Okay, here's something new- a narrative! Yeah, I've been screwing around with different points of view since One Way Ticket, and while it may be confusing, I feel it actually makes it easier to see each little picture within the big one. And that's what Harvest Moon is about, right? Everybody's individual hopes, dreams, weaknesses, loves… all within the big picture that is the village as a whole.

…Alright, I'm done. Anyway, this piece should be read right after 'The Morning After', which is of course connected to my first child, 'One Way Ticket'. So read those first, if you want to fully understand things.

Rating: PG for a bit of romance and angst.

Warnings: narrative p.o.v. (yeah, I don't think I should have to give warnings like this but my housemate absolutely hates narratives so… don't read if you don't like. Or actually, if you're into my whole story thing by now, suffer through it, because here's where it gets a bit angsty. Oh yeah, and then there's the farmboy/boy thing.

Disclaimer:
Locke is a man of the land
And Kai's first true love is the sea
They belong to each other (and Natsume)
And definitely not to me

Ripples in Deep Waters

The last few days were, for Locke and Kai, a rather unbalanced mixture of rushed morning chores and afternoons and evenings spent in either relaxation or… exploration.

Locke found himself without patience for Pengy, who spent most of his time playing with Hana over at the Yodel Ranch as a result. The dog didn't mind, really; if this new person was fun for Locke like Hana was for him, then they had an understanding.

If Popuri noticed that the Seaside Lodge had begun to close earlier, she kept it to herself. She had other, more pressing matters to reflect on, like Locke's speech in Rose Square the night of the Fireworks Display. She'd begun to wonder if she'd been a bit standoffish with Kai in the past…

Ann hadn't asked her friend why she no longer came to the mountain in the mornings. If Popuri wasn't sick, she didn't know what to do. Generally Popuri's particular brand of depression was easily fixed by some hot milk and a friendly ear, but this mood was somehow different. Popuri wasn't depressed so much as… pensive.

Rick spent most of his time before the fireplace, which was quite usual for him, so of course the only one who noticed that this silence was different from his usual routine was Karen.

Lillia was perturbed by the sudden brooding nature of both her son and daughter, but even asking her daughter-in-law to shed some light on the subject proved futile. She could either watch, and worry, or discuss with Sasha the new items on the Shopping Channel. And, as Lillia (unlike her pride and joy, respectively) wasn't very good at brooding, she opted for the more carefree route. She had enough to worry about already.

It seemed that fateful night had swept through the village like a particularly selective hurricane, dropping a rock here, stealing a flower bud there, and leaving some places utterly unaffected.

Affected, but seemingly all the better for it, were Locke and Kai, the all but oblivious cause for the ripple in the placid waters of Mineral Village.

Their time together was a sort of hodgepodge of incidents thrown together haphazardly into a clumsy sort of relationship.

They talked, sometimes for hours, on Mother's Hill. Here they felt strong, unaffected by the rest of the world; here time could stop and not start up again until they made the inevitable trek back to the village.

Locke learned how Kai's mother had died when he was three and how all he could remember was musical laughter and the scent of a flower that didn't grow in Mineral Village, and that his father said she'd always loved hot weather too.

Kai learned that Locke's grandfather had been his favorite relative though they'd only met once, and that farming had been in the blood for generations with the notable exception of his father, a banker.

Locke learned that Kai had been just a bit worried that Rick had gained a new crony when Locke had come, and Kai learned that Locke had been drawn to him at first because he related to a boy who could stay in the village, yet not quite belong.

One of the afternoons was spent at the beach, where Kai teased Locke for wearing his baseball cap while swimming and Locke didn't reply, but nearly succeeded in relieving the cocky boy of his bandanna.
What had started out swimming became roughhousing which turned into a rather heated battle of lips and tongues until they remembered it was a public beach and anyone could walk in on them.

Some days there were no words at all, because Locke was too tired from farm work- which was alright with Kai because he got to show off his skills as a masseur to his very appreciative boyfriend.

And then there were some days that turned to night without the boys noticing, which resulted in two bodies occupying a bed built for one and complaints about who was hogging all the blankets even in summer.

They lived out the week with everything they had, because even if they were trying to deny the season's change, there were little reminders that this could not last forever.
The leaves became more crisp and more underfoot as well, and the calendar tolled like a silent ominous clock twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine…

And the kisses came to have an edge of desperation to them, the evening farewells dragged on longer each night, until at last the final crop of corn was harvested.

The thirtieth marked the end of Kai's annual stay in the village, and Locke would come to hold one thing symbolic of summer's last shuddering breath: the half-ripe apple dangling from the tree near his home. He picked it prematurely and when they had finally packed up Kai's pots and pans in the Seaside Lodge, he produced it from his rucksack.

Kai, having never seen an apple in Mineral Village, understood its significance at once; but, being Kai, he only teasingly asked which the poisoned side was.

With a smile that was a cheap imitation of his trademark smirk he divided the apple into two, offering Locke the red half.

As he watched the soft-eyed boy bite into his own, bitter green half instead, his eyes began to sting.
When that low voice asked, pointlessly, why he was crying, he replied in a choked breath that sour apples were better with salt.

And as a tentative tongue darted out to capture the tear from his cheek, he wondered if the southern weather would be warm enough ever again.