relishing in how fresh it tasted - just sweet enough, with a touch of… what was that fruity taste? He couldn’t place it. Regardless, it was wonderful in comparison to the dregs he was used to from the Saloon. Just another glowing contribution the local farmer had made to the community, it seemed.

The door of the Saloon swung open. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“Gravy!” Gus called. “Good to see you in here! We’ve missed you. ‘Prairie King” is gathering dust, you know.”

“You’re the only one masochistic enough to play that Yoba-forsaken game these days,” Emily chimed in.

“Someone’s got to clear Sebastian off of the leaderboard,” Gravy responded.

“I heard that!” Sebastian called from the other side of the Saloon. Gravy stuck a tongue out at him. This guy even had a rapport with Sebastian , of all people.

“Elliott! Happy birthday!” Gravy said. Elliott forgot about Sebastian.

“Thank you, Gravy!” Elliott said with a smile. He gestured to his wine glass. “I hear this is one of yours?” 

He squinted, taking a few steps closer and looking at the bottle Emily had left on the counter. “Oh, yeah! What do you think? Be honest.”

“It’s the best glass of wine I’ve had in this Saloon.”

Gus gave an affronted “Hey!” from behind the counter, but Elliott didn’t take it back. Gravy blushed at the praise, and eyed the stool next to Elliott.

“Please, sit!” Elliott said. “Can I get you a glass? Or- well, I suppose you have plenty at home…”

“I’d love a glass,” Gravy said, and stepped into the seat next to Elliott. Emily obliged, retrieving a wine glass from behind the counter and pouring for him.

“How about a toast?” Gravy asked.

Elliott smiled. “Of course! What should we toast to?”

“To our friendship!” Gravy said, his glass raised and his jade eyes sparkling.

Elliott raised his glass in return. “That's a great idea! Here's to us!”

They clinked glasses, and Elliott took another delicious sip. Elliott felt… good. Better yet, he was enjoying himself. Maybe it was the alcohol or his outfit or, damn it all, maybe it was Gravy. Maybe it was Gravy.

“How’s it going with the piano? You’ve got a real masterpiece of an instrument to practice on, I have to say.”

Gravy finished his sip of wine and put his glass down. “Really good, actually! You can say I’m pretty much an expert at ‘You Are My Sunshine’.”

Elliott chuckled. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Oh, you’re gonna believe it, believe me. Come Monday, you won’t know what hit you. I’ll be the best piano student you’ve ever seen.”

“Do you always approach new things with this much confidence?”

“I do, actually.”

“I concur,” Emily said. “You should have seen him with my sewing machine.”

“You sew?” Elliott asked.

“A bit.”

“He made the shirt he’s wearing,” Emily answered for him. “Not bad for a newbie, I must say.”

Elliott looked down at the farmer’s shirt. It was a simple long-sleeve green t-shirt. He could see the stitching stick out in a few places, but Emily was right. It wasn’t bad.

“A man of many talents, I see.”

Gravy shrugged sheepishly. “Clothing repair was kind of a necessity for someone of my vocation. Emily was nice enough to let me use her facilities.”

“Keep the crystals coming, and you can use them as much as you want.”

Elliott raised an eyebrow. “Where are you getting crystals?”

Gravy shrugged again. “From the mines.”

“You’re… going into the mines? Isn’t that awfully dangerous?”

“That’s what Harvey keeps saying.”

“So why are you going?”

“I need ore.”

“For?”

“Pretty much everything. Grandpa, Yoba bless him, didn’t leave me with much. Lots of things need repairs, which requires better tools, which requires ore. It’s a whole process.”

Elliott frowned. “Well, just… be careful, okay? You don’t want to get lost down there.”

Gravy nodded. “You know, ore isn’t the only thing you can get down there.”

“Oh?”

He drained the rest of his glass and placed it and a 100G piece on the counter. “Want to see?”

Elliott did, in fact, want to see. He followed Gravy out of the Saloon, not even bothering to feel self-conscious over the fact that Gravy had paid for him. Gravy led him over to the bench behind the bushes in front of the building and sat down. Elliott sat beside him.

“What, was this bench down in the mines?” Elliott asked.

“Hah. Didn’t want to put you on the spot in there, but-” he fiddled around in his backpack. After a moment, he retrieved a rectangular bundle wrapped in newspaper and tied with a twine string. “Happy birthday.”

Elliott wanted to tell Gravy he didn’t have to get him a gift, but the image of Leah’s accusatory finger resurfaced in his mind, and instead, he said “A birthday gift! That’s very kind of you.”

Gravy waited for him to open it, and Elliott obliged. He untied the string and placed it on the bench at his side. He unfolded where one corner of the paper was taped down, and carefully tore it away. He opened the flap in the newspaper, and from it, retrieved a stack of papers.

A stack of papers with writing on them. Writing done… by a feather quill and squid ink… in his handwriting. In his-

“What?” was all Elliott could think to say. “ What? ”

His pages. His lost pages. The pages he had spent twelve hours writing only to lose them to a caved-in roof in a thunderstorm.

“ What?! ”

“Happy birthday,” Gravy said again, as if that explained- as if that-

Elliott thumbed fervently through the pieces of paper. This wasn’t a recreation, or a copy- but that was impossible - every single page, exactly as it had been before- but he had seen them covered in water. They were a pulp! They were ruined!

“How-” Elliott stuttered. “ How did you- How?!”

Gravy had the audacity to shrug. To shrug . As if he hadn’t produced a complete miracle -

“ How , Gravy?”

“Do you believe in magic?”

“I- magic?!”

“I didn’t either. Then I started hanging out with Mr. Rasmodius over in the west woods, and, well… magic.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I asked him for a favor. He asked me to kill some monsters in the mines. I gave him the solar essence, he fixed your pages.”

“He- they were pulp! They were soaking wet and completely ruined and pulp! ”

“I mean, it was either magic, or I managed to recreate them on my own.”

“I don’t know if I could confidently say which I think is more likely.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ve been sitting on this realization since my first week here.”

Elliott stared at the stack of paper in his hand. The impossible, impossible gift Gravy had given him. Gravy. Had given him his lost pages back. Elliott looked up, meeting Gravy’s eyes which were pulled into an unreadable expression. They were intense. As intense as they had been the day he’d lost the pages, and the two of them sat on his kitchen floor soaking wet.

Elliott put the stack of pages carefully on the bench to his side, and threw his arms around the farmer.

Gravy, after only the slightest hesitation, returned the hug.

“Thank you. Thank you thank you .” Elliott said it over and over again, not finding it possible to say it enough. Gravy’s curls pressed into Elliott’s cheeks, and his strong arms wrapped around him tightly. Elliott grasped him harder, not wanting to let go. As if letting go might make the miracle pages disappear.

How he’d missed being held.

Chapter Text

Elliott awoke with a gasp. He shot up out of bed, sitting rigid as a board and grasping his quilt with white-knuckled hands. His ragged breathing mixed with the wind that rattled the boards of his cabin walls.

He forced himself to let go of the quilt, to take in a deep breath. It was just a nightmare. He was fine.

He glanced over to the clock - 6:00 a.m. A lot earlier that he normally got up, especially because he had been up late again editing his novel. It had taken a full day to transcribe the miracle pages into the word document on his computer, and another full day (and late night) to edit the novel so that everything flowed together. Wood Sculpture 3 had provided him plenty of reassurance, and he’d kept his ears open for it. He hadn’t want to go to sleep at all - he would have stayed up as long as it took to finish this round of revisions, but he had his second lesson with Gravy that morning and he didn’t want to show up a sleep-deprived mess, so he had cut himself off at midnight and gone to bed.

Well, so much for that.

The lesson wasn’t for a few hours, but there was no use going back to sleep. Elliott could never sleep after one of his nightmares. He could never quite remember what they were about, either, which made it hard to figure out what was bothering him. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to when they came. He’d had a good day yesterday - in fact, he’d had a few good days. He had to give Leah some credit - ever since she had read him to filth on his birthday, he was… doing quite well, actually. So why did his subconscious feel the need to torment him like that?

Well, it didn’t matter. The time he had lost sleeping could be spent making himself look like he hadn’t lost time sleeping. It was a new day - nothing a hot shower and a good meal couldn’t fix. And he was having good meals these days, too.

The money Gravy had given him for the first piano lesson had been put to good use - fresh eggs and crusty bread and eggplant and bok choy. Leah had taken him out foraging the other day, when he’d made it a point to visit her at home. Hazelnuts and wild plums and more mushrooms than he could possibly eat, but he did try.

So, Elliott had a well-groomed, well-fed, relaxed start to his morning. His novel would be waiting for him - on the cloud, his hard drive, and in Leah’s inbox - and it was time for him to make the two-mile trek over to Gravy’s farm. He didn’t mind even that. It was his favorite season, the sun was shining today, and he began the walk north with a spring in his step.

It seemed a few others in town were getting into the spirit of the season as well - a community of jack-o’-lanterns greeted him on the doorsteps of the townhouses, and Gus had decorated the outside of the Saloon with string spider webs and orange lights. The bulletin board outside of Pierre's was lined with black and orange paper, and someone - probably Vincent or Jas - had posted a few crude paper skeletons onto it. Elliott smiled at the decorations as he made his way through the cobblestone square and toward the path to the farm.

He quickly passed the bus stop and took the first few steps onto the farm, and the sense of something… odd washed over him. He looked around. Nothing really seemed out of place, not as far as he could tell, anyway, but something seemed… missing. It was the same missing feeling he had continued to get before Gravy had given his pages back. By all accounts, it was a respectable and complete picture, but with something important left out.

He looked around the farm again, thinking back to how it had looked the last time he was here. The only time, but the last time nonetheless. Gravy in his straw hat, watering can in hand. He’d introduced him to his chickens…

That was it- the chickens weren’t outside. Strange, considering how beautiful of a day it was. And- Elliott walked over to the lines of sprouts in the dirt fields past the farmhouse- they hadn’t been watered. The crops looked suspiciously dry. Elliott had checked the time when he’d walked through town square - it was past 9:30. Had Gravy not left the house yet?

He walked back over to the farm house, looking again over his shoulder at the empty chicken enclosure. He climbed the steps toward the house’s front door and knocked three times.

There was no response.

“Gravy?” he called. Nothing.

He tried the door. It was unlocked, so Elliott tentatively let himself in. He scanned the kitchen. It was empty. “Gravy?” he called again. “It’s time for your piano lesson, are you-”

His eyes traveled over to Gravy’s bed. There, sat on the floor and back slumped against the side of the bed, was the farmer. His head was lolled to the side, his cheek pressed into the unmade red bedding.

“Gravy!” Elliott said again, rushing to his side. “Are you all right?”

Gravy didn’t answer. Elliott examined his face - he looked awfully pale, but he was still breathing. He pressed a hand to the farmer’s forehead.

“Yoba, you’re burning up. Gravy?” he said, louder. “Can you hear me?”

It seemed he couldn’t.

“Shit, okay,” he said through his teeth. “Let’s get you back into bed.”

After what had happened the last time he was in this position, Elliott had zero confidence in his ability to move the farmer’s dead weight, but there was no Willy or anyone else close by, and he was practically half in bed already, so he may as well-

“Okay, big guy,” Elliott said, not sure if he was giving himself or Gravy the pep talk, and tried to shift Gravy’s weight so he was leaning face-down onto the bedside. Elliott got as far as looping Gravy’s arm over his shoulder before the farmer’s face pulled into a frown and his eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Gravy mumbled. “I don’t want…”

“Gravy,” Elliott said, exhaling a breath as he struggled under the farmer’s weight. “You’re sick. We need to get you into bed.”

“Don’t touch me,” Gravy breathed. “Go away, Jared.”

Jared?

“Gravy, it’s-”

“I said go away! I told you not to come back here!” Gravy said with a surprising amount of conviction for someone half-conscious. He tried to pull his arm away from Elliott’s shoulders, but it seemed the weight of it was too much for him. The scowl remained.

“I don’t… wan’t…”

“Gravy, it’s Elliott.”

Gravy’s face turned from scowl to confusion. “Elliott?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” he said, his face softening. “Why are you here?”

“Your piano lesson.”

Gravy blinked, looking blankly out to the kitchen. “I’m sick.”

“I can see that,” Elliott said with a chuckle. “You need to get back in bed.”

Gravy’s eyes drifted over from the kitchen to meet Elliott’s, then sank down to where his arm was looped around Elliott’s shoulders. His eyes widened, and his pale face became perceptibly redder.

“Can you help me out a little? You’re… really heavy,” Elliott said.

Gravy’s eyes drifted over to his bed, then, seemingly with great effort, he pulled his feet towards himself and shifted his weight forward. Elliott did the same, trying to stabilize himself so he could help lift him into the bed. A few precarious seconds later, Gravy’s back was on the mattress and he was able to pull his legs upward. Elliott tried to pull the blankets over him, but he kicked them away in seconds, mumbling “too hot…”

“Do you have any medication here?”

“Mmph,” was all Gravy said in response. Elliott didn’t know if that was a “yes” mmph or a “no” mmph, but he figured he could save himself some trouble and just look anyway.

His first stop was the bathroom, but rifling through the medicine cabinet behind the mirror only revealed a toothbrush and some skincare products. He tried below the sink, but there was nothing but cleaning supplies and a few rolls of toilet paper. He moved on to the kitchen, where the cabinets and drawers held dishes, silverware, and a few odds and ends like thumb tacks and a permanent marker. The bookshelf next to his bed held only books, and an odd collection of them, at that. A healthy amount of romance novels, which made sense, along with books on cooking, sword fighting technique, self-help, foraging, the history of the Valley… some of them seemed decades old, and they were all covered in sticky notes and bookmarks. Maybe Old Man Allen had left these behind, too.

Elliott looked over to the last remaining storage container in the one-room house: a wooden chest next to the piano. It was full of objects that Elliott could assign no rhyme or reason to. Elliott had created his fair share of junk drawers in his life, but this was a whole nother level. A random assortment of geodes, bundles of fabric, jars of honey, a few scuffed rings and what looked suspiciously like a cherry bomb. And, underneath it all, Elliott was relieved to find a red-capped bottle of medicine. He skimmed the back, found the words “fever reducer”, and nodded in satisfaction.

When he tried to stand so he could close the chest, something snagged his sleeve. Elliott put the bottle down on the floor next to him and leaned in closer, trying to see what it was. 

A tab from the back of a picture frame was caught on his sleeve’s button hole. Elliott needed to remove the frame’s backing to dislodge it, careful not to rip the fabric of his shirt. A few words caught his eye, handwritten on the back of the photo: “For Nicholas. Love, Jared”.

Elliott’s brow furrowed and he flipped the frame over. The picture was of two people: a tall man with cropped black hair and a shaved face, his eyes crinkled in a laugh, and… Gravy. A younger Gravy, his curly hair cut short and his nose piercing-less. He wore a clean suit and tie, and his jade eyes looked affectionately over at the other man. Jared.

Gravy… Nicholas… had thought Elliott was him.

He looked at the man again. His white collared shirt was unbuttoned, and a loose tie hung around his neck. Upon closer inspection, Elliott could make out the Joja logo embroidered on it.

Elliott’s heart raced suddenly, feeling like he was invading Gravy’s privacy. He returned the frame’s backing, folded the tabs closed, and placed the frame back in the chest. He closed it and retrieved the medicine bottle. 

Making quick work of retrieving a glass of water from the kitchen, he cautiously sat on the side of Gravy’s bed and retrieved two pills from the bottle. Gravy was curled into the same left-facing position he’d taken when he’d slept in Elliott’s bed. The blankets wrapped in a cocoon around him, making him look like the world’s most miserable burrito.

“Gravy,” he said, “can you sit up?”

Gravy blinked blearily up at him. “Why?”

“I found your medicine. This will make you feel better.”

“Okay,” Gravy said, and propped himself up on a forearm. He took the pills from Elliott with shaking hands, swallowed them with effort, and placed the remaining glass of water on the bedside table before curling back into his burrito form.

“Have you had anything to eat today?”

Gravy gave another “mmph.” Elliott still couldn’t determine its nature. He wagered it was a “no,” and elected to try the fridge to see if there was anything he could do about it.

Fortunately, Gravy’s fridge was a lot fuller than Elliott’s typically was, and he found a covered bowl of pale broth on the bottom shelf. Perfect. He heated it up in the microwave and brought the broth and a spoon over to Gravy’s bed.

“I’ve brought some soup,” Elliott said, sitting down on the bedside again. “Want to try eating?”

“Not hungry,” Gravy mumbled.

“You shouldn’t have medication on an empty stomach.”

“Mmph.”

Elliott sighed, and placed the bowl next to the water glass on the bedside table. He glanced around the room, trying to figure out what else he could do- and his gaze caught on the piano. That damned Steinway piano. Gravy did say he missed having music in the house…

He walked over to the piano bench, and saw the open copy of “Methods for Beginner Piano, Volume 1” on the music stand. “You Are My Sunshine” was full of penciled-in notes. Elliot smiled. Gravy had been practicing. 

Elliott cracked his knuckles and rested his hands on the keys. He took in a quick breath and began to play. After a few measures, he looked over his shoulder at Gravy. He’d perked up, and was looking over the cover of blankets at the piano, just as Elliott had planned.

It had been a while since he had played “Moonlight Sonata,” but it was recognizable enough that after a minute or two, the farmer was half-sitting against his headboard, his eyes trained on the piano. They were narrowed, like he was trying hard to focus. Elliott admired his rapt attention.

“Eat your soup,” he said over his shoulder, continuing to play. Gravy, eyes unmoving, reached over to his bedside table and picked up the bowl. He retrieved a clumsy bite with a shaky hand and spooned it into his mouth. Elliott smiled, and returned his attention back to the keyboard. When the piece was over, he looked back over at Gravy, whose empty bowl rested in his lap. “Now drink your water,” he said, transitioning into another piece. Gravy did as instructed, then placed the empty dishes on the bedside table. His head was tilted to the side, as if he was straining to listen. Elliott played louder. Gravy’s head straightened and a soft smile stretched onto his lips.

Elliott played through the rest of the second piece, and when he was finished, returned to Gravy’s side on the bed. He thought absently that a week ago he would be a bundle of nerves being this close to the farmer, and yet- the only things he felt now was the remnants of his earlier good mood and concern for Gravy’s wellbeing. For now, all of Gravy’s needs were taken care of, and the most important thing was for him to rest. Elliott didn’t mind taking care of him. He had planned to be here for an hour anyway. He and Gravy were friends, and if he hadn’t come over, it’s possible Gravy could have spent the whole day sick with no one taking care of him. He seemed like the type of guy to stubbornly think he could handle being this sick on his own.

Elliott placed another hand to his forehead. It wasn’t as hot as before, a small mercy, and he deflated a little in relief. Before he could take his hand away, Gravy raised his own to meet it, holding Elliott’s hand against his warm cheek. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and turning his face so his nose pressed into Elliott’s hand. Elliott, taken aback, could do little else but let it happen - let the warmth of Gravy’s feverish cheeks and his calloused fingers caress his own. He was probably having another delirious moment, like when he had called Elliott “Jared” before. He wasn’t in his right mind. This didn’t mean anything.

Leah’s accusatory finger flashed in his mind again. Elliott remembered suddenly how insistent Leah had been that Gravy had a “huge major crush” on him. How disappointed he’d seemed when Elliott had danced with Leah instead of him at the Flower Dance. The flush in his cheeks when he had realized his arm was around Elliott’s shoulders.

Maybe… maybe it wasn’t all conjecture. Maybe Gravy really did have feelings for him.

Gravy reached out with his other hand, pawing at Elliott’s shoulder. Elliott wasn’t sure what he wanted- more water? More piano? More-

Gravy pawed at him again, this time catching Elliott’s shirt collar and tugging. More touch. He wanted more contact from Elliott.

Maybe… it was all true.

In spite of himself, Elliott obliged him, leaning in and resting his cheek on Gravy’s chest. Gravy wrapped his arms around him, his brown curls brushing Elliott’s forehead and his chest rising and falling with his breaths.

Maybe it was all true.

Chapter Text

“Hey, new guy.”

“Nicholas.”

“Right. My name’s Jared.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of Joja Sales. You planning on coming to the dinner on Friday?”

“I mean, I just started. I didn’t think I was invited.”

“Of course you’re invited! You’re one of us now. I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Great!”

***

“Come on , Nicholas. Don’t be a square. Everyone does it.”

“ Everyone does lines in the bathroom at the Q4 dinner?”

“How do you think we sold enough to earn a Q4 dinner in the first place?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what? I’m serious, this stuff gives you superpowers!”

“...Alright.”

“Atta boy. Welcome to Joja!”

***

Another quarterly dinner, another trip to the men’s bathroom with Jared. Grandpa probably would have been so disappointed in him, but Nicholas found it hard to care at the moment. He felt great, Jared felt great, they felt great together. This was the life he’d always wanted - away from that shoebox apartment and mom’s Man of the Month and Grandpa’s too-short visits. He was more successful than he’d ever been.

He was successful. He felt great.

“Shh, baby, we don’t want anyone to hear.”

***

Nicholas woke bleary-eyed, squinting at the violent sun that forced its way through the window. A crushing weight settled behind his eyes, amplifying the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. The rays came down in a spotlight, illuminating the other figure in his bed. Scraps of memory rested at the corners of his mind, none solid enough for him to grasp. Another late night. Another pounding headache. Another morning waking up next to a stranger. Another day spent filling in the gaps.

Nicholas scrubbed at his eyes in the bathroom, trying to wash the dark circles out and massage the headache away. Neither venture was successful. He pulled on a suit at random and grabbed his briefcase. He left the stranger behind.

He scrolled through his unopened emails, draining a third cup of coffee at his desk. Sales dashboards. Share prices. Bonus reports. Things at Joja were looking better than ever.

“Nicholas, can I steal a pen?”

He grunted, and rooted around in his desk.

“Late night?”

He didn’t respond. He rifled through his drawers and found a chewed up ballpoint pen that read “Life’s better with Joja.” What a load of crap. He handed it over the wall of his cubicle and moved to shut the drawer, but something got stuck. He pulled it out.

An envelope. On the front was the word “Gravy” written in Grandpa’s handwriting. This must have been sitting in here since Grandpa’s funeral. He hadn’t gotten the PTO to attend - he’d been informed that Joja bereavement only covers spouses and nuclear family - so Mom had delivered the letter to him at work. He’d been too busy to open it.

He tore open the seal. 

If you're reading this, you must be in dire need of a change. The same thing happened to me, long ago. I'd lost sight of what mattered most in life... real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong.

***

Nicholas unlocked the door to his apartment and mechanically hung his keys on the hook by the door.

“Heard you quit.”

“Yoba, Jared! How the hell did you get in here?”

Jared held up a key. “A potted plant by the door? Really, Nicholas?”

“This is supposed to be a safe neighborhood.”

Jared scoffed. “You were always so trusting.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to try and intervene before you threw your life away.”

“You- oh that’s rich , coming from you.”

Jared frowned. “Listen, I know we haven’t been talking much lately, but- I’m worried about you.”

“Oh, now you’re worried about me? What changed?”

“What’s changed is you practically live at the bar and you’ve got a revolving door of harlots coming through here every day.”

“And my sales are through the roof. So what do you care?”

“Baby, I-”

“ Don’t .”

Jared sighed. He leaned back in the kitchen chair - the one he’d pulled over so he could be front and center when Nicholas opened the door. Dramatic as always. Nicholas balled his fists.

“Judge me all you want, Jared, but at least I’m not pretending to be something I’m not.”

“Nicholas, I miss you. I miss what we had. Just- tell Akers you had a lapse in judgement, and you want your job back. Things can go back to the way they were.”

“Don’t you get it? I don’t want things to go back. I don’t want to go back to being your dirty little secret. I didn’t quit because the pressure got to me. I haven’t cracked. I quit because I hate what you’ve turned me into.”

Jared stood, striding over with that same imploring expression he always used- the one the Nicholas could never say no to-

“Baby, I’m sorry about how I acted before. I’m not ashamed of you,” his hands were caressing Nicholas’ neck, “I love you,” Nicholas inhaled a sharp breath - Jared’s forehead pressed into his, “Why don’t we just relax and talk about it?”

A plastic baggie pressed into Nicholas’ cheek. He reeled back as if burned, his face contorted in disgust.

“Don’t touch me! Get out!”

“Baby-”

“Get out and take that shit you love so much with you! Don’t come back here!”

Jared’s imploring expression dropped, and he now stared back at Nicholas stone-faced. “You’ll just replace one addiction with another. If it’s not me, or this ‘shit’, or your parade of sluts, it’ll be something else. Enjoy your new life.”

The door slammed behind him.

***

“A septum piercing? Don’t you work in sales? I can get you something a little less… visible.”

“I quit.”

“Oh?”

“And I’m three weeks clean.”

“Oh! That’s great, congrats! I get it- you want it as a reminder to ‘keep your nose clean’?”

“How very perceptive of you.”

“I was always the smarter sibling, Good Gravy.”

“Just shut up and get the piercing.”

***

Gravy felt… really warm. Suspiciously warm. Too warm. It was fall, and the days had been getting chillier - why was he so warm?

Gravy tried to lift a hand to rub his eyes, and found it trapped. It was wedged underneath a set of arms. Gravy looked down. Orange hair was spread all over his chest, and a body’s worth of weight pressed into him.

Elliott? When did he get here? And what was he doing in his bed?

Oh no. Oh no no no. Not again. Not him. He was clean! He’d been clean since he left Jared- How could he have let this happen? How could he do this to Elliott? They had something real- they were actually friends, and Gravy had just started to feel Elliott opening up to him- this would ruin everything. He’d set off a bomb in the middle of whatever their relationship was, and there was no way Elliott could even look him the same way after this- no more piano, no more pomegranates-

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid .

He pressed his free hand to his forehead and looked around the room. An empty glass and a bottle of pills rested on his bedside table. Of course. Old habits die hard.

He looked down again at Elliott, who seemed to be waking up. Better to have this conversation sooner than later. He never was good at the morning debrief.

“Hey, sleepy head,” Elliott said with a smile. With a smile? He was taking this rather well. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh,” Gravy said, taking a minute to figure out how he felt. “I don’t have a headache, which is good. I usually do at times like these.”

“That’s good,” Elliott said, stretching and sitting up. He had major bedhead, but it was somehow adorable… everything about him was adorable. Gravy winced. This would be the only time he’d see Elliott like this, so he’d better soak it up.

“Listen, Elliott, I’m really sorry…”

Elliott waved him off. “It’s okay, I didn’t mind.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not at all. I mean, I was coming over here anyway, and you were here by yourself, and you weren’t in your right mind, clearly, so it’s okay. No need to apologize.”

He was taking this extraordinarily well. It was probably an act, then. Like he said, he puts on airs when he’s nervous, and who wouldn’t be nervous about waking up in someone else’s bed like this? Well, it was good of him to spare his feelings. Not that he deserved it, being the self-sabotaging idiot that he was, but it was good of him regardless.

Gravy looked down at his watch. Yoba, was that the time?

“Sorry, Elliott, but I really need to get up- I haven’t watered my crops or fed my chickens, and I need to check on a few things-”

“Oh, of course. Let me get out of your way.”

“I’m sorry again.”

“Really, it’s okay. I’ll see you next week, then?”

Sure you will, Elliott.

“Sure.”

“Okay. Bye, then.”

“Bye.”

Elliott collected his things and shuffled out the door. He threw a look over his shoulder as he left that Gravy didn’t have to courage to meet, and shut the door behind him. When it clicked closed, Gravy sank back into his bed and stared up at the ceiling. His cheeks burned in shame, and he pressed a fist to his forehead.

Stupid .

He collected the dishes from his bedside table and brought them over to the sink. He squinted at the empty bowl in his hands. Was that… soup? That wasn’t one of his usual late night snacks, but this wasn’t one of his usual late night escapades. He wished he could remember what happened. Another day spent filling in the gaps.

The dishes clattered as he set them down in the sink. His cheeks still burned. He didn’t know what to do- he didn’t know how he could continue living in town after this. He needed to talk to someone, and all he could think about was talking to Elliott. He couldn’t even look Elliott in the eye now, and he wanted to talk to him. Stupid.

Gravy was sure Leah was sick of hearing him blather about the writer at this point, but he didn’t have many other options. He needed advice, and she was best equipped to give it. Leah was decent like that.

“Hello?”

“Leah, I fucked up.”

“Gravy? Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“I’m at home. I’m fine.”

“Yoba, okay - don’t scare me like that! What is it?”

“Remember how I told you about my uh… how I went off the rails after I broke up with my ex?”

“Yes?”

“How I would get wasted and hook up with strangers?”

“Gravy...”

“...yeah.”

“With who?”

“Elliott.”

“ No. ”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“How did that happen?”

“I’m not… entirely sure. I kind of just woke up and he was in my bed, and there was a bottle of pills on my bedside table, and I put two and two together.”

“So you don’t actually remember what happened?”

“I don’t, usually.”

“But Elliott isn’t really the type to- I mean, it’s been years since he- I don’t know. You’re sure?”

“Like I said, I fucked up.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s why I called you.”

“You expect me to have some miraculous fix for this?”

“I don’t know what I expect. I just… needed to talk to someone. It’s stupid, I’m sorry, I’ll-”

“Gravy, don’t you dare hang up. Of course I’ll talk to you. I can’t fix this for you, but I can be there for you, at least.”

Gravy let out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Leah.”

“What are friends for?”

Chapter Text

Elliott found himself staring at his computer screen once again. He’d hit a wall after his second major revision of Last Train to Romance , and all the mean mugs he was giving the ending of the novel weren’t making him like it any more. It also wasn’t giving him any ideas of how to fix it. He was so close- he could feel how close he was, but something just hadn’t clicked into place.

Elliott thought about the last time he’d been in this position - staring at his computer screen, trying to will some creativity into existence. It was the day Leah had come barging over, and told him all about the “hooooot” new farmer in town. Maybe he should give her a call… she’d given him some solid advice the last time.

Riiiiiiiing! Riiiiiiing!

Speak of the devil and all that.

“What do you need, Leah?”

“What makes you think I need something?”

“What, did you call me because you were bored? You would have just come over.”

“I can’t call my best friend to see how he’s doing?”

“Can’t, or don’t?”

“I just want to chat! I swear!”

“I am actually glad you called. I’ve hit a bit of a wall, and I feel like talking to you might help me get through it. It’s about the ending…”

“I think the ending is fine.”

“That’s exactly the problem. It’s not amazing, or swoon-worthy, or so romantic you shed tears, it’s just… fine.”

“Have you been listening to the wood?”

“I’ve been talking to it so much that I fear it may gain sentience.”

“You’ve been talking, but have you been listening? ”

“You say that as if it’s a skill that can be taught, rather than your own completely subjective, abstract invention.”

“Okay, Elliott, I’ll dumb it down for you. Have you been trying to force the story in a specific direction, or are you just writing and seeing where the story takes itself? Have you been writing with your brain, or your heart?”

“My heart, I think?”

“That’s the problem! You’re thinking! You need to feel it. Don’t make me give you my speech again.”

“Please, once was enough.”

“Hardy har. When was the last time you actually picked up one of those quills you love so much?”

“Shortly before my roof caved in and twelve hours of my work got ruined.”

“Gravy got you those pages back, didn’t he?”

“By some miracle that I still don’t understand, yes.”

“So what’s the issue? Write with a quill again!”

“What if I lose the pages?”

“We’re not talking about pages, are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“Elliott, you’re afraid of getting your heart broken again. I get it. Don’t make me come over there and re-enact my speech. I’m this close to doing it.”

“Okay, okay! Loud and clear, Leah. ‘Feel scared and do the thing anyway. Risk breaking your heart and love anyway.’”

“And I’ll say it over and over again until it gets through your thick skull.”

“But it’s so difficult! I can’t just magic myself into un-bottling my feelings the way Gravy magicked my pages back!”

“You could start by writing with pen and paper the way you like to do .”

Elliott sighed.

“Listen to me when I tell you this: There are no rules. Grammar, spelling, sentence structure, figurative speech, all of it - take it and chuck it right out the window. Those things are important when you’re editing. For now, sit down, shut those thoughts up, and write .”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

A beat of silence.

“Hey, didn’t you have another piano lesson with Gravy today?” Leah’s voice was so forcefully casual it made the hairs on Elliott’s forearms stand up.

“Yoba, word travels fast in this town.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Yes, Leah, I fell asleep there. He was sick- like really sick, super feverish and delusional. Calling me by a different name. I gave him some food and water, made him take some medicine, and he just kind of… pulled me into bed with him. I took a nap. I woke up. I went home. That’s all that happened. Okay?”

“He was sick?”

“Yes?”

“Oh. Oh! Wow. Okay.”

“Is there something I’m missing here?”

“Nope! Nothing. All good. I’m just going to call Gravy and check on him. Make sure he’s feeling better, you know.”

“Just like you ‘called to check on me’.”

“Bye, Elliott!”

“Bye, Leah.”

The receiver clicked on Leah’s end. Elliott shook his head, not even bothering to wonder what was up with her. It didn’t matter. She could think whatever she wanted. He needed to sort out the ending of this book.

Elliott retrieved his squid ink and feather quills from the kitchen counter, and pulled a stack of fresh paper from his desk drawer. He sat at his kitchen table, cast a wary glance up at the ceiling, then down at the blank pages. Stop thinking, Elliott. No rules. Just… write.

“Miss Vandermeer! Wait!”

Rose turned, suitcase in hand, to find the conductor running after her. 

“What is it, sir?”

“I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” Rose said, turning fully towards him. The conductor held out a rectangular bundle wrapped in newspaper and tied with a twine string.

The conductor led Rose over to an empty bench in the station’s waiting room. He sat down. Rose sat beside him.

“That’s very kind of you,” Rose said, accepting the gift. She untied the string and placed it on the bench at her side. She unfolded where one corner of the paper was taped down, and carefully tore it away. She opened the flap in the newspaper, and from it, retrieved a silver rose-shaped brooch lined with pearls.

Rose gasped. “My grandmother’s brooch? But, how did you find it? It was stolen from my purse!”

“I called everyone I could in the Grampleton station. I could hardly sleep, knowing something so important had been taken from you. One of my colleagues saw it in the local markets and bought it for me, and I was able to retrieve it for you.”

“I can’t believe it! This is a miracle! My most precious belonging, which I thought was lost forever, returned to me… thank you! Thank you, thank you! I can say ‘thank you’ a thousand times, and it could never be enough!”

Rose threw her arms around the conductor.

The conductor, after only the slightest hesitation, returned her embrace.

Rose’s auburn curls pressed into the conductor’s cheeks, and his strong arms wrapped around her tightly.

“Sir, how can I ever repay you?”

“Write to me when you reach Ciena.”

“Oh, but words cannot express my gratitude! There are not enough pages in the world to capture my feelings!”

“Then do not speak.”

Rose looked deeply into the conductor’s eyes, tears of joy brimming on her eyelids. Her gloved hands caressed his cheeks, and she enfolded him in a tender kiss.

The conductor’s heart soared, an eagle in flight - in that moment, all was right in the world - he wished he could stay with her forever.

The two parted, and Rose looked deeply into his eyes once more. “I do not wish to go to Ciena any longer.”

“But, what of your dreams? What of exploring the world?”

“The world will be a cold, gray place without you in it, my precious conductor. Where you go, I will go. We will see the world together. I love you, Gravy.”

Elliott blinked. He shook his head and continued writing.

“I love you Gravy .” 

The conductor wrapped her in another embrace. He pressed his cheek to hers. “I will follow you to the ends of the earth. Through all the railroads in Stardew Valley, you will never be alone. I will hold you here in my heart, and home will be wherever you are.”

 Rose pressed the brooch to her own heart. “My grandfather gave this brooch to my grandmother on their wedding day. It was a symbol of their love story, and now, dear Gravy, it will be a symbol of ours.”

Elliott’s brow furrowed. He had done it again. He stared at the word on the page.

Dear… Gravy. Dear Gravy.

Was this the wood speaking? Had he finally opened himself up enough to hear it?

I love you, Gravy .

“I love you, Gravy.” Elliott said it aloud. Barely a whisper, just loud enough to let himself hear it. He tried it again, louder. “I love you, Gravy.” His heartbeat quickened. 

“I’m in love with Gravy.”

The words hung in the silence of the cabin. They floated around him, the few notes of a melody that rang out long after the musician had stopped playing.

“I’m in love with Gravy.” It echoed around the walls, hitting him from every angle. Sending his heart racing and his hands sweating and pulling him up and out of his chair.

“I’m in love with Gravy!” Elliott shouted it this time - it tore out of him like a roar from a lion, like a bird bursting from a cage. Like a racehorse erupting from the starting line.

“I’m in love with Gravy! I’m in love with Gravy! I’M IN LOVE WITH GRAVY!” He screamed it at Wood Sculpture 3, at his quill and ink bottle, at his piano, at his bed. He screamed it over and over again, making it real. Letting himself believe it was true.

It was true.

“I’m in love with Gravy,” Elliott said once more, only for himself this time. Only for the sad, small part of himself that needed to hear it most. Despite everything, Elliott was in love again. 

Chapter Text

Dear Leah,

Dear Willy,

Dear Robin,

Dear Penny,

Dearest Gravy,

You are cordially invited to the Pelican Town library this afternoon at 1:00 p.m. for a reading of my completed novel, Last Train To Romance. Your presence would be greatly appreciated in celebration of this achievement.

All my best,
Elliott

Three days. It had been three days of revision, reading, re-reading, asking Leah to read and re-read, and, finally, printing and binding the finished version of the book. Two and a half seasons since he’d started Last Train to Romance and now, finally, finally , Elliott had a novel he was really, truly proud of. His heart was so full it felt too big for his chest. He’d been dancing around his cabin in every waking moment since it had clicked - since the ending of the novel and his feelings for Gravy had both simultaneously slotted into place. Six years of struggling for money, starting and scrapping and re-starting book after book, of crushing loneliness and self-doubt - of neglecting his health and his relationships and his feelings - it was over. It was all over.

Elliott felt… alive again. He was happy. He was more than happy - he was in love, he was proud of himself, he felt accomplished and talented and… happy.

The complications of the publication process could wait - the query letters and literary agents and sample pages - none of it concerned him right now. The only people that mattered, the only ones who he wanted to be there for his book reading were right here in Pelican Town.

Today would be special, he could feel it.

Elliott checked his appearance in the mirror one last time before leaving - he wore his favorite red coat and emerald tie, his white shirt and dark green pants were pressed, and his special-occasion wingtip shoes were polished. He’d tried his best to twist his hair into Leah’s half-up half-down style, and it seemed to be holding. He pulled a single strand from the bun and laid it against his cheek. He smiled at himself in the mirror, relishing in how good he felt. Hiding from his feelings had dampened the effect of his loneliness and sadness, but it had taken away from the positive feelings, too. It felt good to… well, feel good.

With an approving nod at his reflection, Elliott scooped up his printed and bound novel and practically skipped out the door towards the library. He arrived in what felt like no time at all, and gave Gunther a salute as he entered. Gunther returned the gesture with a tip of his hat and wished him good luck.

“It’s been a while since this old place has had some excitement. I hope it’s everything you want it to be.”

Elliott hoped so, too.

He placed the book on a table towards the back of the reading room. He took a cursory glance up at the ceiling, just to make sure - when he was satisfied with its structural integrity, he turned and began arranging the remaining chairs in theater style. When he was satisfied, he took a seat behind his book on the table and waited.

As the minutes ticked past, his invitees began to arrive. Penny was first, which wasn’t all that surprising to Elliott. He was glad to finally be able to give her something new to read. She beamed at him and waved, and took a seat in the front row. The next in was Willy, who Elliott was glad to see had taken him up on the invitation. He didn’t think Willy was much of a romance novel enthusiast, so his support was all the more appreciated. Robin entered the library, followed by Demetrius, Maru, and Sebastian. Elliott wasn’t expecting the other members of the Mountain Road household to come, but figured it made sense that Robin would share the invitation with the rest of her family. The more the merrier, he supposed.

That supposition lasted for another six minutes, until the number of that “more” began to grow. Gus, Emily, Jodi and Sam, Caroline and Abigail - Marnie with Jas on her hip, Shane following behind her - Clint - Mayor Lewis -

Elliott’s grip on the table tightened. He stared out at the gathering crowd - he didn’t even have enough chairs for everyone, some folks had to stand - there were so many people here -

Leah strode through the door, wearing the same beautiful brown dress with the white trim she had worn to her art show. Her arms were open wide, and she ran over to Elliott’s side and enveloped him in a hug. “You did it! You finally did it! I’m so excited!”

Elliott didn’t return the embrace. His eyes were locked on the full rows of chairs, his nails digging into the wood of the table.

“Elliott?”

Leah stepped back to look at him. She followed his gaze out to the rest of the reading room.

“There are so many people here,” Elliott whispered. He looked down at the book that rested in front of him, then back at the audience. The room was filled with the pounding noise of conversation, of people talking to each other in preparation to hear his book. They would all be listening to his writing, forming opinions and talking about it later with their friends and family and staring at him as he read…

“Woah, buddy! Breathe!”

Elliott realized he hadn’t been breathing. He sucked in a ragged breath and forced it back out. It didn’t seem to do him much good.

“I can’t do this.”

“Elliott, look at me.”

He couldn’t. His eyes were swimming with the faces of everyone who was there in the audience- looking at him, waiting for him, expecting things from him-

Leah’s hand closed around his jaw and turned it away, breaking his stare and forcing his eyes to hers.

“This is just public speaking. You won’t even have to look at them. You can look at the pages the whole time. Just pretend they’re not there! You already did the hard part. You wrote a whole damn book, for Yoba’s sake! A fantastic book. You look great, you’re thriving, and you can do this. Everyone here is here for you . To support you . Because they care about you and want to celebrate this accomplishment with you. And your number one fan is so proud of you and will be here for you every step of the way. If you find yourself looking out at the audience, just look for me. Remember how much work you’ve put into this, and enjoy this incredibly exciting moment in your writing journey.”

Elliott took in another deep breath. His hands released from the table, and his heartbeat slowed. “Thank you, Leah.”

“No problem, buddy.”

“I mean it, you’ve done so much for me- you’ve been such a good friend, and I owe you so much-”

“Hey, save the heartfelt delivery for the book reading. I know how amazing I am. Now take a breath and greet your audience.”

Elliott closed his eyes, breathed twice, and put on his winning smile.

“Thank you so much for coming, everyone!”

The chatter in the audience stopped, leaving the library in a stifling silence. Leah took a seat in the front row next to Penny, and Elliott kept his eyes locked on her. She gave him a thumbs up from where she sat, and Elliott took in another breath.

“Ever since I was a young boy, I dreamed of becoming a writer. I had a few bumps in the road - Robin knows what I’m talking about-”

That garnered a laugh from the audience. Elliott’s shoulders relaxed a little.

“But after countless hours of scribbling at my writing desk, some recent bouts of inspiration, and with the support of a few dear friends-” Leah winked at him, “I’m so excited to share my completed novel, Last Train to Romance .”

Elliott chanced a look around the rest of the room. He was greeted with smiles, faces turned in rapt attention, Jas’ eyes sparkling with anticipation and Willy’s crossed arms as he leaned back in his chair, and- in the back row, sat Gravy. Elliott’s heart skipped a beat. He looked radiant, his mouth stretched into a wide grin and his nose scrunching in acknowledgement.

“It’s about a lonely train conductor who meets a captivating passenger, and their journey toward love as their train journeys to its final destination. I hope you enjoy it.”

Scattered applause came from the audience, and Elliott used it as an opportunity to take in another calming breath and open the book.

“Chapter One - The Missing Ticket. There were hardly any passengers on the train from Grampleton, and the conductor’s disappointment grew as he walked from compartment to compartment. It appeared this would be another lonely journey north…”

And just like that, Elliott was sucked into the world of his novel. Every so often, he would back away from his immersion and remember he was reading aloud to an audience, but within a page or two, he would return to the world he created and would continue to read without thinking.

“...and, pressing her grandmother’s brooch to her heart with one hand and holding the conductor’s hand with the other, Rose looked out at the world with a new sense of wonder.”

Elliott looked up. The sun had set, and the library had been illuminated with rows of lamps and a twinkling overhead light. “That’s… that’s it.”

A beat of silence settled around them. Then, without warning, Jas shouted “THAT WAS SO ROMANTIC!”

The room filled with laughter, and Leah initiated a round of applause. Elliott bowed his head slightly, and placed the book back down on the table.

“Elliott, that was great!” Penny said, rushing over to him. “It was well worth the wait.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it, Penny,” Elliott said with a smile. “I’ll be sure to send you a copy as soon as it’s published.”

“I would love that! And I’ll buy one for the library, too. We could always use new additions to the collection.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Elliott said with a chuckle.

“Well done, lad!” Willy said with a clap on his shoulder. “Maybe the next one can be a sea voyage, eh? Plenty o’ fishermen out there looking for love…”

Elliott laughed. “I didn’t think you were one for romances, Willy.”

“Says who? What do you think I did all day out on those charter boats?”

“Well! I’ll have to get your recommendations some time.”

“My door’s always open to you.” With a tip of his hat, Willy strode out of the reading room.

Leah looked over at him from her front row seat with crossed arms and a knowing smile. “Well? What did I say?”

“You were right, as always.”

“And don’t you forget it. Want to get a drink to celebrate?”

“Well-” Elliott glanced over to Gravy, who was waiting at the edge of the room. He was holding something, but it was obscured by the low light and rows of empty chairs. “In a minute?”

Leah looked over at Gravy, then back at him. “Take all the time you need.” She followed Willy out of the reading room, leaving him alone with Gravy.

All of Elliott’s grandeur evaporated, and he felt quite suddenly as if he might throw up. He’d admitted his feelings to himself, sure, but- now that Gravy was here -

“Congratulations,” Gravy said, walking over to him. From this distance, Elliott could see what he was holding. His stomach dropped.

It was a bouquet of flowers.

“Sorry I got here a little late,” he continued. “I needed to make a stop at Pierre’s.” He looked down at the bouquet in his hands, then back up at Elliott.

Elliott’s heart hammered in his chest. “Gravy, I- you probably didn’t know this, but- I know in Zuzu City, and, well, in other places, it’s customary to bring someone flowers after a performance, but here in Pelican Town, it means-”

“I know what it means,” Gravy interrupted. His face turned bright red. “Sorry, I- well, I never got to thank you for taking care of me the other day, and- sorry, that’s not the reason I brought-” he breathed once, “I want us to be more than friends. I wasn’t sure if you- I mean, I didn’t know how you felt- but, your book- I really liked it, by the way! It was wonderful, and I’m really happy for you, but- I couldn’t help but notice a few… similarities… sorry, I’m babbling.”

“You… want us to be more than friends?”

Gravy swallowed and fiddled with the paper wrapped around the bouquet. “You’ve had me ever since your kitchen ceiling caved in and drowned us in rainwater.”

Elliott blinked. He looked down at the flowers, then back up at Gravy. His ears felt hot. Gravy’s brow furrowed, and his fingers tightened around the stems of the bouquet.

“Oh, lad - one more thing-” Willy jogged back into the reading room. “I wanted to ask, are you free to help me with- Oh!” His gaze landed on the bouquet in Gravy’s hands then looked between the two of them. “Sorry, don’t mind me, I’ll just see you at the Saloon-”

“No, it’s okay, Willy. I was just leaving,” Gravy said, a miserable hitch in his voice. “Congrats again, Elliott. I’ll see you around.” He shoved past Willy through the doorway.

Elliott’s eyes widened. What was happening? Why was he leaving? No, no-

“No, Gravy, wait-” he raced after him, his arm lurching forward- he caught Gravy by the wrist-

Gravy turned back toward him, stone-faced. His mouth was pressed in a thin line.

He scrambled for words. The successful writer, at a complete loss for what to say, other than “I accept! Of course I accept- I’m so- I’m sorry, I get so nervous around you, I can never-” he heaved a sigh. “My answer is yes, Gravy.”

Gravy deflated, his stone face melting. “Oh, thank Yoba. I was about to spend the whole night crying.” 

He threw his arms around Elliott, the paper of the bouquet crinkling as it pressed into his back. Elliott pressed himself into the farmer, soaking in his warmth, the rigidness of his arms and chest, anchoring him to the fact that this was real. Gravy was… his boyfriend.

The two of them parted, and Gravy let out a relieved laugh. Elliott laughed with him, and in moments, they were in hysterics - their laughter echoing around the library and bouncing back to tickle Elliott’s burning ears. Elliott couldn’t tell how much time had passed before he finally stopped to catch his breath, and Gravy moved his hand from Elliott’s shoulder to hold the bouquet out. Elliott took it with a shaking hand. He caressed the white wax paper and raised the flowers to his nose. They smelled like honey and red wine and like everything was all right in the world.

A cough sounded from behind them. Elliott looked over. Willy stood in the doorway, staring pointedly at his shoes. They had blocked the exit.

“Sorry, Willy,” Elliott said, his voice still airy with laughter. “Let us get out of your way.”

Us .

“Much obliged, you two. And eh- congratulations.”

Willy shuffled past them and out the library door.

Gravy watched him go, the beginning of another giggle creeping past his lips. That set Elliott off, and before long, their laughter rang through the library again.

Chapter Text

Elliott sipped his second cup of coffee, his leg bouncing as he stared at the clock. He couldn’t sleep a wink the previous night, after his book reading and his conversation with Gravy… Gravy, who was now his boyfriend. His eyes flitted to the vase that held his bouquet on his writing desk. Every time he looked at it, his cheeks heated and his heart started pounding again. His night’s sleep had been doomed from the moment he’d entered his cabin.

A mountain of crumpled papers spilled out of the waste basket next to his writing desk. He’d filled page after manic page with poetry, trying and failing to capture his feelings for Gravy in words. Nothing he’d written was nearly good enough to share with him. And he would be coming over for his piano lesson in twenty minutes, and they hadn’t talked since last night…

Last night.

Elliott kept replaying the moments over and over in his mind - after they’d left the library, they’d walked into the Saloon together, Elliott with the bouquet in his hands. He wasn’t even thinking, he was in too much of a daze, and before he knew it they had effectively announced to the entire town that they were now a couple. Before he could even process the fact himself, he was sharing the news with the Saloon’s regulars. Leah had invited him there in celebration of his book reading, and instead, Elliott felt he’d been transformed into the star of Pelican Town’s latest soap opera episode. Anything out of the ordinary was so rare in these parts, that of course he’d instantly been the subject of a game of 20 questions from Emily and Gus. He’d been surrounded by excited chatter from the friend trio by the pool table, and the cold air of Willy pointedly staring into his beer.

Elliott had been the subject of enough attention already, so his winning smile was strained and his patience thin. He couldn’t keep the demeanor up for long. His celebratory drink was passed off to Leah after only a few sips, and he’d quickly wished Gravy goodnight and began his journey home.

Elliott took another sip of his coffee. His hands shook, sending the liquid in his mug sloshing around. Whether the shakes were from the caffeine or lack of sleep or his nervous recollection of the previous days’ events, he couldn’t tell. It was probably a combination of all three.

A sharp knock from the door startled him out of his train of thought. Elliott checked the clock again - Gravy was early, he wasn’t ready for him yet-

“Hey, lad?”

Elliott let out a relieved breath. It was only Willy. He set the coffee down and walked over to the door to open it.

“Hey! Good morning.” Willy’s hands were in his jeans pockets, and he shuffled between his feet.

“Good morning, Willy. Nice to see you.”

“I wanted to check in on you after yesterday. You seemed - well, I didn’t mean to interrupt your moment with Gravy there, but in the Saloon you seemed pretty uncomfortable.”

Elliott cringed. “Was it that obvious?”

“Heh. Maybe not to Gus or Emily, but I’ve seen you put on that act before.”

Elliott’s hand tightened around the doorknob. “How apt of you to notice.”

“Easy, lad - I come in peace. Trust me, I think it works just fine on those who don’t know you all that well, but- anyway, I didn’t come here to interrogate you like that. It’s about what I was gonna ask you yesterday.”

Elliott’s ears grew warm. He nodded for Willy to continue.

“I found an old rowboat in my back shed. It’s not the prettiest pearl, but it’s watertight and should float just fine. I can’t move it by myself, my back not being what it used to be… Anyway, I was gonna use it for fishin’, but if you help me pull it out of the shed, I’d be happy to share it with you.”

“That’s… very kind of you, Willy.”

“Well, I can’t say my motivations are entirely selfless, but I figured you might be interested, and…” he scratched the back of his head, making his hat bob up and down, “An evening on the rowboat was always a big hit with my gal back home, and I’m not sure with, eh, with you and Gravy, if you’d want… anyway, it’s yours to use if you’d like.”

Elliott nodded twice. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Glad to hear it. And… I just want you to know that I’m happy for you, son. For your book, and…” he looked over his shoulder at his shop on the docks, “I didn’t want you to end up an old bachelor like me.”

Elliott bit the inside of his cheek.

“Oh, don’t feel sorry for me, son. I’ve had a full life, and I don’t mind one bit retiring in a place like Pelican Town. But I’m a simple man. You… you’ve got something special, if that book you wrote is any indication. And I’m happy to see you, well, happy. You’ve been a great neighbor, but I always hoped you’d move out of that cabin someday.”

Elliott’s heartbeat quickened. “I don’t know about- we’ve only just started dating-”

“Of course, of course. Like I said, you’ve been a great neighbor. Just… don’t think this beach has to be your forever home.”

He looked over his shoulder, towards where the path to town connected with the beach. His face softened. “I’ll be going then. Just come on over whenever you’d like, I’ll be at the shop all day.”

Elliott looked over Willy’s shoulder, and caught sight of Gravy approaching. His hands started to shake again. “I’ll see you later then, Willy.”

With a wink, Willy ambled back towards his shop. Gravy threw a wave his way, which the fisherman returned, then he turned and approached Elliott’s front door.

“...hi,” he said with a shy smile.

“Hi,” Elliott said, opening the door further and stepping back so Gravy could enter. Gravy hung his backpack on the coat rack, and retrieved his piano book from it. He walked over to the piano bench and sat down. Elliott retrieved a chair from the kitchen table and pulled it next to him.

Gravy placed the book on the music stand, then fell into a beat of silence. Elliott fiddled with a loose string on his pants.

“Gravy, I-” “You know, Elliott-”

They both stopped. “You go first,” Gravy said.

Elliott breathed. “I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly last night. I was just- I’m not used to being the center of attention like that, and after the reading, and.. well… after, it was just a little overwhelming…”

“No, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to put you in that position, I didn’t realize how public of an announcement that would be, with you holding the bouquet and all, and… I feel like I made you uncomfortable, when it was supposed to be a celebration.”

“You did nothing of the sort, Gravy. It was- I mean, Gus and Emily could not take a hint, and you know how the rumor mill in small towns can be-”

“Oh believe me, I know. You’re talking to Pelican Town’s first new resident in- wait, who moved here first, you or Leah?”

“Me. Six years ago.”

“In three years, then. I am all too aware what it’s like to be the subject of all that attention. Don’t you remember my first time at the Saloon? I was like a show dog on display!”

Elliott chuckled. “I think I was a little busy choking on my food to notice, but I believe you.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that!” Gravy said with a smile.

“I thought I scared you off.”

“I still sat down, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Elliott’s eyes met Gravy’s, and the air between them felt suddenly thick. He dropped his gaze back down to the loose string on his pants, and continued twisting it between his fingers.

“Have you started writing something new?” Gravy asked. Elliott’s brow furrowed. He looked over to the waste basket full of crumpled papers, and his ears grew hot.

“Oh! Um, that’s nothing. Just a little… I couldn’t get it right.” He blinked, then looked back at the closed piano book on the music stand. “Should we, uh, should we get started? You talked a big game about ‘You are my Sunshine’.”

Gravy nodded and opened the book to the page in question. Elliott noticed there were even more penciled-in notes than the last time he’d seen it. He gave Gravy a “go on” gesture, and, after a breath, the farmer began to play.

He hadn’t been lying. The piece, albeit a simple one, was flawless. The notes, the timing, the dynamics - it was all perfect. When he’d finished, Gravy cast a sideways glance over at Elliott, who looked back at him with an approving smile.

“My, you are a quick study.”

“I’ve been practicing a lot.”

“I can tell.”

Another beat of silence.

“How about the other two pieces? Did you have any time for them while you were busy perfecting ‘You are my Sunshine’?”

It appeared he had. After two more flawless renditions, Elliott deemed it appropriate to move him a little further along in the book. They worked through a few more pieces, which Gravy performed with varying success, but none even approaching unsuccessful.

“I hate to say it, but I think this book might be too easy for you.”

“Why do you hate to say that?”

“Because all the other books I have are about five difficulty levels higher than this one. I didn’t take many other piano pieces from my younger years with me in the move.”

“I’m up for the challenge.”

Elliot laughed. “I’m sure you are, but- I’d rather you go about this in the incremental way. You know, working on individual skills, building your way up to the harder stuff?”

“Sure, but I mean- there comes a point when you’re going to have to step out of your comfort zone. You know, take a leap of faith?”

Elliott blinked. It was obvious he wasn’t talking about piano anymore, but- what exactly did he mean by that?

Gravy’s gaze dropped to his lap. “I’m just saying, I… think I could give the advanced books a try.”

Elliott looked over to his bookshelf, then back at Gravy. “Tell you what-” he stood, and retrieved Selected works by Ludwig van Beethoven for Piano . He placed it on the music stand in front of the Beginner book. “You practice all your major scales and arpeggios this week, and do a few exercises from the back of your book, and if that goes well there’s a duet in here we can do together.”

Gravy picked the book up and examined the cover. “Moonlight Sonata wouldn’t happen to be in here too?”

Elliott crossed his arms. “It is indeed. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

Gravy, for whatever reason, deflated at that. “No, of course not. I just-”

Elliott furrowed his eyebrows, frustratingly unable to read the subtext that Gravy was articulating.

Gravy examined the book in his hands again. The back of his hand went to his nose, and, after a moment, he drew his fingers into a fist and placed it into his lap. He looked over to the bouquet on the kitchen counter, and the fist released.

“Gravy, are you all right?”

Gravy nodded quite pointedly, not making eye contact. “I’m fine, I’ll- I’ll work on these this week, and I’ll take a look at the duet. I have to go-”

He rifled around in his pockets, found a 500G coin, and placed it on the top of the piano. “I’ll see you later?”

“Of course-”

“Okay,” Gravy said, gathering up his books standing abruptly up from the piano bench.

Elliott didn’t know what to say- Gravy was upset, and he was leaving again-

“Gravy!” he called out. Gravy looked over, his eyes moving to Elliott but his head not turning to match it.

“Are you… are you free this evening?”

Gravy fiddled with the clasps of his bag. “Yes.”

“Could you- I mean, would you like to meet me here? On the beach?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Gravy’s lips. The sight of it sent a wave of relief through Elliott. “Okay.”

“Okay! Great! I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later, Elliott.”

***

“I’m sorry, let me run this back one more time. Your newly minted boyfriend comes over to your house for an hour, and all you do is- is play piano?”

“He was here for a piano lesson!”

“And?!”

“And- I expect he would have wanted to play piano during the lesson!”

“You expect- you better expect my foot up your ass when I see you next, Elliot, I mean- Yoba , you are so thick for someone so well-read.”

“I take extreme offense to that.”

“Good. Let me ask you this- how was Gravy acting when he left earlier?”

“Well, he did seem suddenly- kind of closed off. He was leaving in a bit of a hurry, and he seemed upset until-”

“Until what?”

“Until I asked him to come back later tonight. I- Willy has this rowboat, and I wanted to take him out-”

“Oh, thank all that is good that the man isn’t completely inept.”

“What do you mean?”

“Elliott, buddy, my best friend in the whole world - I would bet my life savings that Gravy thought you regretted accepting his bouquet.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Have you two even kissed yet?”

“The opportunity hasn’t really come up-”

“Elliott! Of course it’s come up! How many times have you been alone with him since you’ve met? Look, I know you’re super out of practice here, but typically touching each other is part of the deal. You two are dating, and you’ve somehow managed to still keep your feelings for Gravy a secret.”

Elliott didn’t respond. He looked over to the vase of flowers that rested on the kitchen counter in front of him.

“And- again, Elliott, I say this with all the love in my heart- he is your boyfriend. I can’t keep playing relationship interpreter for you two. You need to open up to him at some point.”

“I was up all night writing poetry, but I couldn’t- nothing I wrote was good enough-”

“So figure something else out. You’re a smart guy. I’ve got to go - just-”

“Listen to the wood?”

“Like I said, you’re a smart guy. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Leah.”

Elliott hung up the phone and looked out the window at the rowboat he and Willy had dragged out to the beach. Willy was right- it wasn’t the prettiest, but so long as it floated, he had somewhere to start. He thought back to how Gravy had acted at the end of the lesson - how upset he’d seemed, and how he’d tried to hide it- How could Elliott expect Gravy to tell him what was wrong when he himself could hardly speak about his own feelings? He looked back over at the bouquet. An idea came to mind.

***

Just as the sun was beginning to set, Gravy made his way down the path to the beach. When he saw the farmer, Elliott stood from the rowboat where he’d been sitting, and walked quickly over to meet him.

He was wearing something different than before- a clean white button-down and a pair of brown corduroy pants. An outfit so simple, and yet-

“You look ravishing,” Elliott said, without intending to. Gravy smiled and blushed at the compliment, and Elliott decided that whatever he needed to say to the farmer to keep him smiling, no matter how ridiculous or flowery, or… intimate, he would do it. Leah was right. She usually was.

“Thank you,” Gravy said, raising a hand to his red cheek. 

“Thank you for coming,” Elliott replied. “I wanted to give you these-” he revealed a bouquet from behind his back.

Gravy’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows pinched together slightly. “Elliott, you didn’t have to-”

“Yes, I did,” Elliott said. “I wanted to.”

Gravy’s face softened, and he scooped up the flowers with both hands and pressed them to his chest. He met Elliott’s eye. “Thank you.”

“And-” he stepped aside so that Gravy could see the rowboat behind him, “I wanted to see if you’d like to take a little boat ride with me. As- as our first date.”

Gravy’s smile stretched wider, and he nodded. 

“Excellent! Just a moment-” Elliott jogged over to the boat, and pushed it forward in the sand. Well, he tried to, but what actually happened was his feet slid out behind him and the boat stayed where it was. “It’s- a little stuck-” He kept pushing to no avail, then suddenly Gravy was beside him, his hands next to Elliott’s, and they pushed together. The boat slid into the water, and they both jumped into it. Elliott grabbed the oars and rowed.

Gravy sat across from him, panting a little from the exertion. Elliott was struck again by how radiant he was.

After a few minutes, they had sailed past the waves and were floating on blue water. Elliott released the oars and looked up at the sky, admiring the watercolor pinks and oranges of the setting sun.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Gravy said.

“It’s a sight to behold,” Elliott replied.

Gravy leaned back in his seat, the bouquet resting next to him. He caressed it with a hand, and after a moment, picked it up.

“Elliot, I-” “Gravy, I wanted to-”

The two of them exchanged shy smiles. “You first,” Elliott said.

“I’m sorry for trying to run away like that before. I just-” he looked down at the flowers in his hands. “My ex was- our relationship wasn’t exactly- I mean, I can get a little-” He sighed. “He didn’t want to make our relationship public. And, when you were- I mean, of course when you were put on the spot like that you’d be uncomfortable, but I just- I got scared. I thought I’d done the hard part. I thought asking you out and you saying yes would make all that go away, but- evidently, I’m still working on it.”

“Oh, Gravy-” Elliott took his hand. “Of course you would, I- after yesterday- and this morning- I know I have trouble expressing how I feel. Ironic for a writer, I admit, but- I wanted you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am absolutely thrilled to be your boyfriend. If you’ll forgive me for being out of practice, I want to do my best to show that to you.”

Gravy looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really. Without you, I probably would still be starting a new book every three days, and submitting stories to literary magazines for pennies. Instead, I have a finished novel that I’m proud of- and I have you to thank for it. Gravy- I-”

Elliott’s eyes locked with Gravy’s, and he found himself at a loss for words. He was always at a loss for words around the farmer.

Gravy’s grip on his hand tightened. Elliott imagined him, delusional and fever-ridden, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him closer. Elliott followed it, obliging him, swimming in the pools of jade in his eyes and soaking in the sun-kissed bronze of his skin and the shining golden star at the base of his nose. 

“Gravy…” he whispered, the only word in the world that mattered, the only sound that could pass from his lips - a question, a declaration, a promise.

And the space between them closed, and their lips met, and the boat and the sunset and the rest of the world faded away until the only thing left was Gravy, Gravy, Gravy.

Hands went from cheeks to hair to backs, lips parted and reunited and noses pressed together, and all of the unsaid and unattainable words, all of the poetry and awkward conversations and too-short meetings retreated, carried away on the wave of a desperate kiss.

Elliott’s heart lurched, and his head swam, and he understood for the first time the meaning of the words “head over heels,” because everything felt out of balance, his world had been turned upside-down-

Then Elliott was plunged underwater. He resurfaced with a gasp, and found Gravy panting and treading water beside him. Elliott looked over to the boat, which was rocking violently beside them.

“You’re soaked,” Gravy said with a giggle.

“So are you,” Elliott said, swiping dripping strands of hair out of his eyes.

“How poetic,” Gravy said, grabbing for the side of the boat and holding onto it. “The last time I saw you like this was when I first fell for you.”

Elliott grinned stupidly back at him. “What did it, all the crying?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not! Seeing you so passionate about something- seeing you open up to me like that, even if you didn’t mean to, I- after so many years at Joja of people hiding their true selves, and never knowing when anyone around me was being genuine, it- I wanted to see more of you like that. Not- not more of you crying, but- the real Elliott. Because I like the real Elliott.”

Elliott breathed. “That is… so romantic-”

And they were kissing again, soaking wet and treading water and in complete bliss.

Chapter Text

“Okay! Chickens are fed, crops are watered, Meatball’s had her breakfast, and I’m all yours. I mean-” Gravy coughed, his face reddening instantly. “Well, I think I made my intentions… uh, um, anyway-”

Elliott gave him a shy smile over his shoulder. Gravy shut the door behind him, scratching the back of his head and making a big deal of removing his work boots. Elliott turned back to his cooking. He was using up the last of his foraged mushrooms to make omelettes for the two of them, and they were just about ready - it was rather great timing on the farmer’s part.

“Ooh, that smells good,” Gravy added when his shoes were properly off.

“You know this apron says ‘Kiss the Cook’?” Elliott asked, keeping his gaze fixed downward and flipping the omelettes with a spatula.

“It does?! I had no idea-” Gravy rushed over, his hands extending in front of him and catching the kitchen counter.

“No,” Elliott said with a bit of a giggle, “but now that you’re over here…”

Gravy’s mouth dropped open in indignance, but soon enough it stretched into a giggling smile too. His eyes softened, and he stood up on his toes to give Elliott a gentle kiss on the mouth. Elliott’s heart fluttered at the contact- at the… newness of it all. When they parted, he was grinning stupidly. 

Gravy gave him a light shove on the shoulder, and said, “you don’t need to trick me into kissing you, you know. You can just ask.”

“Okay. Will you kiss me again?”

Gravy, still bright red, leaned in again. He pressed his lips to Elliott’s - longer this time, less chaste - Elliott melted into it, letting his shoulders slacken and his arm wrap around Gravy’s waist - breathing in deep, making his chest full and his head light -

Then Gravy pulled away, just an inch. He took in a breath, seemingly catching it. “I think your omelettes are done.”

Elliott looked over with only his eyes, saw he was right, and planted another peck on Gravy’s lips before returning to the stove.

A few minutes later, the two of them sat across from each other at Gravy’s kitchen table and made their way through the omelettes. Gravy’s head tilted back and forth as he ate - he seemed to be bouncing along to a tune in his head. Elliott thought to ask what it was, but didn’t want to interrupt and make Gravy stop. So he enjoyed the view instead, relishing in how watching his… boyfriend… his boyfriend … watching Gravy enjoy the food he made sent his heart fluttering. He would cook for the farmer every day if it made him this happy.

“Do you always do your farm chores before eating breakfast?” Elliott asked.

“Usually, yeah,” Gravy said in between bites.

“What if they take a while? Don’t you get hungry?”

“I carry snacks with me. I don’t really have the time to make breakfast most days - at least, I won’t until I get the supplies to make sprinklers.”

“Make them? Can’t you just buy some?”

“No one in town sells them. And buying them on the internet would be- uh- the budget’s a little tight right now.”

Elliott frowned. “Would it help if you weren’t paying for piano lessons?”

Gravy’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant! It’s not- I don’t want to stop taking lessons with you. And I don’t want to stop paying you either- just because we’re- cough- just because we’re dating doesn’t mean I expect free labor.”

Elliott’s eyebrows knit together. “What if we make an arrangement, then? You don’t have to give me cash.”

Gravy’s face, which had only recently recovered to its normal color, went back to a vibrant red. “Uh- I don’t know if that’s- I mean, that would be a little-”

Elliott’s stomach dropped. “No, no! I mean like, eggs! And firewood, and- not- Sorry, I wasn’t clear-”

Gravy visibly relaxed. “Of course you meant that, I’m sorry, that- that actually would work out well, I think. I have plenty of materials, like I said before, I’m drowning in eggs- I can- yeah, I can make that work.”

“Okay.” Elliott let out a breath. Gravy made a point of finishing the rest of his food.

Elliott felt the pressing need to change the subject. “Did you ever visit when your grandfather still lived here?’

Gravy fiddled with his fork. “No, I never made the trip up. At least, not that I can remember. My mom said she brought me here a few times when I was little, but then my dad- then we moved further away, and we didn’t come back over. Grandpa visited us a few times, but he never stayed for long. He always had things he needed to get back to.” Gravy looked out the window, out at his chicken coop. “I understand it a little better now. It would be hard to leave things behind now that I have so much to take care of.”

Elliott pressed steepled fingers to his lips. He’d been responsible for only himself for so long, he’d forgotten how tied down one could get in a place like this. Gravy was carrying a lot on his own, and yet he still made the time to be such a warm presence in Pelican Town… had Elliott been selfish all these years? Had he been too focused on his own pursuits that he missed the chance to be a greater part of the community?

“What was your grandfather like?” Elliott asked abruptly. “I- he moved into the retirement home not long after I got here, so I never really got to know him well.”

Gravy cracked a smile. “He was a little batshit.”

Elliott laughed in surprise. “Really? So that wasn’t just a rumor?” 

“Kernel of truth and all that. My grandma passed before I was born, leaving him by himself on this big farm for the better part of twenty five years, so I can’t blame him for going a little crazy. But it was a fun kind of crazy. When he used to come around, granted, this was ten years ago, but I still remember - He’d take us out to amusement parks and tell the roller coaster attendants to prank us and tell us our seatbelts were broken right before we took off. Or- one time, he put dye in our fish tank - to this day I have no idea if it was safe for the fish or not - and said that a witch had cast a spell on the fish and they were going to turn us to sushi in our sleep. I have him to thank for ten years of recurring nightmares that I was trapped in a fish tank, by the way. But the best one was on my sister’s tenth birthday - he pretended to be a window washer and came up to our apartment window - on the sixth floor, mind you - and painted ‘Happy Birthday Amelia’ over and over in the creepiest serial killer font - it took a while to talk my mom down after that one, but I still think it’s hilarious…

***

“They DID NOT send that to you!”

“I swear to Yoba! Right in between their recommendation letters and their personal essay was a full-on cosplay headshot. Wig, makeup, the whole nine yards. Honestly, it was a pretty good cosplay.”

“And how did that affect their admission decision?”

“That’s proprietary,” Elliott said with a wry smile.

“Oh come on ,” Gravy replied from his perch atop the armrest of his tufted armchair. He pulled a foot up so it was resting atop the opposite knee. “I’m sure your NDA has expired by now.”

“There was no NDA. Ever heard of FERPA?”

“No?”

“Well it’s the law . I can’t just go disclosing such things willy-nilly.”

“I think you just enjoying holding out on me.”

Elliott leaned back against the wall next to the fireplace as dramatically as possible. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about! I did exactly what you asked - I played all of my scales - even C flat, you absolute menace - flawlessly. I practiced all week! Do you know how boring that was, playing only scales? And you still won’t let me play the Beethoven book!”

“Forgive me for wanting my only student to develop the necessary skills to play advanced music before jumping right in.”

“I still don’t get why-”

“Okay! I wanted to practice my part of the duet before I gave the book to you. And I’m waiting for a book of piano duets to come in the mail. And maybe I enjoy holding out on you a little.”

“You-” Gravy let his feet drop to hang off of the side of the chair, seeming not to know which part of Elliott’s statement to address first. His face had gone red again. It appeared exceedingly easy to elicit that reaction from the farmer - Elliott didn’t want to think about the shades of red that he’d been lately. They were a couple of tomatoes, the two of them. Just the thought of making Gravy blush was enough to heat his own cheeks. It was a cruel feedback loop, but Gravy didn’t seem to mind, seeing how he was grinning again.

“How did you learn to play piano?” Gravy said instead, sinking so that his back was in the seat of the chair, his head rested on one armrest, and his legs hung over the side of the other.

“My mother actually made me learn when I was ten. She said I needed an outlet, and I hadn’t really mastered writing fiction yet, so I went to lessons every week with this kooky old retiree teacher, Mrs. Rufino. Or at least, that’s what I thought of her at first. By the time I graduated high school, she was one of my favorite people in the world. I was closer to her than some of my own family - she was one of those old folks who just.. gets it, you know? Made sure I knew that no matter who I turned out to be or what my identity was, I was welcome in her home. I actually stayed with her a few times after fights with my dad…

***

“I have to ask-”

“Oh no-”

“The name ‘Gravy’. There has to be a story there.”

Gravy chuckled from his seat atop the kitchen counter. Elliott sat backwards on a kitchen chair, resting his forearm on the chair’s back and watching the farmer shuck corn. A pile of husks sat next to him on one side, and a plate of the peeled vegetables sat on the other.

“I was wondering when you’d get along to asking. You held out longer than most people do.”

“I did?”

“Leah asked me the second time we met.”

Elliott let out a single laugh. “She’s more forward than the two of us combined.”

“Yoba bless her for it,” Gravy said with a sentimental sigh. “Who knows how long it would have taken for us to get together without her intervention.”

Elliott raised an invisible glass in her cabin’s direction. Gravy giggled. Elliott looked back at him. “Well?”

“You’re gonna be disappointed.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s really not that interesting of a story.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Gravy placed the final husk from his current ear of corn in the growing pile to his right, placed the corn on the plate to his left, and picked up a new one from the basket at his feet. “It happened in this house, apparently. I was maybe a year and a half old, and we were all having dinner, and someone dropped something - I think it was my mom, and I yelled ‘Good Gravy!’ really loud. Now me, being a baby at the time, wasn’t talking all that much. My vocabulary was pretty much ‘mama’, ‘dada’, and ‘no’ at that point, so me putting that phrase together garnered a big laugh from my listening audience, and my family hasn’t called me anything else since.”

“That’s really sweet!”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying! That’s an adorable story. Better than, I don’t know, drinking a bunch of gravy as a frat dare or something.”

Gravy looked at him, incredulous. “Do I look like a frat guy to you?”

Elliott chuckled. “No.” Then, after a moment, “Does everyone back home call you Gravy? Your high school friends, teachers, everyone?”

“Pretty much. There were a few people that refused - my principal, my Aunt Grace - probably because she thought our names sounded too similar, the old bat - but other than that, yeah.”

They sat in silence for a while, Gravy shucking corn and Elliott watching him. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Gravy asked, “Not gonna ask me what my real name is?”

Elliott’s gaze dropped. He already knew Gravy’s real name, but it had happened by complete accident. He hadn’t been keeping the fact from him intentionally- just- a lot had happened since then. It hadn’t really come up naturally, and it seemed too late now to bring it up. It didn’t matter what his real name was anyway. “To me, you’re Gravy. Whether you want to tell me your legal name is up to you.”

Gravy, still looking down at the corn in his hands, nodded, as if reassuring himself of the same thing. “I was named after my grandpa,” he said quietly. “Nicholas Allen.” Then, after a moment, he looked up at Elliott. “So now you know.”

Elliott tilted his head. “Well, thanks for telling me… Good Gravy.”

Gravy snickered. “You sound like my sister.”

***

“So… magic.”

“Magic?”

“You fixed my ruined pages with… magic.”

“Heh,” Gravy said. He sat cross-legged on his bed, looking out at Elliott sitting on the piano bench. Each of them were nibbling on the ends of their corn cobs. The setting sun cast orange light through the farmhouse window, basking everything inside in a golden glow.

“I would like a complete debrief. I’m still not a hundred percent convinced that’s what happened.”

“Elliott, when I tell you that all sorts of weird shit has been happening to me - and seemingly only me - since I moved here, I’m not exaggerating.”

“Define ‘weird shit’.”

“You know the old community center?”

“The one that’s been defunct since before I moved here?”

“Yeah, well- I went in there with Lewis, just to look around, and I heard these weird noises. Lewis thought they were rats, seeing as he’s a complete moron-”

“Not sure how that makes him a moron but I concur-”

“But I went back myself later and I found these little- you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but- you know that game Junimo Kart?”

Elliott blinked. “With the little apple sprites?”

“Exactly! The Junimos! Well, turns out, they’re sort of… real.”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“I’m not making this up! They were all over the place inside the community center, talking to me in these, like sort of chirps that I couldn’t understand. I went home, and the next day I get a letter from Mr. Rasmodius-”

“The creep who lives in the castle west of Leah’s place?”

“He’s not a creep! He’s just… misunderstood. But yes, I went to his house, and he sort of- cast a spell- and then I could understand them! And I started-”

“Understand who? The Junimos?”

“Yeah! I went back to the center, and their chirps sounded like actual words-”

“You sure he didn’t drug you?”

“Trust me, Elliott, I know the difference.”

Elliott didn’t have a witty response to that.

“Anyway, I went back to the Center, and the Junimos started asking me for things, and if I gave them those things, they would-”

Elliott suddenly remembered his conversation with Lewis outside the community center. “Fix up the rooms in the center for you?”

“...How did you know that?”

“Lewis told me about it months ago. He said it was weird that the boiler room of all places was fixed up first.”

Gravy gave a sheepish smile. “That was the easiest room to get things for. They wanted metals, and I was already collecting in the mines at that point-”

“During your escapades for Rasmodius to fix my pages?”

Gravy blushed. “Yeah.”

“How long did that take you, exactly?”

“Pretty much from the moment your pages got ruined.”

“You… really?”

Gravy shrugged. “I hated seeing you so upset, and I wanted to fix it, and a hundred pieces of solar essence later…”

“A hundred?”

“I had to kill a lot of ghosts.”

“Ghosts?!”

“Like I said, weird shit. The deeper you go in those mines, the wilder the monsters get. I still haven’t gotten to the bottom, but I think I’m getting close.”

“Why a hundred of those…”

“Solar essences?”

“Yeah, why a hundred?”

Gravy shrugged again. “He needed to do a time reversal spell, and he said something about using sun power for it.”

“And you did all of that to fix my pages when you barely knew me?”

“To my credit, you had just taken me into your house after I passed out on the beach.”

“Okay, and what if I hadn’t? Would you still have gone to those lengths?”

“Of course.”

Elliott faltered. His mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure of what to say. Eventually, he landed on simply, “Why?”

“Because you were hurting, and I wanted to help.”

Elliott stared at him, taking in the resoluteness of his expression. The simplicity of the statement, as if it was the only logical conclusion.

Elliott stood and walked slowly over to where Gravy sat. He reached out a hand, inviting him to stand up. He looked confused, but complied anyway. When he was standing, Elliott took Gravy’s face in his hands and kissed him earnestly. “You-” he kissed him again, “are the most,” and again, “selfless,” and again, “and amazing person-”

Eventually Gravy’s brain caught up, and he began returning Elliott’s kisses - he smiled into them, taking Elliott’s hands in his own, interlacing their fingers, until he managed to pull away, leaving Elliott panting and breathless. Elliott pressed his forehead to Gravy’s, physically feeling himself fall more in love with each breath. Terrifying himself with how big it felt, how full his heart was, it didn’t seem possible that it could still fit in his chest-

“You want some tea?”

Elliott blinked, pulled away from his train of thought. Gravy looked up at him, a small, reassuring smile on his lips.

“Sure,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

Gravy stepped away to put the kettle on, and Elliott shuffled over to take a seat at the kitchen table. He took a few calming breaths. When the kettle whistled, Gravy filled two mugs - one that said Stardew Valley Fair, and the other with a faded JojaCorp logo. Elliott eyed the latter dubiously, and Gravy said “I didn’t have a lot of mugs when I moved. When I have something to replace it with, I’ll get rid of it. Don’t worry, you can have the Fair one.”

Elliott took his mug of tea with a grateful nod. He took a whiff, and the sweet scent tickled his nose. This was Caroline’s specialty, normally only sold at Pierre’s stand at holiday festivals, so how did he-

“Got Caroline on your long list of best friends too?” Elliott asked with a wry smile.

“Listen, that one shocked even me. I had like, two conversations with her at Pierre’s and she invited me to check out her tea plants in her greenhouse. She seems… kind of lonely.” He frowned and looked down into his mug. “It makes me sad, seeing her. She doesn’t seem to get on well with Abigail, and Pierre’s always so busy with whatever he’s peddling at the moment, so…” He trailed off.

“Oh,” Elliott said, now feeling awkward for bringing it up. His eyes landed on the faded logo of Gravy’s mug. “Well… what was it like working at Joja? Other than soul-sucking, of course?”

Gravy’s face darkened. Elliott instantly regretted asking. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to-”

“It’s not a time I look back on fondly. I really, and I mean really went off the rails at the end. My mental, physical, social health - all on the rocks. If I hadn’t found the letter from grandpa leaving me the farm, I don’t know where I’d…” Gravy began to tear up, his eyes reddening and the sound of a sniffle punching across the table.

“Gravy…” Elliott reached a hand out, placing it softly on the farmer’s wrist. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay,” Gravy said, setting his mug down and wiping at his eyes with his free hand. He gave a wet smile. “Like I said, I’m a lot happier now. He squeezed Elliott’s hand in his own. “A lot happier.” Elliott’s neck grew hot.

Gravy looked down at his teacup and fiddled with the handle between his fingers. “You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you - I don’t remember you taking care of me while I was sick. Like, at all.”

Elliott laughed. “You don’t?”

“Nope. I remember going to bed the night before, and then waking up with you in my bed fully-clothed. Needless to say I was really perplexed as to how you got there.”

“Hah! I mean, I could tell you were out of it with your fever, but I didn’t realize - I had to trick you into eating by playing piano!”

“Really?”

“Really,” Elliott giggled. “I put a bowl of soup in your lap and started playing, and then told you to eat, and it was like you were in a hypnotic state - I gave you water and some fever medicine, and then you- well, you pulled me into bed with you. Quite forcefully, I might add. You’re stronger than you let on.”

Gravy scratched his head sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

Elliott’s cheeks heated again. “I didn’t mind it. I- it had been a long time since I’ve been, uh- I enjoyed being held like that. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time how I felt, but-”

But Gravy wasn’t listening. He dropped his mug on the table, spilling some of his tea over the sides. He threw his chair back and practically tackled Elliott into a hug, wrapping his arms around Elliott pulling him up from the chair and folding his head into the crook of his neck. After one surprised moment, Elliott returned the hug with fervor, weaving his hands into the curls of Gravy’s hair and resting his cheek atop Gravy’s head and feeling something inside of him crack.

“I’ve really missed being held,” Elliott whispered.

“Then I’m never letting go.”

Chapter Text

It was safe to say that Elliott was drunk.

This was the most fun he’d had at the Spirit’s Eve festival in… well, he’d never had this much fun at the festival. His vampire costume was in shambles - he’d removed his teeth hours ago, the fake blood on his chin had long since faded to a faded red stain, and his once sleek ponytail was ragged with strands of hair flying in every direction, and yet, Elliott did not care about his appearance whatsoever. His cape billowed behind him as he chased Leah through the hedge maze, giggling maniacally at her overdramatic screams. She’d somehow managed to keep her homemade medieval princess costume pristine, her hair still twisted into flawless braids and her crown perfectly straight on her head as she ran.

“I VILL SUCK YOUR BLOOD, SWEET DAMSEL!” Elliott called after her, catching only a flash of her skirt as she rounded another corner.

“Got you!” he shouted, turning into what he thought was a dead end. But instead of Leah, he found only an exaggeratedly large spider.

“Leah?” he called. “Where did you go?”

“I helped design this maze, my good Count,” said her voice from an impossibly far distance behind him. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want this delicious prize!”

Elliott giggled, looking around for how she managed to escape. He ran his hands all over the hedge walls around him, looking for a gap, a trap door - anything - and came up short. Granted, his vision was swimming a bit at the moment. He gave one final look around, then sighed, patted the spider on its head, and called, “You win this round, princess!”

With a swish of his cape, Elliott turned on a heel and made his precarious way back through the maze. Or, he tried to. He was getting a little lost. Chest heaving, he dragged his hand along the hedges to his right and followed along what he thought was the way he came. The spider family, the spooky skeleton, wait- he hadn’t seen the severed hands before. Where was-

After rounding another corner, Elliott almost ran headfirst into someone. Or, rather, two people. Lewis and Marnie were-

“So sorry!” Elliott said, suppressing a giggle. “I must have gotten turned around-”

“Elliott!” Lewis said, anxiously adjusting his bow tie and hat and wearing a forced smile. “Hello! I hope you’re enjoying the festival! Marnie and I were just discussing the decorations! Mr. Rasmodius has really outdone himself this year-”

The giggle was unsuppressed this time. “Yeah, that looked like a really exciting discussion.”

Lewis frowned and his cheeks reddened. “Elliott, I hope I can trust in your confidence-”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Mayor, I won’t tell a soul that you had your tongue down Marnie’s throat just now.”

Marnie hid a laugh behind a hand as Lewis tried to stammer out a response. “I- if you need some, shall we say motivation to keep quiet, I’m sure something can be arranged- I know your income isn’t the most-”

Elliott rolled his eyes. “Yoba, Lewis. I was just ribbing you a little. You don’t have to bribe me. Your ‘secret’” - he punctuated the word with air quotes - “is safe with me.”

He looked over at Marnie, who seemed to still be giddy despite their conversation. He thought to say something, but decided against it, electing just to sigh in her general direction.

“The exit is that way,” Lewis said, throwing a pointed thumb over his shoulder.

“Much obliged,” Elliott said, bowing and fanning his cape out in his hands. “The Count is grateful for your assistance.”

Elliott skipped through the rest of the maze - yes, actually skipped - until he had made his way back into town square. The evening was clearly winding down - a few people had already left, notably the friend trio, who had been suspiciously red-eyed and happy when he’d last seen them - and what was once a delectable feast had been reduced to a few spare donuts and dregs of punch. A few folks milled about, chatting and finishing off the refreshments in their hands. Leah, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Gravy, Mr. Gravy!” called a high-pitched voice from the other side of the square. Vincent and Jas barreled over to where Gravy stood in his cobbled-together farmer’s costume, a glass of punch in his hand.

“Hey!” Gravy said, smiling down at the two children. Vincent was in an adorable homemade prince outfit, and Jas was wearing the bodysuit of a store-bought cow costume. Elliott assumed that all of the accessories she’d been wearing the last time he’d seen her - ears, horns, hooves, nose - were currently resting inside Shane’s backpack.

“Mr. Gravy, is it really a costume if you’re already a farmer?” Jas asked, her arms folded and her mouth in the cutest little pout.

“Well Jas, by that standard Vincent’s not in a costume either, since he’s already a handsome little prince!”

Vincent giggled and twirled, his blanket cape flowing in a circle around him.

“And,” Gravy said, kneeling down and holding a hand on the side of his mouth, “I’m not dressed up as any old farmer. I’m a farmer with superpowers .”

“No way!” Jas squealed.

“Yeah way! I have super strength!”

“Show us! Show us!” Vincent shouted.

“Alright, grab on then,” Gravy said, holding his arms out in two right angles. Vincent and Jas each hung on to one of his arms, and with a “one, two, threeeeee!”, Gravy stood, lifting them both and spinning them in a few circles. Jas squealed in delight as they went around and around. After a few swings, Gravy placed them back down.

“Again!” Vincent said.

“Not today, little prince,” Gravy said, catching sight of Jodi approaching. “It looks like it’s time to go home.”

“Aw, man,” Vincent said.

“Come on, Vince,” Jodi said, placing his arm around his shoulder. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah! Jas and I got a bunch of candy, and she showed me how to play jacks…”

His voice trailed off as the two of them walked back towards their house. Jas had run over to Shane, who was sitting on the bench at the edge of the square waiting for her. Even he seemed to be smiling.

“Hey, how’d you get on with the maze?” Gravy said in greeting. His straw hat was askew from the spinning, and Elliott reached out a hand to adjust it.

“I got lost,” Elliott said in a conspiratorial whisper. “And you’ll never believe who I ran into.”

Gravy’s voice dropped. “Who?”

“Lewis and Marnie, completely going at it.”

Gravy dropped his jaw and clutched his chest over-dramatically. “Marnie? And Lewis??”

“Who knew?” Elliott giggled.

Gravy pushed the visor of his hat upwards and scratched his chin. “Hmmmmmm. That’s a tough one. I’m gonna go with every single person in Pelican Town, with the exception of maybe Vincent.”

“Not Jas?”

“Come on, Elliott.”

Elliott giggled again. He was doing a lot of that tonight, and he didn’t mind. “So how was your first Spirit’s Eve in the Valley?”

“I had so much fun! Gus’ work is just masterful, I mean, clearly everyone enjoyed it-” he gestured to the empty table. “And I carved a pumpkin, and helped judge the costume contest, seeing as Lewis was mysteriously unavailable, and- ” He pulled open his backpack, looked twice over his shoulder, and showed Elliott what was inside - a shining golden pumpkin.

Elliott gasped. “You- did Leah tell you how to get through?!”

“Elliott! Ye of little faith! Just because you were too drunk to make it through the maze doesn’t mean I was. I happened to navigate it before I got into Gus’ punch.”

Elliott smacked a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Gravy laughed, a low sound that rang out from his belly. The sound of it sent Elliott’s heart fluttering. He looked out at the festival’s empty food table and dwindling crowd and sighed forlornly. “I don’t want the night to be over. And it’s such a long walk home…”

“Well, you could always come over to mine.”

“It’s the same distance!”

“Yeah, but we’d be there together.”

“Sold.”

So, hand in hand, the two of them stumbled through the town square, past the bus stop, and onto Gravy’s farm. The path to the farmhouse was illuminated by a trail of jack o’ lanterns. Elliott’s face lit up looking at them all-

“It must have taken you ages to carve all of these!”

“Well, I sold a bunch of pumpkin pies to Pierre, and it seemed a waste to throw all the pumpkin shells away…”

Elliott skipped along the trail, examining each carved face. A witch with a wart-covered nose, a whiskered cat, a screaming ghost, and-

“Look! It’s me!”

Elliott picked up the vampire-shaped pumpkin face and held it next to his own.

“You’re twins,” Gravy said with a smile.

Elliott placed the jack o’ lantern back down and continued along the trail to the house - after a moment, a tree next to the front porch caught his eye. It was bare except for a single, solitary fruit hanging from a high branch.

“I want a pomegranate!” he shouted, craning his neck to look up at it.

“I just finished picking the tree. I’ve got a whole bowl of them inside.”

“But that one is the freshest! And it’s all by itself up there!”

“Elliott, like I said, I’ve got a whole bowl inside-”

But Elliott wasn’t listening. He was already standing at the base of the tree, up on his tiptoes and straining to reach the fruit. He was unsuccessful. He groaned, stretching his arm further, pressing his fingers higher - but the last pomegranate was just out of reach.

Then, suddenly, Elliott was five feet taller. Gravy had come up beneath him and lifted so he was seated on his shoulder. Elliott giggled yet again, and his hand extended until his fingers had a solid grasp around the fruit, and he picked it with a satisfying pluck . “Got it!” he said triumphantly, and grinned back down at Gravy. “Maybe that ‘costume’ really did give you superpowers.”

Gravy turned so the two of them were facing the farm. Elliott didn’t mind the view from up on Gravy’s shoulder one bit. He looked out at the full moon, the glowing constellations in the night sky - feeling the slightest chill breeze blow through the fields and make him shiver. Gravy wrapped his arm tighter around Elliott’s legs. Then, after a moment, he shifted his weight so that Elliott fell into his arms, who let out a surprised “eep!” as he did so. Gravy held him as if he were weightless, one arm under his shoulders and the other under his knees - leaving Elliott face to face with the farmer.

Elliott closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around Gravy’s neck and pulling him in for a tender kiss. The punch and festivities of the night had made him feel indescribably airy - so light that he could be carried like this, like it was nothing. He communicated this feeling by peppering kisses all over the farmer’s face - his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead - Gravy smiled back at him, returning one final kiss on the lips and setting him down.

“Want to come inside?” he said, breathy. Elliott did.

Gravy closed the door behind him, and Meatball mrowled in greeting. He gave the cat a few scratches behind the ear while Elliott set the pomegranate down on the kitchen table.

“Did I tell you how handsome you look in that vampire getup?”

“As it happens, you did not,” Elliott said, flaring his cape out with a swoosh and placing his hands over his chest in an X. “But I’m glad you said something. Leah was far less amenable to me sucking her blood.”

“Well, my neck’s wide open,” Gravy said, removing his straw hat and setting it next to the pomegranate on the table. “I have no qualms about making a blood oath to you, my good Count.”

“Finally! Someone who gets it.” He wrapped his arms around Gravy’s neck and placed a single, humorous kiss there. Then another. Then another, longer this time. Gravy’s breath grew heavier. Elliott’s lips lingered there, kissing Gravy’s neck and jawline and below his ear, drinking in the scent of him, the salt on his skin and the sound of his ragged breathing-

Then his lips were back on Gravy’s, and a wanting swelled in his chest- wanting to touch him, to feel Gravy’s hair beneath his fingers and his skin on his lips- wanting more- wanting to be closer, to be impossibly closer to him- wanting to get their damned clothes out of the way-

Then Elliott’s cape was flung to the floor, and Gravy’s plaid shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and the two of them were stumbling backwards, back towards Gravy’s bed-

Then Gravy’s hands were in Elliott’s hair, closing into a fist, pulling him in, pulling him closer, and Gravy was biting his lip and pulling at his collar, fumbling with the buttons hidden under the layers of ruffles in his shirt-

Then they had fallen into the mattress, tangled in a heap and kissing deeply and fumbling for zippers and buttons- throwing clothes haphazardly onto the floor-

Then Gravy gasped and pulled backward. He pressed himself into his headboard and wrapped his arms around himself. He stared at his knees, shaking his head in small jerks back and forth.

“Gravy, are you all right?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t- I don’t- I don’t want to do this drunk. I don’t want our first time to be-” his breathing was quickening, and he was clutching at his bedspread with white-knuckled fists-

“Woah, it’s okay- Gravy- we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Can you breathe?”

Gravy gasped in short inhales, but didn’t let any of it out.

“Gravy, please breathe. Remember when you played flute in school? Can you blow out like that?”

“It’s been so long-” he choked out.

“Give it a try. Please?”

Gravy complied, pulling the corners of his mouth inward and blowing air out in a tight stream.

“That’s great. Can you breathe in and do it again?”

Gravy did. His grip on the bedspread loosened. Elliott deflated in relief.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m really sorry,” Gravy mumbled. “I don’t know where that came from-”

“It’s all right, Gravy. I’m not upset.” He reached out a hand and interlaced Gravy’s fingers with his. “I’ll go home, okay? I’ll be fine walking.”

Gravy’s grip on Elliott’s hand tightened. “Can you-” he took in a ragged breath. “Can you stay?”

Elliott’s worried expression melted. “Of course I can stay.”

He folded himself beside Gravy in his small twin bed, for once, wrapping his arms around the farmer and holding him tight. He felt Gravy’s breathing against his chest, listening as it slowed down and became more shallow. Elliott eventually lost track of time, and his eyelids grew heavy, and the darkness took him.

***

It was safe to say Elliott was hungover.

His ears rang and his head was heavy. Yoba, he hadn’t felt like this since his twenties, and it was not a welcome walk down memory lane.

He blinked through gummy eyelids, suppressing a wince when the sun clawed into his vision. Something was next to him in bed… no- not something, someone-

“You’re awake,” Gravy said in a monotone. Elliott blinked up at him. His face was like stone, his posture rigid and his arms pinned at his sides. He stared straight ahead, not making eye contact with Elliott.

Elliott propped himself up on a forearm and blinked a few more times, confused. “Good… morning?” he said, his confusion sifting into worry as Gravy’s rigidity registered with his sleep-clouded mind.

Gravy nodded, barely perceptible. He continued to stare fixedly at the wall, hardly even blinking-

“Gravy?”

Nothing. Elliott shifted his position on the mattress, trying to meet his eye.

“Gravy, you’re scaring me- I’ve never seen you like this-”

“Yeah, well, as much as I tried to trick myself into thinking this part of me was gone, it turns out I was mistaken.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a headache this time. Our clothes are all over the floor. I had way too much punch last night. I’m not so disillusioned as to think anything else.”

Elliott looked down at the clothes on the ground, then back up at Gravy’s stony expression. “Don’t you remember what happened?”

“I never do, Elliott, but I’m not an idiot. I took advantage of you. In a new town and a new house, I’m still the same person I was.”

Elliott’s heart sank. “Gravy…”

“You don’t have to spare my feelings. I get it. I would be disappointed in me too.”

“Gravy, all we did last night was sleep.”

A flash of emotion cracked through Gravy’s stony exterior. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying. I may have been drunk too, but I remember everything just fine. We made out, you started to panic, I calmed you down, and we went to sleep. You made a point of saying that you- about not wanting our first time to be while drunk.”

Gravy’s face softened, just a little. “I did?”

“Yes. And we went to sleep. I was going to go home but you asked me to stay.”

Then Gravy’s rigid frame deflated fully, and his face fell into his hands. His shoulders began to shake, and in moments he was collapsing into heaving sobs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Elliott whispered, placing his hands on the sides of Gravy’s arms and rubbing his thumbs up and down. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re okay.”

Gravy dropped his hands and shoved his face into Elliott’s chest, his shoulders still shaking as he folded himself into Elliott’s arms. Elliott held him there, rubbing one hand back and forth along Gravy’s back, letting him cry.

After a few minutes, Gravy regained some of his composure. He sniffed and swiped a hand at his eyes. They had become red and puffy, and the tracks of tears made lines on his cheeks. He sniffed again, his eyes sinking to his lap.

“There are some things I need to tell you.”

Chapter Text

7:12 p.m.

An empty box of Chinese takeout.

134 unopened emails.

Nicholas rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. He was far from the last person in the office, and it was only his second week at work - he couldn’t go home yet. His sales numbers were way below benchmark and there were too many leads he hadn’t followed up with. Too many contacts he hadn’t put in the database. Too much work left to do.

Nicholas’ cell phone rang. It was Amelia. He sent it to voicemail.

133 unopened emails. This yawn caught him unawares, and he couldn’t bring a hand up to cover his mouth before it stretched wide open and his eyes squinted shut.

132 unopened emails.

“Hey, Nicholas - have you had a look at this file?”

Nicholas looked up from his computer and found Jared, one of the other sales reps in his department - the one from the bathroom at the Q4 dinner - holding up a blank manila folder. He placed it down on Nicholas’ desk without saying anything.

Nicholas opened the folder. Inside was a sticky note that read “12th floor Office B.” He furrowed his brow and looked back up, but Jared was gone. Nicholas looked back down at the sticky note, then over at his computer monitor.

136 unopened emails.

Nicholas turned off his monitor and stood up.

The elevator dinged as Nicholas exited on the 12th floor. He had never been to this floor before - he’d heard it had used to host offices for the Ethics Compliance Committee before they were all laid off, and he had thought it abandoned. It seemed abandoned. The hallway before him was dark. When he took a tentative step forward, a series of motion-sensor lights illuminated all at once. Office B was the second door on the left.

Nicholas tread over to it and knocked. There was no response. He opened the door a crack and peered inside. It was empty. He took another step inside, opening the door further, feeling a little ridiculous. Why had Jared told him to go to an empty-

“Boo!”

“ Yoba! ” Nicholas all but shouted, jumping at least an inch when Jared slammed the door shut behind him. He erupted into a fit of laughter that made Nicholas’ cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“Call me up here just to scare me, did you?”

“No,” Jared said through his laughter. “I caught you yawning. You looked like  you  needed a little pick-me-up.”

“I’ve had enough coffee, thanks-”

Nicholas was cut off mid-sentence when Jared retrieved a baggie of white powder from his pocket. 

“Jared, thank you, but I-”

“You and me both are in for an all-nighter. Wouldn’t you rather get through it without keeping your eyelids pried open with clothespins?”

“We’re in the office, though, and-”

“I’m up here all the time! This place has been abandoned since they got rid of that useless department last year. Our little secret is safe.”

Nicholas looked over his shoulder at the closed office door, then over at Jared, who was still holding the baggie between two fingers.

“Why did you invite me specifically up here, if this is your secret hideout?”

“Because I like you, Nicholas.”

Nicholas’ cheeks heated further. “Well, I still don’t think-”

“Nicholas, come on . I thought you wanted to succeed here at Joja. This is the only way to stay ahead. Trust me, it’s like a life hack for getting all of those emails answered and staying on top of your sales.”

“I haven’t gotten paid yet, so I can’t give you any-”

“Don’t be silly, you don’t need to pay me for it. That gorgeous face is payment in itself.” He looked at Nicholas with that same imploring expression he had used in the bathroom at the dinner the other night. The one that made Nicholas, beyond all reason, want to say yes to him. Jared was clearly the top sales rep at Joja for a reason.

Nicholas nodded and took the bag from Jared. Jared clapped him on the back once, and migrated his hand over to Nicholas’ shoulder, where it lingered while he opened the bag.

***

Nicholas rang the buzzer for apartment number 903. The door to the building beeped and clicked open, and he walked inside. He took an awkward walk around the lobby before eventually finding the elevator and calling it. He entered through the sliding doors, pressed the button for the 9th floor, and shuffled between his feet as it ascended.

He grasped Jared’s laptop between two tense hands and watched the floor number on the elevator screen tick up. When he got to Jared’s apartment door, he gave it three quick knocks.

“It’s open!” Jared called from inside. Nicholas turned the handle and entered.

“Hi, Jared, I brought your-”

Nicholas’ surprise at the scene before him cut his sentence off midway.

To the left was the largest TV Nicholas had ever seen, which was mounted to the wall underneath a set of four simple paintings that looked like they cost a fortune. The coffee table was stacked high with issues of Sales Insider and Shares, and a lush rug covered the floor beneath it. There was an open bottle of whiskey on the marble kitchen island next to a bowl of pears under a set of three hanging lamps. The living room was larger than Mom’s entire apartment. And in the center of it all, a glass of liquor in hand, shirtless and splayed out on a white leather couch, was Jared. Nicholas’ cheeks grew warm.

“Oh thanks, Nicholas! I owe you one! I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached to my neck.”

Nicholas blinked, then remembered the laptop in his hands. “Right. I’ll just leave this here and be on my way-”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re in a rush to leave! You got a hot date or something?”

“No, but-”

“Good! I just opened some ‘87 scotch. Why don’t you have a drink and tell me how the Freeman account is going?”

“It’s going alright, but I should-”

“Ah, ah. Not until I pour you a glass. Sit down.” Jared stood and pointed to the now vacant couch behind him. He looked over in that same imploring way, the way that made Nicholas want to bend over backwards to please him. Nicholas blinked again, then shut the door behind him and did as he was told. 

“Here we go, you take that.”

Nicholas took the glass from him. He took a tentative sip and tried to control his expression as he forced the scotch down.

“Yoba, you look wound up. Why don’t you just relax a little? Here let me-”

Then Jared’s hands were on his shoulders, rubbing circles with his thumbs and pinching the muscles in his neck. Nicholas sucked in a breath.

“Boy, you are really tense. Have some more of the scotch, it’ll help.”

Nicholas didn’t want to have any more of the scotch, but he drank it anyway. After another two sips, he leaned backwards, trying to force himself to relax. Jared was just being nice. This was nothing to get so worked up over. And the massage felt… good. He clearly knew what he was doing, and the tension in Nicholas’ shoulders loosened as Jared continued to work his fingers through the knots in the muscle.

“Good. Now tell me about Freeman.”

“It’s going well, I think. I’ve gotten a few leads, and I’ve sent some proposals out-”

“Any accepted yet?”

“No, but I think next week I’ll hear from-”

“You know what I think, Nicholas?” Jared walked around the back of the couch so he was facing him. He reached out a hand and grabbed Nicholas by the chin. “I think you’re not using that gorgeous face of yours to your advantage.”

Nicholas’ face heated further. 

“See, look at that! You’re so cute when you blush. You could woo plenty of clients if you laid the charm on a little thicker. Hell, it’s worked on me.”

“You… it has?”

“Of course! I just want to eat you up.” Jared’s head tilted and his grip on Nicholas’ chin tightened. “Let’s see how you taste.”

***

“But there’s a festival in town next week, and I was hoping you’d go out with me-”

“Baby, it’s just too risky to be seen in public like that. I’m about to land this huge deal with Sivsa and I don’t want office gossip to mess that up.”

“We could go somewhere outside of the city-”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you. Why don’t you come over on Friday night and we can watch that movie you’ve been talking about?”

“Shadow Racers?”

“Yeah, we’ll watch that. Wear something cute.”

“Okay.”

***

“Hey there, handsome.”

“Hi, Jared,” Nicholas said with a shy smile. He shut the door of Jared’s apartment behind him.

“You look great,” Jared said, standing up from the couch and sauntering over. He grabbed Nicholas’ shirt collar and pulled him in for a kiss. After a moment, Nicholas pulled back and smiled. He held up a DVD case. 

“You ready for some high-speed chases?” he shook the case with a flourish and waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, I don’t know Nicholas - I don’t think I can keep my hands off of you with you walking in here looking like that .” Jared pressed his lips to Nicholas’ jaw and looped his arm behind his back, pulling him closer again. Nicholas’ eyelids fluttered at the contact. A pit of disappointment formed in his stomach, but he pushed it down. He wrapped his arms around Jared and let him unbutton his shirt.

***

“Jared?”

Jared looked away from his computer monitor, his eyebrows raising when he saw it was Nicholas. He swiveled his chair so he was facing him, placed his fingers interlaced into his lap, and leaned back. “Mr. Allen! What can I do for you?”

Nicholas shuffled between his feet. “Well, I wanted to ask- my sister is having a Moonlight Jellies party, and she said I could bring a date, so I was wondering if-”

“So sorry, I wish I could talk more, but I’ve got a meeting up on the 12th floor. Catch you later,” he said, standing abruptly up from his chair and walking past Nicholas toward the elevators. The chair swiveled in a circle, then stopped with its back facing him.

Nicholas blinked, then counted to ten before turning around and walking toward the elevator himself.

He opened the door of Office B and found Jared sitting cross-legged on top of the desk.

“What was-”

“What the hell were you thinking, talking to me in my office like that?”

Nicholas’ neck grew hot. “I was just-”

“There’s no ‘just’. I have a reputation to uphold. I am this close to closing on a JojaMart in Ridgeton, and I don’t need you coming in and sending the rumor mill after me.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicholas stuttered. “I just, after we’ve been- I didn’t realize-”

“What, you think I want some drugged up Junior Rep following me around the office like a lost puppy? Making me look bad?”

Nicholas felt as if he’d been hit across the cheek with a switch. “I- I thought-”

“What, you thought I would bring you to all the fundraising galas and Sponsor Exhibits? Thought you could be my arm candy? You’re handsome, Nicholas, but you’re no trophy husband. I’m not about to let a soapy office romance tarnish my chances of becoming Director.”

Nicholas stared at his feet. “I’m sorry, Jared. I won’t do it again.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Nicholas turned to exit the office, but Jared caught him by the wrist. “Hey, before you go. I obviously can’t go to your sister’s party, but we’re having the Q1 dinner at the Grand Plaza on Saturday. The whole sales department will be there. I’ll see if I can get you a seat with the Akers team. They’re looking for a bright-eyed new rep to help with scouting, and I bet you can charm them into taking you.”

Nicholas’ eyes widened. “You- you think so? Akers?”

Jared raised Nicholas’ hand to his lips and kissed it. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a great pep talk beforehand.”

***

Nicholas’ door buzzer rang. He ran over to push the button. His heart raced. His first visitor in the new apartment- he was so excited-

Knock Knock Kn-

Nicholas opened the door before Jared could get the third knock in.

“Jared! Welcome to my new place! I’m not entirely unpacked yet, but I couldn’t wait to show you-”

Jared cut him off by planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. He tasted like that terrible scotch. Nicholas put his hands on his chest and stepped back a little.

“Heh, hello to you too. I’m glad you’re here-”

Jared pressed a raised index finger to his lips. “Nicholas,” he slurred, “you talk entirely too much.” He moved his finger to trace down Nicholas’ neck, tugging at his shirt collar. He leaned in again, pressing another kiss into Nicholas’ cheek, by his ear- Nicholas’ cheeks warmed and he sucked in a breath, but he put his hands back on Jared’s chest and stepped back again.

“Okay, Mr. Eager. We can get to that in a minute, but I wanted to give you a tour-”

“Ugh, you are such a drag,” Jared said, pulling his hand off of Nicholas’ shirt collar and stumbling past him to go sit on the armchair in the corner of the otherwise barren living room.

Nicholas’ brow furrowed, and he turned to look at Jared. “Are you drunk?”

“Of course I’m drunk. The real question is, why aren’t you?”

Nicholas looked around his new apartment. The walls still smelled like fresh paint. “Well, I thought I could, you know, show you around. We don’t have to get right to it every time we see each other-”

Jared dramatically rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “Is this because I didn’t watch that stupid movie with you?”

Nicholas’ heartbeat quickened. “No, it’s not about that, I just didn’t want to-”

“Let me tell you something, Nicholas. No man in his right mind would want you to come over to his place and watch a stupid race car movie with monster drivers. I can’t believe you actually brought the DVD with you.”

Nicholas frowned. “I thought it would be fun…”

Jared’s arms dropped to the armrests. “I see my efforts to change your idea of what ‘fun’ is have been a complete waste of time.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely-”

“Yoba, do you ever shut up? You’re not getting it. People that look like you are good for one thing. If you think anyone is spending time with you for any reason other than that, you’re kidding yourself. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed your sales going through the roof since you started flirting with Akers and all her girlfriends.”

“I haven’t been- flirting-”

“No? What do you call that, then?”

“I was just being nice to her. I thought she liked me-”

Jared rested his cheek on a fisted hand. He pulled his lips into a pronounced pout. “Poor Nicholas, too proud to admit he’s been sleeping his way to the top.”

Nicholas’ cheeks burned. “I haven’t been- that’s not why I’m- I wasn’t trying to-”

“I- I- I- I-” Jared stuttered, mocking him. “Spit it out. ‘I am a shameless whore, and using that to my advantage is the only way I’ll find success in this world.’ There, I said it so you don’t have to.”

Hot tears streamed down Nicholas’ cheeks. 

“Now he’s crying? Can’t face the truth, huh?” Jared stood, pushing the armchair back as he did. “You’re pathetic.”

He pushed past Nicholas and grabbed at the door handle.

“You’re drunk, you don’t mean what you’re saying-”

Jared laughed. A cruel, rattling laugh that echoed across the empty walls of the apartment and surrounded Nicholas from all sides. He fumbled around the inside of his jacket pocket and retrieved something rectangular. “Here,” he said, tossing the thing at Nicholas’ feet. “Happy birthday.” The door slammed shut behind him.

The back of the picture frame sprang open when it hit the ground, revealing a message written on the photo inside.

For Nicholas, Love Jared

***

Nicholas sat sideways in his armchair, tie loose and half of his shirt unbuttoned, halfway through his fifth gin and tonic. The bare walls of his new apartment swam in his vision. Blurry boxes sat in the corners of the living room, the frame of an unmounted movie poster resting against the side of the TV stand.

He had been so excited to finally have a decent place to invite Jared to.

He winced at the thought. Don’t think about Jared. Don’t think about Jared, don’t think about-

But Nicholas was already standing, already walking towards the kitchen counter where the picture frame was lying face-down. He picked it up and squinted through tears at the photo inside.

The Q1 dinner. Nicholas had told a joke and Jared had laughed. The event photographer had captured the moment. They looked happy together.

Don’t think about Jared. Don’t-

Nicholas fumbled for his cell phone and pressed the number in Jared’s contact.

“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected. Please check the number and dial again.”

Nicholas slapped the phone to his forehead and sank against the wall until he was sitting on the bare floor.

He needed someone- he needed to feel something other than heartbreak- he needed to forget about Jared-

Nicholas opened the dating app on the last page of his phone and reactivated his profile. 

An hour later, the buzzer to his apartment rang. He waited by the door and opened it when he heard footsteps in the hall, not bothering to wait for the stranger to knock.

“Hey, this is a really nice building-”

Nicholas interrupted him with a wet kiss and closed the door behind them.

***

Nicholas- no, not Nicholas- Gravy. Gravy stared out the window of the bus headed for Pelican Town. He hadn’t been back there since he was a toddler - not since his family was actually happy. He’d missed grandpa’s funeral. He’d missed Amelia’s Moonlight Jellies party and Mom’s 60th birthday and countless phone calls and irreplaceable moments, all for what? To make JojaCorp more money?

Gravy fiddled with the new piercing in his nose. He was relieved to say that he’d finally stopped itching for Jared’s “superpower powder” a few days ago - Amelia said he was “over the hump”. Good. He never wanted to be in the same room as that garbage again. 

He’d left his old self - Nicholas - behind in that apartment. This was his chance for a fresh start. He would do right by this town. He wouldn’t miss a single moment - he’d attend every party, every festival. He would make friends. He would be good.

Good Gravy, Amelia called him. It was time to be Good Gravy. 

The outline of Stardew Valley grew larger in the window.

***

“That is… so much to carry.”

Elliott sat across from Gravy on the bed, holding Gravy’s hand in his own and stroking his thumb back and forth. Gravy stared at his lap and wiped a stray tear from his cheek with his free hand.

“But, Gravy, I hope you understand - none of those things he said about you were true.”

Gravy shook his head. “Of course they were true.”

“No, sweetheart, he- he was the one that couldn’t get through a night of work without taking a bump. He was the one that pursued you, started a workplace relationship, refused to make it public - he took advantage of you. He manipulated you, and then when you wanted to leave, he pulled the same tactics to try and get you back. He was the bad person, Gravy. You’re not- you are one of the most amazing people-”

“I’m not!” Gravy interrupted, squeezing Elliott’s hand. “I’m not- I did the drugs, too- I got a bunch of strangers to sleep with me and then left them alone in my apartment the next day. I charmed people into buying from me and I made millions of dollars for that terrible corporation, and I- I-” he pulled his hand away, folding into crossed arms. 

Elliott remembered suddenly what he had said after Gravy had pulled that pink cake from his fridge.

“Gravy, I know I’ve already apologized for what I said on Willy’s birthday, but after hearing all this from you, I need to apologize again. You never manipulated anyone, and that was wrong of me to say. I only said that because I could tell how much everyone in town loved you, how many friends you made - and I was jealous. You became a more integral part of Pelican town in two seasons than I did in the six years I’ve been living here, and I envied you for that. But that was a fault on my part, not yours. And I’m sorry for saying it.”

“No,” Gravy sniffed. “You were right. I was trying to trick you into liking me. It’s exactly how I got so high up at Joja. And you don’t deserve someone like that. You deserve better than a washed-up sales rep.”

Elliott’s eyebrows pulled together. “Gravy, do you think that’s how I see you? Do you think I’d be with you if you were just that?”

Gravy shook his head again, wrapping his arms tighter around himself and burying his eyes further into his lap.

“When I look at you, I see someone who knew nothing about farming transform a derelict piece of property into a home. I see someone who’s single-handedly built up the empty museum displays with artifacts from all over the valley. I see someone who’s working with magical apple sprites to restore the abandoned old community center. I see someone who makes Mrs. Mullner smile. Someone who makes Vincent and Jas laugh. Someone who inspired Leah to put on an art show. Who inspired me to finally finish my novel. Someone who put himself in danger day after day to commission the help of a wizard to perform a miracle for someone he barely knew. Not for money or personal gain, not because he thought he could get something in exchange, just because it was the kind thing to do. When I look at you, I see a man who I love with all my heart.”

Gravy’s eyebrows pulled together at the declaration, his breath hitching and his lips forming into a pitiful frown.

“And I’m not saying that because I want something from you, or because I think saying it will make you change your mind. I’m saying it because it’s true. I love you, Gravy.”

Gravy grabbed at Elliott’s hands, gripping onto them like a man clinging to a raft in a violent ocean. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Can you say it again?”

Elliott raised his hands to his heart, bringing Gravy’s hands with them. “I love you, Gravy.”

Gravy blinked up at him. Elliott raised a thumb to wipe the tears from his cheeks, then left it there, holding Gravy’s face in a gentle hand.

“I love you,” he said again. “I love you.”

And Gravy took in a greedy breath, and he closed his eyes again, and this time, the tension between his eyebrows eased.

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Elliott wiped the steam off of the bathroom mirror and took in his reflection. Decent, considering he hadn’t planned on staying the night and didn’t wash his hair. He squirted some toothpaste onto the spare toothbrush Gravy had given him, because of course he’d had a spare toothbrush, smiled at himself in the mirror, and brushed. After a few seconds, stray strands of Elliott’s hair came precariously close to his toothpasted mouth, and he twisted it into a haphazard bun to get it out of the way. When he’d finished brushing his teeth, he rinsed his mouth and splashed some water on his eyes, wiping away the remnants of sleep. His hangover remained, but at least he felt like a person again.

“You really need to get better hair care products,” Elliott said, stepping out of the bathroom and over Meatball, who was conveniently stretched out right in front of the door, and re-buttoning his ruffled vampire shirt. “I only looked at the stuff and can already feel the split ends forming. With curls like yours, I can’t imagine how they’ve survived the abuse…”

Elliott finally looked up to find Gravy looking loftily over a mug of tea and out the kitchen window, watching flakes of snow fall. Another cup of tea rested on the table across from him.

“How tragic,” Elliott said wistfully. “My favorite season, gone so soon.” He dragged the empty chair over to sit next to Gravy and retrieved his mug of tea. It was in the Stardew Valley Fair mug. He looked over to Gravy’s hands, which he now realized were not wrapped around a mug at all but a drinking glass.

“Got rid of the Joja mug?” Elliott asked. Gravy nodded, still staring out the window. Elliott followed his gaze, tracing the flakes of snow with his eyes as they spiraled down from the sky. He took a sip of his tea. He took another. Gravy’s eyes stayed fixated on the window.

Then, processing the weather for the apparent first time that day, Elliott realized, “I don’t have anything warm to wear.”

Gravy turned to look at him, his eyes glazed over. He seemed lost in thought. “Are you cold? I can stoke the fire a little more…”

“No, I mean- for when I walk home. I came here in a vampire costume.”

Gravy looked over at the cape he’d hung over the back of the armchair, some of the fog receding from his eyes. “Oh yeah, the weather did sneak up on us, huh?”

Elliott chuckled. “We had other things on the mind.”

Gravy’s cheeks reddened. He rubbed at his neck, which Elliott just noticed contained a triangle of red marks. His ears grew hot.

“Listen, about last night-” “I just wanted to-”

Gravy sighed and stared down at the glass in his hands. “You go first.”

“I wanted to say that there’s absolutely zero rush for us to do anything. I’m a little, let’s say, out of practice, and I may have gotten, uh, eager- last night- but after everything that happened with Jared,” Gravy winced at the name, “after, uh, after what you told me, I want you to know that- that there’s no pressure. To jump into anything. I enjoy just spending time with you, and I don’t want you to think that you need to do anything to- to keep me around.”

Gravy blinked. “I think I need to stop drinking.”

Elliott chuckled at the sudden change in subject. “I would probably think the same thing if I was drinking hot tea out of a glass.”

“No,” Gravy fiddled with his glass. “I need to quit drinking alcohol.”

Elliott nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll quit with you.” 

Gravy’s brow furrowed. “You- what?”

“I’ll quit with you.”

“Elliott, just because I- you don’t have to- you’d quit, just like that?”

Elliott placed his hand on Gravy’s forearm. “Gravy, I don’t want anything to hinder your trust in me or yourself. After everything you’ve told me, after everything you went through- why would I let something so trivial as alcohol get in the way of your peace of mind?”

Gravy, whose eyes had just de-puffed from their conversation that morning, immediately started to well up again. His voice wobbled. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Elliott smiled. “How much time do you have?”

Instead of answering, Gravy pulled him into a crushing hug. Elliott rested his head on Gravy’s shoulder, stroking his hair- how did he get it so soft with that terrible shampoo? - and waiting for his breathing to slow. 

“Say it one more time,” Gravy whispered. 

Elliott tucked a stray curl behind Gravy’s ear. “I love you.”

Gravy nodded over and over again, as if forcing himself to internalize the words. Then, after a moment, he pulled back and took a gulp of his tea. Elliott did the same. They sat like that for a while, sipping from their respective mug and glass and watching the snow fall.

Elliott eventually finished his tea and brought his empty mug over to the sink. Gravy still stared out the window, taking a sip from his glass every few seconds. He looked exhausted. Elliott couldn’t blame him, with what he’d gone through emotionally in the past twelve hours. He looked around the room. If only there were a way to-

His eyes landed on the piano. A small smile stretched onto his hips. He glided over to it, opened the lid, cracked his knuckles, and sat down. Meatball, who had moved over to occupy the bed, let out a curious “mrrow?” from behind him. 

“Let’s see if we can get him to dance with you again,” Elliott whispered conspiratorially over his shoulder.

Meatball yawned in response. Elliott turned back to the piano.

He was halfway through the first verse of “Dashing White Sergeant” before Gravy sat next to him on the piano bench. Not dancing with his cat, but not staring forlornly out the window either. Elliott continued to play, cycling through the chorus and the next verse. Gravy sat and watched, and by the second chorus, he placed a tentative hand on the keys. Elliott slowed down and jumped an octave lower, giving Gravy the space to pick up the melody. And, being the quick study he was, the two of them were playing in sync by the time the next chorus rolled around. Elliott picked up the tempo and Gravy matched him perfectly, and when he snuck a glance at his face, the farmer was grinning as he played along.

“Big finale. Ready?”

Gravy nodded.

Elliott pulled out all the stops - flourishes and trills and the most absurd variation on the melody he could improvise until he ended by playing the final two chords as loudly as possible. Gravy giggled at the dramatics and applauded. Elliott put a hand to his chest for a bow.

 “Thank you,” Gravy said.

“You said you missed music in the house, so I figured-”

‘Thank you for everything. Everything you’ve said- it means so much to me. Thank you for listening, and thank you for being- for more than I could have ever hoped-” Gravy sucked in a breath, apparently making an effort to not start crying again. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sorry for being such a mess.”

Elliott chuckled. “I’ll remind you who cried in front of who first.”

Gravy leaned against Elliott and rested his head on his shoulder.

“We’re just a couple of softies, huh?”

“There are worse things to be.”

Gravy let out a little “heh”.

Elliott fingered one of the keys, pushing it down slowly so it wouldn't make a sound, then letting it pop back up. “I'll bring the duet book next time I come by. It just came in the mail yesterday.”

Gravy raised his head from Elliott's shoulder and looked at him. “Are you leaving?”

“I mean I'll have to, eventually.”

“You could just stay here forever.” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Gravy clamped a hand over it. His cheeks went red, and when he released his mouth from the grip, he was stuttering.

“Sorry, I mean, it's a little early to be- I didn't mean that you should- sorry-”

Elliott grinned. “Gravy, given everything I know about you, it would take something truly substantial for you to scare me away. Consider your proposal under consideration,” Gravy took in a mortified breath, “but for the time being, I do live somewhere else and am going to have to return home at some point.”

Gravy nodded vigorously and stood from the piano bench. “I have a sweater I think will fit you.” He made for the closet in the hallway.

“Gravy, I'm six inches taller than you, I really doubt that- wow.”

Gravy held up a delicate sage sweater that looked entirely too big for him.

“Where did that come from?”

Gravy wore a shy smile. “My first attempts at sewing weren't as successful as that shirt you saw in the Saloon. I went a little overboard on the sizing for this one.”

Elliott walked over to examine it more closely. It was reasonably well-made, given Gravy’s claims that he was just a beginner. A quick study indeed.

“How is it that you always have the exact thing everyone needs at all times?”

‘This is a very new development from a concerted effort on my part.”

Elliott smiled and leaned in to kiss Gravy on the cheek. He held the sweater out and Elliott took it and pulled it over his head. Of course it was a perfect fit.

“That looks nice on you. You should keep it.”

“I do love wearing green,” Elliott said, doing a little twirl. “Thank you.” Then, after a moment, “will you be all right on your own? I can stay longer if you'd like.”

“No, that's okay. Duty calls,” he said, looking out at his chicken coop. “But I will have to figure out what to do with all my free time now that I won't have crops to tend.”

“Well, you'll have plenty of time to practice piano. And maybe you should brush up on your fishing skills - the Festival of Ice is coming up and I will not take it easy on you just because you're my boyfriend.”

Gravy grinned. “If my victory at the Egg Festival wasn't proof enough, you're going down.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see, then.”

Elliott gathered up the remaining pieces of his vampire costume and turned toward the door.

“I'll see you later?”

All of a sudden, Gravy rushed over to him to envelop him in a hug. Elliott returned it, leaning into Gravy’s neck and stroking his hair. Then Gravy pulled back so they were face-to-face. “One more time?”

Elliott smiled. “I love you.”

Gravy nodded and pulled him in for a kiss. 

“I'll see you later.”

Chapter Text

Somehow, winter was already a third of the way over.

Elliott had spent the days since Spirit’s Eve playing duets on the piano with Gravy, and trying to keep his cabin warm in the increasingly cold weather, and querying his novel to literary agents. Each venture had amassed decreasing levels of success.

A new email notification chimed from his laptop. Elliott felt a now familiar pang of disappointment before he had even read its contents. He sensed that this, too, was a rejection. He opened the email titled “Re: QUERY - Last Train to Romance” anyway, holding his breath as he skimmed the message.

Dear Elliott,

Thank you so much for your query. I genuinely appreciate the opportunity to consider your manuscript, but I’m afraid I’m going to pass, as I don’t-

Elliott shut the laptop with a sigh. Lucky number fourteen. You’d think that each rejection would sting less, and yet, he’d experienced the opposite. With each “no”, Elliott’s heart ached more, and his hopes of getting published grew weaker. He knew just writing the damn thing was an incredible accomplishment in itself, he knew that the opinions of the publishing industry didn’t reflect the merits of his art, he knew how incredibly rare it was for a first-time author to get their debut novel published, and yet-

Elliott sighed again. And yet, he had dreamed of becoming a successful author. He’d dreamed of a book deal with a major publisher and a publicity tour. He’d dreamed. And he felt his dream dying with each rejection.

He felt his bank account dwindling with each passing week.

He wasn’t a pauper by any means - he owned his home outright, and Gravy’s payments for his piano lessons were keeping him fed. He had wood for the fireplace and electricity and water. He could afford the basics.

He was also absolutely sick of living with just the basics.

Elliott flopped face-down onto his bed and allowed himself five minutes of melancholy. Five minutes of moping, of wallowing in his despair and hopelessness and all of the terrible things his family had said before he’d left the city and moved to Pelican Town.

He threw a perfectly respectable and stable job away on a pipe dream. He was broke, unemployed, and unsuccessful. In six years of living in his new home, all he had to show for it was a single book that ten people had read. For free. 

He’d lost all contact with his family, his only asset was a leaky cabin on the beach, and he in all likelihood was destined to fade into obscurity.

Then, the five minute timer was up and Elliott smacked a hand on his alarm clock to stop its ringing. He dragged himself out of bed and stood in front of his bathroom mirror.

He cleared his throat and drew in a breath.

“I am a good writer, and I don’t need a literary agent to prove that.”

“I have people in my life who love me and will be there for me through my successes and failures.” 

“Following my dream is not a mistake.”

Elliott drew in another breath, then his eyebrows pulled together. He pulled a folded sticky note from his pants pocket- Leah had hand-delivered this one after rejection number ten- and nodded in recognition as he read it.

“I am the hottest bitch that ever lived.”

Satisfied, Elliott stepped into the shower.

***

A chill wind bit Elliott’s cheeks as he approached the Cindersnap Forest. He wrapped his red scarf tighter around his neck, repositioned his fishing rod on his back, and rubbed his hands together before shoving them back in his coat pockets. The string lights hanging between the trees beckoned him forward, and the promise of a steaming cup of apple cider helped him fight off the chill and finish his walk.

He’d arrived quite early this year - the festival had only just started. Pierre was still setting up his stand, and Lewis hadn’t yet arrived. Leah, of course, was already chipping away at a block of ice in front of her house. Elliott elected to retrieve his cider first, and a cup for his friend, of course, before circling back around to her.

Elliott approached where Leah was carving her sculpture and held out her cider with a gloved hand.

“Ellie!” Leah said, smiling over the top of her ice block.

Elliott frowned and rescinded his hand.

Leah giggled and held her own hands up placatingly. “Sorry, sorry! It’s been a while since I called you that.”

Elliott took a pointed sip out of the cup he had held out for her. “I had hoped you’d forgotten.”

“Me? Never!” She pointed to her head with an ice pick. “This thing is like a steel trap.” Leah walked over and nudged him with her waist, and he cracked a smirk and handed one of the cups over to her.

“And how are you today, my eloquent friend?”

Elliott sighed.

“Another rejection?”

“I had to break out the affirmations.”

Leah rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Yikes.”

Elliott laughed, the sound escaping him in short bursts that sounded altogether like a squawking bird. “You have such a way with words.”

Leah snorted into her cider. Elliott sipped his, letting the warmth sip into his hands and trail down to his stomach. 

“What are you carving this year?”

Leah tilted her head. “I’m not sure yet. I’m just chipping away at it for now. I think I’m just gonna-”

“-If you say ‘listen to the ice’ I will crack this block in half with my bare hands.”

Leah scratched her chin. “You know, that would be a great way to find out what the ice has to say-”

“Ugh, I’m going to find Willy.”

“Love you!” Leah called over her shoulder as Elliott stomped away. He waved a dismissive hand at her in response, but her giggles managed to crack a smile on his grumpy face. Love you too , he thought.

 Willy sat at the edge of the ice fishing holes, drying off his fishing rod with a rag. He gave Elliott a warm smile and a wave when he saw him approaching.

“Hey, lad!”

“Hi, Willy.”

“Good to see ya!”

“Getting ready for the competition?”

Willy chuckled. “I doubt it’ll be much of a competition.”

“Humble as always,” Elliott said with a wry smile.

“Hey! I don’t see any other masters around town. Fishing is a dying art. No offense, lad.”

“None taken.”

He placed his fishing rod down and took a seat next to Willy and watched him work for a while, finishing off the rest of his apple cider as he did. He took a look around the rest of the festival. Robin had joined Leah at the ice blocks, and the two of them were carving away at their sculptures. Gus was setting up a small table of food - not his usual festival feasts, this event was too small for that - but a respectable spread. Alex was pushing Mr. Mullner in his wheelchair and Mrs. Mullner walked beside them as they approached from town. Jas and Shane had left the house, and they had begun to work on the base of a snowman. Jas squealed when Shane hoisted him up on her shoulders and ran, pushing a growing snowball along the ground. He always seemed so much happier at festivals.

And, behind them, walking down the southern path from his farm, came Gravy - bundled up in his blue wool coat and checkered scarf and looking like a winter postcard.

Elliott sprang to his feet and ran over to him. “Well, if it isn’t my boyfriend!” He took Gravy into his arms and planted kisses all over his cheeks. “My wonderful-” kiss “more radiant than the brightest winter star-” kiss “sweeter than a honeycomb drifting on a pool of spice tea-” kiss “magical boyfriend Gravy!”

The side of Gravy’s face winced and he grinned, eventually managing to push Elliott away. “You don’t have to do that every time you see me.”

The photograph of Gravy’s ex- well, his ex-nothing. The photograph of that despicable person flashed in Elliott’s mind again. Yes I do , he thought. I’ll do it as many times as it takes for you to forget about him.

Instead of saying that, he planted a final kiss on Gravy’s cheek and looped his arm through Gravy’s. The two of them walked toward the ice sculptures. “So, are you ready for the ice fishing competition?”

Gravy raised an arrogant chin and winked. “I was born ready.”

“I wouldn’t believe that sentiment from anyone else but you.”

“Hey there, lovebirds!” Leah called. Her ice sculpture had taken more of a defined shape, and seemed vaguely human now.

“Hey Leah,” Gravy said, still smiling. “What’s the vision?”

“What is it with you two and planning? I’m letting the sculpture take shape as I go!”

Gravy retrieved his arm from Elliott’s so he could punctuate the gesture of crossing them. “You don’t expect me to believe that the ice is talking to you too?”

Leah furrowed her eyebrows at Elliott. “I don’t know, I had something pretty icy talking to me earlier.”

Elliott scoffed in indignance. “I brought you cider, you wench!”

“And you drank it!”

“I had one sip! You called me ‘Ellie’!”

“Ellie?” Gravy repeated, raising an eyebrow at him.

Elliott jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare start too-”

“Kids, kids! Let’s not fight! It’s a festival day!”

Robin’s head emerged from behind her ice sculpture. She wore the Stern Mom expression, but broke it after a moment with a wry smile. “Oh! Elliott! I forgot to tell you - we got Maru’s results back from her Early Action applications. She got into ZU!”

“That’s amazing!” Elliott said. “I’m happy for her.”

Robin leaned a gloved hand on her ice block. “She couldn’t have done it without you. Your essay help was a lifesaver. You should really think about doing that as a side gig.”

Elliott didn’t want to think about his employment status at the moment, so he sidestepped the statement entirely, instead asking, “does she have an idea where she wants to study? If she gets in everywhere she applied?”

Robin tilted her head. “Oh, you know Maru. She’d go to school on a different planet if it meant getting as far away from this town as possible. Demetrius has been really pushing for Zuzu, but seeing as their aerospace program isn’t as prestigious as some other places, I doubt even he can sway her if she gets in to one of her reach schools.”

Elliott nodded. “Well, I wish her all the best.”

“Thanks, Elliott. And Gravy- next time you want to talk to me about that project you’ve been planning, I’m all ears.”

Elliott turned. “What project?”

“Oh nothing,” he waved a hand. “Just thinking about a- a barn. For sheep.”

“Oh,” Elliott said. “Cool.”

“Yeah. Leah, you want anything? More cider? A snack?”

Leah smirked. “I’m all set, Good Gravy. But-” she looked past them, over to the side of Marnie’s house. “It looks like that fancy judge is here - you two should go sign up for the competition.”

“Fancy…?” Elliott followed her gaze. In the usual spot where Lewis held the fishing contest signup was a person he’d never seen before. He wore an absurd fish patterned suit and what seemed to be a tailored black bucket hat. He sat at a recently installed wooden stall that read “Fishing Tourney”, and was leaning back in a metal folding chair and flicking a coin through his fingers. Weird. In previous years, Lewis had been the only judge of the contest. It wasn’t that hard to set a timer and count how many fish were in each participant’s bucket.

“I’ll go sign us both up,” Elliott said, and began walking over to the stand.

“You better not tell him to give me a handicap!” Gravy called after him. Elliott stuck his tongue out in response.

The Fancy Judge’s outfit was even more absurd close up. His bucket hat was covered in little fish-shaped sequins, and his tie clip was made out of an actual fishing hook. He honestly looked like someone had described a fisherman to a blind fashion designer and this was the result.

“Hey there, handsome. Here to sign up for the contest?” He flashed a set of unnaturally white and straight teeth.

“Uh… yes.”

“Great, great! The list is right here. Throw your signature on and we’ll get started at noon.”

“...Okay. Uh, where is Mayor Lewis?”

Fancy Judge leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “Oh, he’ll be here in time for the contest. He told me he wanted a more, let’s say ‘professional’ to judge your little festival this year, and Hook and Co. is happy to sponsor with all the bait and rods you need.”

Elliott blinked. “We usually use our own rods.”

Fancy Judge winked. “Not this time, handsome! Today we’re offering you the chance to try out our brand-new Reeler 5000 model free of charge, and the winner of the contest gets to take theirs home! Isn’t that swell?”

“Um. I guess so.”

Elliott looked down at the clipboard on the table and wrote down his and Gravy’s names. 

“Te-riffic! I’ll see you later, handsome!” Then Fancy Judge leaned over, slid the clipboard back towards himself with one hand and booped Elliott’s nose with the other.

Elliott took a step back, a marked expression of disgust on his face, and turned on a heel back toward the rest of the festival. “Creep,” he muttered to himself.

He finally caught sight of Lewis, who was emerging with Marnie from behind the barn.

“Outsourcing another one of your responsibilities, are we?” Elliott asked.

“Elliott!” Lewis called, pointedly dropping Marnie’s hand from his own. “I see you signed up for the fishing tournament! Hoping to win one of the new Reeler 5000s?”

“I was hoping to catch more fish than Willy or Gravy mainly, but I guess winning a rod from that walking kitchen wallpaper is just an added bonus.”

“Excellent, excellent!” Lewis said. Elliott rolled his eyes. “And how are things going with you and Gravy, then?”

“They’re just great, Lewis. It’s so nice being able to spend festivals like these with him, you know? That quality time is really important.”

Elliott thought he caught Lewis’ eyes darkening. He fought back a victorious smile. “Well, I’ll get back to it. Marnie.” He nodded to her, and she waved back at him.

As Elliott rounded the corner past Marnie’s house, he saw that Pierre had finished setting up his market stall. Pierre caught his eye and waved him over. “Elliott! Good to see you! Why don’t you have a look at my seasonal offerings?”

Elliott shrugged and walked over to him. “Lay it on me.”

Pierre adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Well, just like every year, I’m taking orders for Winter Star trees, so if you’d like to get one-”

“Pass,” Elliott said. “The one in town square is more than enough for me.”

“Worth a shot,” Pierre said, “We also have our regular string lights, star-shaped lamps, wrapping paper, ribbons, the like. The Feast of the Winter Star is closer than you think!”

Elliott nodded along, letting him do his spiel. This was reliably quicker than telling him ‘no’ and having him argue with you.

“And we have a few new items this year. I’ve got some homemade candles, Caroline’s seasonal tea - it’s mint and lavender this year - scented bar soap, some wood carvings from your friend Leah…”

Why did Lewis get a sponsorship from a fishing company this year? It’s not like the festival costs all that much - Gus provides the food himself, the snow is on the ground and the ice comes from the lake. Everyone always brings their own fishing rods, and they reuse the same decorations every year. What did he need the money for? 

“...and these gorgeous ceramic mugs with all sorts of-”

Elliott blinked back into focus. “Ceramic mugs?”

Pierre perked up at the interest. “Yes! I got them in from a seller in Calico just the other day. Here, let me show you…”

He ducked behind the counter and rooted around for them. After a moment, he placed four mugs in front of him, all painted with different designs. One with rainbow tiles of stardrops and a braided handle, one with a Winter Star tree and a border of colored lights, one with tiny blue snowflakes, and the last one-

“How much for this one?” Elliott asked, pointing to it.

Pierre puffed out his chest. “That one’s a steal! Only 1000G!”

Elliott balked. “A thousand- what, is it painted with gold?”

“It’s a hand-crafted piece of pottery all the way from the Desert!”

“The desert is a twenty minute drive from here.”

“Regardless, it’s a piece of art. I can’t just give these things away, now can I?”

Elliott sighed. He picked up the mug and examined it closer. 

An empty rowboat on the beach, in front of a dark blue ocean and the oranges and pinks of the setting sun. Each brushstroke was perfect, the colors of the sky in a flawless ombre and the waves of the ocean topped with cresting white foam. Elliott looked over to Gravy, who was mid-conversation with Penny, seemingly consulting her on the snowman she had started building. His heart fluttered. He looked back at the mug.

“Wrap it up for me,” Elliott said, placing the mug back down on the table and rooting around in his wallet for the coins. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Pierre said, and Elliott tried not to look at his smug expression as he placed the mug in a box and wrapped it in colored paper. Elliott placed the gift gently in his bag and turned to return to the rest of the festival.

“Elliott!” Leah called. She was waving him over to a table, where she sat with Gravy and Willy. Elliott walked over to meet them. They’d collected a few snacks from Gus and were nibbling away at them while chatting with each other. He took the empty seat next to Gravy, who greeted him with a warm smile.

“Get anything good at the stall?” Gravy asked.

Elliott’s ears warmed. “Oh! Well, just doing a little early Winter Star shopping.” He cleared his throat. “Will you be going home for the holidays this year?”

Gravy shook his head. “I can’t, I’ve got too much to take care of here. And anyway, my mom is going over to my Aunt Grace’s, and I would rather spend the holidays alone than set foot in that woman’s house…”

Leah chuckled. “She’s the one who refuses to call you ‘Gravy’, right?”

Gravy nodded. “She’s just a ray of sunshine, that one.”

“Well, there’s always a place for you at our table, lad,” Willy said. “The three of us vagabonds would be happy to have you.”

“Hey!” Leah said through a mouthful of crackers. “I wear my vagabond-ness with pride. Stardew Valley is a beautiful place to spend the holidays.”

“Gus does put on a good show,” Elliott agreed. “And we always have the most beautiful tree, and we do a secret gift exchange…”

“A secret gift exchange?” Gravy asked.

“You should be getting your letter in the mail any day now,” Willy said.

Leah slammed a hand on the table. “Yeah, and you better hope you don’t get Willy as your gifter! He got me a fish hook last year!”

Willy crossed his arms. “Those dressed spinners are expensive!”

“I don’t even own a fishing rod!”

“Yeah, well my gifter got me a dozen eggs, and I was plenty grateful for them.”

The two of them dissolved into playful squabbling, and Elliott took the opportunity to reach for Gravy’s hand under the table. “Are you enjoying the festival?”

Gravy smiled. “I always enjoy the festivals. It’s so nice to see everyone in town all at once, and see how they’re all doing. Granny- Evelyn- I guess you call her Mrs. Mullner- told me that she met George at this festival when they were kids. He threw a snowball at her, apparently.”

Elliott chuckled. “Yeah, she told me that story last year. It seems like being covered in water is the key to romance around here.”

Gravy blushed and squeezed his hand.

“Gravy, what do you think?”

He looked over at Leah. “Oh, I wasn’t listening.”

Leah rolled her eyes and placed both hands palms-down on the table. “What’s a better Winter Star gift, a Pink Cake or a ruby?”

Gravy furrowed his brow. “Well, it depends - who’s getting the gift? I can’t imagine you would like getting a cake, seeing as you’re gluten free-”

“Exactly!” Leah shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Willy. 

“Everyone likes cake!” Willy shot back, holding his hands up in frustration. “Just because your digestive system is messed up, doesn’t mean that the taste of it-”

“That’s not the point, Willy!”

Before they could get back into their argument, the screech of microphone feedback sounded from the direction of the Fishing Tourney booth. The four of them cringed at the noise and looked over.

“Attention all festival-goers!” said Fancy Judge. “The Ice Fishing contest is about to begin! Will all my wonderful contestants make their way to the booth!”

Leah raised an eyebrow at the three of them. “Good luck, boys. Play nice.”

“No promises,” Willy said, winking, and stood from the table. Elliott and Gravy followed him over.

Fancy Judge flashed his unnaturally white teeth again and handed each of them one of the so-called “Reeler 5000”s. Willy tried to refuse his, but Fancy Judge didn’t take no for an answer, citing “contest rules” and “sponsorship contingency”, and with a grumble, Willy took the rod and found his place in front of one of the ice fishing holes. Elliott did the same, blowing a kiss over to where Gravy stood. Gravy mimed catching it and attaching it as bait to his hook. Elliott laughed and readied his own rod.

Then the buzzer sounded, and Elliott locked in. For ten minutes, it was just him, the fishing line, and the bucket of fish he was collecting. It took a few minutes for him to adjust to the new rod, and he looked annoyedly over at his own rod that rested next to Willy’s, but eventually he adjusted and was able to reel in a respectable three fish.

Then the buzzer sounded again, and the contest was over. Elliott looked over to Willy first, and saw that he had thrown his Reeler 5000 onto the ground in frustration. His bucket seemed uncharacteristically empty, and the fisherman was muttering to himself and pacing back and forth with folded arms. Pam was holding up a single fish in triumph. Then, he looked over to Gravy, who was pumping his fist in the air in celebration. He hadn’t had enough room in his bucket for all of his fish, and a few of them were flopping around on the ice at his feet.

“Congratulations to our winner, Gravy!” Fancy Judge said over the microphone. “Come on over to the Tourney booth to claim your prize!”

Elliott smiled. It seemed Willy had finally been dethroned. He tipped his bucket of fish over, returning them to the water, and walked over to console Willy.

“Tough luck, huh?”

“It’s these damned rods - I don’t know what they did to them, but they don’t work right.”

“Willy, there’s no shame in losing-”

“I’m not ashamed I lost. I’m glad someone other than me is good at fishing for once. That’s a good thing. What’s not good is these- well, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” He sighed and sat down next to his and Elliott’s owned rods.

Elliott sat next to him. “Try me.”

Willy looked out at the now vacant ice fishing holes. “There’s an art to fishing, you know. It takes years of practice and hard work. Finesse. Getting to know your fishing pole, and sense the exact right moment to reel- and these things,” he kicked the Reeler 5000, “make it feel like cheating. They take all the work out of it, the reeling in- it didn’t take any strength at all! I overshot my first two fish, and I couldn’t adjust. It’s like a machine was doing the writing for me.”

Elliott nodded and looked down at Willy’s abandoned rod. “I wasn’t the biggest fan of it either, to be honest. But I think it’s more because that judge just seems…”

“Like a creep?” Willy finished for him. “Yeah. Lewis was babbling to me earlier about him, how he’s some hot shot businessman with ‘all the latest’ in fishing technology, whatever that means. I don’t know why he chose me of all people to say that to, seeing as it seems the guy is gunning for my job. But maybe I’m biased.”

Elliott looked over his shoulder at the contest booth, and his eyes narrowed when they landed on Gravy. He was rigid - his arms were pinned at his sides, and his face was- it looked the exact same as it had the morning after Spirit’s Eve. Like stone.

Elliott stood and stepped a few paces closer. “Gravy? Are you-”

Then, from this angle, Elliott could see Fancy Judge’s hands. One of them was on Gravy’s cheek, the other on the small of his back and inching downward.

“Get your fucking hands off of him!” Elliott shouted, sprinting toward him and shoving himself in between them. His heart pounded in his chest, the only thing he could see was a blinding white rage and Gravy’s stone face. 

Fancy Judge tilted his head, a nonplussed calm about him. “Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, bean pole?”

He would kill him- he would wring the creep’s neck with his bare hands-

He threw himself at the man, sending blow after blow at this piece of shit, this vile- disgusting-

They were on the ground, and Elliott’s hair was in his eyes, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was making him hurt. His fist, his elbows, his knees, whatever he could use to pound the message into him. Elliott tasted blood- whether it was his or the man’s he didn’t know, it wasn’t going to stop him- it-

Then Elliott was wrenched backward, and he struggled against the arms that restrained him, shoving his shoulder into the restrainer’s back and wrenching his head forward-

“Get off me! Get off! I’m going to kill him-”

“Take it easy, Elliott! Take a breath!” Willy’s voice cut its way through his rage, barely, but enough to convince him to look around. 

Fancy Judge sat on the ground, his nose bleeding and his right eye swollen and his hands behind him, holding himself up. The entire town’s eyes were trained on him, a sea of shocked faces blending into a single, judgemental stare. Leah had her arm around Gravy, whose stony expression had broken and was replaced by furrowed eyebrows and a small frown.

Lewis strode over, holding out placating arms and heading straight for Fancy Judge. “Mr. Woods, I am so sorry - Elliott has never - this does not reflect the opinion of Pelican Town, and I urge you not let this-”

“Don’t bother, Lewis,” Fancy Judge said, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “I can see my warm welcome to this town is not reciprocated.” And, not bothering to take his Reeler 5000s with him, he stomped off toward the town center.

“Good riddance,” Elliott muttered. Willy let go of him.

Lewis turned toward him, arms folded and glaring. “Elliott, I have always respected you as a member of the community, but this- this display - you’ve ruined our prospects with Hook and Co!”

Elliott’s mouth dropped in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

“Am I serious- Elliott! They’ll never sponsor one of our events again!”

“He was feeling Gravy up! I hope that creep never comes back!”

“Oh, please, I don’t need your melodrama right now-”

“My melodrama?! You think I did that for no reason?”

“Just because you were jealous and flew off the handle does not give you the right to-”

“Mr. Mayor-” Willy interjected. “I saw the whole thing. He wasn’t just being friendly.”

“Oh please , Willy. Don’t spin this because you’re a sore loser.”

“I’m what?!” 

Elliott stepped closer, his fists clenched. “Why do we need a sponsorship in the first place? This festival barely costs anything! Where do our tax dollars go if not for community events like these?”

Lewis’ face grew red. “It’s none of your concern what happens to the taxes, seeing as you haven’t made enough money to qualify for paying them in the six years you’ve been living here-”

“Woah!” Leah said, stepping in between the two of them. “Can we all calm down a little?” She turned to Elliott. “Let’s not do this right now.” Elliott’s nostrils flared, but after a stern look from Leah, he forced himself to take three deep breaths. He nodded and turned away. He looked back over his shoulder once, just to give the Mayor a final glare, and caught Marnie casting a decidedly troubled look in his direction. He didn’t care enough to return her gaze at the moment.

A swell of whispered conversations surfaced behind him, but Elliott’s main concern was Gravy, who still stood frozen in the same place he’d been when Fancy Judge had approached him.

“Gravy, are you all right?”

Gravy took in a shuddering breath and held it. “I didn’t know what to do- he was talking about the prize, and then all of a sudden his hands were on me, and all I could think about was Jared, and I couldn’t move…”

Elliott’s heart ached and his eyebrows pulled together. He struggled to find the right thing to say.

Gravy’s expression softened and he looked up at Elliott. “Was that your first fight?”

Elliott let out a surprised laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

The smallest smile tugged at the corners of Gravy’s mouth. “You’re covered in blood.”

“It’ll wash off.”

Gravy grabbed for Elliott’s hand. He drew in another breath. “Thank you.”

Elliott deflated in relief. “I’ll fight a thousand creeps before I let anyone touch you like that again.”

Then, without a word, Gravy pulled him in for a hug. He rested his head on Elliott’s shoulder, and his chest rose and fell with three shuddering breaths. “Was it worth being in Lewis’ bad books?”

Elliott chuckled. “I would trade Lewis for a handful of clay.”

Gravy sniffed once. “At least clay is useful.”

Then the two of them were laughing, and Elliott’s ribs ached and his lip stung - he would have to see Dr. Harvey later - but for now, hearing Gravy laugh and holding him in his arms, everything was all right.

Chapter Text

“Dr. Harvey will see you now.”

Maru led Elliott past the front desk of the clinic and into the examination room where Harvey sat, fiddling with a pen between his fingers. He frowned upon seeing Elliott’s appearance, and Elliott wordlessly took a seat on the paper-covered exam table.

“Well,” Harvey said, grabbing a clipboard from the nearby counter and flipping through a few pages. “You were overdue for a check up.”

Elliott didn’t respond. Harvey sighed and put on a pair of gloves. “Let’s clean you up first to see what we’re working with here.” He retrieved a few alcohol wipes from the counter and gave Elliott a once-over. “You mind taking off your shirt?”

Elliott complied, wincing when a throbbing pain pulled through his ribs as he raised his arms over his head. He tossed the shirt behind him on the table. Harvey’s frown deepened. He approached with the alcohol wipes in hand and began dabbing at Elliott’s blood-covered face. Elliott sucked in a sharp breath when he got to his lips, which still stung from being split open.

“Sorry, I’m sure that stings, but we don’t want anything getting infected.”

“Do what you must.”

Harvey continued to clean his face, and when satisfied, he threw out the wipes and took a step back with his hands on his hips.

“Do you want to tell me what happened, or are we playing twenty questions?”

Elliott scratched his arm, and winced again when the split skin on his knuckles sent a stinging pain through his hand.

Harvey sighed. “Okay. Are you experiencing any dizziness, headache, neck pain?”

“No.”

“Nausea, light-headeness, changes in vision?”

“No.”

“Look here for me,” he said, and shone a flashlight into Elliott’s eyes. “Pupils are normal. Okay. Let me see your teeth.”

Elliott opened his mouth, which was accompanied by the metallic taste of blood from his split lip.

“Nothing broken, it seems. Just the busted lip. All right. Does any of this hurt?”

Harvey prodded Elliott’s face with his fingers. Other than the pain in his lip, nothing else was particularly tender.

“Okay. How about here?” Harvey pressed his fingers into Elliott’s ribs. Elliott sucked air through his teeth and nodded.

“All right. Just a few more things…”

Harvey took Elliott’s blood pressure, listened to his lungs, looked in his nose and eyes, checked his reflexes, and took his height and weight for good measure, before releasing him to sit back down on the exam table and put his shirt back on.

Harvey re-examined his clipboard. “How has your diet been?”

“Better, recently.”

“And your exercise?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of walking. And fishing.”

“Have you been wearing sunscreen every day?”

“Yes.”

“How have you been sleeping?”

“Fine.”

“And the nightmares?”

“They happen from time to time.”

“Any recollection of what they’re about?”

“Still no.”

“Any sexual activity?”

“Also still no.”

“Oh. Okay. Alcohol intake?”

“I don’t drink anymore.”

“Okay. Good. Any other drug use?”

“No.”

“Good. Great. So what happened to you?”

Elliott clenched his jaw. “I’m surprised word hasn’t reached the clinic yet. I thought the whole town saw.”

Harvey took off his glasses and placed them in the pocket of his lab coat. “I want to hear it from your perspective.”

Elliott looked down at his feet, which were swinging back and forth from the edge of the table. “What happened was that creep from the fishing contest was groping Gravy and I made him stop.”

“Have you ever initiated a fight like that before?”

“Of course I haven’t- I- you know I haven’t Harvey. It’s not like something like that stays a secret in this town for very long.”

“And what about before you lived here? Have you dealt with issues of anger before?”

“Well, I certainly wanted to hit my dad plenty of times growing up, but I never did. And before you put words in my mouth, I don’t have anger issues. That piece of shit deserved to get punched.”

Harvey leaned back in his chair. “I’m not judging you or claiming anything Elliott. I’m just looking out for your health. Mental and physical. Getting into fights isn’t-”

“I’m not ‘getting into fights’!” Elliott shouted, startling himself with how loud and sharp the words came out. He took in a breath and pointedly lowered his voice. “Gravy just- he told me some fucked up things that an ex did to him, and I’ve seen how messed up it’s- how he retreats into himself when that gets triggered, and I saw it happen today- even before I saw what that creep was doing, I saw that same expression on his face. Like he was a statue. It was like the animal part of me took over and all I cared about was protecting him.”

“These ‘fucked up things’. Has Gravy talked to anyone else about them? A professional?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Harvey nodded. “And these freeze states he goes into, do they happen often?”

“Not- I mean, I’ve only seen it twice, and I was able to cheer him up both times, so I think if I just-”

“Elliott, it’s very kind of you to be there for him, but you can only do so much by yourself.”

Elliott’s eyebrows pulled together. “I’m his boyfriend. It’s my job to be there for him.”

“Yes, of course, but- if these ‘fucked up’ things are affecting Gravy the way you describe, and he hasn’t gotten professional help-”

“Gravy’s not some basket case! He’s perfectly adjusted, he does all his farmwork, and he- you’ve seen how he is with everyone in town! People love him! You returned his cat for Yoba’s sake!”

“I’m not diagnosing him or calling him anything, Elliott! Please, I’m just looking out for both of you.” Harvey rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lewis came in here earlier, really angry. Red in the face, shaking his fist like a cartoon character angry. Talking about pressing assault charges.”

“Well good, I think Gravy should press charges-”

“Against you! You initiated a fight, and you got away with a busted lip and some sore ribs, but by the sound of it, that judge that Lewis called in was important to him, and he’s saying you’re at fault for ‘ruining that opportunity for the town.’ Now I know how everyone feels about Gravy, and what that judge did was not right, but you’re not absolved from fault here, Elliott.”

Elliott crossed his arms and stared at his knees.

“I just-” Harvey sighed. “I know you care about him. We all do. I just urge you not to take it upon yourself to single-handedly heal him. That’s something that he has to do on his own. You won’t always be there to jump to his defense.”

Elliott scratched his arm again. “Am I free to go, doctor?”

Harvey looked at him for a moment, his eyes resting on Elliott’s busted lip. Then, with a slow inhale, “Keep your lip clean and don’t lift anything heavy for a week.” He stood and opened the door for Elliott, who pushed past him and out of the clinic.

Chapter Text

Knock Knock

“It’s open!”

Elliott pushed open the door to the farmhouse and closed it behind him. Before he could take a single step inside, Meatball was between his legs and purring.

“Oh! Hey there, cat,” Elliott said, stiffening. He placed a hesitant hand on Meatball’s head and patted it twice. She remained there, pressing her forehead into his shins.

“She wants you to pick her up,” Gravy said, smirking from his seat at the kitchen table.

Elliott looked down at the cat, her eyes wide and imploring. “I’m not very good with animals…”

“See, you keep saying that, and yet she’s completely enamored with you. Here-” Gravy rose from his seat and walked over to pick the cat up. He held her out in front of him and raised his eyebrows.

“Gravy, I don’t know-”

“Look around, Elliott! Being near animals is part of the deal. She won’t bite, I promise.”

Elliott sighed and placed his bag down on the floor next to him before holding out tentative arms.

“Okay, now put one hand under her butt and the other around her side, and…”

And Elliott was holding the cat. Her purring grew louder. 

“Aw, see? She loves you!”

As if to illustrate his point, Meatball shoved her head into the crook of Elliott’s arm and yawned. A small smile tugged at Elliott’s lips before he could stop it. He gave her a few scratches behind the ears.

Gravy leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, then lingered a few inches away from his face. “Your lip seems to be healing all right. What did Harvey say?”

Out of habit, Elliott licked at the cut there, then puffed a wisp of hair out of his face. “Far more than I wanted to hear. But I’ll live. He told me to keep my lip clean and to not carry anything heavy until Sunday. So…” he handed Meatball back to Gravy.

Gravy dropped his jaw in a dramatic gasp and covered the cat’s ears. “Miss Meatball is a perfectly healthy nine pounds!”

Elliott smiled wide, then winced when his split lip sent a stinging pain through his mouth. Gravy frowned.

“I’m fine,” Elliott reassured him. “No permanent damage.”

Gravy placed Meatball gently onto the ground and took Elliott’s right hand into his own. His frown deepened at the red and purple discoloration on his knuckles. “Do you want to skip the lesson today? This looks like it hurts.”

Elliott raised an eyebrow. “Don’t go making up excuses if you haven’t practiced enough…”

Gravy dropped Elliott’s hand and crossed his arms. “Oh I’ve practiced plenty, maestro.” He gestured to the chair he’d pulled up next to the piano. “After you.”

Elliott smirked, retrieved the duet book from his bag, and sauntered over to the chair. Gravy followed behind him and took a seat on the piano bench. He opened the lid with a flourish and straightened his copies of this week’s duet on the music stand. They were, as usual, covered in scribbled notes. He wiggled his fingers, placed them on the keys, and began to play.

The melody of Salut d’Amour was simple, and Gravy, of course, had taken to it with ease. It wasn’t a completely flawless rendition-

“Try not to rush this bit.”

“Make sure you’re hitting the dynamics.”

“A little more legato.”

-but overall, Gravy continued to be a star student.

“Another job well done. You certainly practice far more than I did when I was taking lessons.”

“It helps when you have the hots for teacher.”

Elliott’s cheeks warmed, and he covered it with a dry cough and flipping his hair over his shoulder. “Mr. Allen,” he said in his go-to formal accent. “I encourage you to show more decorum in the classroom.”

Gravy giggled, and held his hands up placatingly. “My apologies, Professor.”

Having Gravy call him “Professor” made his cheeks heat further, and sent a swirling warmth down to the base of his stomach.

Elliott coughed again. “I’m going to the bathroom, and when I come back we can try a new piece.”

“But we haven’t done the duet together yet!”

“I know, just- I’ll be right back.”

Elliott walked over to the bathroom in the hall as calmly as he could manage and shut the door a little too loudly behind him. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror - he was bright red, of course he was, and the heat in his stomach was traveling downward-

Deep breaths, Elliott. He sucked in a breath. Then two. Then three. Yoba, he was so pent up- before, he had come to terms with living the rest of his life as a bachelor. He had a routine, and a way of handling things that sure, it wasn’t ideal, but it suited him fine. It worked.

And then Gravy came along and shook everything out of balance. He felt like a hormonal teenager. It had become harder and harder to push those thoughts away, and then on Spirit’s Eve, everything seemed like it would fall into place, and all those pent up feelings would get a release, but-

But then Gravy had panicked. And told him about that vile person who had taken advantage of him for the better part of a year. Who had broken Gravy’s heart. His sense of self. His confidence.

Elliott couldn’t ruin all of the progress Gravy had made with this. He wouldn’t force his own desires onto him, he couldn’t- he refused to hurt him. He wouldn’t make that mistake.

But then Gravy would say or do the most inane things, and those feelings would shoot off like a rocket again. It was becoming easier and easier to get himself worked up like this, and nothing he was doing was helping-

Elliott splashed cold water on his face. The water made his lip sting, and Elliott leaned into the pain. He bit his lip, not enough to make it start bleeding again, but enough to have something else to focus on than his increasingly heavy breathing and the uncomfortable tightness in his pants. He winced when the sting pierced through the rest of his mouth, and he took in another few deep breaths.

Things were marginally better. Elliott prayed they would stay that way. With a final cursory glance in the mirror, he deemed it safe to exit and return to Gravy’s side.

“So? Are we doing Salut d’Amour together or what?”

You don’t know how much I want to Salut our Amour together, Gravy…

Nope! No, no-

Elliott rubbed his knuckles, pinching the most tender one between his fingers. He sucked in a breath. “You were right. I’m a little too sore to play right now,” he lied. “Let’s move on to the next one and we’ll do both together next week.”

Gravy sighed dramatically, then looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “A small price to pay for my knight in shining armor, I suppose.”

“Stop flirting and turn to the next page.”

Gravy swung his legs over the seat of the bench so he was fully facing Elliott. “Stop flirting? I don’t know if I have it in me. I can’t help it if my piano teacher is the hottest bitch that ever lived.”

That got a giggle out of Elliott, in spite of himself. “You can’t use my affirmations against me. It’s unfair.”

“I’m not using anything against you, I’m just speaking the truth.”

Yoba, this is difficult.

“You’re taking valuable time away from your piano lesson is what you’re doing.”

Gravy pouted. “For a free-spirited beach-dwelling writer you’re very task-oriented when it comes to these lessons.”

“If you want to go on a date you should say that! I’m here right now because you’re paying me to teach you piano.”

“Okay, I want to go on a date.”

“Okay.”

“Are you free after this?”

“Yes.”

“Good!”

“Good. Now can we get back to the lesson?”

“Sure thing, Professor.”

Elliott squeezed his knuckle again and drew in another sharp breath. He took his seat next to Gravy and waited for him to turn to the next piano piece.

“Keep your hands arced.”

“Don’t forget the sharp carries over to the rest of the measure.”

“A little more staccato on the coda.”

“Not bad for your first attempt. Want to work on that one this week?”

Gravy saluted and gave a single nod.

“Okay. Good.”

“Lesson over?”

“Lesson over.”

“Good!” Gravy shut the piano book, slid the lid of the piano closed, and jumped up to tuck in the bench. “Let’s go ice skating!”

Yes, some physical activity and lots of cold air would do Elliott a world of good right now. That and another layer of clothing around his midsection. He nodded his assent.

Gravy looped a giddy arm through his and pulled him toward the door.

Chapter Text

When Gravy and Elliott were properly bundled up, and Gravy had thrown two pairs of ice skates over his shoulder, because of course he had both his own skates and a pair that fit Elliott, the farmer dragged Elliott by the hand out of the farmhouse, through the southern path at the edge of the farm, and past Marnie’s ranch until they were seated in front of the forest lake.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Elliott asked. He placed a tentative foot on the ice and drew it back. “I don’t want to fall through and die of hypothermia.”

“Don’t be paranoid. I cut the ice fishing holes myself. This stuff is at least two feet thick.” Gravy pulled off his boots with a pop and began to lace his skates.

“And that’s… a lot?”

“Yes, that’s a lot. Don’t tell me you’re chickening out.”

“I’m just saying that the two of us getting drenched in water is not out of the realm of possibility!”

Gravy gave him a wry smile. “Funny. Now either put your skates on or watch me have all the fun without you.” And with three quick strides, he took off across the ice.

“Gravy-” Elliott tried to call out, but within moments, he was across the lake and gliding in looping figure eights. As Elliott continued to watch, he upped the ante, skating backwards and on one leg and jumping and turning in the air to land on the opposite foot.

“Why am I not surprised you know how to do this too?” Elliott shouted after him.

Gravy held his arms out theatrically, then tucked them into his chest to do three quick spins before taking off skating again. “Like you said, I’m a man of many talents.”

Elliott wrapped his coat tighter around himself.

Gravy did another jumping change between feet. “Are you gonna join me or what?”

“I’m enjoying the view too much!”

With that remark, Gravy cut to a stop with a shower of flying ice shavings, pointedly crossed his arms and sat down cross-legged on the ice.

“What are you doing?”

“This is a date, not a show. Get over here and skate with me.”

Elliott sighed. Gravy had proven that the ice was safe, at least. He sat down in the snow, removed his boots, and placed them next to Gravy’s at the edge of the lake. Then he laced up the ice skates that inexplicably fit his feet perfectly, triple-knotted them, and tentatively rose upward.

With a sweeping few strides, Gravy was at his side and extending a gloved hand. Elliott took it and shuffled his right foot out of the snow and onto the ice. His left foot was slow to meet it, and as soon as his entire weight was on the ice, the ice felt all too slippery, and he was losing his balance - his feet scrambled beneath him, and he was certain he was going to fall -

But then Gravy reached out his other hand and grasped Elliott’s arms, and he was steadied upright. He looked up to meet Gravy’s eye and gave him a grateful smile. Their breaths swirled around them in wispy clouds. 

“Ever been skating before?”

“Once or twice. Not since high school.”

“High school?”

“A girl asked me out. Her dad owned the rink.”

“Ooh, a girl?”

“That was before I realized.”

“Realized the overwhelming allure of other men?”

“Something like that,” Elliott said with a giggle. “There wasn’t a second date. Although I suspect it was less because she was a girl and more that my lack of grace on ice was about the same back then.”

“Well,” Gravy said, releasing Elliott’s left hand and turning to support him on the right side, “maybe I can be the teacher this time.”

Elliott’s cheeks warmed, and the bite of the cold air became sharper. He exhaled a warm breath in a fog cloud in front of him. He tried his best to straighten and maintain his balance.

“The most important thing is to just lean into it. Don’t try and force the movement, just let your momentum take you. You’re gliding, not walking.”

“Got it.”

Elliott leaned. He glided. And, while incredibly slow and leaning heavily on Gravy, he was ice skating. After a few trial laps around the lake, Gravy helped him pick up his pace, shifting to simply holding Elliott’s hand instead of supporting him.

“Not bad for a first timer,” Gravy said, squeezing Elliott’s hand.

Elliott squeezed it back. “Where did you learn to skate?”

“I played hockey in school.”

“They teach you those jumps in hockey practice?”

“Well, no,” Gravy said with a shy smile. “My sister did figure skating for a few years. I told my mom that I wanted to do it too, but she wouldn’t let me. But every so often, my sister and I would sneak over to the community rink and she would teach me what she’d been learning. And, well, I’m a quick study.”

Elliott put his foot down awkwardly, and it slipped underneath him. He slid around for a moment but was able to regain his balance. He turned to Gravy. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Gravy shrugged. “I’m no writer.”

“Thank Yoba for that. Don’t ever try and learn. You’ve already taken piano from me and I need at least one thing.”

Gravy gave him a playful shove, which sent Elliott’s only recently regained balance back into precariousness. “Hey!” was all he could manage to get out before his legs slipped beneath him and his back smacked against the ice.

“Sorry, sorry!” Gravy said between giggles. “I didn’t mean to push you that hard. Here-” Gravy held out his hand. Elliott took it and yanked, sending Gravy slipping and crashing on top of him. He wheezed out a pained groan on impact, but managed a victorious smirk at the sight of the farmer sprawled out next to him.

“Okay, I deserved that,” Gravy sighed. He shifted to rest his head on Elliott’s stomach. They laid on the ice for a while, watching their breaths fog and the clouds drift by and listening to the songs of the few birds that had stuck around for the winter.

“Do you ever miss your family?” Gravy asked suddenly.

Elliott frowned and looked over at him. Gravy’s eyes looked distantly at the sky above. He followed their gaze, tracing a book-shaped cloud as it passed overhead. “I used to. I would think about them all the time. Think about life in Zuzu, my parents, growing up. I was so angry at them for not supporting me, and then I was so lonely it would ache. I thought about moving back a dozen times, but after a while I was convinced that it wouldn’t be the warm welcome home I’d imagined. I tried to pour it all into my writing, but everything came out bitter and uninspired. I- sort of hit a low point for a while. I don’t think anyone else noticed around town - I put on a good front, but it wasn’t the happiest of times. But then Willy started talking to me more, and Robin, and Penny - then Leah moved in, and they all - they all respected me for what I chose to do. Leah loved me for who I was. She’s like the sister I never had. And- ever since-”

Gravy turned his head to look at him.

“Ever since you came, Pelican Town has really felt like home.”

Gravy smiled and turned to look back at the sky. “I’m glad.” They laid there for another few moments. Then, he sat up, dusted himself off, and took two graceful steps onto his skates. He looked down at Elliott, still spread out on the ice. “I’m not gonna offer to help you up again.”

Elliott chuckled. “That’s fair.” Instead of attempting to stand, he slid backwards until he sat at the edge of the lake again. “Have I earned another show?”

Gravy crossed his arms and smirked. “Yeah, all right.”

He glided into a series of jumps, spins, and looping arcs back and forth across the lake. Elliott watched with rapt admiration, settling into the flutter of his heart and the heat in his cheeks and the pure, unbottled feeling of love that ricocheted across his entire body.

No, he didn’t miss his family at all.

“Wow, he’s good, isn’t he?” said a voice from behind him. Elliott turned.

“Hi Marnie,” he said. She walked closer. “Another one of his many talents, I’ve learned.” 

“How are you feeling? You know, after the…”

Elliott raised a hand to cover his lip. “I’m fine. Doctor Harvey gave me a clean bill of health.”

“That’s good.” Then, after a moment, “Lewis was not happy about that, you know. Talked my ear off about it all night at the saloon.”

Elliott scoffed. “Lewis has screwed up priorities.” Then, remembering himself, “Sorry, I shouldn’t-”

Marnie waved him off. “You’re not wrong. I’m not completely oblivious. He’s got an… interesting approach to life. But he can be very sweet.”

“Uh huh,” Elliott said, turning to look back at Gravy, watching him soar through another series of twirls and loops. 

A moment of silence stretched between them. Then, Marnie sucked in a breath. “Was Gravy all right the other day? You know, after the judge…”

“I managed to cheer him up. I think fighting the creep off helped.”

Marnie nodded, then sighed. “You two seem really happy together.” She placed her hand on Elliott’s shoulder, squeezed it once, and turned to walk back to the ranch.

Elliott watched her go, then looked back at Gravy. He skated over and stopped with another shower of ice shavings. “What was that about?”

“She was just saying hi.”

Gravy nodded, then flopped next to where Elliott sat. “Well, I’m all skated out.” He placed a hand on Elliott’s knee and shook it. “Thanks for skating with me.”

Elliott smiled. “Thanks for teaching me. And for the marvelous performance.”

Gravy touched clasped hands to each shoulder and bent at the waist for a bow. “Anything for my adoring fans.” His eyes lowered to Elliott’s mouth. His eyebrows pulled together. “I want to kiss you, but I feel like it’ll hurt.”

Elliott’s smile stretched wider. “Probably. But you should do it anyway.”

Gravy placed a gloved hand on Elliott’s cheek and leaned in tentatively. He brushed his lips against Elliott’s, feather light, then planted a decidedly firmer kiss on his cheek. 

He pouted. “Don’t get into any more fights. This is torture.”

The desire that Elliott had been managing to tamper down since they’d left the farmhouse came back with full force. Warmth spread throughout his body, and the longer he looked at Gravy, the hungrier the beast became.

“Torture” was an accurate word for it. Elliott sucked in a lungful of cold air and held it. He stared pointedly at his skates as he unlaced them. He let out the breath. “An hour ago I was your knight in shining armor.”

Gravy tilted his head. “That’s still true… hm. Okay, if you have to get into another fight, protect your mouth.”

Elliott bit his lip. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

The warmth, the pressure, the overwhelming - he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to go home. He needed to-

“Well,” Elliott said, getting up a little too quickly. “I should go. This has been wonderful.”

“Agreed,” Gravy said, smiling. “Any chance I can get you out on the ice again?”

“Skate like that again and I’ll do whatever you want,” Elliott said before he could stop himself. He bit the inside of his cheek as he scrutinized Gravy’s reaction, which ended up being a dangerously mischievous quirk of his eyebrows. 

“Noted,” Gravy said before planting a final kiss on Elliott’s cheek. “I’ll see you later?”

“See you later,” Elliott said. 

Then he turned and forced himself not to sprint on the way back to his cabin.

Chapter Text

Elliott danced along to the music humming from his record player and cracked a final egg into his mixing bowl. He gave the batter a good stir, poured it into three parchment-lined six-inch cake pans, and placed them gently into his oven. He threw the dirty mixing bowl and wooden spoon into the sink and set to work on the frosting.

Gravy’s birthday hadn’t been added to the town calendar for some reason, but Elliott had managed to unearth an old social media page and find it out. Seeing middle-schooler Gravy, brace-faced and holding a silver flute in a green marching band uniform, had made his ocean-vast love for the man grow even wider and deeper. He’d been a whisker’s width away from letting the surprise burst out of him all week, and he couldn’t wait to finally celebrate.

He added a few drops of food coloring to the icing and hummed along to the tune as he mixed, head bopping and foot tapping and occasionally using the mixing spoon as a microphone. Gravy was right - having music in the house made everything feel more vibrant. He smiled. He had the perfect idea for what to get Gravy for the Feast of the Winter Star.

Two hours later, the cake was cooled and iced, and Elliott piped a final looping heart onto its center. He took a step back.

Damn, he was good.

An ice blue base with dark blue trim, bordering a glitter-filled frosted lake with skate tracks swirling around the center. He pulled the final touch from his pocket - a wooden ice skater figurine that Leah had carved for him. He placed it in the center of the cake, and his almost-healed lip stung from how wide he smiled at his handiwork.

He placed the cake delicately into its carrying case, scooped up the wrapped mug and his bag, and turned off his record player before waltzing out the door.

Knock knock knock .

No response.

Knock knock.

“Gravy! It’s me. My hands are full.”

Nothing.

Knock- “Gravy, I know you’re in there. I see the light is on.”

Meatball meowed from behind the door.

“Meatball, can you open it?”

It appeared she couldn’t.

Elliott set the cake down on the porch, opened the door, picked the cake back up, entered backwards, and closed the door with his hip.

He wiped the snow off his shoes on the welcome mat and flipped his hair out of his eyes. “You better be in the bathroom or something because I- Gravy?”

Gravy sat on the floor, unresponsive, leaning against his bed. He looked down at something in his hands, his posture rigid and his expression stone-faced. Elliott hurriedly placed the cake and his bag on the kitchen table and jogged over to the bedroom to sit next to him against the bed. From this angle, he could see what Gravy was holding.

A photograph of two people: a tall man with cropped black hair and a shaved face, his eyes crinkled in a laugh, and Gravy.

Elliott’s stomach dropped. Why was he looking at a picture of- on his birthday, of all days, to be thinking about-

“He’s engaged,” Gravy said in a monotone. “My old boss called me today. She mentioned it in passing. She figured I already knew, seeing as he and I were such good friends.”

Elliott looked from Gravy’s fixed neutral expression, his eyes distant and his rigid mouth, down to the photograph in his hands. To the admiration in Photo Gravy’s eyes, and the man’s nose scrunched in a laugh. His heart raced. The palms of his hands began to sweat.

“It turns out he was always capable of commitment, I just wasn’t worth committing to.”

Elliott wanted to smash the photo, to wrench it from Gravy’s hands and fling it across the room and shake Gravy until he snapped out of it, until he stopped caring about that despicable-

“Why do you still have this?” Elliott said, his voice hollow and strained. “Do you-” he sucked in a breath. “Do you still love him?”

Gravy blinked, still a perfect neutral statue. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t-” Elliott breathed, feeling all at once like a leaf falling from a tree and a volcano- about to burst and so light that a single breath could knock him over-

“I don’t know if it was ever love in the first place.”

Elliott leapt to his feet then, taking the photograph with him. It slipped from Gravy’s hands without an ounce of effort. “So then why-” he shook the frame, “ why do you still care? So he’s engaged, so the sad sack that’s going to marry him is signing up for a life sentence with that piece of shit. I just- I don’t understand-” He drew in a breath. “Harvey was right,” he seethed. “I can’t do this myself. You need to get professional help.”

“You told Harvey-”

“Nothing specific. Just how you freeze up. And- he still has this hold over you - you can’t think about him without-” Elliott’s voice grew louder with each word, “I don’t understand why it matters to you! I thought that if I could show you how much I care, that I’m committed, that I want people to know we’re a couple, if I could just be there for you, and play piano for you, if I could protect you, if I could-” he gasped, “if I could love you enough, you would forget about him! And I’ve tried , Gravy. I’ve tried so hard to do it, and I quit drinking, and I don’t regret that at all, because I wanted to. I wanted you to trust me! I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you! But instead, you’re letting the misguided opinion of this lowlife ,” Elliott shook the frame again, “you’re letting him ruin it! And I can’t-” he sucked in another breath, “I don’t know how else to prove it to you. That I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone, and that I’m not abandoning you.”

Gravy broke his distant stare to look up at Elliott. “Just like you didn’t abandon your family?”

The hot anger coursing through Elliott’s veins turned to ice. He dropped the photo. 

“If that’s what you think of me. If that’s what it all boils down to, yes. I left my family behind in Zuzu. But I didn’t abandon them. They abandoned me, by telling me that following my dream was idiotic. That I was throwing my life away. By refusing to visit, or to call me, or write me letters. By giving up on me. You want me to prove you right? You want to hurt me so bad that I leave you too? Well, I’m not giving you the satisfaction.” Elliott kicked the photo toward Gravy and turned on a heel. He yanked a chair back from beneath the kitchen table and sat with crossed arms. He puffed a wisp of his hair out of his face, heart still racing, and kicked the other kitchen chair out so that it was available to sit in. He aggressively undid the latches of the cake carrying case, removed the lid with a yank, and threw it on the floor to reveal the cake beneath.

“Happy birthday,” Elliott grumbled.

Gravy blinked. “My birthday isn’t on the calendar.”

“I know.”

Gravy picked up the photo frame from where it rested beside his leg and looked at it again.

“I don’t want to be jealous of an abuser,” Elliott whispered.

Gravy’s brow furrowed, and his rigid posture shifted slightly, as if the fog was clearing. “Say it again.”

“I don’t want to be jealous-”

“No, not that.”

Elliott took in a deep breath. “I love you.”

Gravy’s brow furrowed further, and he held the photo closer to his face. “One more time?”

“I love you, Gravy.”

Gravy nodded, and he lowered the photograph. He looked up to meet Elliott’s eye. “It sounds true, coming from you.”

“It is true.”

Gravy nodded again. He slowly stood, ambled dazedly to the door, and opened it. Then in one swift movement, he wound his arm back and flung the photo frame outside. A splash sounded as it landed in the pond next to the chicken coop. Gravy shut the door behind him, walked over to Elliott, and placed two tentative arms around his back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”

Elliott returned the embrace, pulling Gravy up to sit in his lap and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. He stroked his curls, breathing him in, feeling the anger cooling. They sat in silence for a while - it could have been five minutes, or twenty, or an hour. Time seemed to stop in that moment. It was just the two of them, angry and sad and heartbroken, and happy together.

Then Gravy broke the silence. “You made me a birthday cake.”

Elliott nodded.

“I haven’t really celebrated my birthday the past few years.”

“Because of him?”

“Yeah.” Gravy turned to look at the cake. “But this is beautiful. No one’s ever made me a cake before.”

“Just more evidence for my thesis.”

Gravy managed a small smile. “Is that so, Professor?”

Elliott smiled back. “You know, I was never a lecturer at Zuzu. I just read applications.”

“Their loss. You’re an excellent teacher.” 

“Are you asking me to teach you how to bake?”

“Would you?”

“And let go of one of the only skills I have over you? Fat chance.”

“I don’t know,” Gravy said, running a hand through Elliott’s hair, “I can be very convincing.”

“Why don’t you taste it first, and we can reevaluate after that.”

“All right,” Gravy said. He grabbed Elliott’s face and pulled him in for a breathy kiss.

Elliott’s cheeks warmed, and he pulled away, “I meant taste the cake , you absolute-” but he didn’t finish his sentence. He closed the gap between them again, drinking in Gravy’s lips, holding him in his arms, reminding himself how deeply he loved the man in his lap-

In his lap -

Elliott pulled back, wrangling the beast that had reared its ugly head again. “Hold on,” he said. “I brought candles.”

Gravy smiled and stood up, turning to take the empty chair. Elliott opened his bag, retrieved the candles and a box of matches, and placed and lit the candles on the cake top. He jogged over to the piano, opened the lid, and began to plunk out “Happy Birthday.”

“Aren’t you going to sing?” Gravy asked.

“I don’t sing.”

“It’s my birthday!”

“I don’t sing!”

“Please?”

Elliott looked over his shoulder at Gravy, whose face was cast in a warm glow from the candles. The star at the base of his nose shone. He looked like a painting. Elliott’s heart fluttered. He tilted his head.

Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear Gravy
Happy birthday to you

Gravy grinned, closed his eyes, and blew out the candle. His eyes stayed closed for a few seconds, and he mouthed something to himself. Elliott hoped with all his heart that whatever Gravy’s wish was, it would come true.

“Elliott?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we okay?”

Elliott’s eyebrows pulled together, and he walked over to stand behind Gravy. He wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head. “We’re okay.”

Two thirds of the cake later, the two of them were sharing Gravy’s armchair - Elliott in the seat, and Gravy perched on the armrest with his feet in Elliott’s lap. They watched the crackling fireplace, which cast dancing lights on the walls around them. Eventually, Gravy’s fingers found Elliott’s hair, and he started combing through it with his hands. Then he looped it around his fingers, before pulling out three strands and starting a series of braids. Elliott reveled in the touch, having forgotten how wonderful it felt to get his hair played with-

“Where did you learn how to braid?”

“I have a younger sister.”

“Oh. Right,” Elliott said, his eyelids drooping. He drank in the calming sensation, leaning against the back of the armchair. When Gravy got to the base of his neck, Elliott let out a small moan. His eyes shot open and he sat upright, holding a hand up to his now flushed face. He covered it with a series of coughs.

“Boy, it’s dry in here,” Elliott said quickly. “That fireplace…”

Gravy pulled his hands back and released the braid he was midway through. “I can make us some tea.”

“That would be great! Oh-” Elliott put a hand to his forehead. “I almost forgot-” He stood from the chair and retrieved the box wrapped in colored paper from his bag. “Happy birthday,” Elliott said again.

“Oh! You didn’t have to-”

Elliott raised an eyebrow at him. Gravy gave a sheepish smile. “Thank you.” He tore away the paper and shimmied the lid off the box. His face lit up when he saw what was inside. “Elliott! This is beautiful!” He pulled the mug out to inspect it more closely, turning it over and admiring the painted artwork of an empty rowboat at sunset. “It’s beyond beautiful, it’s perfect- where did you…?”

“Pierre got it from an artist in Calico. I bought it at the Festival of Ice.”

Gravy’s eyebrows raised. “But those were so expensive, did you really?”

“Anything for you, Gravy.” Elliott inhaled. “Anything.”

Gravy put the mug down on the side table next to the armchair and pulled Elliott in for a kiss. “Thank you.” He kissed Elliott again, weaving his fingers through the back of his hair, making Elliott’s neck warm and his heart race, sending heat throughout his body-

Elliott pulled back and took Gravy’s face in his hands. “You’re welcome. Should I put some tea on?”

Gravy frowned. “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Treating me like glass. Like you’re afraid of breaking me.”

“Gravy…” Elliott said, fiddling with his fingers. “There have been a lot of emotions today, and I don’t want…”

“Just be honest with me, please? You want me to trust you. This is me trusting you to tell me the truth.”

Elliott sighed. “I just thought, after Spirit’s Eve, and everything that you told me after, that you would want to wait before…”

“But I’ve quit drinking. We both have.”

“I know, but I didn’t want-”

“You didn’t want to?”

“No-” Elliott waved his hands out in front of him, trying to form the words. “I did want to. I do want to. It’s been insatiable, especially with you flirting with me like that, and calling me ‘Professor’, and-” Elliott clapped a hand over his mouth.

The side of Gravy’s lips quirked up. “Calling you ‘Professor,’ huh?”

“It’s- I-,” Elliott let out a deep breath. “I was scared of hurting you. The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you the way he did.”

Gravy’s eyes darkened for a moment, and flitted to the window, where the lake beside the chicken coop was visible. Then his face softened. “I love you, Elliott. And I trust you not to hurt me. After today, I believe the way you see me more than the way he did. More than the way I see myself. I like the version of me that you see. I want to be like him.”

Elliott smiled. “You already are him. You- you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

Gravy strode two steps closer and stood on his toes to kiss Elliott on the mouth.  “So tell me more about this thesis, Professor.”

A swarm of butterflies swirled through Elliott’s stomach. He gave Gravy a breathy kiss. “The thesis is quite simple, really. I do everything in my power to make Gravy happy, because I love him with all my heart, and he deserves it.”

Gravy’s lips traveled to his neck. “That’s more of a resolution than a research question.”

“It’s a work in progress,” Elliott panted.

“Well,” Gravy whispered, his lips brushing Elliott’s ear, “You know what would make Gravy really happy right now?” He wove his hand through Elliott’s hair, gathering it into a fist and pulling, sending a wave of pleasure through his scalp.

“Gravy…” Elliott breathed, his head swimming and heat rattling through him and the beast of desire clawing its way from his stomach to his throat, escaping his mouth in a breathy moan.

Then Gravy’s other hand was on his shirt collar and he was getting pulled backwards, and their mouths were crashing together and their hands caressing each other's necks and backs and faces and hair, and their clothes were getting thrown in every direction, and their breaths grew heavy and warm, and the two of them collapsed into Gravy’s bed.

Chapter Text

Elliott floated in the space between asleep and awake. He was warm, stretched out and curled up at the same time. His hair billowed around him in weightless waves, pulled away from his eyes by the steady strokes of a comb. A butterfly flapped past him, circling around the back of his head before landing on his forehead with a gentle tickle. Its wings continued to flap, lightly brushing his hairline with rhythmic taps. Elliott leaned further into the warmth, wrapping his arms around it, letting it seep through him.

As far as he could recall, this was the most relaxed he’d ever been. He had no intention of letting it go.

But the space, it seemed, did not want to honor his intentions. All at once, four weights landed on Elliott’s left shoulder, dragging him up toward the light of day.

“Maaaaau!”

“Shhhh, Meatball - not yet, just let me-”

“ Maaaaaaauuuu! ”

Elliott blinked awake, vision flooded with the sunbeams that streamed in through the nearby window. Perched precariously on his shoulder was a cat, who looked intently over at…

Gravy.

Gravy, who laid in bed with him, arms curled around him and stroking his hair. Gravy, who was glowing in the rays of the early morning sun. Gravy, who looked down at him not in panic or detachment, but with a smile. Fondly.

Gravy, who was putting off feeding his cat so he could have a few more minutes in bed with him.

“Good morning,” Elliott mumbled, his lips stretched into a smile. He pressed his face further into Gravy’s chest.

“Sorry, did she wake you? I was trying to let you sleep, but she takes breakfast time really seriously…”

Elliott raised his head slightly, trying to squint at the clock on the bedside table. “What time is it?”

“Just before eight.”

Elliott yawned. “What time do you usually get up?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“ Maaaaauuuuuu! ”

“....Six.”

Elliott dropped his jaw in a mock gasp, which turned into another wide yawn. He turned to be face to face with Meatball, who was still perched on his shoulder. “You poor thing, he’s starving you.” Then, to Gravy, “You could have gotten up.”

Gravy placed a kiss on Elliott’s forehead. “I didn’t want you to wake up in bed by yourself.”

Elliott closed his eyes at the contact. “It’s bound to happen eventually,” he said blearily, “if you’re in the habit of waking up at six.”

The rhythm of Gravy’s heart became perceptibly quicker under his ear.

“Well,” Gravy said, a slight stammer to his voice, “I wouldn’t mind if you- I enjoyed having you stay, and- um- and everything else-”

Elliott’s ears grew hot, and he let out a chuckle. “What happened to all the boldness from yesterday?”

Gravy scratched the back of his head, “It’s- I mean, It’s a lot easier when you’re in the, I guess the ‘throes of passion’, to be more-”

“ MAAAAAAUUUUU! ”

That one seemed to be aimed directly for Elliott’s ear.

“All right, all right. I’m getting up.” Gravy picked Meatball up and placed her on the floor next to the bed. Almost immediately, she did the little waist shimmy cats do when they’re about to jump, so Gravy held a placating hand in front of her face and gave Elliott another quick kiss on the forehead, before shifting out from underneath Elliott and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Elliott watched with the heat in his ears creeping down to his cheeks as Gravy shuffled over to the kitchen cabinet and retrieved a can of cat food. Meatball encouraged him along quite vocally until the food was in her bowl and she was enthusiastically eating.

Elliott shifted to sit back against the headboard, and pulled a few strands of hair away from his eyes. “Teasing and ‘throes of passion’ aside, how are you feeling about last night?”

Gravy looked down at his hands and began to fiddle with his fingers, but a small smile stretched onto his lips. “Good,” he said quietly. “It was… good. And I didn’t freak out when I woke up with you in my bed this time.”

“That’s a relief,” Elliott said. “I would hate to be the only one who had a good time.”

Gravy’s gaze raised from his hands to meet Elliott’s eye. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I think that was the best night’s sleep I’ve gotten in years.”

Gravy smiled. “Glad I didn’t wake you up, then.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Elliott raked a hand through his hair out of habit, and was quickly mortified to find it a dirty, tangled mess. He tried to comb it out with his fingers and was met with little success. He switched tactics, quickly shoving it through the collar of his shirt so that as little of it was visible as possible.

Not quick enough, it seemed, because Gravy was looking over at him with a sheepish grin. “I imagine you have some major bedhead, after-” he coughed. 

Elliott’s ears burned, but he giggled in response. He made a mental note to bring some hair ties the next time he planned on staying over. Then the idea of staying over again materialized fully for him, and his heart fluttered. “A small price to pay for the throes of passion.”

Gravy laughed. “You’re welcome to take a shower and sort it out.”

“My gorgeous locks aren’t getting within ten feet of that garbage you call shampoo.”

“Au contraire, dear writer-” Gravy strode over to the hallway where the bathroom was housed with demonstrative spread hands. Elliott climbed out of bed to follow him, and with a flourish, Gravy opened the door to the bathroom and then the shower curtain to reveal new bottles of shampoo and conditioner - in the exact same brand that Elliott used at home.

Elliott turned to him with his mouth agape. “You,” he planted a firm kiss on Gravy’s cheek, “ stalker! ”

“I prefer the term ‘ observant ’,” he responded with a raised eyebrow. “You seem to be the only person in Pelican Town who takes issue with the fact that I notice details!”

Elliott kissed his cheek again, leaning further and further into it until Gravy shoved him off with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome. You want me to braid your hair when you come out?”

“You know how to french braid?”

“Little sister.”

“Of course. Yes, I would love if you braided my hair. I can make breakfast?”

“I’ll be sure to bring my appetite when my chores are done. Your toothbrush is behind the mirror.”

And with a final parting kiss and the expansive, constantly growing feeling of love swelling in his chest, Elliott stepped into the shower to wash his hair.

One and a half renditions of “Oh What A Beautiful Morning”, a change of clothes, and a few cracked eggs later, Elliott was hovering over the stove as his omelettes cooked. There were no mushrooms this time of year, but he’d managed to scrounge up enough ingredients for something tasty anyway - Gravy’s pantry was far better stocked than his ever was.

The toaster dinged as the last two slices of bread finished cooking, and he placed them on top of the existing stack and brought the plate over to the kitchen table. He poured two cups of tea, keeping the Stardew Valley Fair mug for himself and placing the rowboat mug on Gravy’s side of the table. He took a few sips of the warm drink as the omelettes finished cooking, then dropped them onto two plates, grabbed silverware from the nearby drawer, and set the table. He settled into his chair to sip at the rest of his tea and wait for Gravy.

Three knocks rang from the door.

Elliott stood, shuffled to the door, and reached for the doorknob. It was odd that Gravy was knocking to get back into his own home-

“Robin?”

“Oh!” the carpenter said. She smiled. “Hi Elliott! Good morning. I don’t know if Gravy told you, I have a meeting with him to talk about-”

“Oh- the new barn, right? For the sheep?”

Robin’s eyebrows pulled together and she frowned. “What?”

“Gravy mentioned wanting to build a barn?”

“I’m not-”

“Robin!” Gravy called from the chicken coop. He jogged over to greet her. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about our appointment for-” his eyes landed on Elliott. “For the uh, for the barn I was thinking about getting.”

Robin looked from Gravy, to Elliott, then back to Gravy again. "The barn. Right.”

Gravy trotted up the stairs to the farmhouse and stood next to her. “I completely spaced, and I’m running a little behind on chores this morning. Is there any chance we can push to later today?”

“Sorry Gravy, I would, but it’s Sebby’s birthday, and we had plans as a family…”

“Oh, okay, how about later this week?”

“Well, I’m starting work on the Winter Star festival, so it’ll have to be between-”

“I can leave if you’ve got a meeting. It’s no problem,” Elliott said, a little too aware of the fact that he was guarding the door while the two of them stood outside in the cold.

“Oh, you don’t have to leave, Elliott- you were in the middle of cooking-”

“I can figure out another time if you guys are-”

“I finished," Elliott interrupted. "And Robin walked all the way here, so don’t let me get in the way. It’s really no problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Gravy turned to Robin. “Come in, please.”

Elliott stepped out of the way, and Robin followed Gravy through the door. She hesitated in front of the kitchen table, which was very obviously set with breakfast for two. Elliott rushed to grab his omelette, threw it and a piece of toast in a paper towel, grabbed his bag, blew Gravy a kiss, and jogged out the door.

When the door shut behind him, Elliott paused for a moment and tried to process what had just happened.

What had just happened?

Gravy had forgotten about an appointment with Robin, Robin had forgotten that the appointment was about building a barn, and Elliott had felt so uncomfortable about the whole interaction that he was currently holding a toast and hot omelette in a sheet of paper towel.

He blinked, threw a look over his shoulder at the closed farmhouse door, and looked ahead of himself again. 

Well, he was overdue for a visit to Leah’s.

Elliott somehow managed to finish his food along the way, holding the omelette-toast like a piece of pizza and biting off pieces of it as he walked. He fortunately did not run into anyone else as he did, lest he explain why he was holding an omelette takeout style on his uncharacteristically early morning stroll. He didn’t think any explanation he could give them would be sufficient. Fortunately, by the time he got to Leah’s door, all that was left was the crumpled paper towel, which he shoved into his pocket.

He knocked.

“Hello?” Leah called in the goofy voice she always used when she was confused.

“It’s me!” Elliott called back.

Quick footsteps sounded from inside the cottage before the door was wrenched open. “Ellie?!”

“In the flesh.”

“It’s only 9:30!”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“You-” her jaw dropped. She closed it, gave a wry smile, and raised her eyebrow. “In the neighborhood, huh? Were you in the neighborhood all night?”

“Perhaps.”

“Get in here!” she squealed, grabbing Elliott’s sleeve and yanking him inside. She pulled him over to his normal seat at her work table, which was currently covered in sketches of hands, and sat across from him. “Tell me everything.”

“You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“That’s because the whole time I’ve known you, there has never been anything to tell! Come on!”

Elliott rested a smug chin on his hand.

“How about just yes or no questions?”

Elliott shrugged.

“ Did you guys bone? ”

Elliott sat up straight again so that he could grasp his heart as dramatically as possible, and put on his overly formal accent. “What an indecent question!”

“You’re torturing me!”

Elliott sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Yes.”

“YO!”

“And that’s all I’ll say.”

“Boooooooooo!!” Leah crumpled up one of the papers on her table into a ball and chucked it at his head. It bounced off of his still wet hair and onto the floor, where it joined the crowd of other crumpled-up papers. He raised his eyebrows back at her and folded his arms.

“Elliott, this is the most exciting thing that’s happened in Pelican Town since Sam put weed butter into the Luau soup.”

Elliott snickered. “I forgot about that. The soup did taste particularly good that year…”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“Changing the subject is the only thing I want to do right now.”

“ Please , Elliott. Give me something!”

He unfolded his arms and swept his hair over his shoulder. “I got the best night’s sleep I’ve had since I moved here.”

Leah gave him a playful hit on the shoulder. “You dog! You were that tuckered out, huh?”

“Yoba, get your mind out of the gutter! No! Well, not entirely-”

“Ha!”

“Shut up or I’ll stop.” He tilted his head. Leah held her hands up placatingly and didn’t speak. “I just felt comfortable and… safe. It was honestly really nice.”

Leah nodded for him to continue.

“And now I have a toothbrush there.”

“And?”

“...And?”

“Anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know, you just had sex for the first time in seven years. How are you feeling?"

“Honestly?”

Leah nodded again.

“I’m not entirely sure.”

She frowned. “Like you regret it?”

“No- No! Not at all. It was a huge relief, actually. I’d been feeling so pent up recently, I didn’t realize how much it had been stressing me out. I felt like I’d been holding my breath for weeks and I could finally let it go. It was so relaxed after, I fell asleep almost instantly. But today, talking about it was kind of- I don’t know- awkward. We’re both adults, that wasn’t either of our first times, and yet, I mean, we were able to laugh it off, but you’d think it’d be easier to talk about this stuff-”

“Elliott.”

“What?”

“Do I need to remind you that two months ago, you two couldn’t even have a conversation about the weather without one of you clamming up?”

“I wouldn’t go that-”

“I would go that far! You’re talking to the relationship interpreter here! I should have made you guys put me on retainer. Buddy, listen, I know you want to snap your fingers and be a master communicator, but you can’t build shit like that in a day. From where I’m sitting, it sounds like you guys are in a really great place.”

Elliott tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “You think so?”

“I do indeed.”

“Cool.”

“Cool!” Then, after a beat, “So, anything else new, fun, and exciting happening in your life?”

“Does another three rejections count?”

“It counts as ‘new’, I guess.”

Elliott sighed. “I’m running out of agents to query. I think it’s time I start looking for a job.”

“Elliott…”

“Before you say I’m giving up, I’m not. I’m going to keep writing, and I’m going to keep trying to get this book published. But I gave the whole ‘making writing my career’ thing the old college try, and I think I’d be a lot more comfortable if I made enough money to pay taxes.”

“If you’re doing this because of Lewis-”

“I’m not! I’m not. As much as I hate the guy’s guts, he did have a point. I’m tired of being broke. Maybe pursuing my dream will look a little different than I thought, but I’m still pursuing it. I’ll just be pursuing some income at the same time.”

Leah placed her forearms on the table and leaned forward. She waggled her eyebrows. “I think it’s really sweet that you’re thinking about the future.”

“Yoba, you read so much into things-”

Leah chucked another crumpled up paper at his head, punctuated with a “Dork!” Elliott reached over the table to tousle her hair, and before long, the two of them devolved into a slap fight, shrieking and squealing and chasing each other around the cottage.

Chapter Text

“Ooh, how about that one?”

“Pass.”

“Okay, here’s one for an advertising agency.”

“Why would I want to advertise diapers and formula? What do I know about child rearing?”

“I don’t think it’s a necessary qualification-”

“No thanks.”

“JojaMart is always hiring.”

“I would sooner sell my own kidneys than work for JojaCorp.”

“It sounds to me like you don’t actually want a job.”

Elliott spun in the wheeled chair at the desk so he was fully facing Leah. “I do want a job, I just don’t want to sell my soul at the same time.”

Leah threw her braid over her shoulder and folded her arms. “It’s going to be hard to find something remote where selling your soul isn’t a requirement.”

“Sebastian works remotely.”

“As a programmer. And he has a degree in Computer Science. Remind me what your degree is in again?” 

Elliott frowned. “You don’t have to be mean.”

Leah sighed. “Okay, that was a little harsh.” She glanced over to the framed degree hanging on the wall above her desk. “Not having any student loans is actually a really good thing. You should be glad you didn’t put yourself into a mountain of debt for a useless BFA.”

“BFAs aren’t useless-”

“Spoken like a true admissions counselor,” Leah said with a wry chuckle. “No, the skills I learned in my program were not useless, and like my mom always says, ‘education is never wasted.’ But I could have done a lot more with my twenties if I hadn’t spent it playing off debt.”

“But now your art is actually selling - you’ve made a name for yourself and people want what you make.”

“I don’t think my art degree has anything to do with it. I just got lucky.”

Elliott leaned back in the chair and looked wistfully at the ceiling. “If you say so.”

“You could always go back into higher education.”

“I’m trying to make money here, Leah. You just said not having student debt is a good thing.”

“No, not get a degree - work in higher ed. Tutor. Teach. Coach people on their college applications. Didn’t you do something like that for Maru in the fall?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“She got into the schools she applied to.”

“Well there you go! Who better to help with applying to school than someone who’s been on the other side of the application?”

Elliott considered this for a moment. “Robin did say the same thing to me.”

“Sounds like we have an answer then.”

He grinned. “I should come to you for advice more often.”

“Like I said, you and Gravy need to put me on retainer.”

“...Have you ever considered being a therapist, or like, a life coach or something?”

“Very funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

Leah cocked her head to the side. “No, Elliott. I can only handle one needy client at a time.”

He reached out to shove her, but she caught his wrist before he could - the two of them came dangerously close to devolving into another chaotic slap fight, but the chime from an email notification caught Elliott’s attention. Out of habit, and the expectation that it was another rejection from a literary agent, he turned to look at the computer screen.

But of course, this wasn’t his computer or his email account, it was Leah’s.

              From: [email protected]
              Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE: Please give me another chance
              Leah, you can’t keep ignoring me like this. Please hear me out…

Elliott’s brow furrowed and his nostrils flared. 

“Just ignore that-”

“Kel is bothering you again? Don’t you have her blocked?”

“She made a new email account. I figured she would tire herself out eventually if I didn’t respond, but-”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since my art show.”

Elliott swiveled the chair around to face her fully again. “Do you need me to talk to her?”

Leah raised an eyebrow. “What, are you gonna beat her up too?”

“This isn’t a joke, Leah! She’s practically stalking you! Haven’t you told her that you’re not taking her back a dozen times?”

Leah frowned and fiddled with the end of her braid. “Well… I don’t know…”

“No- you’re not considering it, are you?!”

“Maybe I am!”

Elliott let out an exasperated breath. “How many conversations did we have when you first moved here about how miserable you were with Kel, and how much she held you back, and how she didn’t appreciate your craft- I mean, what would you say to me if Paul came sniffing around at my book reading?”

“It’s not the same thing! You’re in a relationship!”

“I hardly think that matters-”

“Of course it matters! What do you want from me, Elliott? I’m lonely!” Leah’s lip quivered, and her eyes grew wet. “Ever since Gravy got here, I’ve been seeing you less and less, and- you two are so happy together, and I won’t have a partner at the Flower Dance this year-”

Elliott’s stomach dropped. His eyebrows pulled together, and he looked at his best friend closely for the first time in what seemed like months. Her eagerness to invite Elliott in and speak with him. Her workshop, messier than even her usual mess with dozens of half-finished projects. The empty bottles of wine on her kitchen counter. The unmade bed, stacked high with stuffed animals. Of course Leah was lonely.

“I’m so sorry, Leah,” Elliott breathed. “I didn’t realize. Or- I guess I did realize, but I didn’t want to think about it.”

A few of the brimming tears escaped Leah’s eyelids and streamed down her cheeks. She sniffed.

“I haven’t been- you kept telling me, and I kept hearing you and not doing anything about it. I’ve been selfish.”

Leah shrugged. “I know you’ve had a lot going on-”

Elliott shook his head. “That’s no excuse. I haven’t been prioritizing you. You shouldn’t only get to see me at festivals.” An idea came to him. “I have my recurring appointment with Gravy once a week. I think you deserve at least double that, seeing how you’re my best friend to which I owe almost all of the good things in my life right now.”

That got a chuckle out of her. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses.”

“Always the comedian,” Elliott said with a sideways smile. “So, what’ll it be? Baking? A trip to the library? A visit to that spa by the train station? Perhaps fishing?”

“You know I don’t fish.”

“You’ll need to put that dressed spinner Willy gave you to use eventually.”

“Oh I did. It made the perfect hat for my fashion doll, which I sold to a collector six months ago.”

Elliott nodded, then tilted his head to the side, waiting for her to respond.

She looked over to the chest next to her bed. “I  got this board game a few months ago that I’ve been wanting to try…”

***

“You pick up the Solarion Staff and hold it high. Order has been restored to the world,” Leah read off of the final card in the deck.

Elliott leapt from his chair and did a victory dance, pressing clasped hands to his shoulders and folding into a deep bow. 

Leah giggled. “That was pretty fun, huh?”

“Who knew such stories could be crafted from a simple board game?”

She grinned in response. “How’s that for a biweekly activity?”

“I’m sold!” Elliott grabbed her face and pressed a kiss into her cheek. 

She squirmed out of his grasp with an “Ewwwwww!”, but her increasingly loud giggling betrayed her. “It will almost make up for the fact that I’ll be dateless at the Flower Dance for the first time ever.

“Pssh. We’ve got plenty of time to get you a date. In fact, since I’m to blame for this predicament, I’ll make it my personal mission to secure one for you.”

“Is that so?”

Elliott pulled at the imaginary walkie talkie on his shirt collar. He mimicked microphone static, then said in his go-to formal accent, “Operation Flower Queen is a go.”

Chapter Text

Gravy wished Robin goodbye, sending with her a wrapped up Frozen Tear gemstone to give to Sebastian for his birthday. Sebastian had mentioned in passing how fascinating he found them, and Gravy had collected dozens of them when he was making his way through the frozen levels of the mines, so he was all too happy to get rid of one for the moody programmer’s birthday. Win-win. He closed the front door behind Robin, who gave him a final wave as she headed out.

With the exception of almost revealing his hand to Elliott and ruining the surprise, that meeting had gone well - he had expected house renovations to cost far more, but apparently Robin was happy to offer a discount if he provided his own wood. And Gravy was up to his ears in wood. Another win-win - he marveled at his own efficiency, if he did say so himself. 

He could hardly contain his excitement at the prospect of more space in the farmhouse - he would get a cat door for Meatball, a guest room, a study - he wouldn’t have to cram all of his worldly belongings into one room - and, as an added bonus, the renovations would come with a bigger bed. Gravy’s pulse quickened just thinking about it. Elliott was surprisingly clingy when he slept, so they’d managed to squeeze into his single on the few situations when they needed to, but having more bed room in the bedroom meant…

Flashes of memory filled his mind. Elliott’s bedhead when Gravy had woken up from his fever. Elliott’s face pressed into his chest, his head rising and falling with Gravy’s breaths. Then, the memory of Elliott wrenching his shirt off the night before. Him fumbling with the buttons on Gravy’s. 

He stared at the bed. His pulse rang in his ears.

Yes, more bed space would be nice. Should the need arise. Just in case.

Gravy shifted his focus to the wall behind the bedroom. Robin had said that would be the ideal place for the study. He was already picturing the piano, newly polished and front and center, complete with an extra-long bench perfect for two. He would fill the walls with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, with a big bay window that faced the sun and two plush armchairs perfect for reading. A writing desk on one side of the room and a big TV on the other, with a stand big enough to fit the entire DVD collection he’d been keeping in storage for the past year. 

And, to its left, a spare bedroom. Or, maybe, eventually, it could belong to someone. Maybe a child.

Maybe a child…

Gravy blinked and snapped himself out of his imagination. He took a moment to realize how insane he was being. He had only been dating Elliott for two months. Elliott had called him a stalker for buying the same shampoo that he used - what would his reaction be if he realized that Gravy wanted to surprise him with a house renovation? What would he say in response to “Hi Elliott, I know it’s only been 63 days since I gave you that bouquet, but fuck it, I love you so much that I got a bigger bed so you can sleep over more often, and I made sure the study had a writing desk and a big armchair so you can spend all your time reading and writing? While you’re at it, why don’t you ditch your drafty cabin and move in with me? Better yet, let’s get married? And have a child? Maybe three? What do you say?”

Yeah. Certifiably insane.

Elliott had also said that he needed professional help. He’d said it in anger, and probably hadn’t meant it, but- maybe he was right.

Was he going too far? Had Jared fucked him up so badly that Elliott treating him with basic respect and kindness made him seem like an angel in comparison?

Ringgggg! Ringgggg!

Gravy lost his train of thought.

He blinked, and walked over to the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, big bro!”

“Ew, what do you want?”

She gasped. “Is that any way to talk to your favorite sister?”

“You’re my only sister, Amelia. And you only call me ‘big bro’ when you want something, and calling me ‘big bro’ is extremely cringe.”

“Don’t say ‘cringe’. It’s cringe. You’re twenty eight.”

“Yeah, thanks for the call yesterday.”

“I sent a card!”

“You’re not building a strong case for yourself here.”

“Who says I want something?”

“Oh, so you don’t want something?”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, but it’s an emergency! You have to come home for Winter Star! Mom and Aunt Grace are being completely insufferable and I am losing my everloving mind! I can’t do this alone, we’ve only been here for three days and I’m already having homicidal ideations.”

Gravy laughed. “Sounds like Aunt Grace.”

“It’s not funny! You’re completely putting me out here, Good Gravy!”

“Have you already told her that dear old ‘Nicholas’ won’t be coming?”

“I suspect that’s the root of the extra bitchiness.”

Gravy balked. “But she hates me!”

“Aunt Grace doesn’t hate you. You’re the only grandson. You could commit murder in broad daylight and she’d still be doting over her perfect little prince.”

“The gay one with a septum piercing?”

“She’s still convinced the ‘gay’ part is just a phase.”

“Pretty long phase.”

“Good Gravy, the woman is ancient. Fifty years is a phase in her eyes.”

Gravy let out the shrill, hyena-like laugh that only Amelia was capable of eliciting from him. It rattled through his throat and rang in his ears and sent Meatball, who had been napping quite contentedly in the sun spot on the kitchen table, scattering off in a disgruntled huff. He wiped a tear from his eye. “I do miss you, Amelia.”

“So come over for Winter Star!”

“I can’t . I’ve got too much to take care of, I can’t be away for that long.”

“Grandpa always visited for Winter Star!”

“By the time we moved to Middleton, all Grandpa was leaving behind was a dried up old cow and a frozen-over vegetable garden. He wasn’t exactly in his prime when he was visiting us.”

“Still, is the farm gonna burn down if you leave it for three days?”

“Amelia…”

“ Good Gravy ,” she said, all high pitched and nasally, mocking him. “I will not be left alone with only Mom as a buffer for that woman. I’m one more lecture about my piercing profession away from going at her with a kitchen knife. I mean it!”

Gravy’s eyes drifted back to the wall where he’d been imagining the new rooms. “You could always come here.”

“I’ve seen the pictures of your living room. I’m not sleeping curled up in your armchair.”

“Well,” Gravy said, playing up the affront, “I’ll have you know that I’ve encountered some mild success here at Stella Farm, and I quite recently procured a contract for some renovations. The new guest room would be finished in more than enough time.”

Amelia let out a gasp that transitioned seamlessly into a high-pitched squeal. “Really?! I could stay with you?”

“I’ll get my DVDs ready. We’ll have a Frost Foes marathon, just like old times.”

Gravy had to move the phone away from his ear, lest he go deaf from the screaming on the other end. “You’re a lifesaver , Good Gravy! Oh, I can’t wait! And I’ll get to meet all of your animals, and your new friends, and-” she gasped, “and Elliott! ”

Gravy’s stomach dropped when she said Elliott’s name. That was- he hadn’t realized- he’d never taken anyone to meet his family before- well, this wasn’t exactly taking someone home, and it was only Amelia, but- the seriousness of it hit him all too suddenly.

A long piano bench. Two armchairs. A writing desk. A bigger bed. Meeting his family. For the Feast of the Winter Star . This was- this was such a big deal, and there was no backing out of it now that Amelia had said yes- what had he done- Elliott was going to completely freak out, this was going to scare him away, he was being insane- he was being completely insane-

“-avy?”

“Huh?”

“You still there?”

“Sorry,” Gravy said, his voice breathy. “What did you say?”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Gravy said, still staring at the wall. “I think I left the stove on.” He fumbled the phone back into its cradle and slid until he was sitting down on the floor. His heart hammered in his chest, and each breath he took felt less and less productive, like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Maybe it had. The more he tried to breathe, the more it felt like his lungs were shriveling up. The room around him swam, and he couldn’t keep the wall in focus anymore. His heartbeat rang in his ears, melding from a series of thumps into a single shrill pitch.

His arm reached up to the shelf where the phone sat, and his hand swiped forcefully around until he knocked the phone to the floor. The receiver flew from the cradle and skidded away, a dial tone ringing out as it did. Gravy clawed at the phone cable, clumsily drawing it nearer. He finally managed to grip the receiver in a white-knuckled hand and raise it to his ear, shoved a thumb into the 1 key, and listened as the unharmonious tones of the speed dial cycled through the phone number.

The voice on the other end was garbled, and Gravy couldn’t make out what it was saying.

“I think I’m dying,” he squeaked out, and the phone dropped from his hand.

Chapter Text

When am I going to meet this new boyfriend of yours?

What, you think I want some drugged up Junior Rep following me around the office like a lost puppy?

But you’ve never missed a Moonlight Jelly Party!

You’re handsome, Nicholas, but you’re no trophy husband.

But Mom’s turning 60! You can’t take one night off? It’s a Saturday!

People that look like you are good for one thing. If you think anyone is spending time with you for any reason other than that, you’re kidding yourself.

It’s your grandfather’s funeral! How is making money for JojaCorp more important than that?

You’ll just replace one addiction with another.

I can’t do this myself. You need to get professional help.

You’re going to scare him away.

You’re being completely insane.

You’re dying.

You’re dying.

I’m dying.

I’m dying.

A fuzzy outline of a bedroom and the wall behind it. High pitched ringing. Blood fighting to burst out of its constraints in an impossibly fast rhythm.

“I’m dying.”

A garbled voice, saying something unintelligible.

“I’m dying.”

You’re- breathe- just- attack-

“I’m dying.”

Can you- my hand-

“I’m…” gasp , “dying.”

Do you feel my hand?

A weight in his hand.

A series of rapid blinks. The blurred image of the bedroom coming back into focus. A light squeeze.

“Do you feel my hand, Gravy?”

Gravy looked away from the wall and at his hand. Another hand was grasping it. It squeezed again. He felt it.

“Yes.” The sound barely made it out of him, softer than a whisper. 

“Can you look at me?”

Gravy’s eyes traced from the hand grasping his, up the white sleeve and past the red necktie to land on a face. A brown mustache and two brown eyes behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. Gravy’s eyebrows pulled together.

“Gravy, do you know how to thumb wrestle?”

He sucked in a wheezing breath, and his eyebrows furrowed further. “Thumb wrestle?”

“Yeah, you know,” his thumb moved back and forth across Gravy’s hand. “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war. You ever do that?”

Gravy blinked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“A thumb war. Didn’t you ever play with your friends at school? Used it to settle a bet? You’re acting like you’ve never heard of thumb wrestling.”

Gravy looked down at his hand, on which the other thumb was still tapping back and forth, then back up to Dr. Harvey. He breathed a few times, his face contorting further into confusion as he did.

“There he is. Welcome back, Gravy.” He let go of Gravy’s hand and sat cross-legged on the floor across from him. “You were having a panic attack.”

Gravy blinked again and looked around the room. He was sitting on the floor of his kitchen, his left side slumped against the wall. “How did you get here?”

“You called me,” Harvey said, gesturing to the phone that laid sideways on the floor next to him, the cord draped over Gravy’s lap and the receiver pressed into his leg.

“Why were you talking about thumb wrestling?”

“Distraction technique. Best way to snap someone out of a heightened emotional state is to confuse them. It’s like a hard reset for the brain.”

“Teach you that in medical school, did they?”

“It was quite useful during my psych rotation, yes.”

Gravy scratched the back of his head, the quelled panic quickly being replaced with embarrassment. His ears grew hot and he stood up quickly from the floor. He bent to retrieve the phone and receiver and placed them with shaking hands back on their shelf. “Well, it was a false alarm. Obviously I’m not dead so, thanks for the help, but I’m all set. You can get back to the clinic now.”

Harvey frowned. “Gravy…”

“Seriously! I’m all good, and I’m sure you’re really busy with uh, with check ups and medication, and… anyway, I have farm chores that I still haven’t done, so I should really-”

“ Gravy ,” Harvey said more firmly. 

In another situation, Harvey sitting cross-legged on his kitchen floor with his arms folded and his mustache stretched into a pout would have been comical. But the hot shame in his neck made it not funny at all. Gravy ignored him, haphazardly pushing in the kitchen chairs and straightening the dishes on the drying rack and doing anything else he could think of to not look the doctor in the eye.

He heard the floorboards creak and Harvey let out a breath as he stood up behind him. “Gravy, a panic attack is nothing to be ashamed of. But I want to talk about what happened leading up to it. As your physician, I think it’s important to discuss your mental health-”

“I don’t know what Elliott told you, but my mental health is fine! ” Gravy shouted over his shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, doctor , but I really am busy, so I am unfortunately unable to entertain you right now-”

“As your friend ,” Gravy let out an exasperated breath, “I’m worried about you. That was not a garden variety panic attack. Have you ever experienced something like that before?”

Gravy’s head rolled back until he was looking at the ceiling, and he took in a few breaths. Then he relented, pulled out a kitchen chair, and gestured for Harvey to do the same. The doctor complied, pulling out his own chair and sitting across from him.

“No, I’ve never had a panic attack like that before. That probably explains why I thought I was dying. I’ve started to panic when- well, a different time, but Elliott was able to calm me down before it got serious.”

“What was going on before the attack?”

Too much punch at Spirit’s Eve. Elliott in his vampire costume. Lifting him up to pick the last pomegranate. One kiss on the neck that led to another, and another, and clothes being thrown off, and then-

Gravy squeezed his eyes shut. Harvey meant the one that happened today. Obviously.

“I invited my sister to stay with me for Winter Star, and she said that she was excited to meet Elliott.”

Harvey didn’t respond, clearly waiting for him to elaborate on why that was panic-inducing.

“And then it hit me that it was a big deal, Elliott meeting my family.”

Harvey still didn’t respond.

“And I’ve never brought someone to meet my family like that before.”

Harvey waited. Gravy didn’t elaborate.

Harvey placed his forearms on the table. “Anything else that might have contributed?”

Gravy groaned and leaned back in the chair. “And I had an ex- well, I guess not really an ex, because we were never officially together, who was… not the greatest person. Elliott called him an abuser. I wouldn’t use that word, because he never hit me or forced me to do anything with him, he just- he didn’t want our relationship to be public because we were coworkers and he was worried about his reputation at the company. And sometimes he would say mean things when he was inebriated, but he wasn’t- he didn’t- he was just looking out for my career, and helping me network and improve myself as a salesperson. He could be harsh, but it was really just his way of showing me that- that he cared-”

Gravy’s brow furrowed. He was lying. He was covering for Jared again. Why was he doing that? Why was he trying to protect his reputation?

Harvey adjusted his glasses. “And how did things end between you two?”

Gravy frowned. “He broke up with me. And I was heartbroken, but I didn’t let it affect my work.”

“And when you think about him now, how do you feel?”

“I don’t know, I- it’s hard to-” he paused, and thought about the day before. His birthday. He had no idea how long he had spent staring at that picture frame. He had no idea how long he had been sitting against his bed with it in his hands before Elliott walked in. “I guess I sort of freeze up.”

Harvey scratched his cheek then placed his hand back on the table. “Typically, we freeze when we think we’re in danger. When our bodies are trying to protect us from something, trying to stay still so we’re not seen. Hoping that the dangerous thing goes away.”

“But it’s been over a year since I’ve seen him. I’m obviously not at risk of him coming here-”

“And yet, your body continues to want to protect you like that, even after all this time. But a freeze response and a panic attack are two very different things. You freeze when you think about this guy, and maybe your body has a very valid reason for that. But the prospect of Elliott meeting your family made you panic? It doesn’t seem to me like you’re afraid of him.”

“Of course I’m not afraid of him!”

“Well, clearly you’re afraid of something.”

“I’m not- it’s not like- he hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“I wasn’t insinuating that he has. I’m just making observations. My main observation here is that what seems to me like a standard phone call with your sister elicited a major reaction. And it’ll be hard to help prevent another attack from happening in the future if we don’t figure out what did cause it. Is there something else I’m missing here?”

Gravy’s fingertip traced over a dent in the wood of the tabletop. He scratched at it with his fingernail and chewed his lip.

“The previous time when you started to panic - what was happening then? Do you think it’s related?”

Gravy pressed his fingertip into the dent, watching the edge of his nailbed turn white. “I think- I guess- I was scared of doing something to Elliott to make him leave. Maybe I was- I don’t know…”

I am a shameless whore, and using that to my advantage is the only way I’ll find success in this world.

“Maybe I was worried that I would prove all the things my ex said about me were true. That if things got serious, he might finally see through the facade and not like what’s behind it. That if I let him get too close, he’ll realize what kind of person I actually am and I’ll scare him off.”

“And what kind of person is that?”

Gravy slammed the table in exasperation. “A druggie! A manipulator! A shameless whore!”

Harvey removed his glasses and tilted his head. “Have you taken any drugs since you moved here?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Have you been sleeping around?”

“No-”

“Do you think you’ve been manipulating people? Do you not actually care about Elliott? Are you just using him?”

“Of course not! I love him!”

The words flew out of Gravy’s mouth, past Harvey and sent echoing across the farmhouse.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Harvey replaced his glasses. “Then it sounds to me like all those things aren’t true. Maybe you need to work on telling his voice in your head to shut up.” He stood, pulled a business card from the pocket of his lab coat, and placed it on the table. “I’ll see you later, Gravy.” He tucked the chair into the table and left, closing the door behind him.

Gravy looked down at the card.

     Dr. Connor Anderson
     Licensed Mental Health Counselor
     www.andersonLMHC.com
     Phone and Video Sessions Available

There you have it. Certifiably insane. No one is going to stick around with a basket case who goes to therapy.

If you weren’t scaring him off before, this’ll definitely-

“Shut up,” he said out loud. “Shut up.”

Gravy looked over at the wall of his bedroom. The one that would be knocked down for the renovations he was planning. Where Amelia would be staying for the Feast of the Winter Star. Where a child could live, eventually. Should the need arise.

He’s not going to want-

“Shut up.”

Gravy took the card from the table.

Chapter Text

Elliott raised his fist to the door for a third time, but still couldn’t summon the courage to knock.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he said to himself. The chill mountain wind bit at his earlobes, and he pulled his knit hat further down in a futile attempt to cover them. “You’ve known the kid for six years. You shared a bedroom with him, for Yoba’s sake. He’s a freelance programmer. You have a freelance job. Just knock on the damn door-”

The front door of the house swung open, startling him. He suppressed a panicked yelp, then wrangled his anxiety down and forced on his winning smile.

Demetrius was behind the door, seeming equally startled but doing a far poorer job of hiding it. “Elliott!” he said after a moment, panting and resting his forearm on the doorframe.

“Good afternoon, Demetrius! How are you?”

“Good, good,” he said, standing upright again. “I was just going out to collect some samples for my latest experiments. If you’re looking for Robin, I’m sorry to say she’s not here. She’s working on another job at the moment- although I’m sure you’ve heard all about that from Gravy.”

“I got the gist of it, yeah,” he said quickly. “I’m not actually here for her- I’m looking for Sebastian. And Maru too, if she’s here.”

“Oh! Right- well, Sebastian is where he always is. And Maru’s working at the clinic today. Trying to save as much as she can before she starts college in the fall, if you can believe it! She’s always been so driven.”

“Has she chosen a school yet?”

“Well,” he leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. Elliott suppressed an eyeroll. “I’ve been trying to convince her to go to Zuzu just like her dad, but she’s got her heart set on Arcadia.”

Despite his best efforts, Elliott’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “She got into Arcadia University?”

“That’s our little girl!” Demetrius said, beaming. 

“Well, congrats to her,” Elliott said. Maybe there was some merit to his coaching skills after all.

“Thanks! Anyway, I’d love to chat, but I have to work. I’ll see you later.” He left the door open behind him and waved before turning the corner toward the mountain stream. Elliott waved back, watching him go for a moment, then entering the house and shutting the door behind him.

Elliott looked around the empty rooms of the first floor of the house, briefly remembering his short stint living and trying to write there. As Demetrius had said, Robin wasn’t behind the counter - evidently off building Gravy’s new barn. The kitchen was empty, but the countertops were covered in Demetrius’ microscopes and slides and beakers, the individual elements of his experiments having changed but the organized chaos of it all remaining the same. He turned to his right, his heartbeat quickening as he looked down the staircase to Sebastian’s room, the uninviting closed door staring threateningly back at him.

Sebastian had never outwardly expressed a dislike for Elliott, of course. Sebastian rarely outwardly expressed anything except for cigarette smoke. But he hadn’t needed to say a single word to make it clear how unwelcome Elliott had been in his room while he was working, and how little he cared that his morning routine of snoozing his alarm ten times in a row disturbed Elliott’s sleep, and how little interest he had for small talk or niceties or anything Elliott had to say, really. He was a man of few words, but the message was crystal clear.

And yet Gravy had a rapport with him. Gravy was his friend. It shouldn’t have been surprising really, seeing how Gravy could get along with a starving wild bear if he put his mind to it. A “concerted effort” on his part, Gravy had called it. That’s what it took. A concerted effort.

Elliott forced himself down the stairs and raised his fist to the door before his anxieties could get the better of him.

Knock knock knock.

“Demetrius, I already told you I’m working. I can’t unload the dishwasher or take the garbage out or anything else right now because I’m on the clock! I don’t see you going to the clinic and bothering Maru while she’s working!”

Elliott cringed at his tone of voice, but forced it down. Winning smile. “Actually, it’s Elliott! Can I come in? I promise it’s work-related.”

A few hesitant steps sounded from inside the room, followed by the click of a lock unlatching. The door opened.

“If it isn’t my old roommate,” Sebastian said, his face forcefully neutral. It was better than a scowl, anyway.

“Hello! Sorry to bother you while you’re working, but I was hoping to hire your services.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows pulled together, but he stepped to the side and pulled the door further open, wordlessly inviting Elliott in. He stepped inside, taking another look around the room - Sebastian’s unmade bed and messy desk looked rather the same. The futon Elliott had slept on had been folded back into its couch configuration, and the pieces of an unfinished board game rested on the table next to it. The same board game, in fact-

“Is that ‘Solarion Chronicles’?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows furrowed further, and he looked at the game pieces on the table then back up at Elliott. “ You know about ‘Soliarion’?”

“Leah and I played it for the first time this week! It was quite the adventure, I must say - I had no idea the stories one could experience from a few cards and dice!”

Sebastian blinked. “Collaborative storytelling.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“Like when you would play House or Cops and Robbers on the playground with your friends. Building a story together.”

“Well, that’s just excellent! She and I had a grand time. We’re playing again on Tuesday.”

Sebastian’s face softened, barely perceptible, and the corners of his mouth pulled into what one could argue was a small smile. Elliott’s heart leapt in triumph.

“You mentioned a job?”

“Right! Yes! I’m looking to start a college application counseling service and I’d like your help in creating a website.”

Sebastian frowned. “I feel like I’m going to regret asking this, but what happened to your book?”

Elliott’s heart, the poor thing, fell back into its original place. This was one of many conversations he would be having about this topic, so he better get used to it quickly. “The publishing industry is proving a little… elusive at the moment. Being a full-time writer is becoming less lucrative by the day. I’m still trying, but I’m also trying to make an income at the same time. Things seemed to go well with Maru, so…”

And just like that, Sebastian’s scowl was back. “Yeah, things are always going well with Maru,” he mumbled, seemingly before he could stop himself. Then he ran a hand through his hair, shook his head, and sighed. He started to recite in a monotone, as if he’d said the same thing more times than he could count. “Flat rate for a website is 300G plus 20G per hour I work on it. Average is around 12 hours. That includes three initial design options, creative assets, a custom domain, and minor maintenance. You email me what you want and I’ll respond with the details. I take the flat rate up front and the hourly rate when I’m done. Typical turnaround time is a week. That work for you?”

“Uh- yes! That works! Thank you, Seb-”

“Good. I need to get back to work. Leave the payment on the desk. My email’s on my business card. Close the door behind you.”

He pulled his chair back, sat, pulled on a set of headphones and began typing.

Elliott blinked. Sebastian’s eyes stayed fixed on the screen. Elliott pulled three 100G coins from his wallet, placed them next to the stack of business cards on the desk, and took a card and placed it into his pocket. He threw one last glance at Sebastian over his shoulder before closing the door behind him and heading up the stairs.

Well, that was one item on the list done. It could have gone worse.

He turned the corner from the path leading from Mountain Road and entered the town square. It was looking more like the Feast of the Winter Star by the day - red and green string lights wove around lamp posts, striped candy canes lined the paths and stuck out of the snow-covered flower beds, and golden stars hung from every building, reflecting the lights that surrounded them. Elliott had gotten a lead on where he might procure Gravy’s Winter Star gift - it would take a day of travel and some saving, or a great deal of bartering luck, but he was worth it. If anyone deserved a Winter Star miracle, it was him.

“Elliott!”

Speak of the angel. He grinned.

“Hi, sweetheart!”

Gravy ran over from the door to Pierre’s, his always overfull backpack bouncing up and down as he did. Elliott pulled him into a hug and pressed a kiss into his cheek.

“If it isn’t the hottest bitch that ever lived,” Gravy said.

Elliott pulled his hat down again, trying desperately to warm his chilled ears. “I certainly don’t feel like the hottest bitch. It’s absolutely frigid.”

Gravy laughed. “What are you doing out and about, instead of being curled up by the fire?”

“Oh, just running some errands. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Gravy raised an eyebrow. “How mysterious. Oh! That reminds me- can we have our lesson tomorrow at your place?”

“Any particular reason?”

Gravy’s face flushed. “Well, uh- I’ve been having a sort of, um- a mouse problem, and Robin says it’ll take all week to fix up the holes in the house, and I don’t want the sound of the construction to-”

Elliott’s eyebrows raised. “A mouse problem? That’s terrible! Do you need a place to stay? I’m happy to host-”

“No! No, it’s fine, I don’t want to be away from- and I’d have to bring all of Meatball’s stuff, and I wouldn’t want to-”

“Gravy, it’s really no trouble, I can-”

“And it would be such a long walk back to do my chores, and-”

Elliott frowned. “What happened to the barn?”

Gravy stuttered. “Well, it got delayed, with the uh- with the rats-”

“I thought you said it was mice.”

“It’s both! Mice and rats - you know, they get cold in the winter and try and find somewhere warm to-”

“Are you telling the truth?”

Gravy’s face reddened further. “Of course I’m telling the truth! Mice and rats, poor Meatball is in over her head, she’s only one cat, you know, and-”

“ Gravy .”

He sighed. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

“Maybe it would if you could lie better.”

He placed his hands on Elliott’s arms. “It’s a surprise, okay? Let’s just leave it at that. Can you not come over for a week?”

The corner of Elliott’s lips pulled into a smirk. “Sure.”

Gravy smiled in response. “Okay. Cool.” He gave Elliott a quick peck on the lips, but before he could fully pull away, Elliott pulled him in for a longer kiss. Gravy giggled into it, cupping one of his cheeks in his hands, then placing it on Elliott’s shoulder to push him back. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Not if I see you first.”

“Boo! Lame!” Gravy grinned, sending Elliott another kiss over his shoulder. Elliott caught it and held it to his heart, feeling it flutter beneath his touch.

He went to resume his walk toward the clinic, but before he could, he caught Sam staring wistfully in his direction, seemingly lost in thought. His skateboard sat motionless at his feet, and a pale pink saturated his cheeks. Elliott looked over his shoulder to see if there was something behind him, and upon confirming that there was not, turned back to Sam, whose glazed-over eyes were still pointed at him.

“Afternoon,” Elliott called, putting his hands in his pockets for lack of anything better to do with them.

The light returned to Sam’s eyes, and he seemed to realize how he looked. “Sorry!” he coughed. “I wasn’t staring! I just, uh- I was trying to do a kickflip, and um- this song got stuck in my head-” he toed at the skateboard, sending it rolling forward a few inches.

“No worries,” Elliott said simply. “Have a good one.”

“You, uh- you too, Elliott! See you around!” He returned quite pointedly to his skateboard, making a few awkward attempts at a jump and mumbling something to himself. Elliott tried to ignore it as the bell of the clinic door signaled his arrival.

“Hi, Elliott,” Maru said, smiling politely at him as he entered. She adjusted her glasses and smoothed out her scrubs. “How can I help? I’m not missing an appointment, am I?”

“No, no- I’m actually here for you, if you don’t mind. Congrats on Arcadia.”

Her smile shifted from polite to genuine. “Aw, thank you, Elliott. You were a huge help.”

“That’s why I’m here, actually. I’m looking to pick up more clients for college coaching, and I was hoping you could give a testimonial for my website.”

Her head tilted. “Well sure, but- what about your book?”

Elliott suppressed a sigh. “Getting my book published has been proving difficult. I could use the income.”

She nodded knowingly. “I’d be happy to give you one. Should I just email you?”

“Email would be perfect. And a headshot, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh! Well-” she scratched the back of her head. “I don’t exactly have one ready…”

“I hear Haley’s good with a camera. Might be worth asking her. I suspect with the career you’ve got ahead of you, you’ll need a good headshot sooner than later.”

“Right…” She looked down and fiddled with the hem of her scrub top. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you regret it? I mean - with the whole switching careers thing, do you wish you hadn’t tried to follow your dream like that?” She pressed the fabric of the scrubs between her fingers. “Would you have rather just kept the stable career?”

Elliott’s shoulders sagged, and he felt compelled suddenly to reach out and grab her hand. Her eyes widened and she looked up at him.

“Let me tell you something, Maru - the only person living your life is you. If you spend all of it doing what other people want, doing what’s safe - who is that for? Who has to spend every day doing it? I haven’t given up on my dream. I’m still working towards it, I’m still trying - I’m just pivoting. Sometimes your plans require a little adjustment. And yes, sometimes the doubt creeps in, and I’ve had days where I did think it was all a big mistake. I let other people’s disbelief get to me. But it’s not their lives I’m living, it’s mine. And, as I keep needing to tell myself, I don’t need a literary agent or a publisher or a book deal to prove I’m a good writer. I believe that I’m a good writer, and that’s enough. So whatever that means for you - I’ve heard it’s literally reaching for the stars - do that. And when no one else believes in you, believe in yourself. Because I would rather try to achieve my dream and fail a thousand times over than live my whole life having not tried.”

She squeezed Elliott’s hand and nodded, over and over, as if assuring herself of the same thing. Then, “I’m gonna tell my dad I’m going to Arcadia.”

Elliott smiled. “Good for you, Maru.” He released her hand and turned to leave.

“Elliott?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, gave her a salute, and stepped through the door of the clinic.

***

Elliott stared at the phone, steeling himself. This was the final item on the list, and of course he had saved the most difficult for last. There was a good chance she wouldn’t remember him. There was an even better chance she wouldn’t pick up. Why would she? It had been six years, and she hadn’t exactly been happy that he was leaving. But he couldn’t have only one testimonial on his website. He needed to do this. He had just given Maru a whole speech about believing in yourself, for Yoba’s sake.

“I have people in my life who love me and will be there for me through my successes and failures,” he whispered. He squeezed his eyes together, sucked in a breath, and dialed the number.

Riiiiiing. Riiiiing. Riiiiiing.

She was definitely not going to pick up. 

Riiiii-

“Mimi Spaulding, Zuzu Admissions.”

He let out a breath. “Hi Mimi. It’s Elliott.”

“Elliott Parker, as I live and breathe! What a surprise!”

She remembered him . He deflated a little. “How are you?”

“Well I’m just fine! Nothing new on this side of the mountain. But you - how are you doing in that old town? Still living in your beach house?”

“I am indeed. I found a crab in my shirt pocket this morning.”

She laughed, and the sound of it thawed something tucked away at the back of Elliott’s heart. He had forgotten how much he loved the sound of her laugh.

“You always were too funny! Wow, of all the things I wasn’t expecting, I think I wasn’t expecting to hear from you the most! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Elliott’s grip on the phone tightened, but he forced a breath in and out before responding. “Well, I’m looking to start a college application coaching service, and I was hoping you could give me a testimonial I could use on my website.”

“College coaching? Wait a minute - remind me, didn’t you quit to be a writer?”

A steel trap, this one. He took in another breath. “I did, and I’m still working on it. I’m actually querying a novel right now.”

“Oh, how exciting! And how’s that going?”

His grip on the phone tightened again. “Not as well as I would have hoped, I’m sorry to say.”

“Let me guess, you’re sitting on a mountain of rejections from literary agents?”

“I-” Elliott’s brow furrowed. “Yes, actually. How did you guess?”

“Those agents wouldn’t know a good book if it knocked them over the head. All they care about is what the big publishers want, and all big publishers want is the least common denominator. They want garbage that’ll sell. Tell me Elliott, is your book garbage?”

“I- uh- I like to think that it’s not.”

“Well no wonder you’re getting rejected. You’ve been going about it all wrong! The only way to get anything decent published these days is to go through an independent publisher.”

Elliott blinked. Of all the directions he had expected this conversation to go, this was not one of them. “I’m not entirely sure-”

“You know what? I actually just had lunch with a friend from Skybound Books the other day - let me give him a ring and ask him to swing by next time he’s available. You live in Pelican Town right?”

“I- yes-”

“Great! I’ll have him fly over, and you can give him your book. He has an eye for those things, you know - if it’s any good, he’ll snap it up for a good deal. He does the printing and distribution himself! A real magician in the industry, if I do say so myself-”

“Mimi, thank you, that’s- wow, but- the testimonial-”

“Yes, yes, I’ll email you my glowing words of praise, don’t you worry about it. Now Elliott, it’s been great catching up but I’ve got to go now, I’m getting another call. Do come visit when you’re back in the city, will you? Okay. Bye bye now.”

The dial tone sounded from the phone before Elliott could respond. He stared at the receiver, then looked over to his bookshelf where his hand-bound copy of Last Train to Romance had been sitting since the book reading.

Following my dream is not a mistake.

Chapter Text

“Dynamics.”

“You’re rushing.”

“Arc your fingers, Gravy.”

“Don’t ignore that legato.”

“Arc your fingers!”

“Ugh!” A discordant smatter of notes sounded as Gravy slammed his hands against the keys. “Sorry.” He leaned back on the piano bench and combed his hands through his hair, heaving a large sigh. His hands fell to his lap.

Elliott placed a gentle hand on his knee. “Are you all right? You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine! It’s this stupid-” he said quickly, pulling his knee away from Elliott’s grasp. A pang of hurt rolled through him, and he drew his hand back.

Gravy hissed air through his teeth, and placed one hand over his eyes and the other on Elliott’s forearm. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Evidently I am not fine, seeing as I’ve been practicing this dumb Gymnopedie all week and I can’t play it for shit.”

“I think you’ve at the very least reached ‘shit’ quality here.”

Gravy groaned and conceded a small smile in his direction.

Elliott nudged his shoulder. “You can’t handle not being good at something very well, can you?”

“My therapist certainly seems to think so.”

Elliott’s eyebrows raised. “Oh! I didn’t know-”

“I started last week. It’s no big deal. I haven’t lost it or anything, you don’t need to  worry-”

“No!” Elliott interrupted. “No, I think it’s great. I’m glad you’re getting help. It’s a good thing. And this is a difficult piece. It’s okay that it’s not perfect after a week.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Gravy fiddled with his fingers in his lap.

“Is there… anything else going on?”

Gravy cast a sidelong glance over at him, then back at the piano. “In an effort to not ruin my surprise, I am exercising my right to silence.”

“If your surprise is stressing you out this much-”

“It’s not! That’s not why- I just-” Gravy clenched his fists, then forcefully released them and blew a breath out through pursed lips. “I’m really trying to keep it a surprise. What is stressing me out won’t make sense unless I tell you everything. But I’m handling it, I promise.”

Elliott looked over to the piano, then back to Gravy. “Why don’t we give Gymnopedie a rest for today and do Salut d'Amour? We never did get to do the duet together.”

The corner of Gravy’s mouth quirked up, just a little. “Okay.”

Elliott flipped through the duet book until he had reached the right page, cracked his knuckles, and hovered his fingers over the piano keys. “Ready?”

Gravy nodded, and away they went. The two of them, perfectly in concert, their fingers dancing back and forth across the keys. The lilting melody filled the small, single room of Elliott’s cabin, pushing away the winter chill that had seeped through the walls. The warmth of the music floated between them too, and Elliott found himself leaning closer and closer to Gravy as the song continued, until their thighs were touching and their elbows bumped together. When they finished, the last note of the song ringing in a circle around them, Gravy’s head was resting on Elliott’s shoulder.

“I hope we keep playing duets together forever,” Gravy said wistfully. He went rigid, and he sat back upright with a sharp inhale. Then, after a moment, he seemed to be reciting something in his head and forcing his breaths in and out.

“Gravy, are you-”

“I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m going to say what I’m feeling out loud, just- give me a-” He sucked in a breath. “Would you- have you-” He exhaled slowly and grasped his knees in his hands. “I’ve just been, um, thinking about things recently, and- I- if- if I wanted things to maybe, I know it hasn’t been that long, but- I’ve never- this is the first time I’ve been thinking about things… long-term. With someone. And- And I don’t want to scare you, I’m not- this isn’t a-”

Elliott’s heart fluttered, and he took Gravy’s hands in his own. Gravy’s grip tightened around them. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it, Gravy. You’re not scaring me away. I love you, and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. So if you’re saying you’re thinking about a future with me, the feeling is mutual.”

Gravy deflated in relief, and his grip on Elliott’s hands relaxed. He pressed his face into Elliott’s chest, and Elliott wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Gravy’s head, listening as his heartbeat slowed back down. He looked out the window and toward the ocean, where the setting sun cast the crashing waves in a beautiful pink and orange glow. He watched the waves dance back and forth along the shore, and listened to their gentle percussion. A perfect match, a flawless duet - the shore and the ocean - waltzing together forever. What could be scary about that?

“You know,” Gravy mumbled, his lips pressed into Elliott’s collarbone. “The last time we- or should I say, I played Salut d’Amour, I was trying to get you to sleep with me.”

Elliott stroked Gravy’s cheek with his fingertips. “Is that so?”

“Mm hmm. You were really playing hard to get that week.”

“I’m glad you were able to finally get through to me,” he said, pressing his lips to Gravy’s forehead.

Gravy’s face lifted so he was looking Elliott in the eyes. He leaned in for a gentle kiss and wove his hand through Elliott’s hair, resting it on the nape of his neck. He pulled away, and his eyes flitted over to Elliott’s bed in the corner.

“What do you say, Professor? Up for another duet?”

***

Elliott’s cheek pressed into Gravy’s bare chest, his hair pulled into a haphazard bun and his eyes half-lidded and drifting around the darkened single room of his cabin. Not looking for anything in particular - just looking. Looking at Leah’s wood sculpture, proudly displayed next to his writing desk. Looking at the music stand of the piano, where the duet book was still open to Salut d’Amour. Looking at the front door, where Gravy’s overfull backpack hung on the coat rack and his work boots sat next to Elliott’s loafers. To the bookshelf, stuffed with new piano books and old novels and the world’s only copy of Last Train to Romance . Looking up at Gravy, whose gaze rested lazily on the ceiling above him.

“Do you ever think about having children?” Gravy asked.

Elliott chuckled. “Gravy, I have some bad news for you about the limits of male biology-”

“No-” Gravy replied, oddly exasperated. “Like adopting. Or using a surrogate. Have you ever thought about it?”

“No.”

Gravy frowned. “‘No’ as in you don’t want them, or ‘no’ as in you haven’t thought about it?”

“‘No’ as in my sister got herself knocked up and it ruined her life.”

Gravy looked down at Elliott, his frown deepening. “I thought you- you said before that Leah was like the sister you never had.”

Elliott traced a line down Gravy’s sternum with a fingertip. “I meant that my relationship with my sister was never like what I have with Leah. She and I aren’t close, far from it. But, I guess I’m not close with anyone in my family anymore, so it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

Gravy didn’t respond. Elliott felt compelled to fill the silence.

“I don’t think I would be a good father, anyway. I haven’t had the best example to follow.”

“You don’t have to talk about your family if you don’t want to-”

He sighed. “It’s okay, Gravy. There’s just not much to tell.”

Gravy shifted in the bed so he was face to face with Elliott. “I want to know more about you. Where you came from. I can’t imagine life without my sister, and I-” he sucked in a breath. “Sorry. I just want to understand.”

Elliott tucked a stray curl behind Gravy’s ear. “Another time, okay? It’s late.”

Gravy checked his wristwatch and nodded. He sat up. “I should get going-”

“That’s not what I-” Elliott stuttered. “I mean- I’d like it if you stayed the night. If you want to.”

Gravy hesitated at the edge of the bed. “I’d have to leave early to get back to the farm.”

“That’s okay.”

“You’d probably wake up in bed by yourself.”

“That’s nothing new.”

Gravy smiled. “Okay.” He laid back down and pressed his forehead into Elliott’s. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

***

“Elliott! Elliott! ’

He gasped and shot upright, clutching his bedsheets in curled fists. His heart hammered in his ears, his vision swam, his legs shook-

Then a hand was on his forearm. Calloused, with a stealthily strong grip.

Gravy kneeled beside him, fully clothed, with his backpack slung over his shoulder. It was still dark outside.

“What…?” was all Elliott could manage to say through ragged breaths.

“You were having a nightmare,” Gravy answered, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I was just getting ready to leave, and you started breathing really quickly- you were saying something-”

“You heard me?”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about-”

“No,” he interrupted, turning toward him. “You heard what I said? What was it?”

Gravy’s concerned expression deepened, but Elliott ignored it, looking back at him expectantly.

“You’re shaking.”

“It’ll stop.”

“Are you sure you’re-”

“I can never remember what happens in my nightmares.” He placed his hand on top of Gravy’s. “Please, just tell me.”

Gravy frowned, but relented. “You just kept repeating the same thing, over and over.”

“What?”

“Let me in.”

Chapter Text

“‘Let me in’? You’re sure?”

“I heard you say it enough times, yeah. Does that mean anything to you?”

Elliott frowned, and leaned against the wall next to his bed. “No.”

Gravy moved to take off his backpack, but Elliott held out a hand to stop him.

“Please don’t interrupt your morning. It’s really not a big deal. This happens all the time.”

Gravy crossed his arms. “That was pretty scary to witness for something that’s ‘not a big deal.’”

“Look at me, I’m fine.” He held his arms out in front of himself to illustrate the point. He raised a hand in front of Gravy’s face. “See? Not shaking anymore.”

Gravy looked down at the sheets of the bed, which were still wrinkled from where Elliott had been gripping them. “I can sit with you for a little…”

Elliott shook his head. “You have chores. I don’t want to get on Meatball’s bad side if she finds out I’m the reason her breakfast was delayed. Again.”

Gravy’s lips pulled into a small smile, seemingly in spite of himself. “You promise you’re okay?”

His head tilted. “I’m not going back to sleep anytime soon, I can tell you that much. Why don’t I come back to the farm with you? I can make breakfast. Maybe help feed the chickens.”

Gravy’s shoulders sagged. “I would love that, but you’re banned for the week, remember?”

“Ah yes, of course. The big surprise.”

A moment of silence. Gravy fiddled with the straps of his backpack and traced a line on the floor with his boot. “I- I know that I’ve been a lot to handle recently, and that my emotions haven’t exactly been…”

“Gravy-”

“I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything you want. I know I can be needy, but I care about you so much, and I don’t want you to think that you have to keep things to yourself because I’m-”

Elliott stood from the bed and enveloped him in a hug. Gravy pressed his face into Elliott’s shoulder.

“I know, Gravy. I know. You’re not a lot to handle. You’re a human being who’s been through some really shitty things, and you’re having perfectly reasonable emotional responses to them. I’ll tell you about my family, I promise. And when I figure out what these nightmares are about, you’ll be the first to know. Okay?”

Gravy nodded into his shoulder. “I’ll see you later?”

Elliott kissed the top of his head. “See you later.”

***

Knock Knock Knock

“It’s open!”

“Hey! I brought the stuff for the game, I think this time we should try the- What. The Fuck. Is that.”

“This,” Elliott flipped his hair over his shoulder and whipped open his extendable pointer. He gestured broadly to the bulletin board behind him. It was covered with pictures of all of Pelican Town’s bachelors and bachelorettes, their names labeled in calligraphy on index cards. Lines of thumb tacks and blank cards filled the side of the board, and a cup of markers rested on a nearby table, and in big bubble letters at the top, “is Operation Flower Queen.”

Leah dropped her backpack on the floor of the cabin, next to the coat rack. “When on earth did you have the time to do this?”

“I was up early this morning.”

“You had nothing better to do?”

“I’m waiting on testimonials from my old boss and Maru, and Sebastian’s working on my website.”

“And the supplies?”

“Borrowed from Gunther. Any other questions?”

Leah shook her head and took her normal seat at Elliott’s kitchen table. She placed her hands interlaced on its surface. “You have my full attention.”

“Excellent!” Elliott said, and clapped his hands once. “Now, to review last year’s Flower Dance pairings. Of course, we have the most attractive couple to grace the festival for the past three years running-”

Leah chuckled.

“-who, due to unforeseen circumstances, will not be dancing together this year. Herein lies our mission statement:” He pulled Leah’s photo and placed it in the top left corner, “find Leah a dance partner. Now-” he moved his own photo so it was next to Gravy’s, then pointed to the other pairs of photos along the board, “Maru and Harvey, Haley and Alex, Sam and Penny, Sebastian and Abigail, and Emily and Shane. Now unless another hot single farmer surreptitiously drops into Pelican Town between now and the festival, we’re going to need to break into one of these couples.”

Leah nodded, and leaned further forward.

“Now before you got here and allowed me to grace the Dance with our presence, I was standing on the sidelines with the rest of them. I’ve had plenty of time to observe these pairings in my six years here in the Valley. The most recent addition to the Flower Dance Rotation is Harvey and Maru, seeing as Maru was only old enough to participate for the first time last year, and Harvey didn’t have a partner before that. He rejected me when I asked him to dance my second year here, so he’s either straight or blind. I never did figure out which-” That garnered a laugh from Leah, “Based on my astute calculations, this is the easiest couple to break into.”

Leah scratched her chin with two fingers, her face in a contemplative pout. “Well, seeing as Maru is off to college next year, I’d rather not put my eggs in that basket, lest we run into the same problem. Also she’s nineteen, and that’s weird.”

“Harvey’s older than you and he danced with her.”

“Yeah, but he’s her friend and her coworker. I barely know her. I’m perfectly fine to skip that conversation with Demetrius.”

“Fair enough.”

“And Harvey, while an easy choice, is so completely not my type. I don’t want us to be each other’s pity partners.”

Elliott nodded, and moved the pointer over to the next couple in line. “Next up. Shane and Emily. This is the sleeper pair - they may have only been at the past two Dances, but these two are inseparable. There is zero chance you’re getting between them, and it would be a waste of time to try.”

“Missing out on the depressed alcoholic and the crystal girl? I think I’ll live.”

“Hey!” Elliott said, crossing his arms. “This is no excuse to be mean. They’re not the ones without a date this year.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Elliott cleared his throat. “Moving on. The childhood friends. Sam and Penny, Abigail and Sebastian. I wouldn’t even bother here, honestly. These four have been locked in since they all turned eighteen. I would be hard pressed to get between either pair.”

Leah didn’t respond.

“All right then.” He returned his pointer to the board. “There’s only one pair left, and other than Harvey and Maru, I think this is your best bet. Haley and Alex. The ‘jock and cheerleader’ thing is cute, but I don’t think they actually have feelings for each other. If anyone in the history of Flower Dance pairings screamed ‘beards’, it’s these two. Now, I know we’re all on our own journeys, but I think with a little guidance, you might be able to crack Haley…”

“I don’t know, Elliott. Bitchy high femmes have never really been my thing.”

“You don’t have to marry her! We’re just trying to find you a dance partner.”

“I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t spit on me for asking.”

“Leah, work with me here.”

She huffed and rested a hand on her chin, examining the board with scrutiny. “You really think that the four friends are concrete?”

Elliott stepped closer to their photos and gestured to them with a hand. “Who are we talking about here?”

Leah covered her mouth with a fist. “You’re friends with Penny, right?”

Elliott’s jaw dropped. “Penny?”

“Don’t you dare start! Forget I said anything!”

Elliott dropped the pointer and dashed over to his seat at the table. He placed both hands on the tabletop, palms down. “Penny.”

“Shut up!”

“You have a crush on Penny?”

“I didn’t say that! Yoba, I just asked if you were friends!”

“Start talking.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

“Leah!” he threw an emphatic hand in the direction of the bulletin board. “What do you think this is all about? We’re disrupting at least one pairing this year. Let’s upend the whole thing!”

“You are really making a big deal out of this-”

“Excuse me, Miss Relationship Interpreter. I’ve received enough lectures from you about how in debt I am for your services. I’m well overdue for a favor. If you want to shoot your shot, now is the time to do it. Let me help you!”

“Well it’s not going to work anyway! You said it yourself, they’re locked in! I shouldn’t waste my time! I came here to play Solarion, and now you’re frothing at the mouth about this stupid-”

Elliott closed his mouth, and his hands dropped to rest in his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Can we just drop it, please? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Okay.” 

Elliott stood to retrieve his discarded pointer from the floor and closed it. He took down the bulletin board and stowed it behind his writing desk. When he turned back around, Leah was setting up the pieces of the Solarion game on the kitchen table.

“You still want to play?”

“Of course I still want to play. That’s why I came here, isn’t it?”

Elliott nodded, unsure what else to do. “You want some tea?”

“Sure.”

He grabbed the kettle, poured some water into it, and set it on the stove. He stared at it for a moment, watching the steam begin to rise from the spout. He gripped the countertop. “Leah, I’m sorry if I came on too strong-”

“It’s fine, Elliott. We’re fine. You can leave it alone.”

“...okay.”

He poured two cups of tea for them, and handed Leah’s to her. He sat across from her at the table and took a tentative sip from his.

“Okay, so where we last left off, your wizard and my fighter were trapped in a jail cell beneath the Skull Cavern…”

Chapter Text

“Your application is in great shape, Joel! Your entrance exam scores are fantastic, and I’m glad you highlighted your participation in orchestra and your volunteer work at the animal shelter. Have you started your personal essay yet?”

“Well, I tried to, but…” 

Elliott chuckled. The kid’s disdain was visible even through the limited pixels of the computer screen. 

Elliott’s coaching service had only been live for two weeks, and he’d already accumulated a respectable three clients - Mimi, in addition to her glowing testimonial, had spread the word about his website to all of her friends with high school-aged kids - and having two high-school aged kids herself, that was a lot of people. The spike in interest was so stark that Elliott had sent her flowers as a thank you. This client, a junior from the same high school as Mimi’s children, had completely transformed his application between their last appointment and the current one. The only box they hadn’t checked yet was the personal essay. And, as was so often the case…

“My mom wants me to change it. She thinks I should write about my volunteering - how it changed my life, and that it inspired me to go to college so that I could help others, blah blah blah. I don’t know. I like my old concept.”

Elliott rested his chin on his hand. “What’s your old concept?”

Joel grinned. “I want to write about my sock collection.”

Elliott leaned in further. “Do tell.”

“Well, ever since freshman year, I’ve been collecting pairs of fun socks. I get them as souvenirs when I travel, people give them to me as gifts, I get pairs for different holidays - my Moonlight Jellies ones are my favorite, because they glow in the dark! I never wear plain socks anymore. Even when I’m supposed to dress up, for concerts and stuff, I still wear them. My friends and teachers will ask me about them sometimes, or show me when they have their own fun socks. I know it doesn’t exactly scream ‘college’, but…” he trailed off.

Elliott leaned conspiratorially closer to the webcam on his laptop. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Joel. Those ‘I volunteered somewhere and it changed my life’ stories? I used to read twenty of those a day. One of the best parts of my old job was getting to read essays from students who were passionate about cosplay, or writing fan fiction, or making little paper cranes for their friends - because they felt like they came from a human being with a personality. Those are the essays you remember years later.”

Joel’s face lit up.

“But-” Elliott said, before the kid got too excited, “it’s not enough to just be memorable. You need to have something to say as well. It’s great that you’re so passionate about collecting your socks - I think that’s an excellent starting point. But when you’re writing, I want you to think about what your collection means. To you, to your friends, to your community - whatever the case may be. Think about it, then write about it.” He glanced over at the clock. “We’re getting to time. Any questions for me before I let you go?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied. “You seem so good at this. Did you always want to be a coach?”

“No,” Elliott said with a half smile. “But that’s far too long of a story for today.”

Joel nodded. “See you next time, Mr. Parker!”

“See you next time, Joel.”

Elliott ended the call, then leaned back in his chair so the front two feet raised off of the floor. He looked up at the ceiling, where the outline of the new boards from the cave-in repair stuck out from the rest, shinier and slightly off-color. Not part of the original architecture, but a valuable and necessary addition. A reinforcement. He leaned forward, the chair legs clicking as they returned to the floor, and examined the sculpture at his side: Wood Sculpture 3. Leah’s reminder to “listen to the wood”. He still couldn’t say with any amount of confidence if he was listening or not. She made it seem like the easiest thing in the world, but life wasn’t as simple as wood carving. He had always thought that writing a book was the hard part - but in writing, the only thing in the way was himself. Getting a book published required getting other people to care about his book as much as he did, which, evidently, was far harder. No, he hadn’t always wanted to be a coach. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be a coach now. But he had money for new clothes. Money to finally upgrade his atrocious internet speed. Money for a Winter Star gift for Gravy. Maybe that was enough.

Riiiiing! Riiiing!

Elliott leaned over and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi Elliott!”

Elliott smiled. “Hi darling. How are you?”

“I’m great! I actually- I know Winter Star isn’t for a few more days, but I have an early gift for you. Do you want to come over?”

Elliott took in a theatrical gasp. “Does that mean the visitation ban-”

“Consider it officially lifted!”

He grinned. “I actually just finished wrapping your gift. I’ll bring it with me.”

“Okay! I’ll see you soon?”

“See you soon.” Elliott hung up the phone and closed his laptop. Behind it, tucked into the corner of his desk, was the half-empty bottle of ink that Gravy had given to him while they fished together on the beach. His heart fluttered.

Maybe it wasn’t enough.

***

Elliott shifted the wrapped gift to his left hand so he could try once more to pull his hat down over his ears with his right. The chill winter air bit the bottoms of his earlobes, and he fought off a shiver as he pushed through the white picket gate into Gravy’s farm. Most of the time he didn’t mind the walk over, but he so hated being cold. Finding that the effort to readjust his hat was fruitless, he moved the gift back into both hands and shut the gate behind him with his hip.

“Hi, Elliott!” Gravy called. He was standing on the porch, leaning with both forearms on the railing. “Welcome back!”

Elliott’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s freezing! What are you doing standing out here?”

He trotted down the stairs and toward Elliott. “Waiting for you, of course!”

“And you couldn’t do that inside?” Elliott leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, and found that Gravy’s skin was just as cold as his own. “Don’t tell me there actually are rats in there.”

Gravy giggled. “I wanted to be the one to open the door for you. Won’t you follow me, good sir?” He offered an elbow. Elliott smiled, placed his gift in his right hand and took Gravy’s arm with his left, allowing himself to be led down the path to the farmhouse. 

Another chill wind blew past them, and Elliott’s arm shook with a shiver. Something besides the sound of wind floated over - a soft, tinkling melody from the porch-

“You got wind chimes!” Elliott said, delighted. “I had wind chimes on my porch growing up. I used to sit out there and listen to them for hours.” A pang of emotion filled him at the sight of them - the shadow of a memory, something he couldn’t quite grasp. He shrugged it off, instead taking in the warmth that the sound brought him as Gravy led him up the stairs.

“That’s not the only new thing,” Gravy said with a smile. He let go of Elliott’s arm, turned to open the door, and gestured for Elliott to enter in front of him. Elliott obliged and stepped inside - and his eyes widened.

The interior of the farmhouse looked… different. The open space where Gravy’s bed had been was replaced with a lengthy wall, covered in dark green fern wallpaper. The area closest to the new door was filled with picture frames, and to its left, empty space - presumably to house more in the future. In front of the fireplace, where the old armchair used to sit, was a tufted sofa where Meatball lay curled up. To its left was a six foot Tree of the Winter Star covered in twinkling lights, a few wrapped gifts beneath it. 

The kitchen looked altogether the same, so Elliott placed his gift atop of the kitchen table and drifted toward the open bedroom door. He examined the framed photos - Gravy holding his prize from the Egg Hunt that past year, Vincent and Jas giggling and hanging from his arms at the Spirit’s Eve Festival, Gravy handing a bottle of wine to Gus at the Saloon - and older pictures, too. Two kids and an older man at an amusement park. A chubby-cheeked toddler sitting on the back of a brown-spotted cow. A teenaged boy braiding a girl’s hair. Not just a teenaged boy - Gravy. Gravy and his family.

Elliott stepped through the open bedroom door. The single bed was gone, replaced with a full-sized bed and two sets of pillows. There was a bedside table on each side - the one on the left holding a half-full water glass and a novel with a bookmark in the middle, and the one on the right empty. Above the bed hung an oil painting of a sunset over the ocean. Elliott turned. Across from the bed was the same window that used to be above the piano, the one that looked out at the chicken coop and the pond next to it. The piano wasn’t there anymore - there was a wooden dresser with a potted plant on top of it instead. He backed up through the doorway and drifted over to the hallway that led to the bathroom. But instead of one door, there were three. He walked through the one to the left, and found another bedroom. Gravy’s single bed with its red quilt had been moved there, and a shag carpet spread across the floor. Another dresser sat in the corner, and a mirror hung on the wall above it. In the corner was the bookshelf that had been next to Gravy’s old bed.  There wasn’t much else to the room, so Elliott turned back, going through the other new door.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears. All he could do was stand and stare.

To his left, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and a writing desk. At the back, in front of a wide bay window, was the armchair that had been in front of the fireplace - it now had an equally tufted sister. To his right, a loveseat in front of a flatscreen TV and a stand stuffed with DVD cases.

And in the center of the room was the piano. The rays from the late morning sun cast a spotlight onto it through the bay window. It shone like a new gold coin, its lid propped open and its bench visibly… wider. As if it was built for two.

“Well?” Gravy said from behind him. “What do you think?”

Elliott’s eyes drifted from the reading chairs, to the TV stand, then back to the piano, finally landing and staying on the writing desk. The picture-perfect image of the life of a farmer’s spouse. Calm. Quiet. Domestic . Days spent reading in front of the bay window, watching movies, playing duets on the piano. Watering crops and feeding chickens. Filling page after page with words that would never leave the four walls of the house. 

His heart ached.

“It’s not enough,” he said.

“I- well,” Gravy stuttered, “it’s no mansion, but just these renovations were sort of expensive, and I thought that you might like- I put a lot of effort into it-”

“No!” Elliott said quickly, turning to him, his hands held out placatingly. ‘That’s not what I meant! It’s wonderful, it’s all wonderful, the house looks fantastic, and it looks so much more like a home, I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”

He placed his hands on Gravy’s arms, which were held stiffly at his sides. The corners of Gravy’s mouth were pulled into a small frown.

“It’s amazing, Gravy. Truly. I wasn’t talking about-” he sighed, trying desperately to grasp what he did mean. “I- earlier today, I was thinking about- the college coaching business has been going shockingly well, and I have actual spending money for the first time in- it doesn’t matter. I was trying to be happy with that. I was. I haven’t had a single positive word from any literary agent I’ve queried, and I wanted to come to terms with it. Having my book stay in Pelican Town, and being okay with that. With making this shift in my career, and letting financial security be enough for me. But it’s not. I want to reach people. I want people to read my work. I want a book tour and public readings and signed copies. I want to see something I wrote on the shelf of a bookstore. Looking at all of this, it’s made me realize - I want to be a published author. I’m not ready to give up yet.”

Gravy’s eyes drifted to the floor, his arms still held rigidly at his sides. “Okay.”

Elliott blinked. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Gravy repeated. He sniffed. “This farm is my dream, and I want you to follow yours. If you can’t do that here, if- if I would get in your way-”

Elliott’s stomach dropped. “Sweetheart,” he said pointedly, placing one hand on Gravy’s cheek and bending his knees so that he was at eye level, “If there’s one thing about my future that I’m certain of, it’s that I want you to be a part of it.” He gestured around the room. “The two armchairs and the piano bench and the bigger bed, it’s all wonderful. I want to keep playing piano duets. I want to read together and watch movies and be in pictures on your wall. I want to sit for hours at that writing desk, and dedicate every one of my bestselling novels to you. It wouldn’t be following my dream if you weren’t there with me.”

Gravy’s rigidity finally released, and he sank into Elliott, pressing his face into his chest. “One of these days I’ll get it through my head,” he whispered. “I promise.”

Elliott rested his chin on top of Gravy’s head. “Give yourself a little more credit.” He smirked. “You bought furniture for me, and I don’t even live here.”

Gravy chuckled, the motion of it vibrating into Elliott’s chest. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “not yet.”

Chapter Text

“Oh! I have something else for you!” Gravy said, turning on a heel and running out of the room. Elliott blinked, then followed him to the front of the house. He found Gravy bent down beneath the Winter Star tree and retrieving a wrapped gift. “I figured,” he said, his voice a half-grunt from his bent over posture, “since the house was more for me than you, that I could give you something you could,” he leaned back onto his feet and stood, then turned and held the small wrapped parcel out in front of him, “open.”