I think it was around that time, my first summer there, when I heard Elliott play the piano.

The moment I stepped onto the beach to go fishing that day, I had no idea that that dilapidated old cabin belonged to anyone. This was also before I knew that the long-haired prince-looking dude was named Elliott.

I had just caught an octopus when I first heard piano music coming from that direction. I looked behind me, but still couldn't figure out which direction it was coming from. So I stood, left my pole, and walked around the beach for a bit, until I deduced where the music was originating from.

Well, I'd be damned. There was somebody playing a piano in that cabin.

There was a window right in front, and it was wide open. With burning curiosity, I tried to move to where I could see who was in there without being spotted myself.

And with a certain angle, I was able to do just that. The man tickling the ivories was the one with the long hair and the red tailcoat. The one I associated with the word "prince."

And my heart made one spiked beat, as if he was one.

I immediately assumed he was a pianist. That he either casually thrived on melodies plucked from ivories and ebonies or was practicing to make a living from it. If Alex was Stardew Valley's gridball player, this guy would be its pianist, I thought.

I couldn't even get back to my pole before the song was over.

And just as I cast my line, I heard that cabin's door open and close.

At first, I instinctively wanted to stay absolutely still, as to not make any noise. I soon gave up on this idea, though, as I realized that should I suddenly hook a fish, not only would that have made noise on its own, but I would have to attend to it and make noise anyway. So I got up and walked to where I could see behind the fishing shop.

There the man was, seeming to walk toward town. Part of me wanted to say something… like "Hey, was that you playing the piano? You're really good!" or "Hey, I'm new around here. What's your name?"

Not only did my social anxiety deem any of that suicide, but I also thought about my general dislike for people hearing me play the piano or sing or anything like that and decided to extend the bliss of ignorance to him. Not that there's anything wrong with commending someone for their piano playing, per se; this was my personal way of treating others how I would have liked to be treated.

Within seconds, he was out of sight. He wasn't a hermit, at least. I'd see him around.

I heard my fishing pole shake and went to reel in my catch.