Charlie,

I think the polite thing to do would be to thank you up front for the pickles (which were excellent as always, by the way) but I find myself too distracted by your impending mine expedition, and I need to get this out of the way. As your doctor, I’d strongly advise you not to go down there. It’s been abandoned for years and may not be structurally sound, and is likely full of wild animals. I can’t stop you if you really want to go, just...be safe, okay?

Now, with my medical duty fulfilled, I can talk about more interesting things...although I admit, I’m having a hard time thinking of any. The curse of my line of work is that I have some great stories, but I’m not allowed to tell anyone. Back in Zuzu I’d just anonymize the patient when I wanted to repeat something funny, but Pelican Town is so small, that’s not really possible here. It’s become such a die-hard habit I didn’t even tell anyone but Maru about your dog, even though I’m not sure doctor-patient confidentiality extends beyond humans.

Speaking of non-humans, I haven’t had much luck figuring out your childhood TNG crush. You say it’s a common one, which makes me think either Riker or Troi? Was it one of those? I can’t say I particularly had a crush on anyone, but I always related to Data. I wonder what it says about me that my favorite character was the naïve robot who didn’t have feelings?

To answer your questions, the clinic hasn’t been very busy. In the summer it’s mostly just doling out aloe gel for sunburns. Your question about whether I’d gotten any sun actually made me laugh out loud, but I forget you haven’t been through a summer here yet. My complexion only really shifts from “pale” to “translucent” throughout the year. In the winter you won’t be able to look straight at me without those tinted ski goggles.

I know you’re too busy for much else these days, but generally speaking, what do you do when you’re not farming or watching old sci-fi TV shows?

Harvey

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

Charlie,

I thought it would be fun to write you a letter. I’m not sure why. Clearly this was a bad idea. I stole you some food from the back room at Joja. Don’t starve.

Shane

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

Shane,

Aww, I miss you too. But you live WAY too close for you to be sending me food in the mail, and I still don’t have a kitchen, as you know. Next time, heat it up and just come over. I’m busy, not dead.

I have beer.

Charlie

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

Dear Harvey,

You DID guess my TNG dreamboat! I won’t tell you which one, though. A guy has to keep a little bit of mystery around him. As for your own favorite, I’d say less “naive robot with no feelings” and more “kind, rational guy with an inquisitive mind.” Picard always did say Data was the most human of them all. (By the way, let me know when I eventually hit the limit of too geeky for you. I’m afraid I’m showing my nerd colors too early with all the Trek talk. If it helps, I can try to be cooler. I know some stuff about music and I think I saw a sport once. Sometimes I throw a stick for Bones, does that count as “sports”?)

What I do when I’m not farming...well, these days, that’s pretty much it. I’ve probably bitten off more than I can chew with the chickens and the number of crops I’m growing, but I don’t know. I still have this weird feeling that I have to prove myself as a Real Farmer, and I won’t be one until I have a big field and a barn full of animals. Plus, I’d eventually like to expand this house beyond one room, and I spent all my money on seeds. Seeds and Gus’s food. Side note—how is a chef that good running a bar in Stardew Valley?

But other than that, I like music, I like books. I used to play the guitar a little, but I sold mine when I moved here—too much to lug with me. I probably should have donated all the books too, but sentimentality got the better of me. I couldn’t leave behind my copy of Dune or my Vonnegut books, or Harry Potter. Or Hatchet, which I am aware is not for 28-year-old men, but it’s a good book, okay?

I did give away The Grapes of Wrath, though. It seemed like a bad omen.

What about you, what are you into besides doctoring? Did you always want to be a doctor?

Charlie

P.S. I know I didn’t answer you about the mines. That’s because I’ve sort of already gone in? A couple of times? Don’t worry, though, it seems totally safe. And it’s like 40 degrees cooler in there than in my house. I might just start sleeping there.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

Hey Mom,

I keep telling you, don’t send me money! Seriously. I’m doing okay. I think I’ll be in pretty good shape once my summer harvests get going. I’m getting the hang of this “growing stuff” thing. You wouldn’t believe how tan I am.

I’m glad things are good with you. You know you can visit anytime, right? My house is tiny, but they have rooms at the Stardrop. You probably knew that, actually. It’s weird, thinking about how much you know about this place. Probably more than me! Mayor Lewis says hi.

I’m working pretty much from sunrise until sunset these days, trying to get everything in the ground. The worst part of being so busy is that I haven’t had a chance to visit any of my friends. It feels weird to write letters to someone who lives a mile away, but Harvey and I have been writing back and forth. It’s kind of nice, having something to look forward to at the end of the day, when I’m covered in dirt and about to pass out.

Here’s a picture of my chickens. I know I’m biased, but tell me straight: they’re the cutest birds ever, right?

Love,
Charlie

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

Dear Charlie,

I’m honestly flattered that you think there’s a point at which you would be “too geeky for me.” I mentioned it to Maru and she laughed so hard and so long I almost sedated her. I feel like since you’ve shown your hand, I should show mine, but I admit I’m still a little nervous that I’ll prove to be an even bigger nerd than you imagined. Since you say a man should keep some mystery around him, I’ll take your word on that and keep my dorkiest hobbies under wraps for now.

Except for books, since you brought them up. I am a fairly voracious reader, although I tend to be buried in medical journals so I haven’t branched out into fiction for a while. The last good books I read were the Magicians trilogy. Have you read those? There’s nothing wrong with Hatchet. It’s an excellent book, though I admit I skip the scary beginning bit with the plane crash.

You mention music—any chance you like jazz? If I’d been born a more creative person, I like to think I would have been a jazz musician. You actually share a name with one of my favorites, Charlie Parker. He’s excellent company when I’m doing paperwork in my apartment.

For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you have to prove anything to anyone. You’ve gone after the work on your farm with passion and ambition, and I think that makes you a real farmer, if you don’t mind me saying so. The temptation to do everything, right now, is probably very strong, but please remember to take care of yourself and enjoy the process of building something. That was what you said you set out to do when you left Joja, wasn't it—build something of substance?

I’m afraid I’m not very good at these kinds of pep talks. There was a reason Picard got the big speeches and not Data. But I’ll leave you with some of the Captain’s wisdom—maybe it will help. “ Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives. I rather believe that time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we've lived. After all, Number One, we're only mortal.”

Your friend,
Harvey

P.S. I’m going to pretend I didn’t read your last postscript.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

The mines, as it turned out, weren’t totally safe.

Charlie cursed himself, the town, the people in the town, his grandfather for bringing him to the town, and a few assorted deities just for good measure. Yes, he had been foolhardy. Yes, he had been warned to stay out of the mines. But in his defense, he hadn’t believed there were actual, literal monsters down there. Who, over the age of ten, would? Except everyone in Pelican Town, apparently, because they’d been totally right.

The bugs had appeared first, and they hadn’t rattled him much. Sure, they were big, but they were just bugs. A quick thwack with a wooden board he’d found lying around, and they were more or less jelly. The weird mole things had startled him a bit more, because as far as he knew, moles didn’t go out of their way to find and attack humans. When he thought about it later, he actually laughed about the role reversal—maybe it was just revenge for all those Whack-a-Mole arcade games?

The slimes had freaked him right out, though. Nowhere in his mental database of wild animals could he find a moving, breathing ball of goo with eyes. It hadn’t seemed very dangerous, and so he’d let his guard down a little, and then it had launched at him. And so had all of its friends. He’d barely managed to escape back up the ladder, swinging the board wildly and wishing he’d brought some kind of weapon with him. A weapon? Are you the farm version of Indiana Jones now?

Charlie was exhausted, filthy, covered in bug guts, and on top of it all had discovered that the slimes burned. He still didn’t really know what they were made of, but it clearly involved some kind of acid not meant to contact human skin. They’d dissolved through the legs of his favorite jeans like Swiss cheese, searing the flesh underneath and leaving agonizing red circles all over his calves. For about three seconds after he’d gotten out of the mine, he’d considered going home to treat them himself, then decided it was a job for a professional. How did a person even treat acid burns, anyway?

As he limped out of the mountains and toward the clinic, Charlie braced himself for Harvey’s inevitable I-told-you-so. The doctor had warned him, just like everyone else, but unlike everyone else Harvey would have to clean up the aftermath. Charlie felt stupid, and angry, and painful, and he didn’t really have the energy for a lecture. He’d actually been looking forward to going home and answering Harvey’s latest letter, his favorite yet. It had brought a lump to his throat, reading those words directed at him. Harvey was wrong; he really was good at pep talks.

The clinic was closed, of course; it was late evening, long past most businesses’ operating hours. But Charlie knew Harvey lived in the apartment above, and hoped he wasn't an early-to-bed type. Gritting his teeth and hoping he wasn't about to be inundated with concerned neighbors, Charlie raised a fist and pounded on the door.

The first volley of knocks did nothing, and neither did the second. But shortly after the third, Charlie heard distinct sounds of scurrying from inside, punctuated with a “Just a minute!” He sighed in relief and leaned against the doorframe, desperate to take the pressure off his aching legs. A moment later, he heard the locks clicking open, and the door swung open to reveal a surprised-looking Harvey in his pajamas.

“Charlie! This is a pleasant surprise, what brings you— oh! Yoba, what happened?”

“The mines,” Charlie said heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know it’s after hours, but do you have time for a quick patch-up?”

“Of course, come in, come in.” Harvey hustled down the hall to the exam room, flicking lights on as he went; Charlie followed more slowly, dropping his goo-encrusted backpack in the waiting room. As he approached, Harvey pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, arranging a few instruments on the tray beside the exam table. He looked oddly out-of-place in his relaxing clothes; the gloves were a strange contrast to his T-shirt and well-worn flannel pajama pants. Charlie realized he’d never actually seen him out of his “doctor clothes” before. He looked younger without the tie.

“Not really, just that. Some kind of slime thing, it burned me.”

“Okay. We’ll take a look at it.” He pulled a curtain across the other side of the room, gesturing to it and picking up his clipboard. “You can go behind there and just take off your shoes and, um, pants. You can leave your underwear on.”

Charlie moved behind the curtain and did as he said, suddenly glad for the distraction of the searing pain in his legs. His crush on Harvey hadn’t lessened by keeping away; in fact, if anything, it had only gotten stronger. He knew their correspondence had gotten too personal, but he couldn’t help himself. Harvey was fun to talk to, and the warmth and intelligence of his letters gave Charlie something to look forward to at the end of another exhausting day. He’d managed to convince himself during his absence that Harvey wasn't as cute as he remembered, but unfortunately, reality had come rushing back to him as soon as the man had opened the door.

Perching himself on the edge of the table, he called Harvey back into the room. The doctor visibly winced at the sight of his legs, pulling up a stool to get a closer look.

“These look very painful, Charlie,” he said, shining a penlight over one of the tennis-ball-sized burns. “Does it hurt when I touch them?”

“AH— yeah,” Charlie hissed, and Harvey threw him an apologetic look.

“I’ve heard about the slimes, although I haven’t encountered one personally. These burns look similar, chemically speaking, to those caused by a weak sulfuric acid solution.”

“Doesn’t feel so weak to me.”

Harvey gave him a pained little smile. “Well, the fact that you can still feel it at all means it’s pretty weak, but I know what you mean.” He stood up, pushing his stool back from the table. “Those burns need to be rinsed very thoroughly before we do anything else. Can you walk a short distance?”

“Sure. Where are we going?”

Harvey sighed, glancing at the ceiling. “Well, it’s not very professional, but the clinic isn’t really equipped for burns this big. If you’re not opposed, the quickest course of action would be to take a long, cold shower.”

“In your apartment?”

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll arrange emergency transport to the city, of course.”

“No, thanks.” Charlie hopped awkwardly to his feet, hobbling toward the door. “You’re sure you don’t mind me rinsing off slime goop in your shower?”

Harvey’s face went a little pink, and he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “No, as long as you promise not to judge me for my apartment?”

Charlie actually stopped in his tracks, staring at him. “Harvey,” he said incredulously, “I live in a glorified shed. You’ve been there. I’m going to judge you?”

“Okay, okay,” Harvey conceded, holding up his hands as he started up the stairs. Charlie followed, suddenly very curious. What did Harvey’s place look like, and why would he be worried about Charlie’s judgment? Somehow, Charlie couldn’t picture him as one of those slobby bachelor types who just left stuff strewn everywhere. Maybe it was still one of those bleak post-college apartments, where everything was chipped IKEA hand-me-downs and there was nothing on the walls?

Harvey pushed open the door to his apartment and stepped through, radiating waves of nervousness that Charlie couldn’t decipher. It wasn't immediately obvious what Harvey had been worried about; it was a small apartment, sure, but a cozy and tidy one. The furniture wasn't especially stylish, but it seemed to be of good quality and everything was well-kept. It took Charlie ten seconds of standing stupidly in the doorway before he noticed the planes. One whole corner of the studio was devoted to shelf after shelf of model airplanes, and the walls around them were plastered in plane-related art: schematics, photos, and what looked like a chart of aviation lingo. A desk below them held a complicated-looking radio with a microphone, which Charlie assumed had to be a CB, or what was the other name for it? Ham radio? Another model plane was in progress, scattered across Harvey’s kitchen table as though Charlie had interrupted him in the middle of building it—which he probably had.

The mystery of Harvey’s last letter clicked into place. “So that’s what kind of nerd you are!” he exclaimed, grinning. “It all makes sense now, although I gotta say, I never thought of model planes. I was thinking more along the lines of LARPing or being super into the Solarian Chronicles or something.”

Harvey gave a tight smile, his hands thrust into his pockets, and Charlie realized he was genuinely embarrassed. “Hey,” Charlie said gently, and Harvey looked at him across his face. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I think it’s cool.” Harvey audibly scoffed, and Charlie took a step toward him. “I mean it! I like people who are passionate about something. It’s refreshing; everybody’s always trying so hard to pretend they don’t care about anything.” He gestured toward the shelves of models. “Did you build all those?”

Harvey’s shoulders had loosened ever so slightly, and he nodded. “I did. That’s...mostly what I do when I’m not doctoring, as you put it.”

Charlie’s legs gave a throb of anger at having been ignored this long, and he sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Unfortunately I need to take a shower, but when I get out, I want to hear more about those,” he said, wincing. Harvey jumped as though he’d been scalded, rushing to the bathroom door to open it.

“Yoba, I’m a terrible doctor,” he said. “Go ahead, there are clean towels hanging up. Remember, it needs to be cold. You only need to get your legs wet, though. Don’t use soap or anything.”

“Got it, doc.” It took Charlie a few minutes to figure out the logistics of the shower; how could he rinse his legs without getting the rest of him under the freezing spray? Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t make it work without getting water all over Harvey’s bathroom, and so in the end he gritted his teeth and just stood under the water. Instantly, though the rest of his skin erupted in goosebumps, his legs felt a blissful relief. The constant heat that had plagued him for the last hour died away, and he tilted his head back, savoring it.

It turned out to be a good thing that he’d gone all-in on the cold shower, because once the pain in his legs was gone, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was Harvey’s shower. Harvey stood here every day, naked. Naked and wet. The mental images couldn’t be stopped, but at least the frigid downpour could stop his traitorous body from responding. Giving in to curiosity, he opened the bottle of shampoo and took a whiff. Rosemary and mint—was that what Harvey’s hair smelled like?

He shut the bottle with a snap, suddenly cringing at his own behavior. Harvey was letting him use his shower as a medical professional, and Charlie was making it creepy. How long had he been standing in here? Probably more than long enough, right? He reached for a towel and shut off the water, and then promptly screamed.

“Yes, it’s going to feel worse without the water running,” came Harvey’s muffled voice through the door. “Get dressed as quickly as you can, and we’ll go back downstairs and fix it.”

Charlie struggled back into his boxer briefs and shirt, not even bothering to button it or dry his hair before barreling out of the bathroom. Harvey had changed back into a button-down shirt and pants, though he hadn’t put his tie or jacket on. “Doing okay?” he asked, gesturing toward the door to the clinic.

“Fuck, fuck, ow,” Charlie hissed in lieu of an answer, and Harvey gave him a look of sympathy as they headed downstairs.

“I have a basic solution that should neutralize what’s left of the acid, and then I’ll give you some painkillers. The hard part’s almost over.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Back in the exam room, Charlie climbed onto the table with more difficulty, while Harvey bustled around gathering supplies. He took a moment to look back on his fantasies of being treated by Harvey; somehow, searing pain had never factored into them. He’d imagined a treatment for something sexy, like maybe a minor bicep-flexing injury. Still, he was nearly naked, and Harvey was sitting down at eye level with his pelvis. When Harvey slid a gloved hand around the back of his knee and began swabbing a soothing liquid over his burns, Charlie let out an involuntary groan that he hoped didn’t sound too pornographic.

“Told you it would help,” Harvey remarked, clearly fighting back a smile, but Charlie didn’t care. The pain in his legs was receding as Harvey worked, and without the agony occupying his mind, he was free to focus on Harvey: the gentle motions of his hands, the look of concentration on his face behind his slightly smudged glasses. They slid down his nose a little, and Charlie fought an absurd impulse to push them back up.

“What’s that symbol on the wall?” he asked, to distract himself. There was a small gold plaque hanging nearby; he’d seen it in a few other places around town, but never knew what it meant. Harvey spared it a glance as he worked.

“Ah. It’s a Mark of Yoba.”

“That...god? Deity? Whatever?”

“That’s the one.”

Charlie had wondered about this for a while. “What’s Yoba’s story? Or deal, or whatever? I don’t really know anything about it, except that everyone around here worships...it?”

Harvey chuckled. “Neither do I,” he said, cracking a smile. “Nobody’s ever told me. Lewis just asked me if I wanted to convert a few months after I moved here, and I agreed.”

“Just like that?”

“I was never very religious in the first place, and I thought it might make the villagers more comfortable coming to the clinic. The hardest part was training myself to say ‘Yoba’ instead of ‘God,’ but I hardly ever slip up anymore.” He leaned in closer, angling his head to look at the back of Charlie’s leg. “Can you lift your calf a little for me?”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Harvey working away and Charlie trying to think about anything other than the position they were in. He knew it was very late by now, but the receding adrenaline had left him wide awake. Harvey finished up with the solution, reaching for a roll of gauze he’d left on the tray.

“I can’t bandage them too tightly, because we want air to flow through, but you need to keep them covered for now so they don’t get infected,” he explained, beginning to wrap the gauze around Charlie’s right calf. “You’ll need to change the dressings every day, until scabs form. After that, you can let them air out. Can you change them yourself, do you think?”

“Definitely,” Charlie said quickly. He didn’t need Harvey handling his increasingly scabby legs any more than he had to. The silence fell again, only the soft sounds of the brushing gauze filling the room. At last, Charlie thought of something to say.

“Thanks for writing me back,” he said quietly. Harvey looked up at him, his expression unreadable. “I was starting to get pretty lonely out there. It...helped.”

Harvey blinked, his hand resting on the side of Charlie’s foot; the warmth seeped into his skin, and suddenly he realized how cold the rest of him was. He hadn’t noticed through the burning pain in his legs, but he’d just stepped out of a frigid shower, it made sense that he would be chilled. Harvey noticed his sudden shiver and stood abruptly, turning toward a cabinet.

“What is wrong with me tonight? Of course you’re cold!”

“In your defense, my screaming was probably pretty distracting,” Charlie joked through chattering teeth. Harvey emerged from the cabinet with a blanket, shaking the folds out. Charlie reached for it, but before he could take it, Harvey swept it around his shoulders and tucked the sides together in front of his chest. Charlie nearly swooned, both from the sudden warmth and the shamefully delightful feeling of having Harvey take care of him. Satisfied that Charlie wasn't going to freeze, Harvey settled back onto his stool, finishing up with the wrappings. Charlie thought his remark about the letters had been forgotten in the hubbub, but after a moment, Harvey spoke.

“I was happy to see your letters in my inbox,” he said, to the general area of Charlie’s knees. He paused for a long moment, then took a deep breath, ventured a small smile at Charlie, and added, “I’m happier to see you, though.”

Charlie smiled back at him, feeling warmed through, and Harvey turned pink and went back to his work. God, Harvey needed to cut it out with the cute/bashful thing, because Charlie wasn't going to survive otherwise. It was as though Harvey was reading out of a manual of how to make him weak in the knees. “I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long,” Charlie said at last.

“It’s okay,” Harvey replied, finishing with the last bandage and tucking in the end. “I know you’re busy. It gets that way for me at the beginning of fall, and basically all winter. Probably right when you’ll have free time.” He smiled up at Charlie again, seeming more at ease now. “Too bad.”

“It was nice knowing you,” Charlie agreed, laughing softly. Harvey finally pushed back from the table, rising from his stool and beginning to drop tools into the sink. Charlie instantly felt useless. “Can I help with anything?”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. Just rest your legs for a moment, and then I’ll get you some painkillers for the road.”

“You’re the best.” Something else occurred to him, and he fidgeted with the edge of a bandage. “You haven’t even given me trouble for ignoring your advice.”

Harvey shrugged, tossing the soaked cotton balls in the trash. “It was advice,” he said simply, “not orders. I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Well, you were right. Thanks for not being sanctimonious about it.” Charlie stood, stretching; he felt ancient and creaky after his disastrous evening. Harvey had finished tidying up, and went to rummage through a high cabinet.

“I’m going to give you some serious ibuprofen, okay? Make sure you eat first, and don’t take more than one every six hours. If it gets to the point that you really can’t stand it, come back and I’ll give you something else. It’s better to start off with non-narcotics, though.” He closed the cabinet and returned to Charlie, holding out the bottle.

“Sounds great. Thank you so much, Harvey. One of these days I’m going to do you a favor, I promise.”

Harvey laughed, running a hand through his hair again. “I think the number of empty pickle jars in my apartment probably add up to a pretty big favor,” he said, and then broke into an enormous yawn. “Whoops, sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s late. I’m sorry to have kept you up so long past your bedtime.” Charlie knew it was late, but he found himself strangely reluctant to go. He picked up the tattered remnants of his jeans, eyeing them critically. “I don’t think these are going to do me a lot of good for the walk home, though.”

“Oh! Here.” Harvey picked up a pair of scrub pants he’d left folded on the counter, holding them out with an apologetic look. “They’re not exactly a fashion statement, but they’re light and loose, which is what you need right now.”

“Ah, thanks.” Wincing, he stepped slowly into the pants. They were too long by a mile, but they were indeed light, and didn’t aggravate his angry legs too much. When he straightened again, Harvey was looking at the floor.

“So, um,” he said, and Charlie’s ears pricked up at the nervousness that had crept back into his tone. “Do you think you can make it back to the farm on your own? Or do you need help? If you’re too sore, you don’t even have to go home, you can stay here. In the OR,” he added, a bit hastily. “There are beds in there.”

Charlie was tempted by the offer of a walk home, he really was. But Harvey looked exhausted, dark circles starting under his eyes, and Charlie didn’t want to put him through even more strain just to satisfy his silly crush. “I think I’m good,” he said, and instantly wished he hadn’t; rather than relieved, Harvey looked unmistakably disappointed.

“Ah,” he said. “Good. Well...take it easy, okay? I know it’s no use telling you not to work in the fields, but make sure you at least stay hydrated and take breaks. And keep the sun off those burns.”

“Will do, doc. I’ll see you soon.”

“I hope so. Maybe not under these circumstances.”

They made their way to the door of the clinic so Harvey could lock up behind Charlie, exchanging a few words of farewell. Once Charlie was safely outside with his backpack on his shoulders, he let out a deep breath, his eyes sliding closed. Honestly, there was nothing he wanted to do less than walk for half an hour, but he had to get home to make sure the animals were taken care of. Thinking longingly of the bicycle he’d had to leave in the entrance of the mines, he set out toward home. Damn, he hadn’t even asked Harvey about his model airplanes.

It was endearing, how worried he was that Charlie might judge him, but it also made Charlie sad. Had he been teased about it in the past? Maybe by Philip, who Charlie had begun picturing as a sort of amalgam of terrible ex-boyfriend stereotypes? The planes weren’t really Charlie’s thing, but he hadn’t been lying, he did appreciate someone with passion. He had once dumped a gorgeous blonde with all the interests of a cardboard cutout; he’d once crushed pretty hard on an average-looking guy whose all-consuming love for painting had transformed him into something extraordinary. Charlie resolved to get Harvey talking about his love of aviation, to ease his self-consciousness about it. Maybe it would actually turn out to be super interesting.

As he started down the road toward his farm, he cast one last glance back at the town square. The little rectangle of Harvey’s apartment window was still illuminated; he hadn’t gone to bed yet. Maybe he was a fellow night owl. Feeling somehow cheered that he wasn't the only one still awake, Charlie hitched his backpack further up onto his shoulders, settling in for the long walk home.