Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spring breaks loose, but so does fear.

Spring, Year Three – March

Genevieve

Wait for my return at the dawn of the third year.

Well, fuck that, I guess. 

My prayers stopped, eventually. But I waited. And I still wait, sitting on the steps at my front porch. 

Maybe his ghost will show up and tell me everything is going to be alright; that he is proud. He used to be proud. Or maybe ask what the fuck am I doing. I have always felt like a failure anyway, an imposter about to be caught and exposed. 

I should be plowing soil, spending a nasty amount of gold at Pierre’s, planting seeds, petting the cows, foraging, Yoba, I could even be damn fishing, but I am sitting on my front porch. Crying. What a disaster. 

The ring weighs a hundred pounds on my finger, or so it fells like. The steel burning my skin to the bone, and yet I still can't take it off. 

It’s for the better. 

Yeah, fuck that too. 

The world keeps spinning as I bite my nails, sitting on my front porch. The birds chirp and it’s a beautiful spring day. The snow is now almost completely gone, the flood washing away the winter funk, a world muffled under heavy blankets of white. I wish I could wash away the dread that crawls under my skin too. 

I’m sorry. 

This year was supposed to be good. Yoba, it was supposed to be great. The farm was flourishing, under way too many late nights with only four hours of sleep and a constantly emptied bank account. I can almost hear Willy’s voice in the back of my head, telling me it wouldn’t be so bad if I just picked up that damn fishing rod. Maybe over my dead body. 

See, it wasn’t that bad. Not when I still had something, someone, to come home to. 

And yet, I find myself sleeping alone once again. 

We’re not good for each other. 

Well, that… Maybe he had a point. How good could a hurricane of a person be for someone as anxious? How many all nighters could he pull before the breaking point? Not many, apparently. I always knew that his patience, despite unwavering, was limited. But I hoped that reaching the limit would only mean a few more heated fights. No screams, he never screamed. But maybe another lecture or two, listening to him talk my ears off with my cheeks burning in rage and shame. 

I had promised myself it would be over this year. That I would quit the grind once and for all. But the grind is all I have ever known. It would be over when the farm was ready. It had to, or else I wouldn’t survive much more. The trips to the mines were temporary, I promised, I swore.

It was not enough. It was never enough. 

Because I am still sitting on my front porch with a crumpled piece of paper in hand and face washed in tears, ripping nail polish away with my teeth, thinking about people who are long gone from my life. Dead and alive.

We can still be friends.

Hell seems more fun, I think to myself.

The prayers stopped because they became meaningless, hollow. It felt like I had nothing to pray for anymore. But also because I wanted to avoid the town square, not that I would ever admit it out loud. Maybe that was also the reason why I hadn’t yet bought my spring seeds. The field before me was clear, green and ready. Waiting. 

Just like me, waiting at my front porch, for a ghost, for an apology, for a fucking time machine, for a second chance. Anything. And yet, nothing comes. 

He used to come, you know. Every night, for a year. 

I groan, getting up. Yoba, I can’t keep doing this. And yet, there’s no other option anymore. No escaping to a small town on the southern coast and starting over. No bolting away from an old, broken life. For two years, I thought I was free and, hey, maybe a big change wasn’t so bad after all. I could have a future in the Valley, something I couldn’t foresee in my former life anymore. Away from my family, away from the University, away from all the people who loathed me. I could be happy.

And yet. I am still up and crying on my front porch. Because my foreseeable future was crushed right before my eyes the moment Harvey came home with a wilted bouquet in hand. 

Chapter Text

Know it's for the better.

Spring, Year Three – April

Harvey

It happened in March, but Harvey already knew it was inevitable by February. That whole Winter was a waking nightmare, with her constant trips to the mines once there wasn't much to be done on the land. Sometimes, when he arrived at dusk, she still hadn’t come back home and that was when it started to crawl under his skin, that feeling he could never get away from.

It got worse around her. Not even her love and devotion could save him from himself. Nothing ever could. 

Doubt started creeping in his mind when the fights started, when the eyerolls and the tired sights turned into tears full of rage and cheeks burning in anger. When she would raise her voice to tell him to stop treating her like a child. When he noticed he had come to use his authoritative doctor voice around her a little too much for comfort. The next day, they would apologize. They would promise to do better. But both of them were creatures of habit and a change like that was too much to handle at times. So the cycle would start again, and again, and again, until it became unbearable. 

Harvey was never one to seek nor enjoy confrontation. To be honest, he avoided it as much as he possibly could, a way to tame an unyielding anxiety that had settled itself in the back of his mind way too many years ago. But Genevieve sparked something within him. Something he never knew existed, something he had no idea how to deal with, something he was scared of. But it was still beautiful, all the same. Something he was sure he would never deserve for a day in his life.

We’re not good for each other.  

That was the first and only lie he had ever told Genevieve. She was the best thing that ever happened to him. He wasn’t religious, but he would kneel in an altar and beg for absolution if she asked him to. 

But in all his selflessness, he could never sentence a wild spirit like hers to a life of enclosure. She was brave and free and those were things he would never be. She was the height he was so terrified of but seeked so solemnly. He wasn’t good for her . He couldn’t keep on holding her back, he couldn’t keep fighting. He wanted, for the life of Yoba, to just hold her down and keep her right next to him, but he couldn’t stand those resentment tears in her eyes. He couldn’t sleep thinking he was the one to provoke such pain in her. Vee, his beautiful Vee. 

She wasn’t his anymore and it stings. But he would rather nurse a broken heart for the rest of his life than dooming the woman he loved to a life of mediocrity next to him. He wanted her to thrive, Yoba, he has seen the days in which she would wear the biggest smile on her face whenever she achieved a new goal in the farm. Covered in dirt and sweat and still the most precious thing he could hold in his hands. She wanted to thrive in her land, her family’s land. She wanted to make them proud – mother and grandpa. He couldn’t hold her back, his anxiety getting in the way, their way, her way. If he needed to be out of the picture, then so be it. 

Or so he told himself.

Because, see, the look in her eyes when she spotted the wilted bouquet in his hands was to haunt him forever. That night, she didn’t fight back. The vocal, vivacious, vibrant Vee was quiet the whole time, eyes glued on the bouquet in his hand. She didn’t even sob, a river of tears pouring from her eyes. 

I’m sorry, I really am. 

Please, understand.

We’re not good for each other. 

Lies. They felt wrong on his tongue, felt wrong on his mind, but he made a decision and he couldn't take it back. 

It’s for her , he tells himself every night. It’s going to be good for her . I’m not good for her, not enough for her .

Still, he couldn’t remember the last time he found himself in such great pain. 

It got worse when she disappeared for a whole month. It’s April and the Spring is in full bloom and no one has seen her in a month and suddenly his anxiety is a million times worse than before, when she would disappear for hours on those fucking mines – but at least he knew where to look for her. Besides, she always came back. Scrapped and dirty and bleeding, injured, but she came back to him. Every night. Now, all he could rely on was his vivid imagination and crippling anxiety, damned to be forever combined. 

He thought of calling, or texting, of writing, of knocking on her door, of kneeling in front of her and begging for forgiveness. But he couldn’t bear to burden her with his worry, his love. 

You’re too much , someone from his past had told him. 

She had to be free, but he would never be. She had to be free because he would never be. 

Deep down, he knew he wanted her to be his. His girlfriend, his wife, his love, his Cherry. His . Only his. But Harvey was never one to give in to selfish needs. 

So he stepped back and showed up at her house – the place he learned to call home, so much cozier than his cold apartment right above the clinic, distanced enough to his practice that he started to feel like he had a life beyond the medicine – with that old bouquet that once meant the start of something new, of something brighter, its saturated colors a warm promise to his grayish life, and set her free. He had to; or so he told himself. 

That’s the thing about anxiety: it lies to you. And sometimes you don’t know it’s a lie until reality hits you in the face, hard. And sometimes you know it is a lie, but you still choose to believe it anyway, because the sorrow is all you’ve ever known. And you ask yourself if you are worthy of that, of the unknown, of the warm feelings, of comfort. In Harvey’s case, the answer has always been no. 

He monologued his way through the break up, her lack of answers something unexpected. Deep down, he wanted her to fight back, like she always did. He wanted her to be stubborn and impulsive and try to talk him out of it; he knew he would have submitted to it, and that’s what hurts the most. 

Okay. 

If that’s what you want.

She resigned and it was so much worse than any heated fight they endured before. It still is.

Mindlessly, he still wears the ring. The promise they made to each other. It feels wrong not doing so, not feeling the light weight of the steel on his hand, not fidgeting with it whenever he gets uneasy. So he still wears it, and when he finally notices it whenever he’s writing reports, drinking his coffee, shaving his stubble every morning, he reminds himself to take it off, to put it away. He doesn’t, though. 

Not until she shows up to his clinic and he breaks her heart one more time. You never fucking learn, do you? , it echoes in his mind for days, a burden, a torment, a haunting.

The day is slow. It’s Maru’s day off, not many appointments to get him through the day, the tick of the clock mocking him. It always did, even before, when all he wanted was to rush back home to her. Now, he had nothing to look up to. He was back to his sad old life of living a mere staircase away from his work and frozen dinners, so bitterly different from home cooked meals and cherry wine right next to her, sleeping in her bed and waking up to the smell of her perfume impregnated in him. 

So the clock ticks and the seconds feel like papercuts all over his body and when the paperwork is half a step from becoming unbearable, the front door chimes and he is grateful for the chance of leaving his office. 

“Hello, how can I…” He stops mid sentence, reaching the door to the front counter in a second. 

Her head is low, staring at the floor tiles, straw hat covering her face, but he can still see the silver and the brown intertwining in her single braid, which lays on her shoulder, long and thick. He can still see her calloused hands with long nails, the light scars and scrapes in her arms. He freezes, Genevieve so suddenly materialized in his waiting room, like the answer to his prayers in a sick and twisted divine joke. 

He is rendered speechless, so happy, so sad, so terrified at the sight of her. She takes so long to raise her head, but it’s really just a second. And there, where once laid love, rested anger. Like a fuel right behind her deep brown eyes, who once could only ever meet him with fondness. 

“Hi.” She says first and it hits him like a knife, tearing his heart open. “These are yours.”

The cardboard box he hadn’t noticed she was holding must be heavy, because it reaches the counter with an audible thud. She pushes the box in his direction, something material to stand between them, another degree of separation. 

He dares to stop looking at her, too scared she might disappear in a second, and glares at the inside of the box. There he finds some of his missing button-downs, ties, books, jazz cds, and every single piece of him he had left at her house. She was returning it to him, erasing his existence.

You have brought this upon yourself.

But it still stings. It still burns.

“Oh.” It’s all that manages to come out.

“Thought you might want it back.” Genevieve says, hooking her backpack on her shoulder, already halfway out of there.

It’s your fault.

She hates you and it’s your fault.

“Of course.” It comes out weak, hushed, broken. Exactly how he feels at the moment.

She scoffs and he thought, for a second he dared to think, that it couldn’t get any worse, but her rage is so tangible that if he tried to touch her skin, it would be there, an invisible barrier, to keep him away from her. 

In fact, it can be worse, way worse. It gets worse every new second he is under her presence.

“Yeah, right.” He can’t decode the smirk on her face as she leaves.

And he should let her go in peace, he already set her free, he should let her go. But his feelings catch up to him before his mind can reach it out, and he calls her. 

“Vee?” Her nickname, the only one she seems to endure from most people, feels wrong and sour on his tongue. His Vee. 

“Yes, Dr. Moss?”

No doc , no Harv , not even Harvey. Another wall. Another barrier. He doesn’t even remember her ever calling him by his last name. 

Whatever he had on his mind is long gone, twisted and crushed under that heavy and sturdy sadness.

“Thank you.” It comes out strangled. 

But her glossy eyes don't meet his face. They are locked at the box; no, they are staring at his hands and his death grip on the cardboard. His right hand. In the fluorescent light of the clinic, the silver of the steel gleamed palely and her eyes were locked on the promise ring in his hand. The ring she gifted him months ago, the ring that its twin used to lay in her own hand, and he can see how her thumb moves to touch the place, the empty place, that it used to rest on. 

For a second, the rage is gone, and he can finally see the sadness again. And it's a flashback to that night, over a month ago, and she's speechless again, silent tears threatening to roll down her face.

There's nothing he can do. 

She turns her back and all he receives in response is the thunderous slam of the door. 

Chapter Text

I am poison in the water and unhappy.

Spring, Year Three – April

Genevieve

The dread is only avoidable until it becomes inevitable, and when it becomes inevitable, it also transforms into something unbearable. So it breaks, and breaks, and breaks the soul, until it almost disappears. 

Almost. 

Out of every person I know in this godforsaken town, it is Haley — fucking Haley — the one to force me out of my misery. I had resigned to working alone on Angelus for as long as I could, accompanied only by the farm animals, avoiding the rest of the Valley until the purchase of the Spring seeds became a matter of life or death, the victim being my finances. I was used to being alone, and became a pro in ignoring almost all kinds of technology. My plan succeeded for about three weeks of solitude before the blonde nightmare decided to almost bring my front door down on a beautiful April afternoon, while the birds sang and chirped in their freedom and I hid in my way-too-big-for-a-bachelorette house. 

That made Haley the first person I saw after Harvey left, and for a second there I forgot how it felt to be around somebody else. Too aware that the state of my house, and myself, if we're being honest, was not very pretty, a sudden pang of guilt dawned upon me, and the heartbreak became real. Almost palpable. 

Almost. 

In a second everything changed and the hurt escaped from inside me, settling in every dirty cup, lost t-shirt, abandoned tool on display around the house, the ghost of my heart taking form in my living room, as broken and messy as it felt inside my chest. The dreadful realization that people probably knew it by then took over. The town is small and gossip spreads like wildfire, no one saw me for almost a month, while Harvey moved on with his life. People must have seen him in aerobics, walking around the town square, visiting the library, grabbing dinner at the Saloon, all by himself, with me nowhere to be found. You don't need much to guess. 

So when Haley arrived, the “ what the fuck is wrong with you? ” question didn't really need an answer, not when she could see , just like me at that moment, the small pieces of my heart spread everywhere. It looked ugly, I knew. 

Maybe that's why he left. Couldn't take the mess anymore. 

It's for the better.  

She sighed in a mix of impatience and pity that made me want to fight her — I don't need help to nurse a broken heart, and I definitely don't need your pity — and cry on her shoulder — because that's a lie. I knew if I uttered the words aloud, she would have a snarky response on the tip of her tongue waiting to be freed.  She didn't ask any more questions for a while, though. Only studied the room with a distant look in her eyes that resembled recognition for long minutes before starting to gather the dirty dishes and take them to the kitchen. 

I never thought I'd see Haley — fucking Haley — cleaning, let alone clean a house that wasn't even hers; but again, I also couldn't foresee Harvey leaving me with no warning. I guess the Valley is here to constantly prove me wrong. 

Her snapping fingers took me out of my trance. 

“Hey! Are you only watching? Get a fucking grip!”

That was the first time I heard myself giggle in weeks. And for a second there, life wasn't so miserable anymore. I was still many miles away from happiness, but at least the first step out of that shithole was taken. Not that it lasted, though. The situation was way worse than what I could imagine, and it took us a while to get the house thoroughly organized. Emily ended up joining us somehow, and the pitiful look on her face told me everything I needed to know. 

They all know . 

When the mess of my heart got out of the way, that's when I could see it. His shadow. A resemblance of what he was, but not what he is . A lie. And before I could mourn over each piece of cloth and pottery that reminded me that what we had was real enough to leave a trace behind, Haley was packing it all in a single cardboard box that I had no idea where it came from. In repetitive movements, she mindlessly threw inside everything that seemed to belong to him and Emily took it right out, put it together, then put it back. I caught myself worrying over whether she would break his favorite coffee mugs — that were all here, because for the last couple of months, he lived here, even if not officially —, being so careless. I caught myself worrying if that would sadden him. I caught myself not wanting to break his heart when my own was still bleeding. 

And breaking, breaking, breaking. Until it almost disappeared.

Almost. 

It was like Haley could read my mind, or maybe my melancholy wasn't as well hidden as I thought it was, because she gave me a whole speech about having to return those things. Something along the lines of “letting it go” and “moving on” with some aggressiveness sparkled on top of it. Emily was sweeter, but never truly disagreed with her sister’s considerations. She offered to take his stuff to the clinic for me, and for a second there, I considered it. I even accepted it. Until rage finally came to the front of my mind, replacing that unshakable sadness for once, reminding me that I was no coward, I never were. If he had no nerve to show up and take the pieces of himself away from here after suddenly leaving that one night — and I never thought he would, as anxious as he was —, then I would be the one to do it, it didn't matter how much it would hurt. 

And, Yoba, if it hurt. The cold air-conditioned air, the sterile smell of rubbing alcohol, the white fluorescent lights, the sigh of him. Collected, everything I wasn't and could never be. All of it felt like twisting a knife into an already deep wound. And the ring, that fucking damned ring. Why the fuck was he still wearing it? Haley forced me to take mine off when she realized what it was. If I hadn't hidden it away from her she would probably have thrown it into the trash, or burned it, just like she helped me do with the wilted bouquet that sat in my coffee table for weeks, dying in the midst of the flames. I couldn't help but wonder: If I was still wearing the ring too, would that still tie us together? Would that fix things? Would it make it worse? 

It couldn't be worse than that, honestly. 

I ran away the second the door closed behind me and hid myself behind the community center to cry. Thankfully no one was around to see my puffy face and red eyes. My plan to check Pierre for those Spring seeds failed and had to be postponed as I rushed back to the farm as fast as I could. Maybe that way the town would hear the story about that one farmer girl who became a ghost after losing her heart and now her spirit, or what was left of it, can be seen haunting the outskirts of town. I only cried when I arrived home, front door locked and windows closed. My knees hit the floor and there was nothing like that before. Crying on my knees, screaming my lungs out. No one could hear me, and that was comforting, because they had no right to listen to my heart bleeding. No one could hear me, and that was nerve-racking, because I've never felt more alone like then. And that's the thing about emptiness. When you look into its eyes, it looks back.

That night, Haley must have sniffed the heartbreak from miles apart. She showed up at my door not long before the sunset, Emily locked in her arm, with a bag on the other that I refused to ask what was for. Haley unpacked in the middle of my unclogged living room in the best Mary Poppins style. The first thing I noticed was a pot with something that smelled like real food, something I hadn't seen in quite some time. I was distracted enough to not notice the hair and nail supplies Haley was distributing on the floor for a hot minute. When our eyes met, I knew I had no choice. I also had no real strength to fight either. Only days before, I had cut and undone my box braids, freeing my natural hair again, desperate to feel like myself. I watched the locks of grey and brown cascade down my body, noticing much more grey than before. I looked tired, like my soul was sucked out of my body. I surely felt that way. The girls insisted on cutting and styling my hair, doing my nails, plucking my eyebrows and other stuff I had no energy to do by myself. I knew it wouldn't make me feel better like they wanted to, but I accepted anyway. Girls's sleepover, they called. Feeling like a doll all the way, I let them blabber about everything and nothing and resigned, satisfied, to only listen while they worked on me. They had the care to not bring Harvey up, but half of my heart was begging for them to say his name. Prove to me that he was real. Maybe confess they thought he was just as miserable as I felt. But nothing ever came, just like the phone calls or the regretful request to go back to the way it was before.

So my prayers stopped, because there was nothing else to beg the skies for. My prayers couldn't save mom, couldn't spare grandpa, couldn't protect Harvey. There was nothing else to do but to curse the skies, something I saved for when I was completely alone, late at night, under the glistening pitch black sky.  

Even so, I had to move on with my life, trying to ignore how my deepest desire was for the world to stop for a minute, just so I could let the hurt rotten me fully. Slowly, I found my way back to farming and foraging, clinging onto the cows and the chickens to keep moving forward. I avoided the mines for a day or two, until I remembered that, if that was what took Harvey away, then I had to conquer it in return. So I ran my body ragged with no one to cry and patch me up when I arrived home, on the edge of passing out. More than once, I had to scrub dry blood out of the wooden floors, hiding the traces of my carelessness from… who, exactly? Myself? Maybe that way I could feed the lie I chose to believe, that I didn't know the real reason why Harvey left. 

A force of nature can't be tamed by a gentle soul. I was carrying him away. 

Haley came to visit quite often, and her company reminded me that one day I'd have to face the town again, not only lurking during the hours I knew I wouldn't cross paths with anyone. But she kept me distracted from my own thoughts, and that had to be enough for a while. I probably should have seen it coming, with her not so subtle comments about going out one night, getting me out of the farm for once — Haley finally forcing me out into the heart of the Valley. Hidden in plain sight, put under a spotlight. I couldn't escape it if I tried. 

So that's how I ended up playing pool at a crowded Saloon, loud music and chatter buzzing in my ears, Haley watching from the couch with a fruity drink in hands, Sam and Sebastian somehow sharing the same cue while Abigail screams at them. 

“Just shoot already!” 

I snort my beer, lightheaded, the alcohol helping me ignore the kiss Sam plants in Sebastian’s cheek, ignore my own jealous heart. I can feel the constant, careful looks of Haley and Sebastian on my nape, watching closely my every step. I don’t know whether to feel grateful or annoyed. People taking care of me — or trying to — have always felt on the edge of too much. I can’t understand the bother. Somewhere in my formative years, I crafted and nourished this belief that some people were born to be taken care of, and some were born to care for them. I have believed I belong in the second group for way too long. You don’t just overcome this kind of thing. So when I catch Haley and Sebastian exchanging one more furtive look between themselves, I can’t help but roll my eyes. Their unexpected… friendship? I never know what to call it, never fails to surprise me. They look at each other with a certain recognition in their eyes that looks like a deep respect. None of them have addressed it before, and I never had the heart to ask. This kind of connection should not be questioned.

When I first arrived, still early so the place would be deserted, I didn’t have to explain anything to Seb. One look into his eyes and I knew. We knew. Ever since I could remember, we never needed much explanation when it was just the two of us. Sebastian knew loneliness as well as me, our neglected orphans' hearts recognizing the other. I didn’t have to explain what was heartbreak to Sebastian, he knew. We knew. Sam and Abigail didn’t ask any questions either, probably under Seb’s request for discretion. Differently from the other two, Sam and Abby seemed to quickly forget about it, treating me the same as before. At least this didn’t have to change.

Abigail groans loudly before taking her spot and shooting through the table. We’re playing in pairs, and Abby is mine, obviously, since Sam and Sebastian apparently cannot be physically apart. I haven’t been paying much attention to it, if I’m honest, too aware that Friday nights are some of the busiest days at the Saloon, that the next room is packed with almost every other villager in town, that he’s probably there. A few steps away. 

Still, we’ve never felt more distant.

I’m sorry.

A stone settles on top of my stomach and I can’t shake the feeling away. I’m too aware of every movement, every sound, every deep muffled voice that sounds a bit too much like him. I can hear Elliot, his thunderous poetic presence always too big for any place he occupies. I wonder if Harvey’s sitting across from him, at their usual spot, the last booth in the Saloon. I wonder if when I finally work up the courage to talk to Shane, they’ll be next to him. Unable to control anything, really, I have prayed to the skies all night for Shane to come around here to buy some Cola or to play on the old arcade machines, just so I could avoid the moment for a while longer. He never did. 

The letter peaks from my back pocket, the jeans a little too tight for my liking, but Haley chose it after some hours of analyzing my wardrobe and wouldn’t let me pick anything else. 

“Hey, your hair looks really good.” Sam says beside me and I don’t remember him coming close. He shoots and pockets a ball and Abby curses from across the table. Sam raises a hand to high five Sebastian, but his boyfriend has other plans, smacking his ass instead. The pang of guilt and jealousy hits me again, my heart holding the memories of when it was easy above its head, begging for some attention. I don’t know what to do with it. 

“Thanks, Sam.” I cough out, pretending to study the pool table. I lost count of the points long ago. 

“Well,” A shrill voice starts from my left and from the corner of my eye I see Haley trying and failing to get up from the couch. Something else I should have seen coming, considering she’s one of the very few villagers that do not attend the Saloon often, or ever, really. I don’t remember seeing Haley around here much in the two years I’ve been in town. I have also lost count of how many piña coladas she has drunk so far. “I’m getting a refill.” She’s only able to finish the sentence after her drunk brain learns how to get back on one’s feet again. 

“ Absolutely not.” I say, but she’s already halfway out the door. See, because my friends are somewhat merciful or they just have noticed I would not move a fucking inch more than I had to, I spent the whole night gracefully avoiding the bar. But now I find myself trying to grab Haley’s elbow while she jumps on her way there. I’m too aware, when we enter the main room, that many pairs of eyes settle on me. I can hear part of the conversation dying, and I know , Yoba, I fucking know , that he’s right there, on his usual table, with his friends. All I have to do is turn my head to meet his eyes. My heart squeezes in my chest, screaming and crying for some, any kind of attention, throwing all of my feelings on the floor, right in front of me. All I have to do is acknowledge it. All I have to do is turn my head to my right. 

For reasons I can’t comprehend in my way-more-sober-than-her state, drunk Haley thinks it’s a great idea to finish her little show with a twirl, Flower Queen that she is. What she’s unable to foresee, though, is that people as drunk as she is now have no fucking sense of balance, so I’m forced to watch, in slow motion, her body trip and fall, heading to the floor. Elder sister that I am, I’ve seen this scene many times before. In a heartbeat, I finally reach her, grabbing her by the waist.

“My hero.” Haley babbles, sticking her sharp nails on my bare arms for balance, getting up on her feet again. I ignore the pain, ignore the curious looks around us, ignore how her strong sweet perfume is almost making me sick; or maybe that's the alcohol, or the anxiety. There's no way to know right now. She cups my face and squeezes my cheeks, forcing me to look at her wide hazy blue eyes. What the fuck? “I'd kiss on the mouth as a thank you if I weren't so sure you'll still taste like Harvey's dick.” 

I can’t discern feelings anymore. Holding her body forcefully, I breathe in and out to ease the embarrassment, the sadness, the rage that roars inside me. 

“Sit. The Fuck . Down.” I command, and she obeys, surprisingly. Maybe drunk Haley is more malleable and reckless than her usual self. I’m too aware that we have an audience, too aware that some people must have heard her last line, considering I could swear hearing Shane giggling behind me. I don’t resist the urge to shoot him a death glare, and thankfully he’s at the edge of the booth — that way, I don’t have to really look at Harvey and Elliot sitting next and across from him. He has the nerve to smirk, eyes full of fake innocence that makes me want to punch him in the face. 

But the point is, I need him. I can’t keep losing people left and right. So I don’t drop Haley on the floor, and I don’t kick Shane’s balls, because I know I need them, even if acknowledging it leaves a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. I might be doomed to choking on my own blood. 

“Sis!” Haley claps when Emily comes close, giggling like an idiot. “I need a refill!” She raises the glass above her head before banging it against the counter. From above her blonde head, I can see Emily’s worried glance at the two of us, and I mouth the word “virgin” slowly, multiple times until she gets the hint. Haley is still Haley, and if we try to actively stop her from doing what she wants, she might steal a whole bottle of vodka from the bar, drink it in two minutes and end up in Harvey’s emergency room. 

It’s funny how my every thought ends in him, somehow. A sick and twisted coincidence of sorts. 

Emily leaves with a tight head nod while Haley kicks her feet below the stool. I allow myself a deep breath, closing my eyes for a second, knowing very well I need to get back and face reality whether I like it or not. And, right now, I fucking hate it. When I open my eyes again, I instinctively look around the bar. I can see people drinking and dancing and chatting and everything seems normal; that is, until I finally — and accidentally — accept my heart’s demand and look at the last booth: three heads, red, brown and black. Even though I can hear Shane and Elliot’s voices, I don’t know what they are talking about. It doesn’t matter, because just as magnets are drawn to each other by a strength that’s impossible to contain, Harvey’s eyes meet mine the moment I turn my head. Golden green, like the forest during the breaking dawn. Soft as the grass that cradles my sleeping body. 

Holy.

Heaven, for a sinner like me. 

Unachievable.

I hold his gaze because, just like magnets, I need an outer strength to pull me away from him. I don’t want to. All I want is to reach out and touch him, make sure he’s not a mirage. That’s when I remember: he left. He chose to. I gave him everything and it was still not enough to make him stay. So I break the contact, because that’s too much to handle. 

All I want and everything I can’t have. 

When I turn my head back at Haley, she’s already sipping her drink, still kicking her feet like a fool. Her eyes are wider than usual and she seems to be in a state of peace only inhibition can bring. For a second, I wish I were as drunk as her right now. My head is buzzing when I order the cherry liquor that appears in front of me. Avoiding Emily’s worried glance, the same one she shot at her sister only minutes before, I chug it down my throat, not even tasting the cherry flavor before it is burning inside of me. 

I’m about to drag Haley back to the other room, feeling too humiliated for the night, when I hear my name in a man’s voice. 

It’s not Harvey, though. I can discern it almost immediately. 

We both turn around to see Clint approaching our stools and Haley has no sense to volume down her groan. 

“Evening.” He shakes his head in our direction. 

“Hi, Clint.” The greeting is rushed as I keep on with my plan to drag Haley back to our long abandoned game of pool.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

No , is what I should respond, while trying to balance myself and another drunk woman in my arms. Can’t he see this disaster happening right before his eyes? But I was never one to deny help when needed, even on my own behalf. I was designed to care for people. I was nothing if I didn’t break myself into pieces that were distributed to anyone who asked. Especially here, in the Valley. Splinters of my own heart, spread amongst the trees. 

“Sure.”

“ No .”

If I’m not brave enough to stand up for myself, then Haley is. She’s staring at Clint as if he’s a dead man already. Somehow, he rightfully ignores her. 

“I need someone to collect some ores and deal with the… infestation… that’s happening at…”

“Are you fucking stupid? I said no !” Haley screams and I want to dig a hole on the ground and never leave, mortified as I am. My grandfather was an honorary citizen of this damned place. I’m his legacy, people around here count on me to keep this place going. I could never, would never, treat another villager like that, especially my blacksmith. If any of my tools were functional, it was because of Clint’s work. Even if he made impossible requests semi-regularly and half-weird-half-cringe comments from time to time. My frustrations are bottled up, reserved for when I’m alone chopping wood or mining stones, for when I can hit things really hard with an axe or a pick and hurt no one but myself. For when I can be careless, because the last time I was allowed some freedom was over twenty years ago. 

“Haley…” I try to warn her, but she’s long gone. Up on her feet, she takes control of her body again and stands between me and Clint. They’re almost the same height.

“Can’t people in this town ever interact with Genevieve without fucking asking her for something in return?! Can’t you all respect someone’s moment like this?!” I wish she were screaming only at Clint, but the way she moves her arms on the air indicates that she’s pretty much addressing everyone in town. My face burns so hot I’m sure I’ll combust anytime soon. I don’t know how Harvey survives this. “She’s not the fucking Mayor , you know! This woman works more than anyone here to keep this shithole going and I never heard anyone saying a single thank you . So no , she can’t talk right now. She won’t take any requests tonight, and if anyone else disrespects her heartbreak, I’m burning your houses down!” She’s not screaming anymore, but her voice is loud enough that I’m sure even Evelyn and George must have heard from their house next door. She leaves stomping her feet and it echoes through the dead silent room. Her hand grips my arm in a way that stops the blood circulation and I can see it turning pale. 

I’m petrified, mortified, heartbroken and humiliated. If someone didn’t know it yet, that was their cue. Disrespect her heartbreak . I’m starting to forget the moments in which I didn’t feel my heart so shattered inside my chest, the moments in which this pain was not so powerful. 

“What the fuck was that?” The three friends speak at the same time, but I just ignore them, shaking my arm until Haley lets go of it. Grabbing my jacket and backpack, I get ready to leave. 

“Vivi, wait.” I don’t have to look into his eyes to know it’s Sebastian. Only he still calls me that. 

“Not now, Seb.” And I don’t. I don’t look into his eyes because I can’t see pity right now. I can’t face it without breaking down. 

I should be more careful around the people that care for me. I should appreciate and acknowledge their attempts to help, but I can’t. Because disasters like this happen when I allow them to, when I open up, when I’m vulnerable. They break, and break, and break my soul. Over and over again. It can’t keep happening. 

But the rage it creates is a good fuel, and all I can see is red when I turn back and face Shane on my way out, ignoring the other two pairs of eyes on me, reaching for the letter in my back pocket.

“Please, think about it.” Is all I say before I turn my back. 

But Yoba always has her secret plans for me, and in some twisted glimpse of fate, our eyes meet again and I can finally see it. The worry. It’s so much worse than pity. Because pity is reserved for one’s self, but worry floods two souls like an angry river during a thunderstorm. You can’t escape it. 

I can’t escape him. Can’t escape Harvey.

I run before I cry, and my boots hitting the cobblestones is the only sound to be heard in the heart of the Valley, late at night, under a glistening pitch black night sky. 

Chapter Text

In dreams, I meet you in warm conversation.

Spring, Year Three — April

Genevieve

Unable to escape, I agonize, locked inside my head. A captive of my own memories. Because that's what it all was diminished to; a mere memory. Something to dread, to miss, to mourn. I cannot control my heart’s desires, so I’m left to dream, tied up and forced to watch as my nostalgic brain plays miserable hurtful tricks on me. 

It starts at his apartment, the dark wood of his furniture warm like liquor running down one’s throat. The night is silent and I can hear nature and Yoba whispering, locked into a conversation with each other, just outside. Clean air fills my lungs but my mind is hazy, as if I’m drunk. On wine, on him. I can decode every smell lingering in his atmosphere, clinging on my skin, haunting me forever. I’m all alone and then I’m not. Warm hands wrap my waist from behind, slowly and patiently, like we have nothing to lose. In dreams, we don’t. His fingers finish their journey, grabbing my skin and pulling me one step back, our bodies colliding. Strong arms cage me and I’d happily oblige to being locked down forever. No second thoughts, no hesitation. His lips meet my cheek, my ear, my neck. His nose tickles my skin and I can hear my own laughter from far away, like I’m submerged, forced to watch the world spin underwater. But I’m right there, in his arms. I’m safe.

A broken breath escapes me when his lips wet my skin for the first time, goosebumps trying to fold my entire body. I wriggle, trying to escape and get closer at the same time, but his arms hold me tighter. His name hangs from my lips with the heaviness of smoke, his palm over my stomach a protective spell. Lips part, breath hitches, and the tip of a tongue travels from the base of my neck to the high of my earlobe. A cry leaves me, but the skies couldn’t listen. My body is shaking and my heart is breaking and this is all I have screamed, cried and begged for. A world alone, just me and him and the echoing silence that whispers our names. Forever intertwined. My hands reach for his body, begging him for a glimpse of a touch. His forearms muscles flex under my fingers and I finally realize that my eyes had been closed all this time, because I turn my head and find beautiful golden green eyes looking for me. And everything is right where it was supposed to be. 

We don’t exchange a word and I can’t understand why my heart is aching at the absence of his voice. In dreams, I think I’ll wake up right next to him. There’s no reason to miss or to mourn. And yet, my heart knows it’s all a lie, even if my brain insists on trying to fool me. His kisses grow deeper, open-mouthed. His hands wander, fingertips tracing a path long burned in the back of his mind. He needs no map to me. The hem of a summer dress is too little resistance and in no time I feel his hands on my naked tights. Traveling up, finding the center. His other hand keeps me in place, once over my stomach but now squeezing a breast. He lowers the fabric over it with skilled ease, exposing me in the middle of his living room. I let him.

And I sin, allowing what comes next, too enthralled by my own mind tricks to care of anything that’s not this cheap replica of his touch. Because, if that’s what it all was diminished to, then I’m happy with the scraps. His fingers find what they're looking for, wet and swollen and ready. They do what they are expected to, and I react exactly how I’m supposed to. And isn’t the mind such a magnificent place, because it almost feels real. It’s almost like he’s really there, rubbing slow circles on my clit, wetting his fingers on my pussy. My moans almost sound real. And I almost believe him when he says:

“My pretty Cherry… I love you so…” 

I almost cry out when two fingers enter me with ease, pumping up and down, when a pinch in my nipple makes my body fold forward, when my hips hit his pelvis and I feel his erection. I almost sound convincing when I moan his name. 

“Harvey… Fuck .”

But I do fold when I hear his laughter. Because, even though it’s not entirely real, it’s real enough . It’s enough of a painful memory to make me feel something . And, at that moment, I can’t understand the sadness that cradles my heart, but it is there, and it is heavy, but lust screams louder when his fingers are deep inside me. 

“You’re doing so good.” He whispers in my ear, and it would have brought me to my knees if his arms weren't keeping me still.

Time and space shifts in a way that’s incomprehensible and I’m bending over his work desk, open and naked, while Harvey stands behind me, hips slowly building and crashing like waves of pleasure transmitted from his body to mine. His fingers still touch me where I need him to, and it’s impossible to tell whether the haze that wraps me is from the pleasure or the lie. 

“So good. You’re so good.” I hear him whine and all I want is to see his face. I’ve seen his eyes, but not his face. I want to hold it in both my hands and not let go. I want his whole body in my arms, just so I can be sure nothing bad is going to happen. 

But that’s the thing about life, and dreams, and love. You don’t control it. You can’t. So sunlight invades my room and the chickens scream outside and I wake up to an empty, cold bed feeling sick to my stomach. I wish I could blame it on the cherry liquor, but I know that, just like the hot heavy tears coming down my face, it is about him. I try to fight it, but it’s useless when I’m this weak. So I crumble like an old worm piece of paper and let it wash over me. I’m growing tired of these tears, this sadness, but it’s clingy and needy and stubborn. A bit too much like me.

The farm doesn’t let me drown in my own feelings for long, though. The light grows brighter by the second and the chickens scream again, the low mooing of the cows easily recognizable even from a distance. I force my body out of the bed, finding strength Yoba knows where, and try to keep on living, just like I have been doing for weeks now. It works for a while, as I’m feeding the cats, finding my tools and ignoring my cell phone. I purposefully channel my energy into trying to erase every and each memory of the previous night off my mind, but it’s a waste of time, no matter how hard I want it. I fear I am coming to the realization that begging the skies for absolution does not cleanse a sinner’s soul like mine. Still, I keep my mind off Haley and Sebastian and Clint, and, most of all, Harvey. Or so I tell myself. 

I’m finishing the breakfast dishes and about to go outside to start work when a knock on my door calls my attention. My heart stops. It couldn’t be, right? My mind and heart races to the thought of him so fast, trying to see who gets to him first, that I can’t keep up with the rush of blood that threatens to deafen me. When I open the door, though, the world is silent and all hope dies, crushed like grass by a small mountain of snow in Winter, because it’s not Harvey I find on my doorstep.

“Morning.” It’s the first word that dares crawl all the way up from my throat into my mouth, and of course it comes out hoarse. Before I can cough and try again, Shane almost throws the piece of paper he holds in his hand at my face. 

“Are you serious?”

Am I? For a second or two, I have no idea what he’s referring to, but he stares at me inquisitively, like I’m supposed to have every answer to all of his questions. I won’t lie, it annoys me deeply before I can make out what that damned paper and the whole conversation — if this can even be considered a conversation — is about. 

He holds a folded letter. From where I can see, it’s impossible to tell what’s written in it, but I know it’s my calligraphy, and my words, because I gave him that letter.

Right. That . 

I definitely didn’t expect Shane to get back to me that fast. Scratching my head, I try to come back to Earth. 

“Hi, Shane. Uhm…” 

“Genevieve, are you serious?” He repeats and I feel like I’m going to fucking lose it. Should have kicked him last night when I had the chance. 

“Good morning to you too, prick.” I blurt out. “Yes, I’m serious, why the fuck would I joke about that?” Even though I can’t understand what’s behind that skepticism, Shane’s eyes on me don’t falter for a second.

In the letter there’s a job offer. For him. To work with me. On the farm. I had run the number tirelessly for nights on end before deciding to finally write to him, trying to convince myself that it was a good idea. And even after that, I postponed delivering it for weeks. I couldn’t offer much, not with the current state of the farm and working by myself. I remember writing somewhere in there that a raise was a strong possibility in the foreseeable future, but I would need some time. Maybe the offer was as ridiculous as I originally thought it was and Shane was so incredulous that he had to come to my frontdoor to ask me if I was messing with him. 

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“Shane, listen…” I rub my eyes and try to collect myself, already feeling the broken pieces of me falling on the floor. “It’s embarrassing, but that’s all I can offer for now. I know it’s not a lot, and that’s why I’m not asking you to come full-time. I don’t know whether that works with your Joja hours too, and honestly you don’t even have to accept it…” 

“This is more than Joja pays me.” Is all he answers. 

I choke on my own words. That’s more than Joja pays him?

“I’m sorry?” 

“It’s more than what Joja is paying me.” He is dead serious, his gaze seeing right through me. 

I blink one. Twice, like an idiot. 

“I’m… sorry?” I have never before been at such a loss for words. If the salary I was willing to pay him was ridiculous, I had no idea how Shane was making a living out of that cursed JojaMart job. 

“I’ll ask you one more time…”

“For Yoba’s sake, man, I’ve already told you I’m serious!” I stop him before he can ask me the same question one more time. “Have you seen this place? I clearly have no fucking talent nor spirit to run this place by myself. I have no idea how grandpa did it. So yeah, I need tons of help but I don’t have the money for it, and good Yoba, what are they even doing at JojaMart? I mean…”

“Easy, dude.” Shane interrupts me. Dude ? “Life’s unfair and Morris’ a bitch, but none of us gon’ solve world hunger today. What do you need me for?”

I’m still confused at his word choice, but I know this is Shane and he won’t allow me to digress. 

“Just… the basics. Water crops, feed the animals. You know, keeping things going. Lately I’ve been spending more time at the…”

“Mines. I know.” He interrupts me again and then it hits me. 

Of course. They were sitting next to each other last night, and every other Friday night for years now. They have known each other for longer than I’ve been around. Shane trusts Harvey, as a doctor and as a friend, even though I was the one who found him semiconscious at the edge of that cliff. Harvey was actually the one who first suggested that I get some help with the farm, and told me that Shane could be a good option when I asked him who the hell would agree to work with me. Of course they talked. Of course he knew. Maybe he knew even better than I did. I have to fight the urge to ask him. And now it’s impossible to ignore this clear string that ties us all together, that’ll never truly let me go. I swallow hard and try to ignore it, just like everything else.

“Right. I can’t do everything all by myself, and the work is endless. Honestly, I think I only need you in the mornings…”

“For that much an hour, I can be here full-time.” I wish he was kidding, but I’ve never seen Shane looking so resolute about anything 

“Shane, I can’t pay you full-time.”

“Fair enough. Guess a part-time job would be good to me, spending some time with Jas and all.” 

I nod, avoiding his gaze, overwhelmed by his presence. I don’t know how the hell I’ll work with him when I can’t stand being around other people lately without fucking it all up. 

“Are you quitting?” Our eyes meet for half a second before both of us look away. 

“I guess so.”

“I can’t offer you any stability, Shane.” 

He snorts. “Funny you think Joja offers me that.”

I laugh weakly and all he offers me is a small side smile. We’re off to a great start. Shane and I were never close. For a whole year, I was convinced he deeply loathed me. Jas was our way through. After Penny invited me to lecture a science lesson or two — under the excuse that the children didn’t enjoy Demetrius’ company very much —, Jas internally decided that I was cool enough for her to look up to me. Being on the good side of her judgment must have helped me a little, once Shane started to look like he hated me a little less. But I guess the hot peppers must have earned me a few points as well. And, of course, Harvey. Our common middle-ground. Shane and I were a little too much alike for comfort. 

“You’re hired, then… I guess.” I dare say after a few seconds of silence. 

“I guess…” He nods tightly. “When do I start?”

“Now?” We’re both clearly confused and uncomfortable around each other. The one thing I want is to take a step back and go back to how it was an hour ago. Alone. Overwhelmed. Overworked, but alone. It was painful but at least it was familiar. I have no idea how to act around this man. My ex’s good friend. “The season is only starting and there’s a lot to do. I’ve been…” Depressed. Apathetic. Unresponsive. “The beginning of a season is always the hardest part. It’s a troubled time.” 

Shane looks at me like he knows I’m lying. 

“Sure.”

“You can check the animals while I start the planting. I’m pretty sure they’re halfway through their plan to start a revolution. They should’ve been fed almost an hour ago.” I finally take a step forward, reaching the front steps. I need to get out of his sigh. I need time to recompose. I need a fucking break. 

“Genevieve?”

When I turn around, he’s still grounded to my doorstep, but his eyes are on me again. Watching. Studying. For someone who hates company, he’s a hell of an observant. 

“Yes?”

“What made you change your mind about the farm?” His expression is hard.

“Excuse me?” 

“Why are you asking for help now?” 

I’m not sure if that’s Shane’s goal, but the question feels like twisting a cold knife buried in my stomach. Something in his eyes tells me he knows the answer. What I can’t comprehend is why, all of sudden, Shane gives a fuck about my life. 

That’s when it hits me. It might not be about me. It’s probably not about me. Shane’s loyalty is on Harvey’s side, not mine. And it breaks my heart to think that my loyalty is not on his side too, like it used to be. Just like him. 

“That’s none of your business, chicken man.” 

“Whatever you say, old lady.” 

We both smile and maybe that’s as good as it gets. A silent armistice, two colleagues that just stay out of each other’s bullshit. I’ve done that before, back in Zuzu, I can do it again. But here’s the thing: when I arrived at the Valley, I wanted things to be different . I wanted to start over. Fuck that old Genevieve and her awful habits. But you can’t escape lifelong rooted patterns, and you can’t run from yourself forever. At the rise of every dusk, and at the break of every dawn, I’m still me. No cry or prayer, dream or desire, can change that. 

So Shane heads for the barns and coops, and I get ready to face the mountain, because no farm shall thrive without some spilled blood. 

Chapter Text

And I know I may not look like much

Just another screaming speck of dust

Spring, Year One — March

Genevieve

We met on my first week in town, but I felt like I already knew him from another life. 

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about it for weeks then. That whole year became one huge blur of packing and moving — from my ex-fiancè’s place to my best friend’s apartment, then to Pelican Town. My life wasn’t mine anymore, everything taken and swallowed by the boxes. And while once again the feeling of being lost threatened to crush my bones, the letters reminded me I’d always have a home to go back to. 

Except it was an abandoned house, with nothing but ghosts to care for the land around it. 

Robin’s joke about the state of that old place didn’t even bother me. It was a mess, but, honestly, was there even something left for me in Zuzu? No family, no marriage. Maybe a miserable spot as an assistant professor at a department no one took me seriously, my pity prize for offering ten years of my life for the academia gods as a sacrifice. A crusty old house didn’t sound so bad, after all. 

The letters were there with me, through and through. I had to know exactly where that box was at all times. I’d reread some of them every now and then when the loneliness was too much to handle, only to place my endless longing on its spot. I had dug deep enough to find letters with my mother’s handwriting engraved on the paper, something I had long forgotten about, but those were never opened. I knew I wouldn’t be able to take it gracefully. But the ones my grandfather wrote me a few years earlier, those were the ones that kept me company on my darkest nights. The calligraphy change marked the time where things started going to shit, for both of us. From what grandpa told me through those exchanged pieces of paper, his doctor was transcribing his letters to him, as he didn’t have the strength nor the mind to do it by himself anymore. The picture of me standing tall in the comfort of a fancy apartment bought with a heritage that wasn't mine, eating from silver plates and drinking from crystal glasses, was to haunt me forever. It didn't matter how far I ran, my life was a constant lie anyway. I couldn’t change the decisions that were made that had brought me to that moment, and I hated, hated, hated it. I was supposed to be there with him, for him. I was supposed to take care of him during his last days. I was supposed to be standing in between the high weeds of our open field. But I was standing on the balcony of a place that wasn’t mine, looking out at the big city night lights and wondering where it all went wrong. 

Was it mom, all those years ago? Was it dad, locking me up on a golden stone tower? Was it me, who never truly made the decision to go back to the Valley?

Whoever Dr. Moss was, he was a better person than me. 

From what my grandfather wrote, he took on the old town’s clinic after the former doctor had retired. If I still knew my old man, he was putting this poor youngling through hell with his stubbornness; I knew it all too well, because it lived in me. However, they kept writing. And even though Dr. Moss never let his voice peek through my grandpa’s words, I could still feel him there, underneath the clean handwriting. And there was something about someone making up that much time to read, listen and transcribe words like ours. There was something about someone being welcomed into a family’s intimacy and still keeping themselves under a veil of anonymity. He was our ghoul; there, but silent. Inside the family’s walls.

In my grandfather’s last letter before passing, he wrote that virtue is worthless if it costs your heart. I spent nights on end trying to understand what he truly meant.

At the time, I hadn’t been replying for a few months. Things weren’t really… pretty, on my own end. I guess that is what happens when you try to bring an unfaithful relationship back to life. I hated myself for not being better, while committing every mistake in the book to make things worse. I should have left sooner. I should have known better. 

But what is a sinner if not a stumbling mess trying to be god?

I did, eventually. Leave. Moved in with a friend, cut a PhD a whole year short somehow, only to end the suffering earlier than expected. And then I left again, headed to the Valley. With nothing but my memories, my letters and my grief on the suitcase. And when it was time, I knew I had to meet him. Because guilt would not stop spreading its tentacles inside me like a disease if I didn’t even recognize all the work a stranger had put into my grandfather’s health. A work I, his only legacy, couldn't do. I wouldn’t blame the man if he patronized me as one of those awful distant relatives.

It was harder than I thought. I wasn't used to people around me caring enough to wish me a good morning whenever our paths crossed. It took me quite a few days to realize they were deeming me rude for not acting the same way. Way to go, Genevieve, great first impression. After a while, I was able to finally make it to his door, once I could find the time to visit the town and get through the friendly neighbours. The place hadn't changed much in the past twenty years, and yet, everything was different. 

For once, maybe this could be a good sign. 

The door chimed when I came in and the air inside the building was cold. Just like any other clinic, it was too white, too sterile, too… hostile. It didn’t match the image of him I made up in my mind, but I didn’t know what to expect. It was a clinic, after all, just like any other.

A tall man was behind the counter, leaning over some spilled papers in front of him, scribbing. He fixed his posture upon seeing me, standing even taller somehow. I wasn't quite used to it, too many years of whiny men trying to make up for our height difference by trying to make me feel smaller under my belt. I lost many battles. However, that would not apply to whoever stood before me. He was a handsome young man, probably in his early thirties. A resident doctor, maybe?

“Hello, how can I help you?” The grave tone of his voice took me out of my trance. 

“Hi!” Why were my hands sweaty? Why was I trembling? Why was guilt consuming my entails again, upon the inevitable meeting with the one person who did the job I didn't have the heart, the courage, the guts to do? Gripping on the letter in my hands, I tried again. “I'm looking for Dr. Moss.” 

“That would be me.” 

I almost choked on thin air. Him? The image I created of that man was solely grounded on the idea of a middle-aged kind physician that looked a little too much like young Santa. Of course, my own references were biased. I remembered the old town doctor from all those years ago, under the warm colors of a Summer film filter and the taste of caramelized sugar in the form of a lollipop, so I just assumed his successor would be a little like him. I never expected someone around my age to be running that old place, and, mostly, to have been the vessel that tied me to the last years of my grandfather in this realm. 

Him being younger than what I originally thought shouldn't be a bother, but it was, and I couldn't tell why. Maybe I was mildly enticed by him and the idea of him thinking I was a monster who abandoned her family in a time of need was about to become a problem. Maybe being looked down on by an older person is something we all get used to eventually, so it stops hurting, but to be judged by a peer is a different type of burn. 

“But everyone around here calls me Dr. Harvey.”

Harvey. 

Interesting. 

Something I learned quite quickly in undergrad was that academia finds a way to kill parts of you, only to bring some others up. Sometimes worse than the former, but still. So I knew very well how to swallow my surprise and bashfulness and come out like a calm, well-collected person. It was all about control, and I bathed myself in the pride of, under the fathom of being unable to control my own destiny, knowing way too well how to control myself, a craft carefully mastered after years of being forced to readapt constantly. To a new house, a new family, a new city, a new relationship. I could do it again. One more time and maybe it would be over. 

I stretched out my arm, offering my hand. He rightfully grabbed it, touch firm yet gentle, skin soft. The smile in his face was tight, professional. We were both pretending. 

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Harvey. I've just moved here…” I motioned to the direction of the farm, over my shoulder, as if he didn't know it. He probably knew that earthy path by heart. Definitely better than me. “I'm the new farmer…” 

Something gleamed behind his eyes, but he tried to hide it. 

Why?

“My name's Genevieve.”

“You're Mateo's…”

“Yes. I am indeed.” He looked down at the crumbled piece of paper in my hands and I could feel that string that tied us all together. All of our words, unspoken yet shared. That man knew I got engaged on a dinner party with all of my colleagues around to witness it and hated it — I cried the whole night writing that letter, as I had no one else to tell but my old man —, that the circus my life became after that almost ruined my acceptance at the PhD program, my own partner suddenly gifting me all these wedding responsibilities I wasn't even sure I wanted. He knew I got cheated on, time and time again. That man had read words I wrote on my knees when praying wouldn't work anymore. What do you do with something like this?

Maybe I was reading too deeply into things. Maybe he was just doing his job helping a dying old man. Maybe my own broken heart made me too much of a melancholic. 

We were both silent and I knew I had to do it quickly, or else I'd chicken out. 

“Speaking of, that's the reason I'm here…” The crumbled paper restled in between my fingers. “I just wanted to say thank you.” If I held my breath for long enough, the tears would go away. The knot in my chest was something for later. “I know I never wrote back… It was a complicated time, back then… But I thought you deserved to know how much your work was appreciated… And…” Damned tears, running away from me in the direction of the clinic’s floor. “I can't imagine the amount of effort you must have put into keeping that old man alive and well. I know he could be very stubborn.” The last sentence ripped an almost smile out of him. Seemed real enough to me. “You're a good man, Dr. Harvey, and a great doctor. I have my own regrets in life, but it warms my heart to know grandpa had someone like you with him during his last days.” 

The letter in my hands was old and crumbled from being read and handled too many times, but it was all I could look at at that moment. Folding it again, I kept it safe in my palm and dared to look up. His eyes were worried, but I knew very well how to dodge that. Dry the tears, make eye contact, smile, lie. He'll soon forget about it. 

“Thank you, Dr. Harvey. For all that you've done.” I put on my warmest smile. Somehow, I felt like I was screwing it — whatever it was — up already. “Hope I'll see you around.” 

“It was nice meeting you, Genevieve.” Dr. Harvey offered me a small headnod. Maybe I hoped too much, fool soul that I am. Maybe there was no invisible string. Maybe paper was just paper and ink was just ink and words didn’t mean as much as I thought they did. 

But Yoba be damned if I weren't at least trying. 

“I'd love to hear about your meetings one of these days. Maybe we can grab a drink?” I offered, halfway out the door.

I didn't let him answer, too scared to wait for a response. I didn't know what I was doing, but I was a pro in faking it. That way, at least no one else needed to know about my failings. 

I walked the way back to my new old house, a farm in ruins. I would have to find the meaning to whatever I was looking for over there. 

The letter in my hand read: 

Dear Miss Di Angelo,

I believe we were never formally introduced. I am the physician who has treated your grandfather for the past two years. Amongst the things we would do during our frequent check-ups and informal meetings, I was the one who transcribed his latest letters to you. I write to you for I want to express my condolences. Your grandfather was one of the most fierceful spirits I had the luck to cross paths with in this life. No patient before stood out to me like him. Be sure he loved you deeply, never once not mentioning you or your mother in his stories when we were together; these that may be kept safe under the confidence of these exchanged papers and my own oath.

I am sorry for your loss and I hope you can find comfort in the memory of him, as he surely did when it was the other way around. 

Sincerely, 

Dr. Harvey Moss.

Chapter Text

Never trust it if it rises fast, it can't last

Spring, Year One — May

Harvey

To be perfectly honest, he didn’t mean for it to happen. 

He was worn out and tired and secretly glad Elliott was locked in with his manuscript that night. Shane, as usual, stood in his corner at the Saloon, refusing to interact with anyone else other than his beer. Not that Harvey minded at that moment. All he wanted was the peace and quiet he could only find at the bottom of a glass of wine. 

She arrived quietly, like the clouds gathering up in the horizon, getting ready for a Spring storm. Maybe it was the old music or the loud chatter, all the background noise piling up around his torpor blindsiding him. Was he dissociating again? She leaned over the counter to tell Gus something he couldn’t hear from there, her figure the definition of grace. His height always meant being too big, too clumsy to fit in, so out of place, constantly trying to make himself smaller somehow, but she stood tall like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like she was meant to fit in her own skin. 

He hated how invested he was. How curious he was. How he thought that strange connection to her was over once the last letter was sealed and addressed, the one she never responded, how he came to terms with the fact that those stories were to be as confidential as Mateo’s medical files, but there he was, obsessing over the once faceless girl he used to read about nearly every week. That had to be some fucked up parasocial kind of situation, he would have to look it up in his books; besides, he was definitely standing in an ethically grey area over there. 

She caught his wandering eye before he could look away and it was too late. A friendly wave and a small smile were the answer. 

He could handle that, right? Maybe? Probably not? 

He raised his glass into her direction and her smile widened. Okay, so not a disaster. Good. She grabbed her own drink and seemed to come into his way, but sat in a near stool at another table. He had to stop thinking that kind of shit. 

“Evening, doc.” Her accent was from Zuzu, unmistakably, but deep down she sounded like her grandfather, Mateo. Something about the timber of her voice that was a little lower than usual. 

“Good evening.” He had forgotten his book that night, unable to pretend he was actually busy with something. He could try to stare at his phone for a while, but that sounded too painful even for a chronically awkward person like Harvey. So he kept sipping on his wine and trying to get his mind out of the woman sitting not far away from him. 

He almost succeeded, already used to getting trapped inside his own head. 

“So, you’re done with your book?” He heard from the other table.

Genevieve had her head resting against her palm, calmly looking at him. 

“I, uhh… Yes…” 

“And?”

He snorted a laugh, getting nervous.

“Miserable, as you said.”

She smiled proudly. 

“I hope Narcissus kept you good company.”

Harvey frowned. 

“Who?”

“The daffodil.” 

“Oh.” Oh. If she only knew how hard it was finishing that reading with the flower in the midst of the book pages. “Yes, I-... I guess it did.” His mind span in its axis. What was he doing, letting that slide?

“Good.”

Truth be told, the Di Angelos had their own unique way of getting information out of him. Mateo, with his harsh manners and lack of social tact acquired after years of self-isolation had Harvey stuttering too many explanations that the old man didn’t care about. He was not only a really hard patient, but he was Harvey’s first and most recurrent one during his first years in Pelican Town, the poor doctor still fresh out of residency. It was surely not an easy path to cross. Genevieve, on the other hand, was enchanting. Like a siren song, she had a way of luring the words out before he could think twice. Or perhaps Harvey was only trying to find ways to justify his dumb behaviour around people that intimidated him. 

“How… How’s the farm?” He heard himself asking, even though Genevieve wasn’t even facing him anymore.

She smiled tightly.

“It’s complicated.”

The land is an ungrateful lady, doc, he heard the old farmer’s voice in his head.

“I can imagine.”

“How’s the clinic?” She shot the question back at him.

“It’s complicated.” He smiled, reveling in the meaning of her own words. Sometimes that was just what work was. Complicated. 

He wished things weren’t so complicated all the time. 

Genevieve got up from her stool and, in fact, came into his direction this time. 

“Mind if I join you?” 

He didn’t mean for it to happen. 

Maybe things didn’t have to be so complicated. 

Harvey shook his head and she sat next to him. He could tell she smelled good; clean. Her braid traveled all the way down her back, face features soft and strong at the same time. She was using a faded t-shirt of the Department of Biology of the University of Zuzu City.

“Did you… did you finish your PhD?”

Her eyes gleamed under the low light of the Saloon and for Harvey it was like watching the falling of snow for the first time in your life. Something you heard of, but never truly experienced — because her tone was crystal clear on her letters whenever she wrote about her work, but to actually see the light hit her eyes was something otherworldly. 

“Yeah.” She was smiling, eyes low on the glass before her. Shy, but satisfied. Not uncomfortable like him. “It was supposed to last a whole other year, actually, but I picked up a lot of work last year when I called off the wedding.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Yeah.” She nodded, and maybe Harvey wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions like he once thought, because apparently she read the surprise on his face. “That finally happened. What a shame grandpa wasn’t around to celebrate.” She snorted lightheartedly. 

“I can see him opening a brand new bottle of whiskey as a response.” He said before he could overthink the line repeatedly, and the recognition in her smile was something the Valley could have never offered him before her arrival. It was brand new. He allowed himself to smile back, allowed himself some selfishness to take something he didn’t even know he longed for. 

Recognition.

Someone to share the knowledge and the grief. 

“I’d ride all the way back to drink that with him.” She was still smiling, but the sadness was catching up to her. He knew the feeling all too well. “I should have done it sooner.” Riding back to the Valley? Leaving her ex? He didn’t know, and he had the feeling to not ask about it. It didn’t matter. Besides, he had no right to know. He was only a stranger to her, and she was the relative of a long patient of his. Some boundaries aren’t meant to be crossed.

“I’m really sorry.” He also wasn’t sure what he was sorry for, he just knew that he was.

Genevieve chugged down her drink before placing the glass back on the wooden table.

“I know. Me too. But anyways, I guess that means you’re not the only doctor in town anymore.” She smiled so easily. Was it really that simple?

“That’s actually a relief.” He joked, but it really was. Not that he would mention it.

“Are you from Zuzu too?”

“Yes.” He fixed his posture on the stool, trying not to let his anxiety beat him to it. “My whole family still lives there.” 

“And why did you leave?” Leave. That was an interesting choice of word. Like she knew that, like herself, he too was running from the hauntings of that old city.

“I wasn’t fit for the big city life.” 

“Or maybe Zuzu wasn’t fit for you.” 

And for the first time on that night, Harvey allowed himself to look into her eyes. To stare and to be stared back. And maybe, deep down, he imagined he would find a mirror with that old man’s image reflected in it, but she was a whole new universe, and he finally understood why a man wouldn’t stop writing about her even on his deathbed.

He wouldn’t complain if his destiny were to look like that. 

He didn’t even notice the empty glass of wine before she took it away from him.

“I’m getting us refills. On me.”

She was gone before he could think of an objection. 

𓋼𓍊

Genevieve must have unlocked some kind of ancient magic that slumbered underneath the earth of the Valley that night, because Harvey couldn't understand how his wine glass never emptied, no matter how much he drank from it. Or maybe he had trespassed his safety limits hours ago. 

She broke through the ice of a first meeting like a hot knife. A question about the weather, a comment about the season, and Harvey noticed she liked to talk. So he sat back and observed her analyze the patterns and differences between the Valley and Zuzu, the engines of her mind working right behind her eyes. Rambling about how the silence is louder in the country and how the stars shine brighter in the woods at night. How freeing it feels to not be known, but how painful it becomes when freedom turns into loneliness. Her talking was soothing, like she mastered the ability with the ease of years of training. He thought he was safe under the wing of yet another talkative extrovert, but Genevieve eventually stopped talking and the background noise wasn’t half as pleasant as the sound of her voice.

“What about you, doc?” 

“What about me?” 

“C’mon, I don’t want to monologue here. Tell me about you.”

Harvey shrugged, scared and cornered. Was there even something worth knowing or even sharing? 

“Well… I’m not sure, to be honest…”

Genevieve smiled fondly, like an adult smiles at a struggling child.

“Let me rephrase it. If I were to read the letters you wrote to a late relative of yours, what would I find there?”

Harvey laughed at the slight absurdity of it all. His life never took these unplanned turns before. Everything was always so predictable, even the things that went wrong. Not even that poor anxious heart had seen that coming. 

He sat a little straighter. It was weird how at ease he felt. Maybe it was the wine. Was that how normal people felt at all times? Light?  

He tried to remember her words, piled up in endless pieces of paper. He let his tongue roll loose. 

“Both my parents are doctors. My mom’s a big dermatologist in Zuzu and my dad served the Army. My grandfather did too, but he was a pilot. I… I actually wanted to follow his steps, I…” Stop stuttering. “I have a thing for aviation. A big thing, but… My eyesight is quite awful.” A small self-depreciative laugh to keep going. “I’m also a little scared of heights.” That’s one way to put it. “I actually did my bachelors in aeronautical engineering before med school.”

“So you pursued medicine because of your parents?” She interrupted him.

“No, I don’t see it that way…” He studied the bottom of his glass. “I needed a plan B, after… after I realized there was no way I could become a pilot, with… everything.” Harvey was being evasive, he knew it, but it was not like Genevieve was an open book too. Both of them were holding back information, knowledge that was not meant to be shared at such an early conversation. They were too much alike for comfort.

He shrugged, hurting. A broken dream is still broken, no matter how much time has passed.

“Sounds really hard for a Plan B.” 

Harvey snorted.

“I’m just a small town doctor. It’s no big deal.”

“You’re as much of a doctor as anyone else with a MD.” 

One look into her eyes and he knew she meant it, but he couldn’t afford that kind of honesty at that moment. He looked away. 

“Well, one of my mentors in med school and during residency named me to take on the clinic after the previous doctor retired. They were colleagues or… something. He knew I wasn’t happy with the ER, and… that’s how I ended up here.”

“And how’s the Valley been treating you?”

“It’s…” Lonely. “Lonely.” Did he really say it?

Genevieve nodded.

“I bet it is.”

“But I like the quiet. The chaos of the city… It wasn’t for me.”

“Yeah. I can relate.”

“And you? Why did you leave?”

She shot him a snarky smile and he noticed those sharp teeth again. 

“Really, doc? Isn’t it obvious?”

“No… Actually.” The alcohol was messing with his mind boundaries. He couldn’t think straight before the words were running free from his mouth, and he knew he would spend countless days anxiously rewinding this whole conversation in his head. “I mean… What about your research? Your work at the University?”

“Well…” She studied her own hands for a second and Harvey knew how she felt. Genevieve was familiar, even though she was nearly a stranger. She knew how he felt, even though she didn’t know about it. And, at the end of the day, isn’t that all we want? Recognition? “Yes. I had my research, and an assistant professor job on the horizon, but… I was fucked up after the break-up. It was distressing to realize everything that was mine… wasn’t really mine, you know? All that I had was my research, but it was living hell to work at the Department of Biology after what happened. Not even my friends were truly mine. The majority of them sided with my ex and I was left on my own.” Genevieve took a deep breath, fixing her posture. “There was nothing left for me there. It didn’t even feel like a loss… since I had almost nothing to leave behind… except for Alya.”

That name wasn’t completely strange for him. 

“Alya is…”

“My sister. Half -sister.”

Right. Harvey remembered the name being shortly mentioned in some of her letters, but Mateo never really talked about the other girl in his conversations. From what he could deduce, Alya was Genevieve’s half-sister, the one from their father’s second marriage. 

Yoba, that was confusing. 

“But enough with the trauma dumping. Do you have any siblings, doc?”

Harvey laughed at how quickly she moved on from the topic, like the heaviness of it all weighed nothing. 

“No, I’m an only child.”

“Any pets?”

“Not really. I can barely keep myself alive.” He snorted self-depreciously. “I find cats very curious creatures, though.”

“I have three at home. You’re welcome to go see their curiousness in person any day.”

They laughed quietly, and Genevieve was smiling, but Harvey couldn’t stop wondering if she truly meant it. He knew the path by heart. Maybe he could go there in dreams.

He shouldn’t be thinking those things. Genevieve was Mateo’s granddaughter, and now she was his patient too, just like everyone else in this town. He shouldn’t be sitting there with her, drinking wine and studying her face whenever she looked away, asking questions about her life. All he had to know about her was meant for her medical files and that was it. This connection, this… recognition, they would have to go elsewhere. She was off-limits. He was playing with fire.

But before he could try to escape, slip out of his stool and run away, he heard her voice again.

“Okay, moving on with the questions. Don’t think, just answer. Favorite book?”

Don’t think? That wasn’t something Harvey was familiar with. 

“A Tale of Two Cities.”

“The Castle of Otranto. Favorite movie?”

“The Zuzu City Express.”

“It Howls In The Rain. Favorite artist?”

“Visual arts or music?”

“Music.”

“Miles Davis.”

“Florence Welch. Do you even have a favorite visual artist?” She sounded indignant, but the smile she was holding back gave her away. 

Harvey laughed.

“Not really.”

“Okay, favorite color?”

“Green.”

“That’s a surprise.” She said, looking at his green jacket. He smiled. “Red. What are your hobbies, doc?”

“I, umm… I like… reading.” The ease was escaping once again, the questions rising and the shame of allowing her and himself to share such a moment burning his skin from inside out. “I like music; jazz, mostly. And…” Should he say it? Should he admit it? Pretty much no one knew about it, so why was he pondering telling it to an almost stranger? Why were those feelings so confusing? “I like aviation too, I think I mentioned it before. I study about aircraft a lot, and… I build some models too.” He dared to look at Genevieve and her eyebrows were arched in surprise. He didn’t know what it meant. Keep talking, keep talking. “I have a ram radio too, I built it myself. It’s not much, but it works just fine… I’m… I’m sorry, Genevieve, I must be boring you with this.” 

But she didn’t look bothered at all. She was leaning on the small table, one hand supporting her head as she watched him silently. Not even his interruption had an effect on her. She just blinked slowly, but her eyes were piercing through his skin. He wanted to see what she was seeing, because he was sure they didn’t see the same Harvey. He wanted to ask. Yoba, how many questions he wanted to ask. His mind was the only and worst prison he would know in his life.

“What is your favorite airplane?”

Why didn’t she answer it?

“I’m sorry?”

Was he truly annoying her with his presence?

“Do you have a favorite plane?”

But she was the one who sat with him…

“Yes. The Boeing C-108.”

“I wish I knew what that meant.” She laughed. He smiled too, but the vines of his anxiety were spreading fast, taking control.

“I have a model of it at home.”

“And did you build it yourself?” Why was she leaning close to him?

Harvey nodded.

“I’d love to see it, someday.” She leaned back to her original spot and it was like the light came back to the Saloon. Her proximity made the place warmer and darker, nothing in Harvey’s orbit but her, her, her. 

His eyes dropped to her lips for a millisecond to remind him that he was still human. That desire sometimes was stronger than rationality, and that he had to stay in his lane. Tied to the ground, like usual. Harvey was meant to stay grounded. 

Genevieve was the height he was so terrified of. Drawn to her by desire, pushed back by reality. 

Genevieve was off-limits, and it’s always better to kill an impossible dream before it plants the roots of hope in one’s heart; it makes the heartbreak easier. Or, at least, that was what his parents taught him. 

“It’s getting late.” He heard himself saying, finally noticing that the place around them was nearly empty. 

“Yes. We should get going.” She rose from her seat.

As Harvey got up from his stool, he noticed Gus and Genevieve sharing a small head nod and a smile while she headed to the door. Finally reaching the bar, he started looking for his wallet when the barman interrupted him. 

“It’s already paid, doc.” Below his thick moustache, Gus was hiding a mischievous smile. The older man looked behind Harvey’s shoulder and he turned to find Genevieve holding the front door open, smiling back. 

There was no point in trying to convince the man to accept his money, so Harvey just said his goodbyes and left. 

“You shouldn’t have done it.” He said when he reached Genevieve, coming down the few steps of the front door. “Let me pay you back, please.”

She smiled and started walking towards the clinic, shoulder to shoulder with him. 

“You’re a gentleman, doc, but don’t worry. See it as… a gift, from a new friend. A thank you for putting up with my rambling all night.” She giggled. 

“Genevieve, I can’t accept…” 

“I thought I asked you to call me Vee…” 

He remembered, but he couldn't. It was already weird to have his patients treat him by his first name. Even Genevieve called him “doc” all night. The lines were blurry in the Valley, but with her, they were impossible to see. Maybe they had crossed one of them a long time ago and Harvey was lost in the fog, trying to trace the footstep that doomed him. 

“And I asked you to call me Harvey.”

What the hell was he doing?

“Okay, Harvey… Don’t worry about dinner. It’s my treat. Besides, you’re the first person in here to actually… talk to me. And to listen. It means a lot.” 

And how’s the Valley been treating you?

It’s… lonely.

He knew how it felt. 

“Okay… Okay, thank you… Vee.”

She smiled widely as they reached his front door, but her attention was caught by something on the grass. It was dark and he couldn’t really see what she was doing until she got up again with a daffodil in hands. 

“Back in Zuzu, I was studying how the soil affects the flower’s growth. I spent six years learning everything I know, but here in the Valley… I don’t know, I feel like I’m wrong about something that I can’t quite understand yet. Whatever brought me here… I believe it is trying to teach me something. And I think the flowers are my cues. So…” She offered him the daffodil, and it was all like a huge déjà-vu. “Here’s to new beginnings, Harvey. For both of us.” 

He was speechless. Mesmerized. Enthralled. Hearing her speak with such certainty and confidence… They were a bit too much alike, but they were also inherently different. She clearly knew a world Harvey only ever dreamed of. 

New friendships. New beginnings. 

The lines were blurry and the boundaries were grey, but maybe, if Harvey allowed himself, it could mean something different. Something better.

And maybe that’s why he let himself accept the flower again. And maybe that’s why he let himself bring her knuckles to his lips when she offered him a goodbye handshake. And maybe that’s why he let her nickname roll out of his tongue once, just to see how it felt. 

“Good night, Vee.”

And it felt good.

To give in, to let go. 

It felt good.

Chapter Text

Wide awake all night thinking about you

Do you think of me too?

Spring, Year Three — May

Harvey

Whenever Harvey would face a turbulent night, full of nightmares, his mother would make him a cup of tea and take him back to bed. “Let’s not wake your father”, she would say. And in the deepest part of night, when the sky was darkest and the world was quietest, they would whisper conversations that would never see the light of day. And, for a fleeting second, everything would be fine. 

Harvey still wakes up in the middle of the night, but now he knows why his mother was already awake whenever one of those episodes would occur, for he inherited her chronic insomnia, and now he knows why she never wanted to wake his father, for he has heard his fair share of harsh words from the man himself. Alone in his bachelor apartment, Harvey boils his own water for his cup of tea, checks the drawer and counts the sleeping pills, trying to remember if he took it only hours ago. 

It is 2:47 a.m.

There were days, in the past, in which he didn’t need the tea. And there were days, in the past, in which no river of tea could save his soul. The latter happened most during med school and residency, always worried, always tired, his anxiety threatening to explode at any second. Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn’t. There were days in which he thought he had learned his way around it, and days in which he was sure he was doomed forever. Sleepless nights were a common occurrence, and, when you suffer enough, you get used to it. A familiar kind of hurt, one you can even baptize as your own. 

But he knew peace at some point. On those days, when the nightmares would catch up, and the insomnia would take its toll, he would wake up next to her, and everything would be fine. Sometimes all he would do was breathe her in, her body entangled to his, and listen to his heartbeat miss a few beats, because he was next to her; sometimes she would wake up too, and whisper secrets to him. And it could have been familiar, like his mother all those years ago, but this was different. Him and his mother, they shared stories of magic realms and formidable creatures, they built a place where all Harvey’s dreams could be true. Genevieve, however, didn’t need any of that. She didn’t demand him to believe anything. She was just there, and not his most staggering anxious thoughts could deny the unarguable fact that she was, in fact, there. No mind tricks, no childish hope. All it took was a whispered confession that she loved him and that everything was going to be alright, and his soul could be put to sleep for eternity. 

All of it only makes it worse. He eyes the red lights of the clock next to his bed, nothing but the pale moonlight lighting the room — he forgot about the curtains again —, a steaming cup of tea in hands, waiting for it to cool down. The truth is, he hasn’t slept. Tossed and turned to the point of the unbearable, getting up to admit just another loss. Sleeping has always been a hard task after discovering the insomnia, but with the new turning of events… Harvey hasn’t slept properly in two months. And it’s not like he was getting amazing sleep before that, when Genevieve would disappear for the day and only show up bleeding at 2 a.m. sharp, as if scheduled by a fucked up biological clock. But not having her around proved to be much worse than those former nights, and now he finds himself secretly wishing to go back to how they were before. 

Which brings him back to the reason he left in the first place. Genevieve doesn’t deserve someone that entertains these kinds of thoughts, longing for the messiest days of their relationship just so he could have her again. 

Selfish, selfish, selfish.  

The tea has cooled down by now, as Harvey wakes up from yet another dissociation episode. He drinks it with no sugar, like his mother taught him, but Genevieve once showed him just the right amount of milk to make it sweeter. He doesn’t have the heart to do it, though, knowing very well she shall forever live through him. In the books they read, the movies they watched, the music they danced to and the habits she taught him. To milk his tea, to eat tofu, to look up at the stars in the darkest part of the woods and to lay on the grass under the Sun. All of it is stained by her presence, haunting him. 

He lays down, the herbal taste hanging in his tongue, feeling warmer, but something still crawls underneath his skin. It’s harder to escape at night. His bed is somehow too big and too small at the same time, missing her presence, her sheets, her trace. He closes his eyes and it’s easy to wander, the flashes of the memories in much warmer colors than his dim bedroom. And there’s so many of them, even from before she was his. Chatting by the fountain, walking to the beach, undressing in her living room. Walking her up to her room, laying her down in a bed big enough for both of them. Pressing his head against her thighs, losing his breath while he dives in, dives deep. Open-mouthed, crashing against the rocks. Crawling up to her, mouth to mouth, as he buries himself inside her, over and over and over. And it’s slow, it’s languid, it has her coming over him as he fills her up and whispers her secret back at her. 

I love you.

He did. He does.

His hands wander as fast as his mind, faster than his fears and guilt, traveling to where his body needs. Her name slips from his tongue as he wraps himself with his palm, body trembling and blood boiling. And everything is not fine. Things couldn’t be as farther from fine than right now. And there is something about acceptance, something about understanding, that cradles one with comfort. Things are bad and there's nothing he can do. It’s both disheartening and liberating. It leaves a bittersweet taste on the tongue, just like herbal tea.

Morning comes and he avoids the image in the mirror, he knows what he will find. Dark circles, shady stubble, hollow cheeks. Dull eyes he barely recognizes anymore. He does enough to look presentable; he still has a job to do, after all, and he sure can't be seen looking this miserable. He’s back to his old poor habits, which includes no food with his morning coffee. Maybe if he does enough wrongs, just like he had been before she arrived at the Valley, she’ll find the way back, like the first time. She’ll mock him back into a healthier life. And everything would be fine.

But then again, they would have to be different people. Harvey wouldn’t be Harvey and Genevieve wouldn’t be Genevieve and they wouldn’t get their traumas to get the best out of them. He wouldn’t entertain his screaming anxiety and she would ease her need to prove her worth. They would find a way, a better way. They would work it through, together. And everything would be fine. 

At the right side of his office desk, inside the second drawer, there are dried flowers and a picture of her, along with his promise ring, silver shining palely in cool white lights. He put it there after her last visit and never opened it again. It all used to be displayed with his other things for anyone to see, to keep him company during lonely work hours, but now they all sit in their silent graveyard of memories. 

He still hasn’t seen her much, somehow surprised their paths wouldn’t cross in such a small town. Every now and then he goes back to that night at the Saloon, echoing Haley’s words and replaying the pain in Vee’s eyes. Heartbreak, he was sure it was the word one of them used. Shane works at the Angelus Farm now, but he doesn’t say much, claiming to not want to pick sides between his friends and his boss. And he is right, and Harvey knows it, but his heart never really respected his mind when it came to desires. So, sometimes, all he wants is for Shane to spill something, anything, that would help him understand how she is now. 

He wants to know, but he chose to leave. It was the idea of her deserving better than a messed up person like him that had him packing up in the first place, and every day he chooses to stick to his ground. So he doesn’t ask, and Shane doesn’t answer, and they move on with their lives. But something lingers. A feeling he’s too ashamed to even name, something he doesn’t really want to acknowledge. But an anxious mind can be cruel, and unkindness thrives on a broken heart, so Harvey can’t really stop the images that play in his head when he pictures Shane and Genevieve together. He has nothing to support those thoughts, but they torment him anyway. And he knew that setting her free meant… well, setting her free; to do what she wants, to be with somebody else. He prefers to agonize on his longing forever than to doom her to a life like his own, but he didn’t want to face the idea of her moving on so fast. Harvey’s still human, even though he might not like it. He is still subject to selfishness. 

The paperwork is endless, but he pushes on through. It’s a slow day and everything is quiet, except for one or two noises coming from the waiting room — Maru. There’s a disturbance in their silence, hushed voices muffling the front door chime, before someone knocks on his door and peeks in. 

“Someone’s here for you.” Maru announces unceremoniously, and it’s weird how red her cheeks are.

“Of course. Let them in.”

His hopes travel faster than his better judgment. He is allowed half a second of wishing Genevieve will cross that door before a woman that couldn’t be more different from her walks in. Small slim body, pitch black short hair, narrow eyes that scan the place faster than Harvey would deem possible. 

Alya. 

She’s clearly agitated, fidgeting while looking everywhere but at him. He calls her name softly and whatever buzzing that was disturbing her mind seems to stop for a second.

“Hi! Harvey!” She opens a smile, breathless, and Harvey tries to make sense of her presence. Alya is Genevieve’s younger sister. Half-sister, actually. Born shortly after Vee lost her own mother, from what he could remember. Alya’s presence in the Valley wasn’t completely surprising, as she would visit from time to time when she had the chance. What didn’t sit right with him, though, was why she was here, instead of the farm. 

“Hello, Alya. It’s good to see you…”

“Yeah, good to see you too.” She interrupts him, slowly going back to her disheveled state. 

“... What brings you here?” Harvey finished his sentence besides the interruption.

Alya snorts, finally landing on Earth, apparently. Whatever it was, she looked slightly pissed.

“Right! Of course! Please, bear with me Harvey.” She places both hands at her waist and starts pacing through the room. “You see, I haven’t heard a word from my sister in weeks. No texts, no letters, nothing. I call, but she doesn’t answer. I was starting to consider a carrier-pidgeon, but then I thought “nah, I might as well just drive there”, which, in a normal scenario, would be fine! I’d come here and, I don’t know, set her yard on fire for ghosting me, and we would talk! But I completely forgot about the part where I needed to drive here. Me. Traveling for hours by myself. And I only realized how dumb of an idea that was halfway here. So, needless to say, I’ve been driving for almost… six? Or seven hours now, I don’t remember the last time I peed, or even if I had water at all! And I haven’t eaten in maybe half a day, and…”

Harvey can’t hear it anymore. He jumps up from his chair and Alya barely notices him as she goes on with her rant, but he holds her by the shoulders gently and looks into her eyes, trying to grab her attention. It works and she stops so he can finally talk. 

As a doctor, Harvey was trained to care for the people. He was taught to recognize the signs, name the symptoms, come up with a solution. It took him years of studying, and even more time to practice, and that’s a kind of knowledge that you never stop learning — it grows with you. But looking at Alya spiraling into a meltdown, all he can think of is how cruel it must have been for a child to be forced into learning this on her own, because that’s what Genevieve did. All he can think of is the countless confessions she made to him, retelling the stories of when they were children, of one kid caring for the other, of all the times she had to intervene for Alya, because her parents wouldn’t. He knew Genevieve measured her worth through how much she could save other people, and he knew it all started with Alya.

Alya, who now stares at him with widened eyes like she’s about to cry from exhaustion. Alya, who clearly needs help and can only resort to her also exhausted loyal sister. Alya, who nakedly reflects the suffering in Genevieve’s eyes, straight into his direction.

The only piece of her he can still touch.

“Alya… Take a deep breath for me.” 

She obeys sloppily. 

“Again, please.” They repeat the process until she is calmer. “From what you have told me, you are clearly dehydrated. Are you sure you had nothing to drink in the past hours?”

Her eyes get lost and she shrugs. 

“I had some energy drinks on the way here to put up with all the driving.” 

Harvey sighs, louder than he intended, but Alya only chuckles and apologizes. These enchanting girls and their lack of self-preservation. 

“It’s fine. However, I can’t let you walk out of here without at least a quick check-up. Is that okay with you?” Alya and Genevieve can be a lot alike, but they are also inherently different. One of those differences is how easy-going Alya can be, medicine wise, whereas her sister is as stubborn as a mule. 

“Forgive me, Alya, but I don’t think I understand.” He says as they carry on, reaching for his stethoscope while the girl sits on the stretcher. “If you’re here for Genevieve, why come to the clinic? Excuse me…” He adds quickly as he steps closer to her, asking for consent before touching her shoulder. 

The proximity allows him to see the blood come running to Alya’s face.

“I forgot where to go.” She blushes harder. “So I just started wandering and then I got here.” Harvey only nods as he continues the examination. Alya chuckles again. “Directions aren’t exactly my strength.” That rips a weak yet sincere laugh out of him. “I thought that maybe you would know where she is, or where to go.” 

Harvey slowly takes the stethoscope away from Alya’s cleavage, looking down. He resigns to take his notes at his desk for a second. 

“I can show you the way to the farm, but… I’m afraid I can’t help you with the whereabouts of your sister.” It pains him to admit it, but there’s no point in lying, let alone try to reach out for her. 

“Why not?” The younger girl asks and he can’t understand the naivety in her eyes. As if… she didn’t know. 

Oh. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know. 

Alya keeps looking up at him confused as he breaks the news.

“Vee and I…” Her nickname leaves a bittersweet taste in his tongue. Like herbal tea. “We’re not together anymore.” He tries to keep on with his work, checking her pulse, but his own blood is deafening his ears. His whole body is running cold, ready to fly. 

“Oh… I’m… I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t know.” Alya’s voice is small and embarrassed, a child caught doing something deemed wrong. The image burns in his head, thinking of a small Genevieve standing up for her. 

“It’s okay. I thought she would have told you by now.” Harvey avoids her eyes, finishing the check-up and hurrying to complete his notes. He doesn’t give her enough response time, blurting out his doctor orders as a cheap try of killing the other subject. Drink water, eat properly, rest. Nothing but the usual, but even though Alya is obedient, something lingers in the back of her eyes — he can’t take it. 

He goes back to his desk, finishing the paperwork. Alya looks around, slowly this time, completely lost. He eyes the clock and it’s almost time for his lunch break. The sigh of the young girl lost and worried hangs heavier in his stomach than the fear of facing his own decisions. He sighs heavily, putting the pen down. 

“Give me a couple of minutes to finish this, and I’ll show you the way. Hopefully she’ll be home.” 

Genevieve could hate him for many things — leaving her, lying, being a coward —, but not for not caring for Alya.

𓋼𓍊

He knows the path by heart. He could walk it with closed eyes and he would still know where to dodge a loose rock, where to detour a small hole on the ground. He doesn’t have to look into the gate’s lock to open it, the memory of his previous life burned deep into his muscles. He could walk in like he called that place home. 

Like he once did. 

Alya, however, doesn’t pay that close attention to where she goes, and trips on every stone and branch that lays on the ground. Harvey quickly calculates the exact height to reach for her elbow whenever she does. 

They know each other. They have spent time together before. Still, it feels wrong being around her without her sister, especially now with their separation standing in the way. He’s not sure what to expect when they arrive. Will she be happy? Thankful that he retrieved her sister safely? Angry that he is meddling? Every thought pile up in his already full mind, weighing down on him. 

They walk past Alya’s car, poorly parked next to the old bus, invading half of the grass patch.

“Don’t look at that.” She tries to turn his head around by holding his chin and they share a laugh. It gives him one second to hold himself together before the wooden gate is before them. 

And the repaired farm house, standing tall. The greenhouse in the distance. The small waterfalls hissing with the leaves and the wind. The air smells different here. The atmosphere, once so inviting, feels threatening, like being poisoned by the prettiest of flowers. The place is beautiful and thriving, the green so saturated it makes his head hurt. Rows and rows of crops growing and thriving, and the muffled sound of a cow or a chicken in the background. 

When he left, the snow hadn’t fully melted yet. Everything was dull, hopeless, and walking back home felt like wandering through a graveyard. Harvey never really had a favorite season before, but now he has gathered enough reasons to hate Winter. But not even the promise of Spring could save him, he could see it now. Time could pass and seasons could change, but he would never escape himself. But Genevieve could change, could thrive, could grow, like the flowers that wait for the warmth to return. Harvey believes himself to be a selfish man, but no cruelty would make him sentence the love of his life to his own misery. He doesn’t have a choice, or a way out, but she does. 

Genevieve is kneeling down in front of plowed soil and Harvey is just grateful she is there. Above the ground, breathing fresh air, that cursed pick nowhere to be found. She must sense them from a distance, because her head turns into the right direction, eyes landing on him first. And there it is, the hurt, the rage, the sadness. She knows how to hide it, but he knows where to look. They can’t escape each other. Before Genevieve can fully comprehend what is happening, Alya is already squeaking loudly and running into her direction. She gets up to welcome the girl in her open arms, her gloved hands carefully avoiding Alya’s body to not stain her clothes with dirt. But from above her sister’s shoulder, Genevieve shoots another glance at Harvey, and he is there waiting for her eyes to find him. He could pretend, look away and act nonchalant, but the sigh of a scrap on her cheek catches his attention and he can’t stop looking. In better days, he would rush to her with gauze in hands, probably lecture her a little too hard about overworking herself, maybe they would even argue about it; but she would let him touch her face and clean the cut, would let him look longingly into her eyes and beg her to be more careful. “Please”, he would say, and she would melt under his touch. They would make promises they wouldn’t keep. And everything would be fine. 

Harvey notices she’s talking to Alya about something he can’t hear, but her eyes are glued on him until the younger girl lets go of her embrace. Another presence comes into their direction from a distance, disturbed by the commotion. Shane. The sight of his friend places a painful pinch in Harvey’s stomach. That feeling he won’t name, won’t acknowledge. The awareness that Shane is welcome here and isn’t, not anymore. 

“... And, and I’ve been driving for over six hours! And…” Alya’s desperate voice grows louder by the second, reminding Harvey where he is. Who is right before him. He can’t be caught feeling jealous this close to her.

“Wait, what? Six hours?” Genevieve has her eyes now fully focused on Alya. “The drive here is not much over four.” 

“I might have missed some entrances.” The younger girl tries to talk it off, but Vee is overflowing with worry.

“Where’s your car now?”

“Somewhere over there.” She points loosely to the farm gate.

“It’s parked next to the old bus.” Harvey interferes, claiming their attention again. Alya only nods her agreement. 

“I also might have hit a tree.” She admits as if she’s talking about the bad weather. 

“Sweet Yoba, Ally, how did they let you get a license?” Her sister whispers before holding her close again.

“I’ll go get it.” Shane finally arrives next to Genevieve, handing her the hammer in his hand. Harvey tries to ignore how naturally their fingers brush together. 

Vee nods, letting go of Alya, the latter reaching for the car keys in her pocket, handing it over to Shane. Would Alya let Harvey drive it, if he had thought of it first? Would she allow him so easily, like she does with Shane? He can’t help but wonder. 

“Hey, there, doc.” Shane pats him on the shoulder as he passes him by. Harvey is not sure he answered him.

Silence finally falls upon them, his and Genevieve’s eyes locked onto each other’s. He’s worried. Worried why she hasn’t told the person she loves most in the world about their break-up, worried Alya’s arrival might overwhelm her even more, make her feel responsible for her sister’s life all over again — if the feeling ever went away in the first place. But it is not his place to worry anymore, and all there’s left to do is withdraw. 

There’s nothing he can do. It’s disheartening and liberating. 

“Harvey helped me find the way, actually.” Alya starts explaining herself again. “I got lost and got to the clinic first, so I…” Her eyes find his, and he silently begs for her to not mention it. But, unlike himself, Alya is no liar. She shyly smiles her apology. “I thought he might have known about… you. So he brought me here. And we also had a check-up! Yeah, I’m dehydrated, apparently.”

Genevieve’s eyes dart between Harvey and Alya.

“Yeah, I can tell. Why don’t you…” Genevieve sighs, forcing her eyes shut. “... go inside, Ally? There’s food in the fridge… Rest a little, I’ll be right there.” 

For the first time since she arrived, Alya hesitates. She looks between them, maybe seeing the tension in the air tying the two together. Perhaps, if someone stretches a hand, they could feel it. It happens too quickly for his mind to keep track, or maybe he was just too distracted in Genevieve’s eyes. Someone small, smaller than his ex, steps closer and wraps her arms around him. Alya hugs him tight before letting go, the fleeting moment ending before it even began. 

“Thank you, Harv.” Alya never calls him ‘doc’. She only ever called him Harvey or Harv, just like her sister once — the one she’s learned from. Yet another dagger through his heart. “I’ll see you around.” He doubts it, but he doesn’t deserve to hear it. None of them do, so he nods his goodbye and watches her walking to the farmhouse.

The slow roar of a car engine buzzes in their ears, Shane slowly entering the farm with Alya’s car. He parks it but makes no motion to join them again, going on about his day. 

“Send me the bill.” Genevieve finally says, motioning to leave too. She walks about three steps before stopping on tracks and turning to him again. “And thank you. You didn't have to.”

“Of course I did.” Harvey whispers as she keeps walking, sure she won’t listen and the confession will die and be carried away by the wind.

“Why exactly?” Her full body is facing him again and he knows it all too well. The sharp tone of voice, her tense muscles. This has happened before, time and time again. 

He can’t fight. He doesn’t know how to, not without her love.

“She’s your sister.” The truth is the best way out, even though vulnerability hurts. However, it’ll hurt more if he gives her yet more reasons to hate him. 

“Don’t feel like you owe me anything, Harvey. You made it very clear we are done.” Her words are a million paper cuts ripping his skin open. It burns more than it hurts, but it’s unpleasant anyway.

“I see we’re doing first names now.” He ironizes and regrets it immediately, but all she does is roll her eyes. “Vee, how many times…”

“Don’t call me that!”

A loud but distant moo interrupts them. The animals are out, bathing in the Sun and eating grass, but one brown cow moos again into their direction, like it wants to intervene. Harvey must be going insane. 

“Genevieve, I…” The cow moos again and they are forced to pay attention. He notices Genevieve’s shoulders going down, a deep breath to ease her sore muscles. All she gives him is a side-eyed look before announcing:

“It’s you.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“She’s talking to you.” The cow? Harvey always knew Genevieve has a special bond with her animals, but he has never seen it as something that extended to him. Sure, she had long conversations with the ducks by the pond, but he knew nothing about it, nor shared the same experience. This has never happened before.

Or so he thinks.

Genevieve starts walking again, this time headed to the barn. The fenced area, Harvey notices, is wider now, and there’s a couple more animals than before. He doesn't know why, but he follows her, and she doesn’t complain. That must be a good sign. They arrive next to Dahlia, one of Genevieve’s oldest cows, one of the first animals Harvey met when they were still friends. He recalls that late afternoon in the middle of Fall, driven here by his longing heart, wishing he would have kissed her that night when he had the chance. It would have given him so much more time with her. 

Dahlia moos again when they are closer, and it sounds sad. Or maybe Harvey really is going insane. 

Genevieve sighs, clearly tired. 

“It’s okay.” She whispers to the animal, reaching out to pet her fur. “I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what she is apologizing for, but it sure isn’t for her harsh words. But then again, he is no saint. “Cows can recognize humans, doctor. They have great memory and often bond with the ones that care for them.” Vee side-eyes him again. “They miss you, Harvey. Don’t think your absence has gone unnoticed.”

Harvey used to get up earlier on Sundays to help with the farm. After a while, it became routine. At some point, he forgot what it was like to live in his own apartment, unofficially sharing a house with her. On those Sundays, he would water a few crops and make sure the animals had food on their barns and coops. It was early enough that they were still waking up, and he would often find the cows still on the floor. They weren’t so intimidating that way, though he was probably the only person who felt intimidated by a furry cow. He would pet them and try to whisper words of praise, just like Vee would do. He would always spend a few more seconds with Dahlia, feeling a special bond to her after that Fall afternoon. They were lovely animals, indeed. 

He missed Dahlia too. The cow, and the Sunday mornings, and waking up next to Genevieve, and having a life worth living. But if his own happiness is the price in exchange for his lover’s freedom, then so be it. 

Don’t think your absence has gone unnoticed. 

He wants to dissecate it. He wants to open it up and study it under a microscope to understand the intricacies of her speech. Most of all, he wants to ask her what it means; what it all means.

Because he is virtuous enough to offer himself as a sacrifice, but he is weak enough to feel pain while doing so. And to wish for it to stop.

He touches Dahlia’s fur and it’s familiar, and it’s not really pain that cradles his heart, but it’s still uncomfortable. It’s longing, missing, something words can’t really describe. It’s too close to mourning for comfort. Genevieve is not petting the cow anymore, but they stand close. He could stretch a hand and reach out, but he doesn't. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, not sure whether he’s talking to Genevieve or Dahlia. “I'm sorry I haven’t been around. I didn't… I didn't mean to…” Leave? He couldn't possibly say it.

He dares look at Genevieve again, noticing how her eyes are long lost on the horizon. 

“Genevieve…” 

“Please, Harvey.” She murmurs. “You should go. Thank you for Alya, just, please…” She looks up and for the first time in weeks he sees something different in her eyes. He can’t wrap his finger around it, but it looks too much like desperation. 

He takes a step back, then another. One last look at Dahlia and his heart shatters once more. He keeps on leaving, each time getting harder than the last. 

“Goodbye.” He whispers to the wind. He's not sure where it goes first. 

Chapter Text

Come one, come all

It’s happening again

Spring, Year Three — May

Genevieve

The girls are still sleeping when Shane arrives.

“Morning, boss.”

There was a time in the past in which I was utterly convinced Shane hated me. And maybe he did, somewhere in between those first two years. He wasn’t exactly the most welcoming of neighbors; quite the opposite, actually, and I was never the most affable companion, but something about him had me captivated, in the worst possible way, if I might add. For a long time, Shane gave me no space to go forward, not a single gap for me to squeeze in. I know I had my fair share of guilt when it came to the early days of our delicate friendship, if I can even call it that, but it is always more comforting to be a victim in a narrative. Maybe I saw in Shane an opportunity to try to do what’s right, to break through his walls and… I don’t even know what I wanted with it, honestly. To save him? I wasn’t even aware of his drinking problems at first. Perhaps he was the personification of one of my biggest fears, — that I was completely unable to please everyone, that maybe I was doomed to fail again, that I was not good enough for this town, — and maybe luring him into a friendship with me would make me feel better about myself. Back in Zuzu, I settled, even embraced, for the idea of being the laughing stock of the department — silly Genevieve, with her PhD dream and a joke of a relationship with someone who was actually important —, but I can’t wrap my finger around the idea of fucking things up in the Valley like I did everywhere else. This was my only chance at being better.

I can’t say I stopped believing all of these things, but, on the brighter side, I have stopped thinking Shane deeply despises me and secretly plans my downfall in secret. Not because he hates everyone, but because he can’t be bothered this much to care. 

“Morning, chicken man.”

The moments in which he calls me by my own name or nickname are rare. I’m not sure what it means, and I’m not risking our armistice for a stupid question. Deep down, I know all I want is to apologize for villanizing him in my own head and wanting to play the big savior for everyone in town, but that would bother not only me for admitting aloud some of my endless fucked up thoughts, but also Shane, that has no idea about any of this.

Because that’s all that the grand scheme of things is, in the end. Anxious thoughts with nowhere to run, convincing enough to make you believe they are everywhere, when in reality no one has any idea of the turmoil happening inside you.

So I keep my feelings locked inside and try my best at cultivating whatever proximity we seem to be developing. 

I noticed he likes his coffee with sugar, unlike Harvey. 

Stop it.

I only ever drink it with milk. The table is set already, the house open to see the sunlight. He now has the only spare key that once belonged to somebody else. I prohibit myself from wandering back to my memories of Harvey.

Shane doesn’t talk much and I take some time to convince myself it’s not a problem with me. He doesn’t seem to entertain anyone much, or so I was taught by one of his closest friends.

Stop it.

He’s attacking some pancakes with eggs. The image always reminds me of him asking about bacon the first time we ate together and me offering myself to slaughter him in order to make some before even considering touching a pig. I got careless and thought he was going to quit on the spot because of my reckless comment, but he only laughed and said it was a good one. I considered it a win.

“I need to go mining. Can you hold the fort for today?” Pressing my hips against the kitchen counter, I try my best to look nonchalant. I know what waits for me.

He only frowns at first. 

“I thought you were avoiding the mines while little sis’s in town.”

“I… am, but c’mon, it’s been two weeks already. I need the money.”

Shane grunts. Audibly. The arrival of Alya served as yet another reminder of why I am still doing all of this. I need the bloody money. 

“Yeah, I mean… Two weeks’ a great period of time to try gettin’ yourself killed again.” I open my mouth to argue, but he doesn’t let me. “That stupid scratch o’ yours had me answering way too many questions.” He points to my face, the exact spot that I cut a few days prior while trying to fix another broken fence. “The man was ‘bout to get taken away.” 

I take zero seconds to try to decipher what he means. I’ve been waiting weeks for this moment, but no amount of time could possibly prepare me for the trainwreck of feelings that hits my sore heart.

Stop it.

“Harvey?” His name still slips from my lips like thick honey, and I want to say I hate it. I want to hate it. I can’t. The familiarity kills me. I miss calling out his name, in the weed fields, in his office, in my bed. Our bed. 

Sometimes I can swear it still smells like him.

Longing for him is like waiting for a miracle, and hope is impossible to kill once it melts into faith.

I’m nothing but a fool.

Shane must realize his mistake, because he only rolls his eyes and takes his empty plate to the sink. He never mentions Harvey, and I never dare asking about him, but I know they are still close, sharing a table at the Saloon and conversations I’ll never know a thing about. But it slips out and now it sits in front of me. But no matter what story Shane told him, he shall never know that I cried while cleaning the wound, because the alcohol stings, but also because I miss him more than I care to admit. Because once he wouldn’t let me dream of patching myself up, and now I do it alone, locked in my bathroom. And I’m sad, I’m angry, I’m miserable, and every time I rip my skin open I secretly pray the blood will bring him back home. 

He cared enough to ask and this microscopic crumb of something that can barely be called affection is enough to feed my frivolous hope. It would be easier to believe he only worries because he’s still my doctor, but I don’t want to.

Fucking stop it!

Haley enters the room just as I’m about to make another mistake and try to inquire Shane about the information he just slipped, as if sensing the disorder. 

“Ugh, really? You’re here already?” Her blue eyes ignore me completely, shooting a frigid stare into Shane’s direction.

“Don’t know if you remember, but I work here, princess.” The answer comes in the same tone of disdain.

“I thought you were supposed to be with the chickens…”

“Okay, enough the two of you!” Because life doesn’t tire to mock me, I now have to nurse regular tantrums between Haley and Shane. They’re too much alike for comfort. In Shane’s defense, Haley always starts it. The little blonde nightmare is no saint, I must admit. I have faced my own fair share of her arrogance. For reasons I have never questioned, she hides her true self behind a shell of fake shallowness and pushes people away for no good reason. I can’t really argue with that without becoming a hypocrite. They look at me, waiting for a stand. “I’m getting tired of this shit. Haley, Shane works here. I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to deal with him every now and then.” Shane grins while Haley rolls her eyes. “The same goes for you, chicken man. Haley’s my friend. She’ll be around too, so you might as well try to get along.”

“I’d rather drink sour milk.” Haley states. 

“I can help you with that.” Shane retorts.

I groan loudly, leaving the kitchen to gather my equipment in one of the living room’s chests. 

“Shane, I’ll need you to check if everything’s set for tomorrow.” If I die in the mines today, at least I won’t have to endure another Egg Festival. “Leah’s doing the egg paint this year and I promised I’d drop the last batch today at her place.” Backpack secured, pickaxe in hands.

“Leah hates me.” I hear him grumble.

“I can see why”, an even lower voice whispers.

“Deal with it.” I say.

A heavy whisper kills the discussion.

“Em’s helping Leah today, I can meet them and take the eggs.” Haley is deadly focused on her hair ends as she speaks.

“Great. Just try not to kill each other.” I look between them as they pretend the other doesn’t exist. 

“What about little sis?” Shane asks.

“I’ll leave her a note, but Alya can take care of herself. I won’t take long today.”

“You always say that.” The distress placed heavily on the words is new to me. Haley frowns deeply, but there’s nothing insolent about the glare she displays. She didn’t hear me saying where I was going, but my equipment doesn’t let me lie. 

And then it all comes back, because suddenly the eyes that stare at me aren’t blue anymore, but a rich shade of green, specked with gold. It’s not Haley the one claiming I don’t keep my promises, it is Harvey. 

And then I realize I’ll never escape. 

It’ll never be over.

“I’m serious, Haley.” I lie, because I’m not. I’ll do whatever it takes to conquer that place, and that includes breaking my promises. Except that I don’t know how much longer I can do it without losing it all. It has already started. Harvey is gone. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”

“That’s too long”, is all she answers. 

“It’ll be fine.” It won’t. 

A dreadful silence falls upon us, the trial for all my lies. I finish packing my bag, four eyes following my every move. A heavy snort comes from above me as Haley declares, “You’re never gonna drop this, will you?”, and leaves stomping her feet. I call her name, but she disappears within the house. Shane, as usual, doesn’t say a thing. However, it is a surprise to hear his voice again when I open up the door to leave. 

“Why you keep doing this, Genevieve?” He never calls me by my name. 

“Do what?” I look back, body halfway through the door. 

“The mines, the… fighting. Whatever you got going on right now.” He gestures loosely to the pickaxe peeking through my backpack.

“I need the money to get the farm going.”

“The farm or the town?” He says accusingly. “Everybody knows you’re helping Lewis and Robin patch this shithole up, and, honestly, I get it.” Shane throws his hand up in the air in surrender. “Make your family proud and shit.” I remember Jas. I remember the few vague stories told about her parents. I remember that Shane is her legal guardian, her godfather, her caretaker. I guess we all have legacies to carry. “But I also know that things can get… complicated, when you have a commitment like that. I understand that you want to make your grandfather proud of you, but as far as I know, that doesn’t include helping Lewis do his job.”

I understand that you want to make your grandfather proud of you. 

“I never told you anything about my grandfather.” Shane and I are not friends, nor have ever been. We only know each other’s stories through town gossip and acquaintances, but that’s all on the surface level. He’s not supposed to know about my desire to make grandpa proud.

Make your grandfather proud of you.

He scoffs. “Like you need to. I get it, boss. I know loss too.” He starts walking outside, by me, through the open doors and into the daylight. He squints his eyes at the clarity. “You got a lot to work on in here, don’tcha?” 

First the surprising psychological analysis, now the uncalled half-offense about my work. One thing is certain, Shane always knows how to surprise someone. 

“Thank you?” 

He laughs. “No offence.”

“None taken.”

“I just mean that… You have other options. I guess the ores and the artifacts can bring in some cash, sure, but that’s a lot more about luck and… not dying…” He blurts out a laugh and it’s nice to know we can at least share a similar sense of humor. “... than anything else. Why don’t you focus on something else?” 

For the first time in two whole years, I feel like someone is actually asking me the right questions, talking from equal to equal. No ambiguous passive-aggressive comment about my work, no insane task or request shoved into my mailbox. Just someone who seems to know more than me asking me what the fuck I’ve been doing all this time. It reminds me of grandpa. Maybe he would do the same if he was still around. 

“Shane, I… I have no fucking idea of what I’m doing.” Each word has me breaking further into a desperate chuckle and we end up sharing a laugh. 

“Livestock and the right crops should earn you some good money to start. As far as I know, they pay good cash for artisan goods. Cheese, wine, that kind of thing. I can help you build the equipment. Why isn’t the greenhouse fixed?”

Oh, yes, the greenhouse. My two year unfinished hopeless project.

“I don’t have the money to fix that for now.” I had to spend most of my savings to fix the crumbling farm house I inherited. And then other things showed up. Some broken bridges, the old bus, the Community Center. Some priorities were just… shoved aside.

Shane nods, eyes lost into the distance.

“It’d be a good fix, honestly. You can grow anything in those places… but you know this already.” I do, in fact, know it. Or I should have, because apparently I’ve been making mistakes ever since arriving here. “We can fix the coops and barns too, open up some space for new animals. It’ll be nice.”

“Sounds like you’re already a better farmer than I am.” I mutter under my breath, feeling angry, feeling jealous, feeling so, so stupid for ever thinking a Biology degree would help me see this through. 

“Nah, I live here longer than you, old lady.” Shane says unceremoniously, like he’s telling me the sky is blue. “You pick things up as you go. No one expected your Zuzu City ass to fix this whole place on your first try.” He laughs quietly again, as if it’s funny. To him, perhaps, it is, but I have spent the last two years believing people wanted me to take over my grandfather’s place. People acted like that. Unaware of it, Shane keeps on smashing my delicate beliefs between his fingers like they’re meaningless. Like I’m the foolest of all to have even believed those things in the first place. “All I’m saying’s that it’s not your duty to save this town.”

Make your grandfather proud of you.

When I arrived at the Valley, I thought I had a calling. Something that pulled me into the lands of Stardew Valley, an unspoken promise. Now, I know I’ve been feeding myself lies to make peace with the fact that I might have committed a mistake. Because, even though there is comfort in Shane’s words, there’s also a risk. I might need to start this over, learn again the things I’ve been dying to understand for two years now. 

And all of that could mean that maybe I’m not the right person for the job. 

Wait for my return at the dawn of the third year.

Maybe grandpa was wrong this whole time. 

𓋼𓍊

I cry on my way up to the mountain, refusing to let Shane see the tears. Not that I think he would tell anyone about it, but because I can’t stand being so vulnerable anymore. I can’t believe I have allowed myself to grow this soft. There was once a girl who put up with an evil stepmother who wanted her dead and buried next to her real mother, a girl who put up with a vile fiancé who kept sabotaging her rising career. They shared houses with them as they destroyed her life, and she endured it. She only ran when it was time, when she was ready, when her plans were concrete. She was definitely not this old hot mess, unsure of which step to take ahead, a regretful vessel of a once great family. 

I was meant to be something else, but we can only be what we truly are. And I’m learning that I’m not who I thought I was.

The mines are cold; or, at least, the first levels are. The animals that leave underneath — monsters, as the town likes to call them — are harmless if left alone. The problem is, in order for me to conquer it, I must bother them, and so they attack me. It’s no magic, no great scheme of things, only biology. And I should know better than to fuck some species habitat like a parasite, but, well, if I’m starting it all over, I do need the ores they are keeping. 

Marlon is waiting for me at the entrance.

“Ugh, not today, Marlon.” I groan, trying to dodge his figure and get to the elevator, but one step from him has the passage blocked. 

Marlon has been keeping up with my whereabouts ever since last year, when he talked me into joining the Adventurer’s Guild and agreeing to let him train me — or, in his words, not letting me die. I must admit that he has saved my ass a few too many times, scolding me back home when it was too late to walk back on my own. I never told Harvey about him, too scared that they both would conjoin against me and not let me set foot in that place again.

“I have no interest in keeping you away from the mines, Genevieve. I only work to keep you from killing yourself.” Marlon once told me a few months before, while I was, again, refusing to go to Harvey for help, knowing what expected me at home. 

“Another bad day?” 

“Leave me alone.”

“You’ll need help downstairs.” He is probably right.

“I want to be alone, Marlon.” The mines are quiet, whenever a bat isn't attacking my hair and I'm not tainting the floor with my blood. 

“You get to make demands once you learn how to fight properly.” His voice is deep and hoarse with the heaviness of time. He talks slowly, as if he doesn’t need to rush anymore, he has already arrived where he needed to be. He swings his own sword with a grace only years of training can provide. Marlon was a friend to my grandfather, and a good one, the old pictures don’t let me lie. I don’t remember him like I remembered Willy and George and Lewis, but there was a time in which they all shared a life here in the Valley, just like I share mine with my friends. Marlon only grins at my stubbornness and insatisfaction, an elder dealing with a loud, shrill child. 

There was once a time in which I wouldn’t dream of not listening to the elderly. Not because I was coaxed into fearing them, but because I was taught to look up for the wisdom only time can provide. I admired them because they knew more than me, because they could teach me how to be better. That’s what my family taught me. And then mom died, cruelly taken way too soon when I was barely nine years-old, and I was ripped away from my family land, locked in a concrete city, raised by unloving acquaintances. My father married the woman he was having an affair with long before my mother got sick. She was pregnant with Alya, born not long after the funeral. And for a second there, I thought I was supposed to hate my sister, to assign her the guilt of my collapsing life, but then she came home and was nothing but a small bump other than a proper human being. And even at a young age, I knew she was free of guilt. That’s something only time can give you.

My world kept crashing down when I realized my father and stepmother were no elderly to listen to. Full of hatred and spite, I became their favorite bunch bag and underpaid nanny, raising a child that wasn’t mine. And that’s when I learned that I was made to serve, to help, to provide. If there was time after, which barely ever happened, I could think of myself later. 

Right now, I can think of myself later.

“I already know how to fight.” I finally answer Marlon after a few seconds of silence.

“Properly?” He smirks. Marlon is a few years younger than my grandfather would be. Sometimes I think of them together, sharing a table at the Saloon, and I wonder if Marlon ever listened to the elderly. If he was ever taught that age didn’t matter, because sometimes older people will still rely on the younglings with their responsibilities. That time can be stolen and never retrieved.

“Shut up.”

“Swinging a sword up and down is not fighting, Genevieve. If you were properly trained, you wouldn’t be going home with a sprained ankle every other day.”

“Yeah? And how does one justify the eye-patch?” I point my chin to his face. 

“I never said scars battles would stop existing. They are an essential part of our craft. But eventually you learn to stop slipping on rocks.” His expression is severe, it always is. But, somehow, it is still softer than Gil’s dismissive look. 

I look down at his hand, a scar on his palm telling a different story. He once slipped and opened a cut in there while trying to rescue me after I fucked up yet another time. A few days later, he showed up with stitches in it, but Harvey never said a word about it. Of course, doctor-patient confidentiality is a thing and Harvey is very severe about his own oath, but Marlon wasn’t even seen around town at the time. That was when I learned that the only difference between Harvey and Gil was a medical degree and a spouse that actually knew what they were doing.

Not that Harvey and I were ever married, or ever will be. 

Then I remember Haley’s disappointed look, and Shane’s questions, and Alya, still sleeping in my guest room. And then guilt consumes me, because I know I must go back to them in one piece. I know I must keep running the farm, and providing money so my sister can live somewhere other than her awful parent’s house, and helping the community go back to its feet. I can’t help if I’m dead, and if I can’t help, then I’m nothing. All of this can’t be for nothing. 

And yet, I let Harvey go. I chose the wrong path each and every time when we were together. Does it even make a difference, choosing right, now he’s not around anymore?

I sigh heavily and agree, accepting Marlon’s help. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t make small talk, doesn’t seem interested in my inner struggles. He just makes sure I’m still alive and whole by the end of the day and moves on.

𓋼𓍊

For the first time in a long time, I keep a promise. I’m back before nightfall — a whole hour earlier — backpack heavy with ores, gems and artifacts, and only a small cut in my right hand that will need some proper cleaning. I take deep breaths, the smell of the woods burning my lungs, while I stagger into the farmhouse. 

Everything’s quiet. Shane and Haley are definitely gone by now, but from here I can see the yellow lights piercing through the rising darkness.

I go back a few months prior, imagining it’s Harvey waiting for me inside. He would have a warm towel and the first aid kit ready in the kitchen. A deep frown in his eyebrows that would decrease as soon as he saw me walking myself through the front door, only to deepen again while he analyzed my newest bruise. I would whine, and even cry sometimes, as he cleaned me up and patched me, my body growing hotter at his scolding and condescending tone. Harvey never truly knew when to stop treating me as his patient and seeing me as his girlfriend. He would often cross the lines, mix the boundaries, make a huge mess until I didn’t know if it was Harvey or Doctor Moss who was talking to me. It never helped that I wasn’t exactly a fan of doctors. He once said I was just like my grandfather, and I knew it wasn’t a compliment. It hurt twice. Therefore, I also never knew who my anger was targeted at. However, he was still only one Harvey, and trying to tear him into pieces so I could choose which one I loved better was a dead-end street; we were doomed to fall anyway. 

The canteen in my bag is empty. Marlon can never understand why I’m always so dizzy down the mines lately, though the watered vodka I’ve been drinking nearly every day can provide a very good explanation. It started a few weeks ago, when the pain became too much to carry. A glass of wine every night, some whiskey to take the edge of by the end of every week, and in no time my morning coffee was alcoholic again. It has happened before. Back in college, when I thought I was finally free, that it was finally over. Little did I know what awaited me in grad school. In my early twenties, the alcoholism was personified in the parties I would go to every weekend, drink until I didn’t remember my name, black out to the next day and then repeat it all again the week after. I told myself it was okay, because it only ever happened once or twice a week, ignoring the consistency of the habit. I settled down in grad school, trapped inside a serious, long-term relationship, even though I couldn’t sleep without a proper glass of wine. I wasn’t passing out drunk anymore, so I thought I was better. My humor was moody, I had every addiction sign in the book, but lying to myself was always one of my favorite sports.

Everything was going to be okay. He still loved me. All was fine. 

I dropped it all the year before coming to the Valley, when it all combined into one giant mess, when I finally addressed my fiancé’s infidelities and predatory tendencies, when I decided to cut short a whole year worth of research, when I left and left again and had to stay sober to overcome the hurt. Back then, I felt like I had finally reached some kind of balance, that I could put it right behind me and move on, clean. 

Foolish me, ever thinking this path would resemble linearity in any possible way. 

You don’t just escape things like this. Maybe my destiny is to be locked inside a vicious cycle forever. 

The difference is, this time the pain is greater. I would need to drown myself in a tidal pool of alcohol to heal these wounds. It never stops hurting, it’s just… a little lower. The voices, the whispers. It doesn’t disappear, but rather hides itself behind a see-through curtain, like a bizarre ghost. You learn to accept the haunting, eventually.

Alya is waiting, like Harvey would be, but her look is confusing rather than worried. I’d prefer leaving her out of it, hence my lack of news, but if I was stubborn, so was she. Maybe it ran in our bloodstream. 

“Hey.” She looks up from the couch, Maple curled in a ball of orange fur on her lap, sleeping. 

“Hey.” 

“So, uh… What happened?” She asks, after a few minutes of me unpacking my bag in the living room. 

“What do you mean?” I don’t look up at her, sorting the gems and ores that will go in the shipping bin. 

“Between you and Harvey.” 

I knew the question was lingering in the back of her mind. I could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at me, her lips always tense as if she was debating whether or not to question it. She couldn’t have chosen a worse time. 

“We just broke up, Ally.”

“Yeah, okay. But why?” She’s not dropping it. She’s not dropping it and I feel like smashing an amethyst against my forehead to avoid this conversation, but that would grant me an one-way ticket to Harvey’s waiting room. Part of me wants to go.

“I…” I want to say I don’t know, but Alya knows my escape routes. I’ll have to try harder. “We want different things, Ally. Harvey noticed that and… made his decision.” I keep organizing the rocks, or pretending to. 

“What things?” 

“Ally, that’s none of your business!” I’m half-drunk and tired and have fought many wars with my younger sister in the past. I’ll regret this in the morning, but, for now, I choose to attack. “He left! They always do! What the hell am I supposed to say?”

“Why do you keep doing this?” There are tears in her eyes and she’s standing up now, Maple nowhere to be seen. “Why don’t you let anyone in? We just want to help!”

“We? Who the fuck are “we”, Ally? Besides, I keep on letting people in, and they decide to leave right after, so I guess I have a good fucking reason to…” 

“Why do you keep on trying to save everyone?” She’s not really screaming, but the alcohol makes everything sound louder. So I don’t really know what tone of voice I use when I answer:

“Because they keep asking me to, Alya!” I want to scream into her face how I was turned into a mother, a babysitter and a guardian at the ripe age of nine because of her, but it’s not her fault. I want to say I still hold grudges, even though I love her more than life itself, but it’s not her fault. I want to say I would do absolutely anything for her because I love her, but also because part of me feels obliged to, but it’s not her fault.

Alya is the pinnacle of why I keep on playing the savior, but it’s not her fault. I wish I could say it’s not mine either, but I left my father’s house over a decade ago. I could have chosen not to perpetuate this, but the dry blood in my hand says otherwise. 

It is all my fault, and I’m both the tortured and the torturer. 

“No one’s asking anything of you, Gigi.” Another name I never hear anymore, another fragment of myself lost that I’ll never get back, that it’ll never form a real person. Another piece of me lost because I had to give it away. I can't hear it right now.

“That’s not what my mailbox says.” 

I get up and leave, locking myself in the bathroom, forgetting all about the tast half-done in my living room. So many past fights and casualties provided me enough knowledge to properly clean wounds by myself. I laugh at the thought that Harvey would be at least a little bit proud. Rubbing alcohol, ointment, checking if it needs stitches — thank Yoba it doesn’t, because that’s something I don’t know how to do. It makes me cry because it stings, it hurts, it reminds me of him. After another one of your fights, we would stay in silence for a while, before slowly crawling our way back to each other. I would curl up in his arms and cry and apologize. He would do the same. We would tell ourselves everything would be fine, because we feed on our own lies. 

When I’m ready for bed, body so heavy I almost can’t reach the covers, I decide to check my phone for the first time in forever. There are unread messages and lost calls, way too many notifications for my ragged, drunk brain to rationalize at once. But there is something, buried underneath the rest, that shines through. A glimpse of hope or a sample of an hallucination. 

[Harv ♡ • April 29th, 11:43 p.m.]

I just wanted to say that I really hope that you’re okay. You know you can talk to me whenever you need. I’ll always be here for you.

[deleted text message]

It’s from almost a month ago.

I don’t have the strength, physical nor emotional, to overanalyze it, so I resign into crying myself to sleep yet another time.  

Chapter Text

I can see the end in the beginning of everything

Spring, Year One — June 

Genevieve

Quiet.

That was the reason I had left the farm that day. 

No basket, no straw hat for protection from the fierceful Sun. Nothing. 

I only sat at the edge of the mountain lake and stared into the nothingness, hoping Yoba would enlighten the way. She had to. Right?

The farm was also quiet, but the atmosphere was different. I could feel, like a shiver travelling down one’s spine, the promise of the land waiting for me. The problem was, I had no fucking idea what I was supposed to do. The inheritance didn’t really come with detailed instructions on how to be a farmer, and, even though the PhD in Biology did help with the theoretical part of understanding the earth’s properties, I hadn’t exactly been taught how to plow soil without dying from exhaustion in grad school. 

Even standing at the farm’s porch was overwhelming sometimes. The end of Spring was just around the corner and my crops had barely grown throughout the whole season. I knew they were fated to die as soon as the Sun rose on the morning of the Solstice. I knew mom and grandpa still lived between those howling winds that made the tree’s leaves rustle at the end of every afternoon, and I couldn’t bear the idea of failing right in front of them, not after I had spent the last two decades of my life fighting to keep on going, to make them proud. 

Staring deep into the crystalline water, for just a moment, I knew. Just like I had known before, at the beginning of every milestone I put my mind to. I would either do it or die trying. I had done it before, I would just have to do it one more time. And, maybe, when all was over, I could finally rest. 

That was what I kept telling myself throughout my whole life, but those days were yet to come. 

A disturbance in the water told me some fishes were around. It reminded me of an old letter sitting on top of my fridge that I hadn’t responded to, nor knew how. A disturbance in the air told me someone else was around. It reminded me of my failing interaction with the other villagers. 

I probably shouldn’t bother, but I looked up to find Sebastian smoking a cigarette nearby. He didn’t greet me nor acknowledged my existence amongst the grass. 

I kept finding it incredibly hard to pretend to be someone else here in the Valley. Maybe because I once had a life here free of playing pretend, maybe because I wanted it back. And yet, I didn’t feel safe enough to share the truth with people. Maybe because they kept pushing me away, maybe because I spent too much time not telling anyone the truth. Sebastian and I used to be friends. When his family arrived in Pelican Town, there weren’t many children around. I was here only for a few weeks in the Summer, but we would see each other nearly every day for that short period of time. As far as I could remember, he was always quiet. He liked frogs. He had lost someone. Back then, I didn’t know what it meant. 

When I arrived, my heart hoped for some reminiscing of that old lost life. A friend, an acquaintance of sorts. Of course he wasn’t the same shy boy from all those years ago, but there had to be something left in him, even if just the mourning. But the man who coldly greeted me when we met again for the first time in decades didn’t seem to share the same feeling. His hair was now black, he was way taller than I had bet he’d be, and the recognition in his eyes was… dull. We were strangers. 

Every attempt at a conversation, always initiated by me, was frustrated by his dismissiveness and my own fear. I kept on dancing around him, unsure of what to do next. 

And I was staring. And he had noticed. 

“Uhh, afternoon.” I coughed, the peace and quiet of the mountain lake suddenly gone. Nothing on the land had changed but my racing heart. 

“Afternoon.” He took another drag on the cigarette. 

Nothing else was said for long minutes and I let my mind wander again, through darker paths this time. I remembered the last town festival, about a week before, even though the profound discomfort of every social interaction I had on that day were to haunt me forever, every night before I’d fall asleep. After my third rejection, I gave up on trying to find a dance partner. I was in dirty overalls, anyway, unaware of the event’s dress code. I sat back, embarrassed, as I watched the others dance. To my twisted comfort, it was clear that some of the dancers were unprepared and adorably clumsy, but it didn’t make the jealousy go away. Because, only meters away from me, my first dance partner option was twirling Sebastian’s half-sister in the air. 

And if rage isn’t a good fuel, nothing else is. 

“You got a girlfriend, Sebastian?” I kept my eyes locked in the water.

It took him long seconds to reply, maybe considering whether I was worth his time or not. 

“Not really.” I heard him exhaling the smoke. 

“A boyfriend, maybe?” 

He laughed through his noise, a sound as wavering as the wind. 

“No.”

“Eh, me neither.” I shrugged, still not looking at him, but seeing him move through my peripheral vision. 

“I thought you were married.” Whatever lingered behind his voice wasn’t really curiosity, but it was surprising anyway. 

“If it’s about the wedding ring, Lewis and every other middle-aged person in town have asked me that already. The ring is my mother’s. I don’t even wear it anymore after I almost broke it with my axe.”

He pondered my words for a minute.

“You sure you know how to use an axe?”

I only shook my head.

“Absolutely not.”

He laughed faintly again and it almost sounded like a win to me. I was always the one to choose a topic and talk away while he made small considerations. Except the topic of our twenty years old conversations were more about whether fairies lived and less about our conjugal situation.

“I don’t know, I guess I assumed… I don’t even know. That whole dance thing was really weird.” 

“Yeah, fuck that.” 

The conversation was going better than what I had imagined, but I was still unsatisfied. 

“Is Maru and Harvey a thing?” I couldn’t really regret the words after they were out in the open. The shame hanging heavy in my stomach had more to do with partially sharing that secret with another person than with me acting the way I did. 

“Huh?”

“Your sister and…”

“Shouldn’t you know?” The questions felt like a punch on the throat. I opened my mouth to question, but Sebastian was faster. “I thought you were friends… or… something, with the doctor.”

Something?

“What do you mean?”

Maybe Sebastian wanted to roll his eyes at my fake oblivion, but he didn’t, and maybe that was a step towards… something. 

“It’s a very, very small town, Genevieve. People talk. A lot. About things they don’t know.”

I blinked once, twice, trying to process the new information. It was weird, feeling so exposed and lonely at the same time. 

“We’re… not as close.” I didn’t like admitting it, but it was the truth. For now, I hoped.

“Neither are me and my half-sister. I have no idea what goes on in Maru’s life, and I don’t intend to change that.” Sebastian threw the remains of his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it, turning around and leaving without saying goodbye, leaving only his annoyance behind. Whatever progress we had made that afternoon, I screwed it all up again somehow. 

The quiet came back, overwhelming. The shame came after. And in no time I was leaving again, running away again. 

𓋼𓍊

The lands of the Valley were still as beautiful as they were twenty years ago, shining in vivid green with the glistening specks of a golden Sun. There was something poetic in feeling so lonely while immersed in such a breathtaking landscape. If my mother was still around, she would probably meet Yoba in the trees, telling me that we are never truly alone as long as we still hear the howl of the wind coming from the North. 

The lands of the Valley were as familiar as a scraped knee is to a small child, the memory of the hurt lingering in the background, something never fully healed. The place smelled like grass and Sun, felt like a feverish Summer dream — those Fall nights I would dream, while little, that I was still running through the weed fields of my grandfather's farm, that the return to the concrete city was weeks away into the unknown future, that I could still pretend my family did not include a liar in its composition. Now, as an adult, it was cruel waking up in a house so similarly shaped like the one I used to know decades before. It almost felt real, like the realization of those long childhood dreams, but everything comes with a price. I had the house, and the land, and the Valley, but mom and grandpa were gone. I was alone, standing in the ruins, praying to the trees to go back in time to a simpler time. 

The pain I once knew was taken away only to be replaced by a new one, but there’s something soothing about familiarity, even when it makes you bleed. 

I kept my feet steady while walking down the mountain, past the old Community Center — another skeleton to haunt those with memories — and the fountain. Maybe I should pretend I didn’t know why I took that path so constantly, but I was never truly able to lie to myself. To others, it was an easy task, but self-knowledge is a curse in disguise. In a twisted joke of fate, the possibility of running into Harvey became a raging necessity of going to the clinic after, while daydreaming of green eyes that never seemed so appalled like some other neighbours’ at seeing me, I slipped on a flat rock and fell on my knees, scraping my arm on the ground when we met. I was never one to bother people with my body struggles. Headache, cramps, a suspicious bleeding nose, a broken finger, I always thought I could cure them by myself, because bothering my father and his wife with it would be worse than feeling pain. It was a different kind of hurt. My health was ridiculously neglected for many years, and I had never really planned changing anything about it. So I wasn’t really sure why I headed to the clinic so fast after that; maybe it was because I was, indeed, aching to see Harvey, or perhaps it was the blood running profusely down my arm. I hadn’t seen red as vivid as that in a long time. The memory didn’t come from a happy place. 

When I reached the front door, the hand I used to knock was maroon. It took Maru exactly one second to panic after seeing me coming in — I tried to ignore the claws that insisted on gripping my stomach whenever I remembered her dancing with Harvey, white dress twirling around her ankles. Thankfully, the doctor was free and I was forced out of my spiraling thoughts when he ordered me to go inside his exam room. Maybe I should have been more worried about the blood dripping from my arm, but I couldn’t let go of the knowledge that he looked… unease. In Harvey’s defence, he always looked painfully uncomfortable in every place that he’d go. But on that fine afternoon, after seeing the dripping blood in his waiting room’s floor, I could have sworn his eyes became darker. I was growing obsessed with trying to memorize the color pattern of his iris, and I had gathered enough information to notice the unnatural change.

We didn’t greet each other, didn’t share a word while Harvey was getting ready. It was not my first time there. When he first sent the letter to my house, politely mentioning the importance of a check-up, the dumb part of my brain acted as if I was being invited to a three-course candlelight dinner. I got excited, I must admit. I was doing absolutely nothing to stop those early, raw, foolish feelings to run free and become stronger. Maybe I should believe it was all wrong. There was no sin in nurturing feelings for a friend or even a neighbor, but I was pretty sure I was standing on top of an ethical line, having a crush on my doctor. To be fair, he was the only doctor in town — and quite a handsome bachelor.

Shouldn’t you know?, Sebastian’s words echoed in my head. 

“Genevieve?” Harvey asked, worried, maybe not for the first time. 

“Hi, uhm… I’m sorry, I’m a little… off.” The blood was staining the stretcher, my overalls, the floor. 

“That’s a common symptom, you’ve lost a considerable amount of blood. I promise, you will be okay.”

Promise.

I knew, rationally, that it meant nothing, he was only talking me down. He was literally doing his job. But once again, I did nothing to reprimand the butterflies in my stomach from flying. I wondered if, from this small distance, he could hear their flapping wings. 

At least I could blame it all on the blood loss.

He worked quietly, speaking only to ask for consent to touch my body and to soothe me whenever I let out an almost animalistic hiss after the alcohol touched the wound. I didn’t look at him patching up my arm, not because the cut or the blood bothered me, but because I saw an opportunity to look at his figure thoroughly under the excuse that I was probably just a little dizzy. Harvey was tall and quiet, shy and observing, beautiful and charming in a not obvious way. One had to look closefully, pay attention to how the gold sparkled in his eyes, how the grey was starting to spread at his temples and show up at his moustache, how his nose was gracefully crooked and maybe a little too big for his face. For the first time, I could actually smell his cologne for more than a single second. If the scent of the woods could be truthfully encapsulated, it would smell like Harvey. I knew it was foolish. He was older and a family acquaintance, our doctor. I still didn’t quite believe he was single, not even an unresolved love affair in sight, especially after seeing him with Maru. He showed little to no interest in me whatsoever, as soon as I discovered that the sweet, bashful blush he used to wear around me wasn’t really an exclusive feature, even though I wished with a full heart for it to be. He stuttered to even ask for a paper bag at Pierre's. 

I was lucky he was the only one in town who seemed to not be completely disturbed by my company and attempts at developing a friendship, even though he held me at arm’s length. I knew I wouldn’t stop wondering, dreaming, longing. But I also knew a crush could be nurtured in silence, and I knew I was driving full-speed towards a dead-end street, and I knew that was ought to end badly.

Still, I didn’t stop.

I lowered my eyes to see his steady hands finishing the bandage around my arm. I remembered hearing him mumble something about it not needing stitches. 

“All done.” He offered me a reassuring smile that looked a bit too much like pity. “Now, over the next few days I want you to…”

“Can I work?” I interrupted him. Now that the moment was over, I knew duty was calling. If I was fucked with all the work I was doing around the farm in the good days, I was going to be completely doomed if I had to stop because of an injury. And, considering Harvey’s frown, he didn’t have great news for me. 

“I’m… It’s… not a worrying cut, indeed. Despite the blood, it was quite shallow, and…”, his eyes grew darker, he cleared his throat, “I don’t believe it would take you a long resting time, but it’s important that the wound heals properly. It needs to stay clean and dressed, and…”

“You’re not answering my question.” I didn’t mean to be cruel, but the sight of his pink cheeks made my stomach drop. “I’m sor—”

“I would probably ask you to rest for a day or two.” He sighed loudly. “Ideally.” After seeing the probably most disgusting frown I could possibly put on, Harvey added: “But I understand that the situation is not ideal for you. Just… be very careful and try to avoid lifting heavier weights for a couple of days. I want to see you soon so we can check the healing process together.”

That man was probably the closest I’d ever be to a saint.

“I can do that.” I said, and finally noticed how my voice was a little hoarse, and how the room was spinning in slow-motion, and how everything looked strange and unreal. I felt my head beating faster because Harvey was still close and I bled in his exam room and was rude to him. The remaining blood in my body ran straight to my cheeks. 

“I would like to run the usual exams on you, if that’s alright. I need to check your vitals.”

I agreed, though I wasn't sure my head had really moved like in the hypothetical nod I had planned. Focusing on my breathing, I tried to calm down my heart — I didn’t know why it was racing, I was afraid it would fall out of my chest. And there he was, close enough so my knee was touching the side of his ribs and his smell was wrapping me in a veil of quiescence. The dizziness hung heavy on my shoulders, and it didn’t feel like I was hurt anymore, but rather at ease. Calm. Safe. Harvey checked my pulse, my eyes, some reflexes, taking endless notes between each exam. I tried not to focus so much on how his fingers felt on my skin — soft — as he looked around for extra bruises and scars. 

And then he asked the one thing I wished he wouldn’t. 

“What happened?” He pointed at my nose bridge and I could pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about, but it was useless, at least with Harvey. He pointed to the small scar on the top of my nose bridge, between my eyes.

When it first appeared, still in high school, the scar was flashier, in the worst possible way. The days I had spent hiding at home under doctor’s orders were enough only for it to stop bleeding and form a scab I insisted on picking on; something that slowed the healing process, I discovered later. It was too red, too swollen, too obvious. I made up a lie to tell the whole school, the same one my father insisted on telling me, as if I wasn't there when it happened. As I grew older, left high school and my father’s house and the scar started to fade, the questions ceased to exist. No one in college seemed to care, even less in grad school. I never complained. My happiest days were the ones that I forgot that place, that scar, had ever existed. I had told a million lies so I didn't have to deal with the episode, covering up for people that openly loathed me in the process, but none of them made me forget about the ugly, shameful truth. 

“I cut it on the edge of a table when I was sixteen.” 

“Oh. I see.” I thought he would at least look puzzled, but he kept himself collected. And that was the first time I realized that Harvey and Doctor Harvey were not quite the same person. 

Maybe it was a warning that I shouldn’t have ignored back then. 

“My stepmother pushed me into the table while we were fighting. Some… stupid thing I don't even remember. I had turned my back on her because I couldn’t keep on doing that and the next thing I remember is crying on the floor with a searing pain on my whole face. My father drove me to the hospital at the time, but I wanted to go on foot, even though I was injured. He kept saying it was all my fault for being insubordinate. Took home two stitches as my pity prize.”

That made him look puzzled. Confused. Worried. I didn’t mean to use a sad story to cut through his doctor armor and bring back the Harvey I usually liked talking to and flirting with. I wasn’t even sure why I was telling him the truth, after all this time. He was the first person out of my family to ever hear the real version of the story. Even grandpa died without knowing of the horrors that woman and my useless father had put me through. 

All I ever wanted to do was forget, and I became great at ignoring my deepest feelings. All the other adults around me seemed to be good at it too.

“I’m really sorry, Vee…” Vee. There he was. 

“Nah, it’s okay. It was a long time ago. I haven’t talked to her since the day I left for college. My father… I guess he tries, sometimes, but his attempts are shit and he just brings the worst parts of me back to the surface, so we just… don’t, anymore. The only one I still talk to is my sister.”

We were face to face. Harvey apparently had finished his examinations and notes, because he stood in front of me, not so far away. I wondered if he knew how close we were. I wondered if he would step away if he did. 

I wished he would have accepted my invite to dance last week. 

He cleared his throat. Took a step back. 

And that was why I was taught to lie to people. The truth always pushes them away. 

“I should let you go. You must rest properly after what happened.” Harvey handed me a piece of paper with a calligraphy I knew too well, which was impressively clean and precise for what one would expect of a doctor. Something inside me twisted. The words I insisted on rereading were old and belonged to somebody else. The only letter he ever wrote me directly was worn out after having been opened and closed about a hundred times. This note, this prescription, though, was something new and reminded me of where I was, who I was with. My head didn’t really absorb the spoken words about some painkillers and ointment, a proper diet and sleep, deeply focused on the written paper. There was always time for that later. However, as I tried getting up on my own, my body bent forward and I was about to meet the ground for the second time that day when strong arms stopped gravity from finishing its work. 

“You can't walk home like this.” Harvey grumbled, not really talking to me. 

“I’m fine….” His moving around, fixing things and opening drawers, interrupted my train of thought, which wasn't really on track to begin with. “Doctor, please, I can't…” 

“We can't risk you falling again and getting another cut. My schedule is clear, anyway, and we usually don't have more than one emergency a day in such a small town. Besides, the trip is short, and worth the peace of knowing you're safe.” His tone was irreducible, and I knew I couldn't change his mind, nor did I want to. My time with Harvey was always borrowed and stolen. I was weak enough to accept his offer for some extra minutes in my presence without much resistance. 

The final conversation between Harvey and Maru was low and hushed, and, since my bloodstream had decided to be funny on that fine afternoon, I felt something boiling under my skin. Endless paths of pure envy spreading through my body in a single heartbeat. I wanted to know what they had said to each other. It was probably something boring and completely work related, but why were they shushing, then? It was inescapable, the image of them dancing together at the Flower Dance. What a thing to discover at such a big age, that I could still feed silly crushes that were doomed from the start, and feel jealous of other girls over nothing. Embarrassing, indeed. 

Harvey didn't seem to mind how I kept using him to find my balance, often supporting my body weight on his side. It didn't alter his pace or the gentle grip of his arms, intertwined with mine, that held me in place. We were quiet and he looked… worried? Abashed? Puzzled? The heat didn't let me think straight, along with my lighthead.  

“Is she okay?”

“Who?” 

“Your sister.”

Even tired as I felt at that moment, asking Harvey ‘what do you mean?’ felt too insincere, and, apparently, I was all about telling the truth now. 

“Alya? Yes, she’s fine. She's not with her parents anymore either. She’s in college now, lives in the dorms. She's actually doing the same bachelor as me, in UZC too. I've been helping her with some stuff, so she doesn't have to rely on her parents ever again. Text books, food, whatever she asks. I know what it meant to me to finally be free.” 

“Did they treat her the same way?” 

“Not really. Alya was the wanted child. Had both parents. They always put too much pressure on her, though, which meant that I became a counselor when I still didn't know shit myself. The funny part is, they demanded so much from her — grades, looks, behaviour — but never really taught her how to achieve those things. That's when I came in.” 

“So you took care of her?” I didn't like the tone hanging right behind his voice.

“Pretty much raised her, to be honest.” 

“That must have been hard.” 

I shrugged. “Alya came out more decent than her parents, so I consider it a win.” He didn't need to know that all the time I spent engaging with my sister's education actually meant less time around my father and his wife's harm. 

“But…” The arrival at the farm’s gate shut him, and he only spoke again when I was leaning against the door — not in an attempt of flirting, but because I couldn't support the weight of my body myself. I could see the remaining questions behind his eyes, that always happened whenever I opened up to people. I should stop. With nothing else to say, Harvey took his role as a doctor again and said: “Please, eat well and rest properly. A diet rich in…” 

“Well, let me stop you right there, doc. Thank you for everything, but mostly, thank you for listening. I didn't mean to trauma dump, but… I don't know, no one in this town wants to talk to me but you, so… I'm really sorry. I just hope you don't hate me.”

Harvey only nodded, his lips tense in a very thin line. I could feel I had done something wrong and was about to be punished. And, unfortunately, I felt like my silly, delicate, hopeful feelings were in the trenches. 

“I should return this to you.” He handed me two small keys. “Your grandfather gave me that so I could come in whenever I had to. He hated getting up to open the door for me.” 

I couldn't help the snort that came out. 

“Sounds like him.” 

“Thank you, by the way.” He added and it was my turn to be confused. “For coming in today, for… reaching out to me for help. Your grandfather… Well, he really hated doctors. I think he felt like he could solve everything by himself. I was afraid you were one and the same.” 

Oh. Sweet, innocent Harvey. 

“For your information, doctor, I did inherit some stubbornness and loathe for hospitals from him. I just… had my reasons to stop by today.” And they were all the wrong ones.

Harvey smiled and the blushy cheeks reappeared and we finally weren't talking from patient to doctor anymore. I had missed him, if I was even allowed to miss a person I barely knew.

“Whatever they were, I'm still thankful.” I agreed with a nod. 

“You have a pretty smile.” I heard myself saying. I was sure that flirting with your doctor was unethical, but flirting with the only doctor in town was definitely stupid. At least I could blame it all on the blood loss. 

“Thank you.” His face was burning in an unnatural shade of crimson and maybe we should be worrying about his bloodstream. 

“Do you have a girlfriend, doc?” Oh, I was reaching unknown levels of stupidity, but I didn't feel like stopping that crash from happening. I was sad, literally hurt, frustrated and melancholic. I had no friends to rely on, no family to go back to, and no idea how to make the land work properly. I was scraping the walls for some, any resemblance of happiness or even satisfaction I could find.

“You're starting to sound like Evelyn.” Harvey somehow laughed, dodging my question. 

“Should I ask her, then?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Just curious,” I shrugged. “I saw that you danced with Matu the other day.” 

Did Harvey, the face of politeness, just… rolled his eyes? 

“All pairings are previously assigned in the Flower Dance. As far as I know, it's completely arbitrary, or only makes sense in Lewis’ head. No pair is necessarily a couple, and that's the situation between Maru and me.” 

“Why?” I tried to look nonchalant. I could only pray it looked convincing. 

“What do you mean, why?” 

“Why not change the scenario?” 

Harvey laughed like what I was saying was absurd. Maybe it was. 

“Maru’s my employee and subordinate, and, just like everyone in town, she's also my patient. She also happens to be a very young woman and I have no interest in dating someone one and a half decade younger than me.”

I managed to slide on the door, feeling Harvey’s strong hands on me one more time. 

“And you, young lady, need to rest.” He mumbled an ‘excuse me’ before using the forgotten keys in his hand to open the door, one arm around my shoulder to keep me standing. He didn’t dare go further, gently sitting me down in my kitchen chair. “Here, don’t forget this.” The extra pair of keys were placed on the table before me. 

“No.” Harvey was about to leave when he looked down at me. “You can keep it.” 

“There’s no need…” 

“Grandpa used to say that coyotes surround these lands, did you know that?” Maybe the alarmed look in Harvey’s eyes was the same one I used to wear whenever I would hear this story as a child. “Can you imagine if they broke in and decided I’m the most appetizing of dinners? How will my body be retrieved? Besides, you’re probably the only person in town who will notice if I ever go missing. So, yes, in case of hungry coyotes or a suspicious disappearance, I’d like you to have the spare key.” 

I have always known Harvey was an anxious guy. I could see the engines running in his head whenever he tried to sort the best words to come up with a sentence. He was awkward about his hands, never truly knowing where to place them. He listened more than he spoke, like he was filing up information for later. 

He knew me better than I knew him, so I might as well try to catch up. 

For the same unknown reason I was truthful with him earlier that day, he skipped all the attempts of denying my offer. We kept telling each other the truth, even if maybe he didn’t realise it at first. 

“You have no reason to trust me.”

“My grandfather did. That’s enough.”  

Facing the truth was always uncomfortable for me. It always had more to take than to give, and, like any other sinner, I was selfish. It made the pain greater, avoiding the inevitable, but I never really cared. 

Until the Valley. 

Until Harvey. 

Until now. 

As he closed the door behind him, carrying the spare key to my house, I felt like I knew all the answers of the universe.