Eventually, Charlie had learned to work through the soreness in his muscles. If he was going to last one season, he couldn’t spend every other day lazing around and waiting for his body to catch up. Fortunately, he’d returned to the clinic to visit Maru on his fourth day in town, and she’d been happy to send him home with some over-the-counter painkillers. He’d thought he might see Harvey as well, but the doctor hadn’t made an appearance; maybe he was with a patient? It was the strangest thing, though. Once, during their conversation, Charlie could have sworn he’d seen a movement behind the swinging door, but when he’d turned to look more closely, it was gone. Maybe he was exhausted enough to be seeing things.

With a lot of effort, he’d managed to clear the area directly in front of his house of weeds, rocks, and fallen branches. He’d even chopped down two trees and stacked them for firewood, a feat that made him feel like Paul fuckin’ Bunyan, rather than a soft and pasty cubicle jockey. He had gotten those parsnip seeds into the ground, and optimistically, had bought and planted some more. Nothing had happened yet, but these things took time...he thought? He watered them every day, practically lying down on the ground to scrutinize the patch of soil at eye level. Did it look like there was a little bump there? Could something be sprouting? So far, all he had to show for his obsessive monitoring were grass stains on his shirt.

A week after he’d come to Stardew Valley, he padded outside in the morning and blearily checked the mail. There was a note from Lewis informing him that next week there would be an egg festival— weird thing to make a festival around, but OK— and a note from Robin reminding him that she could make improvements to his house.

“Robin, I live in a literal shack,” he sighed aloud. “Believe me, when I can afford some improvements, you’ll be the first to know.”

He turned around, wondering if he could get away with returning to bed for a bit—but then, suddenly, he felt wide awake. He practically flew to the edge of the parsnip patch, dropping to his knees and flinging the mail behind him. Peeking up from the soil, fragile-looking and tiny but unmistakably there, were dozens of parsnip seedlings.

The relief that flooded Charlie’s veins was so intense, he felt dizzy. He leapt to his feet, both fists thrust into the air like a prizefighter. “YES!” he shouted, to no one in particular. “I’m not gonna starve!”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that!” called a singsong female voice, and Charlie nearly fell over. Would the women in this town ever start announcing themselves? Striding up the fields from the south, picking her way through the weeds, was his neighbor Marnie. She was a friendly and helpful woman, if just a touch nosy. She had already reassured him twice that his plants would grow if he just kept watering them, and both times, had insisted he stay for lunch (an offer he didn’t really have the ability to politely refuse, given his lack of a kitchen and empty bank account). She was kind to her animals, and Charlie was grateful to have her as a neighbor. As he shielded his eyes to squint at her, though, he saw she wasn’t alone. A sullen-looking, black-haired man trailed behind her, and there was something in her arms... squirming?

“Charlie, this is my nephew Shane,” she said, a little breathlessly, as she pulled up beside him. “He moved to town a few months back, and I thought you two should meet.” Charlie glanced at the man, who was now staring determinedly at the ground, but he was distracted by what Marnie carried.

“I hate to break it to you, Marn, but your nephew looks an awful lot like a dog,” he said, and Marnie burst into giggles. She turned toward Charlie more fully, and a little face peeked out from under her arm, and Charlie felt his heart melt into his shoes. The face belonged to a gangly brown puppy, shiny brown eyes gazing at him solemnly above a wet black nose. The pup’s ears were freckled and flopped forward onto his forehead; he strained toward Charlie, snuffling.

“Found this little fella curled up in my barn,” she announced, hoisting him more securely into her arms. “Not sure where he came from, but he was all alone, and I’m afraid I’ve got more than enough mouths to feed.” She grinned at Charlie, holding the puppy out toward him. “You, though, you’re all alone up here. You need some company, and a farm needs a dog. What do you say?”

Charlie looked up from scratching the puppy’s flopped ear, startled. “What?”

“Will you take him?” she pressed. “He needs a good home, and you seem like a dog person.”

“Puppies are a lot of work, Marnie,” he stammered, holding his hands up as though surrendering. “They need tons of supervision.”

“Sure do.”

“I’m working on getting the farm established right now, and I can’t really afford to get distracted, you know?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve just gotten some crops going, and that’s not really a good scene for a puppy. He could trample everything. I’d have to build fences, and I just don’t have time.”

“Of course not.” Marnie smiled serenely, as though it made no difference to her, and turned to leave. “I’ll go shop him around town. Maybe somebody else’ll take him in. Don’t worry about him at all.” As she and Shane walked away, the puppy poked his head around her shoulder, looked straight into Charlie’s eyes, and whined.

Shit. “On second thought,” Charlie called, and as he jogged forward to claim his dog, he pretended he didn’t notice Marnie’s smug grin.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

Harvey didn’t visit the saloon often, but occasionally, the silence of his apartment became too much even for him. He found that spending an evening in the same room as a lot of other people was enough to cure him of his acute loneliness for a while, even if he didn’t really interact with them. As he pushed the door open on Friday night, though, the energy of the place felt different. The reason was immediately apparent: Charlie the farmer was sitting at the bar.

For one moment of insanity, Harvey actually considered walking up and sitting beside him. He imagined a scenario in which he ordered a drink, pretended to be surprised by Charlie’s presence, and then they chatted amiably for the next hour or so. He was capable of having a totally normal social interaction with someone, wasn’t he? Even if that someone was a handsome stranger he’d been hiding from for days, and who was now deep in conversation with Emily?

The idea dissipated as quickly as it had come, and Harvey shuffled to the far end of the bar, wedging himself as deep into the corner as he could get. Gus brought him a glass of red wine without even asking, which he gratefully accepted. From his vantage point, he had a good view of Charlie, and he took advantage of the farmer’s distraction to just watch him for a bit. Charlie’s sunburn had deepened and begun to fade into a tan (Harvey made a mental note to talk to him about sun protection when he came in for a checkup). Some of his hairs had lightened, the auburn now woven through with gold. He talked with his hands, and Harvey saw that they were still blistered; the transition to farm life must be a physically demanding one, he thought sympathetically. Something about his posture was different, though; he looked more confident, more sure of himself. And Emily leaned in close and laughed with him as though they shared some kind of inside joke.

In short, Charlie appeared to be settling in better than Harvey had in six years of living in Pelican Town. Harvey sighed into his wine. Of course, the first person he’d been attracted to in years would be an effortlessly gregarious type. There was no way someone like that would want to talk to Harvey about jazz, or books, or aviation. Just like with everyone else, Harvey would exist to him only as the quiet town doctor. He drained the rest of his wine, and uncharacteristically ordered another. This was going to be at least a two-glass night.

Charlie got up from the bar, and Harvey felt a pang of disappointment; was he leaving already? But then, Charlie leaned forward to retrieve two beers Emily had set before him. A wild, silly hope fluttered in Harvey’s chest. Was it possible Charlie had noticed him, and seen he’d finished his drink? There was no way, of course...but was there?

Charlie crossed the room to the booths along the far wall, set the beers down on a table, and dropped into the booth...across from Shane. The tiny hope in Harvey’s chest died away, leaving the more familiar disappointment in its wake. Charlie smiled at Shane, pushing one of the beers across the table to him, and Harvey looked away. Behind the bar, Gus had cut the foil off a fresh bottle of wine, and was just beginning to insert the corkscrew.

“Hold that thought, Gus,” Harvey called, and Gus looked up at him curiously. “Actually, can I just take the bottle? To go?”

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

“So what’s Shane’s deal?” Charlie asked Emily, trying to surreptitiously jerk his head in the man’s direction. Shane was seated alone in a corner booth, nursing a beer and picking at what was left of a pizza. “He stopped by with Marnie the other day but he didn’t say a word. I’m getting the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“He doesn’t like many people,” Emily replied, eyes on the glass she was drying. “He was like that with me at first, but he’s nicer now. It might just be because I bring him his beer and food,” she added, winking. “He’s actually a good guy, I think he’s just depressed, maybe.”

“Do you know why he lives with Marnie?”

“Not really. Why don’t you ask him?” She placed two glasses on the countertop and filled both with the beer Charlie had been drinking. “If you can get him to stay and talk to you until his beer is gone, those are on me. He won’t make it easy, though.”

Charlie smirked, standing with the beers. “You’re on.”

He crossed the bar to Shane’s table, and he could see the moment when Shane realized his trajectory would carry Charlie to the booth; instantly, his posture went wary, hunching further over his beer and tugging at the cuffs of his hoodie. Charlie had a moment of hesitation; maybe Shane really did just want to be left alone? He glanced back at Emily, who gave him an encouraging little go on! gesture.

“Hey, Shane, wasn't it?” he asked as he approached the table, trying to look as inoffensive as possible. “Not sure if you remember me, I’m your neighbor up north. Charlie.”

“I remember,” Shane grunted, not looking at him. Charlie hovered awkwardly for a moment, but Shane seemed to have nothing more to say.

“Mind if I sit down for a minute?” he asked, and that got Shane’s attention. The man squinted at him, and privately Charlie thought he looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot over dark purple circles, his skin was a little blotchy, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in a few days. His hoodie was threadbare and looked none too clean, and the T-shirt under it looked possibly worse. In spite of all of this, he was actually pretty handsome—one of those unfair types who seemed to look better the less they tried. Shane scowled, looking around the whole bar before finally making eye contact with Charlie.

“Why,” he said flatly. “There’s like 50 tables open.”

“Yeah, but I accidentally have two beers, and I hate drinking alone,” Charlie replied, trying a tentative smile. Shane rolled his eyes.

“Accidentally, sure. Emily definitely didn’t send you over here with an extra so you’d try to make friends.”

He hadn’t actually said no, so Charlie slid into the seat across from him, depositing the beers on the table. “Why would she do a thing like that, do you think?”

Shane shrugged, shooting the blue-haired bartender a glare. “She worries about me. Always trying to get me to talk to people.”

“Why is she so concerned?”

“She thinks we’re friends.”

“But you don’t?”

“I don’t do the whole ‘friends’ thing,” Shane said, with an air of finality. He ignored the beer Charlie had brought him, swirling the last suds around his old glass instead. Charlie took a drink of his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harvey walking out the door with a bottle of wine. He hadn’t even realized the doctor was in the bar; too bad, he’d have liked to say hi.

“I’ve been known to do the ‘friends’ thing occasionally,” Charlie said at last. Shane looked up at him from beneath his eyebrows, then glanced away.

“You wouldn’t want to be friends with me.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for starters I’m an asshole. And a failure.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Charlie said, and Shane looked up in surprise. “I’m a recovering failure myself, you know. It’d be pretty intimidating if you were some massive success story.”

Shane snorted—apparently, Charlie had managed to catch him off guard. At last, he reached across the table and took the beer Charlie had brought him. Charlie tried not to let his glee show on his face; he got the sense that Shane could be spooked like a horse at any given moment.

“Why’d you move to this podunk town anyway?” Shane asked suddenly. His tone was aggressive, but Charlie decided to ignore it. Getting him to ask anything at all was a good enough first step.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Forget it.” Shane took a long drink of his beer, avoiding Charlie’s eyes.

Charlie sighed. “I used to work for Joja,” he said, and Shane looked very surprised at that—why? “Couldn’t stand it, and my grandpa had left me this place. So I moved.”

Shane blinked, apparently forgetting to be annoyed with Charlie for a moment. “I work at JojaMart,” he said. “I can see why you’d drop everything to get out of that shithole.”

“I figured you worked on Marnie’s ranch.”

Shane gave a half-shake of his head. “Nah. I mean, a little bit. I help out with the chickens some. But Marnie can’t afford to pay me. I…” He visibly hesitated, and Charlie thought privately that maybe they were finally getting somewhere. “I feel bad enough taking up space in her house. Had to get a real job so I wouldn’t be totally worthless. If you can call that a real job.”

Charlie gave him a moment, wondering if he should even ask, since Shane had shied away last time. He really did want to know, though. “Why’d you move in with Marnie, then? Where were you before?”

“In Zuzu,” Shane answered, fiddling with his sleeves again. “Made some bad choices.”

He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate further, and Charlie decided not to push the subject. They’d made a lot of progress for one beer. He and Shane finished their drinks at the same time, and Shane pulled up his hood.

“Been here too long. I better get going.” He stood, then paused beside the table. “Don’t get any ideas, farm boy. We’re not friends.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Charlie replied airily, and Shane stalked off with another snort. Once the door closed, Charlie and Emily grinned at each other. He’d earned his free beers, fair and square. More importantly, in spite of what Shane said, he thought he might’ve just made a new friend.