Summer had swallowed the valley like a titanic, lumbering god. I had forgotten what it felt like not to be covered in that sticky layer of sweat. Being by the ocean, humidity seeped into everything, and the air felt heavy, like a thick cloak on my shoulders. The mosquitos by the lake thrived in it. There were few places to find relief, the main one being the cool, dark caves of the mountain. This suited me just fine; it was just another excuse to go by and visit Sebastian as his house was on my way to cool, sweet sanctuary.

Today, as I approached Sebastian's house, it struck me that something immediately looked different. The summer haze clouded my thoughts, and it took a moment for me to pinpoint the change to the now open garage door, and another few seconds for me to fully grasp that I was gawking at a motorcycle and the legs of Sebastian sticking out from under it. I had stopped in my tracks to take it all in, but now that I understood, I stepped forward tentatively. Suddenly, I was less intent on rushing into the mines to escape the heat.

"Oh, hello," came Sebastian's voice, and he rolled out from under the motorcycle. A cigarette was tucked behind his left ear, and small patches of dirt stained his cheeks and clothing. Of course, even though we were in the depths of summer, he wore all black. At least he had opted to wear a t-shirt instead of his hoodie. I looked down at myself. I had not done much better, I realized, with my dark t-shirt and jeans.

He lay on a creeper, that wooden board on wheels mechanics used to get at the underbellies of things, and alongside him were a few tools – wrenches and screwdrivers of varying sizes, a funnel, a set of Allen keys, and a whole slew of things I could not name. This image of him contrasted greatly with the Sebastian I was used to seeing, but I had to admit that this was a good look on him. The dark prince was down to get dirty sometimes, and I liked it.

I walked up to him, being careful not to kick any dirt or dust into his face. "Is this bike yours?" I had expected a completely black motorcycle, but the front fender and fuel tank were a vibrant azure and I could see a lot of the original chrome remained unpainted. Perhaps Sebastian hadn't always been so enamoured with the colour black. It was a strange thought, but entirely plausible. I didn't know much about his history, I realized.

It was impossible for me to tell how old the vehicle might be – its condition looked like new. Granted, I was no expert on motorcycles, but even I could appreciate the shine and cleanliness of the vehicle before me. It positively sparkled in the afternoon sun, and I resisted the urge to run my fingers along it. He had mentioned his bike to me a number of times, but I hadn't imagined it being so pristine and well-cared for.

"What, you haven't seen my motorcycle before?" He chewed his bottom lip, puzzled. "I guess I haven't shown it to you." He frowned to himself, but gave an awkward shrug and rolled back into place. "Tell me about your day," came his voice from below.

He was quiet as I described what I'd done so far – mostly farming, fishing, and foraging. It had been a relatively quiet day as I had spent the morning watering my crops and harvesting some hops. I wanted to look into getting some sprinklers to save myself some time, but on the other hand, I enjoyed the relaxed nature of the watering process. Since the Luau, I had bought another chicken – lovingly named Chicken 2 – and had started to make mayonnaise with the eggs from Chicken, who was all grown now. I remarked on how I probably should've named my first chicken 'Chicken 0' or 'Chicken 1' as there was now an awkward numbering convention in place.

"It's okay," Sebastian said, "just don't try to count your chickens or you may end up with an off-by-one error."

"Did you actually just make a programming joke?" I crossed my arms and leaned against the side of the building.

He rolled back out into view briefly to cast a mischievous smile up at me. In response, I rolled my eyes, but grinned.

I continued my account of the day: I had hit the beach, combed it for pearlescent shells, and cast my fishing line a few times. I hadn't caught anything noteworthy, so I dropped the few fish off in the shipping bin back home before coming up to the mountain. I told Sebastian that Sam had been at the beach with his little brother, and that he had shot a rubber band at me that was supposed to be for reminding himself that there was band practice this Saturday. Now Sam was likely going to forget since that rubber band was gone. Sebastian snickered at my general indignation of being shot at with a rubber band, and then sighed at the reminder of band practice. My presence had been requested at band practice as well, so, as I told Sebastian, we were in the same boat. He delighted in our shared misery.

As I dithered on, I watched him work. There was a carefulness to his actions, and though I had no understanding of what he was doing, I took pleasure in watching him. I hadn't realized how long his fingers were, how deftly they moved. I was certain that there was an art to repairing motorcycles, of which he was an master and this his masterpiece.

"Sounds like a full day." His voice was muffled by the clangs and pings of his tinkering.

"Yeah," I tapped out a pattern on my thigh with the palm of my hand. "So how long have you had this bike for?"

"Years and years. I got it when I was 16 I think?" The tinkering stopped as he contemplated this. "Yeah, that seems about right. It gives me an escape, an outlet. Oh, and Demetrius hates it." I could practically hear the grin that pulled his lips.

I was quiet, unsure of what to say. I didn't like Demetrius all that much myself, but I still didn't know the full story of why Sebastian seemed to have such a deep-seated hatred for the man. I scratched a mosquito bite on my arm. Sebastian's tinkering hadn't resumed.

He spoke, his voice wistful and husky. "Sometimes, after sundown, I make the long ride out of Stardew Valley." He paused, and my mind's eye began to picture what he described: the green hills of the valley, loathed to let you venture past their curves; the grandeur of the mountains, ever watchful, ever proper, ever wild; the laughter of the river just out of sight. "There's nothing else like it, blazing along the empty stretch of road toward the faint city glow." A sigh slipped out of him, like a whisper from parched lips.

"Once I've saved up enough money," he continued, his words limned with determination, "I'm going to head out on my own to the city and beyond. Just me and my bike." I could not deny the tragic beauty of a dreamer, that cling to hope and promises of something better beyond reality. Although I could not see his face, I was sure that there were stars in his eyes dark as midnight – stars, those tiny beacons of light that fed and guided dreamers, all at once infinitely far and intimately close.

The sound of liquid dripping, hitting the inside of a metal vessel, punctuated the silence. "There we go, oil's changed." There was a heaviness to his words that signaled the end of our quiet journey into the land of dreams, and I exhaled a breath I hadn't remembered holding.

"Your motorcycle is in really good condition," I said, trying to contribute something to our discourse. At the same time, my mind was still wrapped in the words he'd said. There was a blindness in his belief that disturbed me. I saw his vision of the city, but at the same time, the hard truth of concrete, steel, and glass sliced through it. Once upon a time, he had accused me of idealizing country life. It was clear now that conversely, he idealized city life.

He rolled back into view. "Thanks," he said, grimacing. "I love this thing more than I should, probably."

I shook my head. "With upkeep, you're maintaining the value. It's actually kind of cute that you're so dedicated to it." My face burned as I realized how much of my inner machinations had spilled out with that statement.

Sebastian raised his eyebrows, a glint of interest in his eyes. "Cute?" I caught him struggling to contain a smile as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Yeah," I said quietly, shifting my gaze away. I felt my jaw seizing up, my body entering crisis mode. "I don't know," I shrugged, unable to look at him, "it's just kind of endearing seeing you – or anybody, really – so into something." My shoulders relaxed, the crisis averted. I glanced up at him.

He nodded stiffly, and I wanted to drown in the movement, for its simplicity and the sensibilities he kept behind it. I knew that I wanted to know them, and yet at the same time, I was scared. My pulse throbbed with frustration. I flushed even darker. I hadn't meant to hurt him by generalizing, I had only done it to protect myself. Did he like that I'd used 'cute' to describe his rapture of passion?

I cleared my throat. "It's been a long time since I've experienced that with anyone. I really appreciate you letting me into your world, and for putting up with all my weirdness."

"We're friends," he stated simply, and I felt my stomach drop. There was a bitterness in the smile he flashed me.

"I'm glad," I managed to say. "I think you might be my only friend out here."

"There's Sam."

I gave him an incredulous look, and there was a real warmth in his smile this time.

"Hey," he paused, composing his thoughts. "Maybe I'll take you for a ride some day."

My heart skipped a beat, and I had to remind myself to shut my gaping mouth and reply. "That sounds fun." I felt my chest flood with a rich, torrent of hope.

"Great." He gave me a crooked smile.

That night, I dreamt of the city. And this time, it wasn't a nightmare.