Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. Though that would be pretty cool. I'd certainly have more money that way.
Author Note: Well, I've decided to begin a Harvest Moon fanfic. For those fans of my Oblivion, Pokémon, or Star Fox work, you know what to expect when it comes to my style of writing. Yeah, I know I haven't updated them in a while. It happens.
--
Prologue - Mistaken
He was still unsure what to expect from her. Since they met, very recently, she had always been a little something to him, a little nagging something in the back of his mind, ever-present, and he was never sure if what he felt for her was love or hate. He straddled the thin line between the two opposite ends of the intimacy spectrum as he ran his fingers through her silky blonde hair and stepped forward a bit, sending her tumbling to the sheets. Their locked lips split for a mere moment as he climbed onto the bed after her, discarding his shirt as though it were a disgusting abomination to his powerful body. She put her hands on the sides of his head and pulled him in close, kissing him with such vigor that he couldn't help but fight back, being the competitive type. He grabbed her by the wrists and slammed them to the mattress beside her.
What was it about this one that made her so special? He hardly knew her. In fact, it had been only a week before that he had met her for the first time, an accidental acquaintance in the city while wandering from an afternoon meal to his home in an apartment building in a less-than-ideal neighborhood. She had bumped into him most literally when coming around a corner, and as she tried to apologize had stumbled with her words and found herself grasping at the empty air for a finisher to her sentence. He had provided one, as casually and neutrally as he could, and that was that. It was an accident, plain and simple, something to be disregarded completely, and forgotten within the next moment as more pressing life issues emerged on the horizon. He continued walking home that day, and when confronted the next morning at the bus stop, he truly did not remember her face.
She introduced herself to him then, and they got on the bus together, and he rode it halfway to her stop before getting off. After all, he was late for a meeting, and though he appreciated the company felt nothing for this woman, attractive as she may have been. And she had taken obvious interest in him, though he couldn't place why. His personality wasn't much to praise. In fact, though he had what he considered to be the ideal mindset, he knew that many others would see him as a cold, brutal, heartless fiend because he chose not to allow emotion to interfere with reason. If something were hindering a process, you would remove that something and everything else flows much more smoothly. Would he give up his mother to advance his own interests? Perhaps.
After releasing her arms, he felt her small, delicate fingers tracing along the contours of his built torso, making their slow, sure way down to his belt buckle, where she spent a few seconds undoing the device before ripping it from the loops where it had held up the man's slacks. She tossed the leather belt to the side, where she thought he had thrown his shirt. It didn't matter; it would all be there later should he need it. He flattened his lower body against hers and started a slight, gyrating side-to-side movement that he pressed against her with increasing force.
And after a few days, he had seen her again, in a bar where some drunken hoodlum who wouldn't stop complaining about his impacted tooth was harassing her. He sat down on a stool next to the hoodlum and eventually decided that he'd had enough of his annoying, slurred nitpicks and promptly fixed his dental problem with a punch to the jaw. The woman thanked him and this time, he remembered her from before. She talked and talked to him, and he listened, and for once didn't find the stories people told him to be useless banter that he would discard as soon as it entered his mind. She ordered drink after drink, and while he was no stranger to the bizarre and often pleasant effects of alcohol, he could tell that she was going to need a way home. He refused the bartender's offers and acted as the woman's shield from the dangerous world that the city became at night, taking her home. She invited him in, but he declined, wanting her to sleep, knowing that her morning was going to be an unpleasant one.
A small moan escaped her parted lips as his kisses moved down her neck to her chest, and he kicked off his pants one leg at a time, now lying upon the woman in his boxers. He sat up for a second to take in the full splendor of the view her naked body provided him and returned to his work, having the satisfaction of seeing her eyes closed, her facial muscles tugging her mouth into the shapings of a wide, alluring smile.
And, of course, the cards of fate had again placed him next to her, this time at a late-night poker game where he sought to win enough money to pay his rent. She appeared with similar intentions, and if not for his excellent poker face she may very well have beaten him. She came out of the game with just enough to cover the cost of her apartment for another month, while he had emerged with a large surplus. He wanted to spend it on her, but couldn't figure out exactly why. Operating on instinct, which was against his nature, he took her out clubbing; something he had never done. By the end of the night she had fallen hard for him, while he still had only the slightest inkling of romantic intentions for her. But by the time she had brought him, against his will, to her room, he could feel something for her. Love, hate, lust, he did not know, but he knew that this woman would satisfy his carnal desires.
She whispered to him as he removed the final article of his clothing that she loved him. Without a hint of expression in his voice, he returned her profession, though he didn't mean it. It wasn't the first lie he had told her. In fact, almost everything he had said to her was a lie, from his occupation to his address to his phone number. Hell, he had even lied about his name. Who was the enigmatic journalist, Trent Lacroix? He didn't know, but it certainly wasn't him.
And as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Lying, bare, next to his love for the night, he caught his breath after the rough aerobic workout he had just endured. He could hear her panting for breath as well, but she was in the initial stages of a good night's sleep before he could say anything to her. He dressed silently in front of the window, adjusting his tie in the moonlight, though appearances were not his major concern when going home in the night. He took one last look at the blonde, no longer feeling anything for her. So, this was how it ended, a one-night stand with the attractive woman he knew very little about. He left her apartment, locking the door as he exited. As the sun rose the next day, she would find that he was gone, but his disappearance would not haunt her for quite a time.
He returned to his work, living his life one stoic day at a time. He would hear stories around the watercooler about problems at home, and silently lauded himself for never having been caught up in the problems that come with raising a family. He didn't need a wife or kids to be happy. He needed only himself, and that was all he had.
That is, until that fateful, shaky phone call from his aunt, who bawled and bawled and could not get a clear message through the static-filled receiver. In fact, it was only hours after the tear-filled notification that the man got a clear call from his uncle, an aging man whom lived a life free of emotion. With a deadpan voice, he told the man what he tried so hard to discern from his aunt earlier.
"Your dad's dead."
--
Author Notes: What? This is a Harvest Moon fanfic? What the hell does this have anything to do with Harvest Moon? Patience, young readers, this is a prologue. I wanted to explain the backstory a bit before I jumped into Forget-Me-Not Valley, which I just noticed is a highly appropriate name for one of the central conflicts of this story. Reviews, please, especially if I've reviewed your stuff. I'd like reciprocation, please. Not forcing anything.
