Chapter Text
“Do you need any help?” he asked.
Maddison looked up from her tomatoes and locked eyes with him, a tiny smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Sebastian stood there, casual, hands on his hips, confident he could do farm work in the black tee and the ripped jeans he wore to Zuzu yesterday.
“You want to help me around the farm.” the woman said. It wasn’t a question, she was thinking out loud. It was a spontaneous offer, one she wasn’t quite sure where it came from.
Sebastian could feel the words hanging in the air between them, heavier than they had any right to be. He tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal—like helping her harvest tomatoes was the most casual, neighborly thing in the world—but the second their eyes met, he felt it again.
That little squeeze in his chest. Like something inside him was shifting. Moving.
Dangerously.
Her hair was tied back in a messy knot, little strands clinging to her temple in the heat. Her sleeves were rolled up, her hands stained with dirt and tomato juice, and she had this stupid little smirk like she knew something he didn’t.
Which, knowing Maddison, she probably did.
Sebastian shifted his weight and tried to look at literally anything else. The blueberry bushes. The compost bin. The distant treeline. Anywhere but that curve of her lips that made him want to say things he absolutely should not be thinking.
This was getting out of hand.
He’d gone to Zuzu the night prior, and he’d hated it. The noise, the lights, the cold. The weird, suffocating feeling of not fitting in, despite his dreams. It should’ve been familiar. Comforting, even. But the second he’d stepped onto the sidewalk, it was like the illusion broke.
Because the truth was, there was no version of Zuzu, no dim corner of any club, that had ever made him feel the way this tomato-stained girl did, just by smiling at him.
“I slept here, drank your coffee, smoked on your porch,” he said, voice tight. “Seems only fair that I pay back a little, no?”
It was bullshit. He’d do this even if he’d never touched her damn coffee. He just wanted to be near her.
And that scared the hell out of him.
They had kissed, they had slept together, they had shared pieces of their soul no one else had ever seen. It wasn’t just simple attraction anymore, it was need.
It was the feeling of belonging Sebastian had been chasing for as long as he could remember, the one he swore he could find on the city’s skyline, and now? He wasn’t too sure anymore. He never imagined that feeling could be found in a person, not a place, but in a presence, a smile. In a soft pair of lips.
Still, he wasn’t sure about that either. Or maybe he didn’t want to be, not just yet. He had this plan for years, move to Zuzu and live his life, finally feeling fulfilled. Maddison showing up with her headscarves and puffy sleeves put a wrench in all that.
“Well,” Maddison started, straightening her back and wiping some sweat off her forehead with her forearm, doing her best not to get her dirty gardening gloves on her face. She failed, and now there was a dirt streak on her temple, “If you really want to help a poor farmer out so bad, I guess I could use an extra pair of hands to harvest all these tomatoes.”
She meant for it to sound casual—teasing, even. Light-hearted and playful. But the second the words left her mouth, something inside her cracked, just a little.
Because he was here.
Sebastian, with his city-boy jeans and that slouchy black tee that looked so out of place in the red warmth of her tomato fields. He was standing in front of her, offering help like it was his routine, like he hadn’t just spent a night back in Zuzu. Like he hadn’t been inches away from the life he used to swear he wanted more than anything.
And he came back.
That part? That was the part that made her chest ache. Because she didn’t know if he’d come back for good or just for now. And she didn’t dare ask. Not when the answer might split her open.
She bent back down to the tomatoes, trying to ignore the way her heart skipped when she heard him step closer. His shadow joined hers on the soil, and it felt like the earth shifted a little beneath her boots.
He didn’t know it, but he was already tangled into everything. Into the rows of blueberries, into the way she drank her morning coffee slower now—just in case he wandered out onto the porch. Into the quiet parts of her day that used to be lonely, and now just… weren’t.
Which was exactly why she couldn’t tell him how she felt.
Because what if he was still dreaming of Zuzu? What if this—her, the farm, the summer sun and sweaty work shirts—was just a detour on his path to somewhere bigger, brighter? She knew that feeling too well. That hollow, stuck feeling. She’d clawed her way out of it, and she’d be damned if she was the reason someone else got pulled under.
Especially him.
She would never ask him to stay.
Even if it broke her in half.
So she handed him a pair of gloves, flashed him a crooked smile, and said, “Just don’t squish them. Tomatoes are delicate, y’know.”
“Nah, don’t worry.” he said, plucking one tomato off the stem, and putting it on her basket, “I know how weirdly affectionate you are to your crops. Wouldn’t want to ruin the loves of your life.”
Maddison snorted, “Damn right, if you damage my heirlooms, I’ll make you replant the whole field.”
There was a beat of silence after that, where the only thing that could be heard were the quiet little snaps of the produce getting harvested, the soundtrack to Sebastian’s brain firing up.
That’s right, it was her heirloom. All of that, the house, the small creak running through the farm, the shed down east, the fields, the tomatoes.
For some reason—just for a moment—he forgot that. He forgot Maddison wasn’t just one random woman that appeared out of nowhere and squeezed her way into his life, because it was just so easy to look at her, see her smile and the fingers with chipped nail polish, and just feel this overwhelming, delighted bewilderment of how on earth did someone like her end up in his orbit?
But she wasn’t a random woman, Maddison was someone he had known for a long time, even if he didn’t remember. She was the girl in pretty little dresses that walked around holding Old Tom’s hand, the old farmer with kind eyes, the farmer that comforted him when he got lost in his orchard—and gave him a frog—the farmer that let him and his friends play around his wheat fields, the farmer that on his birthdays, on summer, would throw parties at the beach with roast fish, pink cake and candied starfruit, for the whole village.
The more he thought about it, the more he could remember snippets of his childhood during that time—something it was hard to do, probably because it all happened twenty-something years ago—and the more he could visualize her, little Maddison, with her chubby cheeks and hair too long for a six-year-old.
She was Old Tom’s granddaughter. This farm was her inheritance. Her home.
Sebastian tilted his head a bit, wondering if it was as bittersweet as it sounded, to lose a grandparent, and get land in lieu. She had expressed to him a few times how much he missed him, her grandfather, how this summer—her first summer back in the valley after his death—was bound to be a really hard season.
But he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, and saw her serene, focused face, harvesting her tomatoes with quiet devotion. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but he wondered how much she was holding back, now.
He hesitated, brushing his bottom lip with his tongue, more to buy time than to wet it, and asked, “So… his birthday is coming up, right? Your grandpa’s, I mean.”, awkwardly.
Her hands stuttered for a split second, eyes squinting a bit as she turned to him, “Yeah… yeah, that’s right! You remember it?”
The man shrugged, her surprise making him feel a bit proud, “Of course, he used to make a real mean roast sturgeon, and the candied—”
“The candied starfruit!” she beamed, and straightened up. Her expression was nothing short of delighted, “And he used to slice up the juiciest melons of the harvest and set them up like—”
“Like flamingos, yeah!” the memory came back to him, of the melon flamingo sculptures held in place by a lot of skewers and sheer confidence, he always thought they were fun, but he also always kind wished they’d fall apart, just out of childish morbid propensity for chaos, “It was really creative, honestly… but they were a little flimsy, sorry.”
She laughed and nodded, “No, no, they really were.” Her chest vibrated with the remnants of her laughter, slowly dying down to give place to something warm, “I used to help make them, y’know?”
“Oh, so that’s why they looked like a kindergarten arts and crafts project.” he teased, earning a half-hearted slap to his shoulder.
“Asshole.” she grunted, smiling, and Sebastian snickered like a little kid, so proud of himself, his attention back to her tomatoes.
“How are you holding up?” he finally asked after a second, still a bit hesitant, afraid he’d kill her vibe, of somehow ruining her day by bringing up something painful to the surface.
But he had to know. He wanted to know.
Sebastian wanted to know what she was feeling, the mere thought of her biting back emotions too big for her chest, especially with someone going on, her grief, her mother’s letter a while back, was enough for him to feel antsy. Whatever burdens she had, he wanted to listen.
The farmer took a deep, long breath, eyes drifting to the horizon, at no point in particular, like she was trying to see beyond the thin line where sky met ground.
“Before the party at the beach,” she started, going back to the last of the tomatoes, “In the mornings, I used to wake up to fresh pink cake and some really, really bitter coffee. It was the moment I had with him, just grandpa and I, no party, no melon flamingos, no roast sturgeon, just… an off-key happy birthday I used to sing for him, and as much cake as I could stuff myself with.”
Sebastian listened attentively, not daring to interrupt, taking that intimate moment with care.
“I… I have good days, bad days, normal days… but I think of him always.” she continued, with a wistful little grin, “Every time I look at the plantations, or whenever I pick up my fishing rod, I see him everywhere here. Maybe that’s why it’s getting… easier.”
“Easier?”
“It’s not easy, don’t get me wrong.” Maddison added with a pointed tilt of her head, “But it used to bring me to the brink of tears every time I noticed something that reminded me of him, every time I saw little me with him walking through the orchards or fishing together. But I’ve noticed that, recently, I’ve been able to smile about it, y’know? Sometimes I still cry, and it still hurts— Yoba, how it hurts…”
His hand lifted, the back of his fingers and knuckles brushing her cheek in a soft caress, before he could even think about what he was doing, like it was automatic to try and comfort her, to touch her, show her that he was there.
Maddison leaned into the touch, shooting him a grateful smile.
“Thank you.”
“What?” he asked.
“I never… I never could talk about him with anyone.” she said, and it came out of her mouth—off her chest—dragging an overwhelming weight, that it hit her with surprise at how much lighter she felt, “I never had anyone to reminisce about him, so I did it alone. It’s nice to know someone else remembers him, too, like, really remembers him. Not just that usual ‘he was a great man’ I usually get from folks.”
Sebastian let his hand linger for just a heartbeat longer before pulling back, offering her a crooked smile, one that tried to lighten the air without dismissing everything they’d just shared.
“Well,” he started, voice dipping into a playful softness, “you ever need someone else to stuff their face with pink cake and bitter coffee at the crack of dawn, you know where to find me.”
She laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine, and it made something in his chest feel suspiciously tender. Maddison shook her head, a fond grin tugging at her lips.
“You say that now,” she warned teasingly, reaching for another tomato, “but just wait until I actually hold you to it.”
“I think I can handle it.” Sebastian shot back, nudging her shoulder gently as he returned to his own basket. “As long as I don’t have to build any melon flamingos.”
“I make no promises.” she quipped, eyes sparkling with a mischievous light.
They continued harvesting in comfortable silence, the quiet occasionally broken by a shared glance or a small chuckle whenever one of them nearly dropped a tomato or stumbled over their own feet. It was easy. Almost too easy.
When the last of the ripe tomatoes had been gathered and neatly placed into overflowing baskets, Maddison stretched, groaning slightly as her back popped. Sebastian stood up beside her, dusting off his hands on his jeans—which were now thoroughly ruined with dirt and juice stains.
Maddison eyed the damage with a sympathetic grin. “Sorry about the jeans.”
He shrugged casually, “Honestly, they look better this way.”
She snorted, shaking her head, then glanced toward the farmhouse, seeming to remember something.
“Oh,” she said, snapping her fingers lightly, “I almost forgot—I’m heading down to Clint’s later. I wanna see if he can help me figure out how to tackle the boiler room situation at the Community Center. Maybe he’ll know how to get it up and running again.”
Sebastian nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Clint, huh?”
“Yeah,” Maddison tilted her head, raising an eyebrow at his tone, “Why?”
“Nothing,” he smirked, shaking his head a little, “just—good luck with that.”
She laughed again, gently shoving his arm, “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” he protested half-heartedly, stepping backward down the path away from the farm, a lingering smile on his face. “See you around?”
She smiled, fixing the basket of tomatoes on her arm, “See you around. If I ever need a farmhand again, I’ll be sure to hit you up, you did a good job.”
“Well, good to know I’m skilled at picking tomatoes,” he chuckled, turning around to the gates for good, mostly so she couldn’t see his dumbass smile and the flush on his cheeks, “Just be sure to hit me up for other reasons, too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” she nodded, biting back a grin, watching his retreating figure, taking the mountain path back to his house.
With a sigh, and with his absence filling up her chest already, Maddison organized her produce in neat boxes, her tomatoes, hot peppers, blueberries and squashes to take them to Pierre’s for maybe a better deal than the last one he gave her, making sure to set some aside for the shipping bin, to sell for towns and cities outside of Pelican Town, and the Valley.
It made her proud and giddy, to know her produce, things she cultivated herself, were being sold in markets around the region, people she never even met buying the fruits of her labor.
The walk to town was as usual it could be, part of her routine, even if she was carrying a heavy crate in her arms—turns out farming is great exercise—it was as mundane it could be, but not in a way that felt dull and repetitive, she took that time to look around, see what she could pick up, flowers, berries or pretty rocks that somehow appeared around town.
Bargaining with Pierre was something that was getting old, though, she’d been a farmer for a good chunk of months, enough to learn how to put a price on her produce, the problem was that Pierre was a businessman AND a cheap fuck, which made Maddison swear it put her on the way of an early aneurysm with the sheer persistence he tried to “strike a good deal”.
“Pierre, I’m not going any lower than fifteen hundred gold for the blueberries.” she sighed, tapping her nails on his counter, impatiently, while the man made a show of inspecting the fruits.
“Oh, but Maddison, you see, if you look closely, you can see that there are some—”
“I’ll give you one more chance to think over if you really want to insult my produce.” the farmer warned.
Pierre froze mid-sentence, clearly reconsidering his choices under Maddison’s sharp gaze.
“No insult intended, Maddison,” he backtracked, smoothing down his mustache nervously. “Just pointing out a minor bruise—”
“Pierre.” She leaned in just slightly, eyes narrowing. “That’s called ripeness. Freshness. You know, the things your customers actually want ?”
He cleared his throat dramatically, eyes darting to the sides, trying to assess his chances. “Twelve hundred?”
“Fifteen hundred,” she repeated slowly, tapping the counter again for emphasis. “And I'll throw in a smile when I leave instead of flipping your sign to closed.”
“Fourteen—?”
“Pierre.”
“Alright, alright!” he surrendered, throwing up his hands in defeat, “Fifteen hundred it is.”
Maddison grinned sweetly, instantly switching gears and beaming at him. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
“Yeah, sure,” Pierre sighed dramatically, pulling out the gold with a begrudgingly amused shake of his head. “You know, you’re getting terrifyingly good at this.”
“It’s all in the irreverence,” she quipped, pocketing the money triumphantly. “Sebastian helped me harvest today. Maybe his rebellious energy brushed off on me.”
“Sebastian, huh?” the man hummed, setting aside his new purchases, giving her a glance that was hard to read, something close to disapproval, but also curiosity, “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together, no? Should we expect a new couple walking around town?”
“Goodbye, Pierre.” she waved over her shoulder, not dignifying his nosiness with a response.
But that meant gossip was going around, people were noticing them, noticing they were… something. Would they be a new couple around town? Would they be doing corny stuff like walking, holding hands, and getting Evelyn saying how good and cute they look together, and going on and on about “young love”?
She would like that, Maddison hadn’t had that many relationships throughout her life, and surely none that felt as comfortable as Sebastian, none that made her want the corny stuff, like pet names and nose kisses.
Maddison tried not to blush violently thinking about that as she made her way to Clint’s forge.
Clint was… not someone she had interacted a lot with. He was shy, that much she could tell, and socially awkward, that much everyone could tell. But he was kind and very much able on the rare occasions she showed up at the forge to get her tools fixed, so she knew that if anyone could help her out with the boiler room, that person would be Clint.
It sure as hell wouldn’t be her, there were things she couldn’t do by herself, and she doubted the Junimo knew anything about boilers. This community center adventure was sure becoming an exercise in asking for help.
She opened the door to the forge and was immediately engulfed by a violent wave of heat, not the kind that comes from the sun, the kind that comes from a forge with red-hot coal, it hit her on her face and wrapped around her limbs, and the farmer’s immediate reaction was to puff out some air.
“Oh, farmer Brooks.” Clint raised his eyes from the geode he was studying to greet her, “Nice seeing you, is the new axe treating you well?”
“Hello, Clint.” She did her best to smile, fanning herself with the collar of her shirt, “Yeah, yeah, the new axe is great… Yoba, is it always this hot here?”
“I’m afraid so.” he allowed himself a chuckle, “But you get used to it, at least I did. Can I help you with anything?”
“Yes, actually,” Maddison began, stepping closer and feeling the relentless heat roll off the forge. “I’m here about the boiler room.”
“The boiler room?” Clint repeated, confusion drawing his brows together.
She nodded resolutely, “The boiler room. In the Community Center.”
His confusion lingered, mixing with curiosity. “Why?”
“Well,” Maddison started, pulling at her collar again in an attempt to keep cool, “I’ve been working on restoring the Community Center—you know, fixing things up, bringing it back to life.”
“Oh,” Clint’s face softened, a genuine smile breaking through his usual shy restraint. “That’s really nice of you. A lot of folks gave up on it after… well, after Joja came in. It’s good to see someone cares.”
Maddison shrugged lightly, feeling a faint blush rise in her cheeks—though it could just be the forge’s infernal heat. “It’s important. At least, it feels important.”
He hummed, even though there still was a little puzzled frown on his face, “And… you want my help?”
The woman’s eyes drifted to the side for a second in slight confusion, his question seemed out of place, “Uh, yeah! I mean, you understand a lot about… metal stuff, and boiler stuff… right? Well, at least you were the first person I thought of to help with this.”
“I was?” he repeated, like the idea really was surprising, “I mean, yeah, I can help fix it, see what it needs, definitely. Yeah.”
“Awesome!” Maddison clapped, excited, it seemed to have an effect on him, judging by his smile, “Wanna come with me, then? Take a look at the state of things, y’know, give it a once over… if you’re free right now, that is.”
“Right now?” he echoed, and seemed to snap out of whatever thought he was in, shaking his head and grabbing a nearby toolbox, “Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure, we can go now.”
“Right.” she nodded. Awkwardly. “Shall we go, then?”
She made a motion to the door, eager to leave the forge’s oppressive heat.
Clint fumbled slightly as he hefted his toolbox, clearly unused to sudden plans—or maybe just unused to having plans involving other people at all. Maddison bit back a grin, trying to look casual and supportive instead of openly amused.
He cleared his throat as they stepped outside, noticeably relieved as the cooler, fresh air brushed against them. His shoulders relaxed almost immediately, the toolbox swinging awkwardly by his side.
“Sorry if that was weird,” he mumbled after a few seconds, glancing sideways at her as they walked. “I, uh—I don’t get many people asking me for… stuff. Other than tools. Or ores.”
Maddison laughed softly, not at him, but at the earnest rambling. It was unexpectedly endearing. “It wasn’t weird. I appreciate you helping me out.”
“Yeah, of course!” Clint said quickly, clearly not used to praise. His face flushed a little under his beard, and he fumbled again, “I mean, it’s just—I’m glad you thought of me. Really.”
“Who else was I going to ask?” she teased gently, nudging him a bit with her elbow. “Lewis? I doubt he’s ever held a wrench in his life.”
Clint chuckled quietly, the sound still a bit awkward but genuine. “Yeah, Mayor Lewis is more of a ‘stand back and let other people do the work’ kinda guy.”
“Exactly!” Maddison grinned. “So you’re stuck with me, unfortunately.”
“Doesn’t feel unfortunate,” he muttered almost to himself, eyes glued firmly on the ground. “It’s… nice. I don’t really get out much. It’s just the forge, mostly.”
“Not much of a social butterfly, huh?”
He snorted, shoulders shaking slightly with humor. “More like a social hermit crab. Except, the shell is made of iron and coal dust.”
Maddison laughed again, louder this time, pleasantly surprised by the humor hiding under all that quiet awkwardness. “Well, if you’re a hermit crab, consider this a gentle poke to get you out of your shell.”
He glanced up, startled by her kindness and warmth, but managed a shy, grateful smile. “Thanks. It… feels good.”
They walked side by side to the community center, not saying much after that. It wasn’t exactly awkward, per se, but it wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence either. Truth was, Maddison wasn’t sure what to talk about with Clint, was she supposed to talk about… tools? Gemstones?
She stuck with the boiler room, as the community center came into view.
“I must warn you,” the farmer started apprehensively, trying to brace him for what he would find, “It’s… not in good condition. Like, at all. Please don’t bolt on me.”
“It can’t be that bad, right?” he offered, trying to sound hopeful and optimistic.
“No, it absolutely can.”
“Oh.”
They stopped in front of the building, and the face Clint made was nothing short of priceless, eyebrows going up on his small forehead, “Well, I never noticed how… run down this place actually is.”
“I mean, it’s much better now that I manage to get some work done in it…” Maddison pointed out with her hands on her hips, “Believe me, not to toot my own horn, but I did a good job… mostly.”
“Oh, I— I didn’t mean to dismiss your work,” the blacksmith was very quick to add, in a nervous tone, almost defensive, “It’s just— I mean, I never noticed—”
“It’s okay, Clint.” she reassured him with a chuckle, and tilted her head, observing the building, “There’s a lot that needs to be done, still, but you know how the saying goes, tiny steps or whatever.”
Clint hummed in agreement, or at least in resignation, “Well, then, let’s take a look at this boiler room, make it the next step.”
“Yeah, let’s do it!”
Maddison opened the community center’s creaky door, and even with the floors freshly cleaned, the moldy wallpaper and rotten paneling removed, the place still had a somewhat creepy air to it. Maybe it had something to do with the supernatural critters living there, but who knows.
Clint entered after her, visibly hesitant. Maddison couldn’t really judge, she supposed . She would also be apprehensive if a person she barely even knew took her to an abandoned building most of the town didn’t even pay attention to.
“It’s right over here,” she pointed in the direction of the boiler, a room set a bit further down than the rest of the building, “Just down the hall, follow me.”
Maddison took the lead, Clint followed right behind, the only sounds were their footsteps echoing and the soft, metallic clink of his tools inside the tool box. The Junimo, once again, were nowhere to be seen. Maddison could’ve sworn she saw one peeking out curiously over a door frame, but when she looked again, it had vanished.
Just like when Sebastian came to help her paint the crafts room, they kept themselves hidden. She supposed that made her special, just like the Wizard said, the Junimo had decided that she was the special cookie, the one they would work with, the one they would befriend.
And, well, it did make her feel at least a little special.
“I think it’s really nice,” Clint spoke up as they walked, snapping Maddison’s attention back to him, “What you’re doing, that is. Y’know, fixing the community center.”
He had already said that, earlier at his forge, but the farmer supposed she couldn’t blame a guy for trying to make conversation.
“Thank you.” She shot him a friendly smile, opening the door to the boiler room, “I used to come here a lot as a kid, y’know, it’s quite sad to see it run down like this.”
“Well, I’m glad to be included.” he admitted, setting down his tools and studying the boiler for a moment, hands on his hips. “It’s a good opportunity to… be a part of something, you know?”
Clint leaned in toward the rusted mess of pipes, squinting at a valve that looked like it hadn’t moved since the Wizard was in diapers.
“I might need to replace this piece entirely,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Could be worse, though. I’ve seen worse. The furnace at Joja was ten times more temperamental.”
“You’ve done repairs for Joja?” Maddison asked, brow raised as she leaned casually against the doorway.
He grunted. “Yeah. Once or twice. They’d hire out local tradesfolk sometimes. Not often. Just enough to make it look like they were supporting the town before gutting it.”
He shook his head, reaching for a wrench. “Honestly? I prefer doing things like this. Smaller, real projects. For people I actually give a damn about.”
There was a beat.
Then Clint added, absentmindedly: “People like you. Or… y’know. Emily.”
Maddison’s eyes snapped to him.
He didn’t notice. He was too busy tightening a bolt.
“Emily.” she repeated, voice flat with mock seriousness.
Clint blinked, then froze. Like a video mid-frame.
“I mean—uh—just, like, people in town!” he blurted. “Good people! Not—not like I was saying I—uh—”
“Oh no, please, go on,” Maddison said, grinning now, leaning in like a shark smelling blood. “Emily, you say?”
Clint looked like he wanted to crawl inside the boiler and die with dignity. “I just—she’s nice, and kind, and—”
“Pretty?” Maddison offered sweetly.
He sighed and closed his eyes, like it would help him disappear. “Yoba, please. Strike me down.”
She squealed, like, literally squealed, like a teenage girl. “Clint, this is the most adorable thing I’ve heard all week. You have a crush on Emily.”
“I do not —okay, maybe. I mean. Yeah. But I haven’t told her! And please don’t—”
“Relax, I’m not gonna go blabbing to the whole town,” Maddison said, “But holy hell, Clint. That’s cute.”
He muttered something under his breath and went back to tinkering with the valve, ears bright red.
After a moment, Maddison softened. “Seriously, though. You should tell her. Or at least… talk to her more. She’s not scary.”
“I know,” Clint sighed. “I’ve tried. To tell her, I mean. I tried a few times.”
“You did?” the farmer crouched down next to him, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, this was the most interesting thing she’s heard all week. Well, other than Haley kissing Abigail a few days ago. “And how did it go?”
“It didn’t, that’s the thing.” Clint confessed with the saddest sigh Maddison had ever heard, while he kept tinkering with some pipes she was pretty sure were useless, “I can never get a word out, when it comes to her. I always freeze, always act stupid.”
“Aw, Clint, I’m pretty sure—”
“There was this one time I had my mind set on telling her,” he continued, not even noticing she even spoke up, he probably wanted to get that off his chest, and finally got someone who would listen, “I got her favorite gemstone, and I told myself, I was going to her house, give it to her, and invite her to have dinner, or something…”
Maddison didn’t dare interrupt, she simply hugged her legs and stayed crouched, paying deep attention.
“But once I got to her doorstep, I— I completely froze. I couldn’t knock, I couldn’t ring the doorbell, I just stood there, stupidly.” Clint stress sighed again, “I heard some footsteps coming to the door, in my panic I just— ran to hide behind a bush nearby, I didn’t want her to see me standing at her door like a dummy.”
“You hid behind a bush?” her eyebrows shot up, that was a bit of a cartoony reaction, but a morbid part of her would’ve liked to see that, just for the absurdity factor.
“It turned out to be Haley, y’know, leaving the house with a Stanley Cup the size of her head and heels,” Clint ignored her remark, probably out of embarrassment, “She spotted me. Called me a creep, accused me of stalking her and Emily, told me to go away.”
“Oh, Clint…” Maddison put a gentle hand on his shoulder, with two very awkward, but heartfelt pats, “That’s… I mean, Haley— she’s, uh… she’s like that, uhm…”
“Intense?” Clint offered with a bitter little scoff, “Mean? Cruel?”
“Okay, yeah, she can be all that, yes.” the farmer carefully conceded, “But she’s my friend, under all that… judgment, there’s a very loyal and fierce friend.”
The blacksmith just shot her a side eye, the kind that begged you to be so for real right now. Maddison pursed her lips and nodded.
“Well, she’s nothing like Emily, I’ll give you that.” she offered.
“No one is like Emily.”
Maddison tilted her head, watching him with something like tenderness. “Then talk to her, Clint. No grand gestures, no shiny rocks, no pre-scripted speeches. Just talk to her. Be her friend. Let her know you’re around.”
Clint didn’t respond at first. He just stared at the boiler, as if maybe it held the secrets to social grace and romantic confidence.
“I think she’d like you, if you let her see you,” Maddison added gently. “You’re kind. Honest. You’re just… scared. And I get that.”
He sighed. “It’s hard to believe someone like her would ever look at someone like me and see anything worth liking.”
Maddison smiled, bittersweet. “Sometimes people surprise you. You just have to give them the chance.”
That seemed to land somewhere deep, because he nodded—slow, a little unsure, but real. “Yeah… yeah. Maybe.”
Then, in true Clint fashion, he pivoted immediately back to his comfort zone.
He tapped the rusted boiler with the side of a wrench. “So… uh, boiler’s shot.”
Maddison blinked. “Oh.”
Clint chuckled softly at her reaction. “I mean, it’s real bad . This thing hasn’t been maintained in, what, decades? It’s mostly rust and hope at this point.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yeah, sure. But I’m gonna need a lot of materials. And time. Like… copper bars, iron bars, gold if you’ve got it. New valves, pressure seals, a few meters of pipe that isn’t corroded to hell.”
Maddison winced. “So… a big job.”
Clint nodded. “But doable. I’ll draw up a list. We can break it down, do it in stages. Might even be fun.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Clint. For real.”
He nodded again, softer this time. “Thanks for asking me. Feels good to be useful. In a way that matters.”
Maddison clapped a hand on his shoulder again, this time with a little more oomph. “You’re more than useful. You’re a part of this.”
Clint turned a little pink. “Y-yeah. Okay. I’ll get started on that list.”
Just as they were getting ready to leave, just as Clint finished putting his tools back into place, they heard a little commotion outside, right in front of the community center.
“Called someone else to help?” Clint asked, and it was a fair question. The people seemed to be talking something about structure integrity, or something like that.
“No… no, I haven’t…” Maddison said, already walking out, curious to say the least.
When she stepped outside, closing the community center’s door behind her with a loud creak, four pairs of eyes zeroed in on her, she almost flinched with the sheer predatory-like sharpness.
Two of the men seemed like contractors, talking amongst themselves while looking over a blueprint or floor plan of sorts, staring up at her in confusion.
She recognized just one of the men, Shane, in his JojaMart uniform and very tired, with a perpetually annoyed and fed up expression. He closed his eyes and sighed when he saw her, like he was bracing himself for something he didn’t want to be a part of, as if she had personally made his day worse just by being there at that moment.
“Ah! Well, hello!” The fourth man spoke up with a shrill little voice, round little glasses and a stupid looking red bowtie. He had a name tag on the right side of his blazer, Morris, JojaMart manager, “I don’t believe we’ve met, are you, perhaps the farmer everyone has been making a fuss about?”
“I’m Maddison Brooks, yeah…” she nodded, sizing all of them up, suspiciously, “I’ve been here for over a season, so I suppose it’s not exactly fresh news.”
“Ah, but you’ve not been to our JojaMart, right?” Morris carried on, nodding like he solved string theory, “Well, we’d love to have you sometime! I’ll be sure to personally give you a great five-percent off coupon to use on your first purchase with us!”
“Oh, that’s not… necessary, Morris.” She gave him a diplomatic smile, “I’m… quite okay. I used to work for Joja, too, y’know, so I got coupons for the rest of my life, I guess. But thank you!”
Not that she’d ever use those coupons, anyway.
“Hmm, if you say so, but the offer’s still up, if you ever change your mind.” he waved a chubby finger at her, like he knew something about her that she didn’t. Morris' attention went back to the community center behind her, “You’ve been exploring the old center, I see?”
“I have, actually!” Maddison said, a little too brightly, her instinct to be pleasant kicking in before she could fully process the question. “I’ve been working on restoring it. Little by little, y’know? Got the crafts room done, boiler room’s next. It’s kind of a passion project.”
Morris nodded slowly, his smile sharp and plastic. “Oh, how charming.”
She tilted her head. “I’m hoping it’ll bring folks back together. It used to be such a big part of town when I was a kid, and I just thought… maybe it could be again.”
“Yes, yes. Community spirit.” Morris waved a hand vaguely in the air. “But, between us—”
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was about to share a delightful little secret. Maddison braced.
“—don’t tire yourself out too much. You won’t have to worry about the place for long.”
Maddison blinked. “Sorry?”
He chuckled, adjusting his tie. “We’re in the final stages of negotiation. Mayor Lewis has already given us his word. The center’s slated to be converted into a Joja warehouse before winter.”
…
She stared at him.
“What?”
“Oh, I know,” Morris went on, smiling like this was the best news anyone had ever heard. “A bit of a relic, isn’t it? Charming in a dusty, broken-down sort of way, but Joja has big plans for the valley. Streamlined services. Centralized storage. Reliable distribution. All very efficient.”
“But—Lewis—” Maddison’s voice cracked mid-word. “I’m sorry— you’re telling me the mayor sold off community property to a corporation?”
“In essence, yes,” Morris said cheerfully. “Pending paperwork. Though we were told it was mostly a formality at this point.”
“Wha— why are you acting like it’s already sold?? This isn’t how these things work—”
“Oh, I understand your confusion, Miss Brooks, but you see, Mayor Lewis made a deal with us, if enough people bought into our Joja Membership Club, which would be showing support for Joja and our philosophy, he would sell it to us.”
“That doesn’t make any fucking sense—”
Morris gasped—actually gasped—somewhere between scandalized and entertained.
“Miss Brooks, there’s no need for such language, this is only business—”
“No. Don’t you speak of business to me,” the farmer pointed an angry finger to his chest, expression contorting into a scowl, “I didn’t spend four long years in business school, and almost a decade working for this soulless, sorry excuse of a company, for you to come here and tell me the company’s philosophy is to seize community property for profit—”
“Miss Brooks, it’s not seizing, it’s all perfectly legal—”
“I’m pretty sure it isn’t.”
“—It’s progress! We’re bringing the future and comfort to Stardew Valley! You were one of us before, you know our motto! Join us, Thrive!”
“I am going to LITERALLY—”
Clint’s awkward cough sounded from behind her, he was waiting for a good window of opportunity to get out as well, but the situation was escalating rapidly, so he just… decided to squeeze past a little corporate rat-man and a very angry farmer.
“I’ll just… excuse me, I’ll— I’ll leave now…”
…
“It’s just the way of business—”
————
Sebastian wasn’t used to feeling light.
But there was something about the morning air, about the quiet of the path winding down from the mountains, that made him feel like the weight he always carried had shifted—just enough to make him walk easier.
He had his earbuds in, music low but steady, something electronic and soft that Sam had sent him and insisted was “background track to a healed life.” He didn’t know about all that, but the beat was mellow, and the day was mild, and he was sipping on a Joja Cola he didn’t even feel bad about drinking.
He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this okay.
His thoughts drifted to Maddison. Of course, they did. The way her hair curled at her temples after a long day in the sun. The smudge of dirt she always missed on her cheek. The way she said his name when she was annoyed and trying not to laugh. He felt like a fool, grinning to himself for no good reason, just thinking about her.
He took another drink from the can.
Maybe, he thought, life didn’t have to be so heavy all the time.
Then he rounded the bend toward the community center and stopped short.
There was a small crowd gathered near the front steps. Two men in work uniforms were poring over what looked like blueprints. Shane stood aside in his Joja jacket, arms crossed, face unreadable. And then there was Maddison.
Sitting on the top step, elbows on her knees, posture tight.
He pulled out one earbud.
She wasn’t saying anything, but her silence had a shape to it—sharp and deliberate, like a weapon she’d honed to a point. And the man in front of her was Morris, the Joja manager that always tried to sell him a membership of whatever every time he had to go to that store to buy frozen dinners, with a shiny blazer and a red bowtie that made him look more like a clown than corporate.
He was clearly not winning whatever argument he thought he was having.
Maddison didn’t so much as blink as he gestured animatedly at the building behind her. She just stared at him. Unmoving. Unrelenting.
He never saw her like this before, not to this extent.
Sebastian watched for a moment, still half-hidden by the tree line.
Then he smirked, tucked his earbuds into his hoodie’s pocket and took another sip of his drink, before approaching.
The closer he got, the more he could feel it—the tension in the air, the way the contractors fell quiet when they noticed him, the way Shane offered him a brief glance that was half warning, half plea.
He stepped up beside her and spoke low, careful.
“Hey.” he greeted her, giving the men a once over, but his attention always went back to her, “Having a party?”
The woman gave him the grace of a glance, softer than the looks she gave Morris, always softer with him.
“Miss Brooks, you’re being unreasonable—”
“They want to tear down the community center and build a warehouse.” She ignored the little man, like he was just background noise.
Sebastian tilted his head, eyes fixed on her.
Her jaw was set, her arms crossed tight across her knees, and she hadn’t so much as flinched when Morris raised his voice for the third time in a row. The contractors had retreated slightly, unsure of their role. Shane just looked like he’d much rather be literally anywhere else.
And there she was.
Sitting on the stairs of a crumbling building like she was guarding something sacred.
And maybe she was.
Sebastian had known Maddison was passionate—had seen it in the way she fought for her crops at Pierre’s, in the way she worked until her shoulders ached, and her fingernails were stained purple from blueberries. But this—this was something else entirely.
It wasn’t just stubbornness. It wasn’t even anger. It was conviction.
And it was kind of hot.
He leaned slightly on the railing beside her, not speaking. Just watching her, watching the way she held herself steady, even when her shoulders trembled. If she noticed, she didn’t show it.
Part of him wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing.
Part of him already knew.
And that part? That part was completely captivated.
“I— will someone just call the mayor?!” Morris sighed, absolutely exasperated, shooting Shane a look that meant he wanted him to do it.
Shane rolled his eyes and grumbled something about not being paid enough for this, but he pushed himself off where he stood and made his way down to the town hall.
Very languidly.
“What do you mean, tear it down?” Sebastian asked, sipping his joja cola again, “Can they even do that?”
“No—”
“Yes!” Morris shrieked, starting to shake like a nervous chihuahua, “This is perfectly legal! It was a legitimate purchase we struck with the Mayor!”
“And I say it wasn’t!” Maddison argued back to Morris directly for the first time in a while, “Community property cannot be sold as private property without an open auction OR community voting! Plus, ‘a deal’?? That’s shady as fuck!”
“Yeah, that does sound shady.” Sebastian nodded vehemently. He agreed, but mostly just wanted to add fuel to the fire.
Not even three minutes later, Lewis appeared.
He was panting. The kind of panting that said he’d jogged the whole way while regretting his entire life.
“Maddison,” he called out as he approached, wiping sweat off his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief, “let’s all calm down a little, alright?”
Maddison did not move from her place on the steps. Her voice came steady, cold.
“Mayor.”
“Morris told me there’s… been a misunderstanding,” he said carefully, eyes flicking between her and the man in question.
“No misunderstanding,” she replied. “Just fraud.”
Lewis blanched. “Now hold on—”
“Let me be very clear,” Maddison said, very much still seated. “You are trying to sell community property to a private corporation under a handshake deal with no formal vote, no public record, and no transparent financial trail. You did not consult residents. You didn’t issue a notice. You didn’t even tell the people using the space — me —that it was being considered for liquidation.”
Lewis flinched. “I—Miss Brooks, this has been a long-standing conversation—”
“With whom?” she demanded. “Because no one said a damn thing about this. Not Pierre. Not Marnie. Not Evelyn, or Jodi, or Caroline. Are you calling me uninformed, or are you admitting you kept the public in the dark?”
“I—” he stammered, color rising in his face.
Maddison straightened her back further, arms crossed now, her voice sharp and low. “You have no signed referendum. No auction. No formal bidding process. That’s not just shady. It’s illegal. Community property cannot be privatized without one of those three things. Period.”
Sebastian, from the sidelines, bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning. Watching her like this—sharp, commanding, furious—it was like watching a lightning storm roll in. Terrifying. Gorgeous.
Lewis opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Morris turned to Shane, “Well, can’t you just remove her???”
Shane made a face, like that was the most absurd thing he heard all day, which it probably was, “I’m not going to manhandle the farmer, what the hell?”
“Yes, yes, no one is going to manhandle the farmer.” Lewis nervously added, feeling like he was growing older by the second, fingers twisting his mustache. Then he turned to Sebastian, of all people, with the saddest pleading expression.
He gestured vaguely to Maddison’s general direction, “Sebastian, can’t you—” he sighed, tired, “Can’t you do something ?”
Sebastian blinked, pointing at himself, “Who? Me?”
Lewis nodded, genuinely hopeful, Sebastian was his only saving grace. Which was definitely a new low.
“Yes, please. I mean, you two are close, aren’t you?” Lewis pleaded, “I’m sure you can get through her, right? I’m sure you can do something to help us sort this out.”
That was surprising, not in a million years Sebastian thought he’d have Mayor Lewis practically groveling at his feet, begging for his help. But he also never could’ve imagined the help was for dealing with an angry woman.
He looked down at Maddison, and their eyes met as she looked up at him as well. There was an unspoken question in her gaze, not that she thought he’d try to reason her out of this, or oppose her, it was a look he’d seen on her a few times before, usually in the morning, or after that one night they spent together, a look that asked something very clear and heavy.
“Will you stay with me?”
Sebastian nodded slowly to himself, finished his joja cola, and looked back at Lewis, “Sure, I’ll do something.”
He reached in his pockets, pulled out his cigarettes and lighter, bringing one to his lips and, with a dramatic flair that only Sebastian was capable of, plopped himself down next to Maddison.
“I’m going to make your life harder.” He declared, cig between his lips, lighter flickering to life, “And double your problems.”
Lewis stared at them—at the two of them, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the community center steps like they had every right in the world to be there.
And maybe they did.
He looked from Maddison’s impassive face to Sebastian’s lit cigarette, back to the contractors still standing around like they’d accidentally walked into a domestic dispute. His fingers twitched toward his handkerchief again, dabbing sweat off his forehead with increasingly frantic motions.
“Maddison, please,” he tried again, desperation creeping into his voice. “Let’s just talk about this—inside, privately. There’s no need to make a scene.”
“I’m not making a scene,” Maddison said flatly. “I’m making a stand.”
Lewis opened his mouth, floundered, then looked at Morris.
Morris shrugged helplessly, face sour. “Well. I suppose I’ll report this delay to headquarters.”
“Do that,” Maddison called after him, already leaning back on her hands like she’d settled in for the afternoon. “Let them know we’re not selling.”
“We’ll be back with papers,” Morris warned, adjusting his blazer and trying to walk away with dignity, despite tripping slightly over the curb. “Legal papers!”
“Cool,” Sebastian said. “Make sure to spell everything correctly.”
That earned a soft laugh from Maddison, and Lewis—poor Lewis—finally gave up with a groan and muttered something about needing tea before storming off in the same direction as Morris.
The contractors hesitated, then decided unanimously that this was not their business and dispersed.
Just like that, the commotion faded, the tension dissolved like fog in the sun, and the front of the community center was quiet again—save for the flick of Sebastian’s lighter and the chirp of birds overhead.
Maddison let out a long breath, tension visibly unwinding from her shoulders. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him, brows raised.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
Sebastian shrugged, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “Didn’t feel right to let you do it alone.”
A pause.
Then, softer: “You looked… like you needed someone.”
Maddison stared at him for a moment, eyes a little too wide for comfort, then quickly looked away—down at the cracked step between them.
“I did,” she admitted.
Another beat. The kind that stretched and hummed with things unsaid.
He nudged her shoulder gently. “Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Next time you wanna overthrow a local government official,” he said, “maybe give me a heads-up so I can wear something more intimidating.”
She barked out a laugh, surprised. “You don’t think the cigarette was enough?”
“Nah, I think I need leather. Or like… a riot shield.”
“Would you really riot with me?” she teased.
“I’d riot for you.”
The words came too easy. Too fast. But he didn’t take them back.
Maddison’s breath caught, just for a second.
Then she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
They stayed there for a while, sitting on cracked stone steps and sunshine and shared defiance, while the town carried on unaware that something was shifting. That something was rooting deeper, taking hold—quiet but steady.
Like tomatoes in summer.