The air was thankfully cooler against my skin, the sun lower and closer to the ocean when I finally got back to the smithy. Approaching the old stone building and opening the door so late in the day felt strangely foreign for a place I spent so much time in.

It was even stranger opening up to an empty shop. The room was still faintly warm despite the lack of the forge's flame, and the door separating the living suite was ajar. I rarely went back to my grandpa's place. There wasn't much need; Gramps usually didn't invite me for dinner, and when he did, we usually ended up at Doug's.

The door from the shop led down a small hall lined with three doors, a small kitchen, and a dining room waiting at the end. The place wasn't much, but the apartment my mom and I had shared in the city was easily the same size, if not smaller. I figured someone who lived alone didn't need all that much space anyway, but it did make me wonder what it was like for my dad growing up here…

When I reached the end of the hall, it was almost as if I'd walked into the kitchen at the inn again, though the smell was much fishier. The savory scent wafted in front of me before I could think about anything else. My grandpa stood in front of the stove tending to the pan in front of him—another strange sight. This week was full of fucking surprises, and I wasn't sure where my threshold for trying new things was yet.

My steps into the kitchen started to shake, and I figured that threshold was close by.

"If you want to help, you can start by setting the table," Gramps ordered me over his shoulder without even flinching, let alone a greeting.

But he was getting straight to the point, and that I appreciated. "Right, which are…."

He cocked his head to the right. "Second cabinet. Utensils below."

I wasn't sure when the last time I set the table even was, if ever. But prepping the table for two people seemed easy enough, so I followed his directions. It's not like he had a ton of dishware to choose from, so that helped too.

After I'd laid out the plates, cups, and silverware, I glanced back at my grandpa out of habit for my next directions. He motioned towards the food on the stove in front of him without a word, and I helped bring it all to the table. The pan I set down in the middle of the table sizzled with some sort of fried fish on a bed of vegetables, and Gramps added a pot of steamed rice beside it. A few moments later, he returned from the fridge with a jar of some pickled shit—I wasn't sure what they were, but I sure as hell wasn't going to touch them.

Gramps settled into his seat at the table, and I began preparing a plate for him. I followed his unsolicited instructions on how to do so, ensuring the perfect ratio of fish to rice to disgusting pickled vegetables. On the other hand, my plate ended up being double the volume with none of the nasty-ass accouterments. That was until Gramps raised a thick eyebrow at me, encouragingly forcing me to add a single slice of pickled shit to my plate.

"The teapot," my grandpa said right as I was about to sit my ass down, his eyes focused on the last object remaining in the kitchen.

The timing was annoying, but it did allow an excuse to get up and remove myself from potentially being forced to add more pickled shit to my plate. I retrieved the small green pot off the counter and filled my grandpa's cup until he stopped me with the wave of his hand. Just as I was about to set the kettle on the table, Gramps spoke up.

"Seeing as you're not drinking, perhaps I can interest you in enjoying a cup of tea with your grandfather instead."

I'd never particularly liked green tea, and Gramps had given up trying to offer it to me years ago. Again, it made me wonder why he'd bring it up now, but I didn't have time to think about it. If anything, it was just a chance to make him happy.

"Sure. Yeah." I accidentally poured myself to the brim and then set the teapot on the table like that'd been my plan all along. "Why the hell not?" I figured the whole night was about trying new things.

I took a few bites when the conversation didn't continue past that. Gramps was right when he said he was no Doug, but I was thankful to have good food and company. It sure beat being alone and hungry at the inn…

"There are a few things that I've been meaning to discuss with you," his matter-of-fact tone interrupting the scraping of silverware against the plate. "You don't have to come up with an answer today. I merely ask that you genuinely consider what I have to say."

I slowly swallowed my food and narrowed my eyes. "Um, okay…"

"The inn is no place to raise a baby," Gramps began after a short huff, getting straight into it. "I don't know what you and Claire have discussed, but I'm sure you would want to be able to spend time with your child in your own space."

It took my mouth a few seconds to find any sort of response. "We, uh… haven't really discussed any of that." And the thought hadn't occurred to me either, though there was truth to it. My current living situation wasn't ideal for raising a kid. But the kid exclusively living with Claire didn't seem right to me either.

"Which is fine." He exhaled and brought his eyes back to mine. "But I would like you to consider the empty room I have here. I know you weren't too keen on the idea a few years ago, though perhaps now it makes a bit more sense."

I froze, unconsciously holding my breath until my brain was screaming to release it. "You want me to move in here… with you?" It wasn't like what he'd said was a fucking riddle; I just couldn't believe it.

"Yes." He took a bite as if to punctuate the answer.

"I get not havin' a baby at the inn, but…." I wavered, unable to come up with a viable argument against the idea. I'd been so adamant about not living with my grandpa and having my own space then, but now I wasn't sure if the inn was the best place for me anymore—baby or not.

"It's closer to Claire's, it would help you save money… " he paused to inspect my face while he took a sip of tea. "And eventually, this all would be yours anyway. Granted, I manage to get everything I know through that thick skull of yours before then."

"You know I hate when you talk like that," I grumbled, not referring to the comment about my skull thickness.

And his response only confirmed that he'd picked up on that. "I only ask that you consider the realities of the future, son."

"Still," I insisted, raising my brow. Gramps was much better at holding such a stoic stare, so I ended up breaking it with a sigh a few moments later. "But… yeah, I'll think about it."

Sips from our respective mugs filled the silence between us. I winced at the bitterness but swallowed anyway. It was always a different kind of bitter from coffee—like I was drinking a rotten, blended-up leaf he'd picked up off the ground.

"If you hate the taste so much, you don't have to drink it as is." Gramps pushed a small glass jar across the table. "You can add honey, you know."

The jar in front of me seemed to glow from the contents inside. I never added anything to my coffee; I wasn't sure why it should be different now. But fuck, we were trying new things, and I definitely couldn't drink an entire cup of the shit as is. So with a glob of golden goo on the end of the stick, I stirred it into the green tea.

"So, how is Claire doing?" Gramps asked as he returned his mug to the table. "I haven't seen her much lately. She hasn't come by the shop in a while."

I wanted to roll my eyes at that. We both knew why Claire hadn't been around the shop recently: Me. But I took a sip of tea instead and was surprised when it didn't make me want to vomit. It was tolerable enough to continue drinking, at least.

How much was I supposed to tell him? That I had actually no clue how Claire was doing since most of my interactions with her lately seemed to conflict with each other. First, she was excited, then scared, then angry, then angry again, and most recently, jealous? As if I could tell him any of that. It didn't feel right to bring up any of my worries about her either, considering I wasn't even sure if they were warranted. But I also didn't want to lie to him.

"Shes… she's been pretty damn busy." Which was technically the truth. "But, uh… seemed like she was real excited at the appointment. She's the one that asked for pictures."

Gramps hummed in acknowledgment. "I suppose that's good," he said before taking a small bite from his plate. "She is quite the impressive woman. Turning that farm around the way she has, running it by herself…" his eyes stayed on me the entire time he praised Claire.

She's definitely something, that's for sure.

"Yeah." I followed suit, taking a bite of fish instead of coming up with something stupid to say back. Sure, she was impressive, but just how impressive did she feel the need to be?

"Do you know much about Claire's family?" Gramps caught me off guard by asking.

I swallowed, using the time to think about my answer. "Uh… not a ton. Says she doesn't know her real dad." And as it left my mouth, I wasn't sure if it was something Claire wanted me broadcasting to him. But it was all I really knew—whether she had siblings or anything beyond that was a mystery to me. "Uh, it seems like her mom is in the picture… kinda."

"Kind of?" he asked before taking another mouthful.

"I, uh… I dunno. She's not very close with her family, doesn't talk about them much." Though it wasn't like she had a ton of opportunities to tell me about them between chewing my ass out, and it wasn't like I'd asked either. Not since our date. Another fond memory.

"I see." Gramps paused, sipping from his mug. "Do you know if Claire has told her family yet?"

"What?" Not only was the question out of the blue, but it also seemed like a strange thing for Gramps to be interested in. "I dunno. Haven't gotten that far yet." Claire and I could barely have a civilized conversation as it was; discussing plans for involving our families seemed far beyond us.

"I see," he repeated. I always hated the way that phrase was said as if he saw right through me. And it drove me nuts that I had no clue what was on his mind.

There was never anything worth responding to that, so I brought my cup to my lips instead. Clanging silverware came from across the table, and I figured that signaled the end of that conversation. I returned to my plate in the meantime, stuffing my face until Gramps interrupted the silence again.

"Gray, what are your thoughts about telling your mother what's going on?"

"You're…" I almost choked, trying to swallow my food, but I couldn't help the dry laugh that came out after. "You're not fuckin' serious, are you?"

Though the look he gave me confirmed that he was, in fact, fucking serious.

"There are no thoughts about it," I scoffed, scooping another bite with my fork. "'Cuz I'm not gonna."

Gramps placed his utensils on the table. "I don't understand why you wouldn't."

"And I don't understand why I would," I retorted with a mouth full of food.

"Because your mother could help." The wrinkles on his forehead deepened as he raised his brows. "And she would want to know."

I snorted and let my fork clatter to the plate. "Well fuck, glad we're thinkin' about what she wants now." I didn't even care how sharply the words sounded leaving my mouth. "Not that she ever did that for me."

"I asked because I'm trying to consider how you might feel," Gramps insisted, still as stern and stiff as ever. "And I want you to consider how your mother might be feeling too."

"So you want me to forget about the part where she dumped me here and then went running back to Jet…." I paused for emphasis, just so he could really think about what he was asking of me, "...not to mention all the bullshit before that, just because I got a girl pregnant?" But it wasn't like he knew anything about that bullshit—he wasn't around.

"I'm simply suggesting that your mother misses you and might want to be involved in what's going on in your life." Gramps sighed as if his stoical act dwindled with each breath out. "And you might want to know what's going on in hers."

"If she wanted to be involved, then why'd she pick him over me?" I knew his somber tone was just a ploy to make me feel bad. But I didn't care. I didn't even let him answer my question; it's not like he actually knew enough to answer it anyway. "After all the shit he did to us! Even after she kicked him out. Every single fuckin' time!"

Gramps didn't say anything to that. The same way my mom hadn't said a damn thing when I'd given her the choice between me or my dad last year.

I hated it. I hated the silence. It only made my skin crawl and jaw clench tighter. "If she wanted to be involved, then why'd she dump me here and dip in the first place?"

"That was for your own good—"

"Was it?"

"Yes. And I still stand by the decision to bring you here."

"So trickin' me was your idea?" I demanded, my fists tightening on the tabletop. The memories from that morning bombarded my brain like I'd just mainlined everything I'd tried to repress. "Invite Mom and me for a visit just to wake up alone and stuck in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere?"

"That wasn't my idea." His answer was quick and assured but still guilty as fuck. "Nor was it right. But your mother didn't think you would come otherwise."

I scoffed in response. It was no surprise that those two would be scheming together.

Gramps raised his brow, "Well, would you have?"

The person I was over three years ago? That kid was too wrapped up in numbing any proof of his existence to make any rational decisions. And I don't think he made a single one back in the city. Mineral Town had been the wake-up call I desperately needed, but the betrayal of my family orchestrating it all behind my back ruined it all.

"Fuck! I dunno. Woulda been nice to at least be asked!" I shoved my chair away from the table, needing to release the tension in my arms and requiring more distance from my grandfather. "But I forgot, you two like to make all the fuckin' decisions for me."

"I'm not making any more decisions for you, Gray." I could hear the impatience in his voice building into anger, and it was about damn time. "I'm only urging you to consider the future. Children are a lot of work, and having your mother's support would benefit you more than you can understand right now."

I didn't know how to respond. I was just getting used to the idea of having a kid. The thought of mixing my mom and all her drama back in the mix made me sick to my fucking stomach. And if she was still bullshitting around with my dad... I put my head in my hands, pressing against my temples to stop the spinning. Nothing worked. Even when I closed my eyes, the shadows swirled behind my eyelids.

"I know she's tried to reach out to you since last summer, Gray."

My lids shot open, and I glared up from my hands. "How the hell would you know that?" But knowing the two of them, I was able to answer my own question seconds after it left my mouth. "Oh, fuck. Lemme guess, you two sit there on the phone talkin' shit about how bad of a son I am, don't you?"

"That's not what happens. And you watch the way you talk to me, boy. I'm not above slapping you upside the head." His tone and the experience behind that threat had me unconsciously slumping back into my chair. "She's your mother. She worries about you and hasn't heard from you in a year. I'm allowed to tell her you're alive."

Deep down, I was sure Gramps related to my mom in some sense. Maybe they shared some sort of parental guilt, but it wasn't fucking fair. She didn't get a free pass back into my life just because I'd knocked somebody up, and it was fucked up for my grandpa to force me into it. I couldn't sit there and take the guilt trip any more. And I wasn't going to.

"Thanks for dinner, Gramps." My chair groaned as I shot up, avoiding the gray eyes I felt watching my every movement. "But I think I should head out."

"Gray, please." But it sounded more like a command than a plea. "Sit back—"

"I'll see ya tomorrow." I didn't wait to see if he'd gotten up from his seat, let alone if he followed me to the door. I didn't care. I was set on getting the fuck out of that house as soon as possible and making sure both doors had slammed behind me.

There had never been a better time for the entire town to be cooped up in the church. The empty, dimly lit paths made it that much easier to tear my way home, the sounds of crickets and stomping boots the only accompaniment to my racing thoughts.

The inn was dark and desolate as expected. I didn't even stop to let the faint bar light taunt me. I knew I wouldn't be able to drink anything there even if it was open, and I already felt shitty enough for considering the repercussions for stealing any in Doug's absence. I headed straight upstairs instead, the usual concoction of guilt and shame weighing my steps.

Maybe Gramps was right about one thing; I needed to get the fuck out of this place. I couldn't keep letting those rows of colorful glass bottles mock me every single time I came home after a bad day. And even when I didn't have a bad day. All the fucking time. I was obviously way too weak and pathetic to continue living here, even if I didn't have a kid on the way.

I flicked on the light as I entered the room, kicking off my shoes, tossing my hat, and heading straight to my end table.

Grab the book.

But my eyes were glued to the drawer.

Today fucking sucked. Everything fucking sucks. And nobody would know if I went, a thought that continued to torment me.

Grab the fucking book.

I sat down on the side of my bed, chest shaking from the speed of my pulse. With a clammy hand, I gripped the metal latch but froze when my brain commanded it open.

If something were to happen to Claire while I was trashed… I groaned and fished my wallet from my pocket, recovering the primary piece of proof that it wasn't all about me anymore… as much as I wanted it to be. Never had I felt so fucking awful about myself by looking at a picture of black and white ovals, but there was a first for everything. And apparently, I needed the painful reminder.

I arranged the picture on my bedside table, leaning it up against the lamp so I would have to see it every single fucking time I approached the drawer. It seemed like a decent reality check whenever I thought about abusing the key stashed away inside—which, clearly, I needed desperately. After finally snatching the book off the corner of the table, I kicked off my clothes and flopped back into bed before I was stupid enough to change my mind.

I had to readjust my seat at least ten times, reread the first sentence a few more times than that. But eventually, I could feel myself giving in to the pages in front of me. And once I started reading, how could I stop? I was in the heat of the action as Brian struggled to gain control over the pilotless plane.

Being hopelessly, overwhelmingly out of control, while simultaneously grasping for any sense of it, and feeling like it's literally life or death whether or not you do—I remembered relating to those feelings the first time I read Hatchet. And I wasn't surprised when the connection was still present this time around. Those small moments of hope Brian felt among the despair, I remembered that too.

Again he released the mike but heard nothing but the hissing of noise in the headset. After half an hour of listening and repeating the cry for help, he tore the headset off in frustration and threw it to the floor. It all seemed so hopeless. Even if he did get somebody, what could anybody do? Tell him to be careful?

All so hopeless.

But even when Brian lamented about how fucked he was, the kid was still coming up with a plan. Not a great plan, but still a plan. I was impatiently turning the pages to uncover it, even though I knew exactly what was going to happen. I knew he'd survive crashing the plane, but I always admired the way this 13-year old boy held his own in the face of overwhelming fear. So overwhelming that he threw up on himself upon execution. That made me laugh over a decade ago, and it still made me laugh today.

And just like that, I was tearing through the third chapter, paging through the fourth, and finally reaching Brian's famed survival.

He was alive, I read when the door creaked open.

"Hey," Cliff greeted me as he moved through the doorway, attention darting to my spot propped against the headboard. "Oh, sorry."

I folded the page and threw the book to the side. "All good. Only gettin' to one of the best parts."

"Oh…" he froze in the middle of the room, staring at me like he'd interrupted one of the most important moments of my life.

"That's a joke. I mean, it's good, but it's not the best, that's not until…." I trailed off. "Never mind, don't wanna spoil it."

Cliff let out a soft chuckle as he headed back to his bed and then passed in front of me again on his way to the bathroom. I thought about tearing back into Hatchet, but I couldn't help thinking back to all the times I'd ignored Cliff with my nose in a book this past spring. So I sat back against my headboard, waiting for Cliff to return so I could... chat him up like I figured friends were supposed to do.

"So, uh… festival. How was that?" I asked after the bathroom door squeaked opened and Cliff returned to our room.

Cliff stopped on his way back to his bed and shrugged. "Good." An informative answer.

I scratched at the side of my head, thinking of what else could get him talking. "So, uh… no offense, I can tell you've obviously been busy and shit, but… what do you even do in the festival?"

"Oh. Um, mostly organizational stuff, behind the scenes, helping Popuri with costumes, " Cliff answered, looking up to the ceiling as if reading through the list of his duties. "I don't play an instrument, but Carter still wouldn't let me off the hook."

"Fun." It didn't actually sound all that fun, but I wasn't sure how else to respond.

Thankfully Cliff continued anyway despite my lackluster response. "Yeah, it felt weird to be a part of it all. The festival's been around for almost a century, and I haven't even been here for a year."

"I dunno. Compared to a century, any amount of time seems short." I paused when I noticed Cliff's thoughtful expression focused out the window. "But, uh, I get that."

I was surprised when Cliff took a seat at the foot of my bed. "Don't get me wrong, I… it was fun. The music was great, and I enjoyed myself. It just… feels like I shouldn't be allowed to."

"What?" I stiffened against my headboard. "The fuck makes you say that?"

"Um, nothing. Nevermind," he replied breathlessly, shooting up from his seat with what I assumed was a poor attempt at a reassuring smile. "Forget I said anything. It's… it's not important right now."

My eyes followed him as he paced towards the table in the middle of the room. "It's not?"

"It's not," he hastily answered without turning around.

"It's not…." I repeated again, still not convinced in the slightest.

Cliff turned to face me, leaning his weight against the table. "But I did see something you might find interesting," he very obviously tried to change the subject.

I raised my brow. "Is it you answerin' my question?"

"It was Mary pulling aside Claire after the festival tonight." Which was enough to shift my concern in an instant.

"Oh... shit." I brought a hand to my head, rubbing my temples in anticipation. "Fuck. Was it bad?"

"Um. No?" I wasn't sure what to make of his unsure answer. "I couldn't get close enough to tell what they were talking about. I even tried for your sake."

The thought of Cliff trying to sneak around the church to eavesdrop in my stead was hilarious enough to bring me down. "Thanks anyway, I guess," I sighed.

"But it looked okay," Cliff added with a bit more assurance. "It even seemed like they were laughing at one point."

"Scary laughing or real laughing?" It was a critical distinction to make.

"What?" he tilted his head with a chuckle. "Scary laughing?"

"Nevermind." I closed my eyes and shook my head, realizing how strange the question probably sounded to somebody who hadn't pissed both Claire and Mary off to the point of hearing scary laughs.

After a few painfully long moments, Cliff interrupted the steady tapping of his fingers, "Um… I think they were real laughing."

"Oh." That seemed like it should be a good thing, but I wasn't sure what to make of Claire and Mary laughing together and… potentially being on good terms. I wanted Mary to be happy and have friends, but the reality of one of them being Claire had me a little uneasy. It was selfish to think they'd talk about me… but I was worried about it anyway.

"I'm sure Ann will have a better idea of what happened," Cliff continued with a bit more momentum. "I can ask her—or, um, I guess, well, you can ask her too. It doesn't have to be me."

"Yeah?" I asked, giving into a grin at that reaction. "And… What's the deal with that situation?"

"There is no situation." His response was quick, serious, and I didn't buy it for a single fucking second. "We're friends. And that's all I can offer her."

His last sentence stuck in my head longer than it probably should have; I couldn't help relating to it. It wasn't like I was denying that something was lingering between Claire and me, but what did I have to offer her? Absolutely fucking nothing—other than a drinking problem and more stress than anyone knew what to do with. And in what world would it be fair to put all of that on her? I had to be delusional.

It was selfish to want anything else when I could barely offer Claire friendship. And I wasn't sure why I was even imagining anything other than being friends with Claire when all I ever did was piss her off. At this point, after our last massive blow-up, I wasn't sure she even liked me as a person, let alone anything more. And I was even more doubtful that the things I liked about her were even real qualities of hers. I had no fucking clue.

"Does she know?" I asked after clearing my throat, trying to distract myself from how horribly unfit I was to ever be with somebody like Claire.

Cliff didn't respond, but he didn't have to. His lack of an answer was enough.

A rap on the door saved him from any further questioning. Based on the way Cliff sprung up from his perch, I figured the mere mention of her name had summoned Ann to our door.

But when Cliff opened the door, he froze when he got a glimpse of who was on the other side. "Oh. Hi, Claire."

And there went my fucking heart.

What the actual fuck is she doing here? The only possible reason that came to mind was to continue ripping me a new asshole.

"Well, hi," I barely heard her reply. "Is um… is Gray here?"

Cliff quickly glanced over his shoulder as if checking with me first.

I wasn't sure what to do, so I shrugged and mouthed a confused "yeah?" before clambering over the side of my bed to throw on my discarded shirt and the first pair of sweats I could pull out of the drawer.

"Yeah, he's here." I'd just managed to get clothed and seated on the foot of my bed when Cliff stepped out of the way, holding the door open so Claire and I could see each other clearly. "Would you like to come in?"

The girl on the other side of the doorway seemed too busy staring at me to actually respond, but I was too busy staring at her to even register if she had. All done up for the festival, I almost didn't recognize her at first—especially compared to the disheveled, mud-stained girl that'd been screaming at me earlier.

The long mass of blonde hair I was so used to seeing in messy ponytails had been braided into a crown at the top of her head, twigs garnished with wine-red berries woven between the strands. Claire wore the traditional festival attire I'd seen year after year; a long-sleeved gown the color of rust flowing to the floor. A floral garland of yellows, oranges, and reds reminiscent of the tops of trees in the peak of fall lined the wide neck of the dress, hugging her bare shoulders. The dress's only shape was provided by the gold sash tied in a bow at the waist, causing the dress to fall perfectly along the curve of her hips.

And if somebody would have told me that she was the Harvest Goddess in the flesh, I would have believed them.

The sound of a clearing throat pulled me back to reality. A reality where Cliff was awkwardly stuck standing between two people who couldn't do much more than stare at each other. After a few rapid blinks, Claire took a few steps past Cliff into the room.

Still holding the door open, Cliff shifted into the hallway. "I'll give you two some space."

"Oh, you don't have to…." But footsteps and the closing door stopped Claire mid-sentence.

I took a deep breath and readjusted my increasingly sweaty seat at the end of the bed as Claire turned back to me. "Hey." Because was I really ever capable of opening with anything else?

Claire gave me a swift glance but no verbal response. She took purposeful strides deeper into the flat, grabbing the closest chair from the table in the middle of the room and noisily dragging it a few feet in front of my seat. Her hands gathered the skirt's fabric as she slowly lowered herself to the chair, not breaking eye contact the whole time.

"Hi," Claire finally greeted me, her silvery voice and softened features a sharp contrast from earlier.

I wasn't sure if it was the light, all the warm colors she was wearing, make-up, or something else, but her eyes were the richest blue I'd ever seen. A blue I didn't know could exist outside of gemstones and flowers.

"You look… uh…." What was appropriate? Good? Nice? Cute? Pretty? Absolutely fucking gorgeous? There was no way I could say any of it, even if I had enough courage to in the first place. None of it seemed to do her justice anyway.

"Oh, yeah," Claire said with a soft smile. Her hand lightly grazed the flowers wrapped around her shoulders before adjusting the fabric clinging to her legs. "Kinda different from my usual get-up, right?"

"Yeah. Different." That was one way of putting it. Much more tame than what'd been on my mind. "I like the uh, berries. In the, uh…." I pointed to the top of my head because suddenly, my dumbass couldn't come up with basic fucking words.

"The braid?" she giggled, bringing both hands up to touch the crown. "Thanks. Ann did it. It feels kinda weird to get all dressed up like this"—she motioned towards the bottom of the dress, the floral collar, and then her hair before enthusiastically outstretching her arms—"but it feels pretty magical, y'know? And I love all the flowers and stuff."

"Are they real?" I asked, pointing to the flowers sewn around her neck. And almost immediately, I realized I was also pointing straight at her tits. "Fuck, I mean like the flowers and shit, not like, well—"

"You're funny," Claire interrupted me with a hiss of a laugh. "I know what you meant, silly. And no. They're all handmade but still fake. Surprisingly heavy, though"

"Oh. That's cool." My go-to lame response.

"Yeah… I guess it is," she slowly agreed, looking down to the dress again.

Where the fuck do I go from here?

"I, uh… I didn't expect to see you here," I tried after unsuccessfully swallowing the fear.

"Yeah…" Claire trailed off. A hint of a smirk teased in the corners of her lips. "I decided to pull a you."

The way she spoke was a relief from earlier. "Oh yeah? What's a me?"

"Showing up somewhere unexpectedly," she teased before pressing her lips together.

"Right." I wasn't sure if that was a joke or a jab. "And… is there a reason you showed up at my place unexpectedly?"

Her hand moved to the side of her neck, eyes dropping to the floor. "I just… I don't like how today went."

"Yeah… me neither." In fact, I fucking hated how today had gone.

"I couldn't leave things how they were." She exhaled and brought her eyes back up to mine with purpose. "We said things were going to be different this time, y'know? And this whole thing is bigger than the stupid feelings I got in the moment."

I was still at a loss about what was happening and whether it was real or just a dream. "You, uh... you came to talk then?"

"Yeah… I guess. To apologize? I'll admit…." there was that airy laugh I'd only heard her make on occasion. "I'm a little out of my element here."

"Oh yeah. Uh, me too," I poorly attempted to reassure her.

"I'm really sorry for freaking on you earlier, for not listening to you, and just… being so mean," she winced as the words came out, shallowly shaking her head at herself. "You caught me at an awful time, and I should have told you I wasn't in a place to talk. I know that doesn't make it okay, but… I'm just trying to be more honest too."

"Oh." I scratched the side of my head, trying to make sense of Claire's earlier reaction. "So you're not mad?"

Claire snorted a laugh. "Of course I am, but…" she trailed off, rubbing her lips together as her eyes narrowed on mine. "You're just lucky Kai's… wherever the heck he is, I don't care." I could tell she was joking, though only slightly. "But, I'm sorry for not believing you. So, y'know, if you trust Popuri… then I will too."

There was that earlier point of contention. And as much as the thought of Claire's jealousy fueled my ego, I knew I needed to address the issue.

"If…" I almost gave up on saying the rest of the words. But I took a deep breath and did it anyway. "If it bothers you… me bein' friends with Popuri, you can tell me."

"Oh, no! It's… it's not that." Her calm face and the crack in her voice told two very different stories. "You're allowed to have friends, Gray. We're both allowed to have friends." Claire tightened her lips together before releasing a dampened sigh. "If we're being honest with each other, I think I was just… jealous that you trust her so much. Because... I want you to trust me like that."

"I do!" My voice rushed out before my brain could catch up. I was sure it didn't sound reassuring in the slightest, probably super idiotic and desperate. "We, uh, we have to be able to trust each other. Right?"

I thought that's what Claire would want to hear, but all she did was frown back at me. "I don't want you to trust me because you feel like you have to. I want you to trust me because I've earned it." Her voice softened as she looked down at the hands knotting in her lap. "And, y'know… I haven't really done a lot to earn that trust."

I'd been so quick to reassure Claire, but did I really trust her? To some extent, I did, and I wanted to; I knew it would be essential for us moving forward. It wasn't like trust and I were incredibly familiar with each other. But still, the fact that I was worrying about Claire so much probably meant that I didn't entirely trust her.

And when I thought about it, what had I done to earn her trust? Besides overloading her with honesty and letting her squeeze the shit out of my hand during one appointment. Overall, it seemed like I'd given Claire so many more reasons to not trust me.

"So… that's what I'm going to do," Claire continued with a soft smile, pulling me out of my head.

Either way, if she didn't already trust me, I was going to earn it too.

"I am too."

Her head turned toward the windows lining the back of the room, and my eyes followed the hand tracing the side of her neck. "I just…. I know that you could have decided not to tell me that you told them. And even though I'm… livid that you told them without asking me…." Claire let out a deep breath and brought those big blue eyes back to mine. "I appreciate you being honest and trying to make things better between us."

I still couldn't believe she was here making up with me. She was the one that had apologized to me. The relief that'd rushed in threatened to wash away when the prospect of fucking it all up, like I usually did, became painfully real. I was willing to say or do anything to prevent that.

I instinctively reached up for my hat, remembered it was sitting behind me on my bed and ran a hand through my hair instead. "I, uh, I know I fucked up, but I promise nothin' like that is gonna happen again."

She raised her brow, but her question was in earnest, "You mean it?"

"I'll pinky promise if you want me to," I half-joked. But if that's what would convince her…

"I mean, I believe you, but… you're offering a pinky promise?" As she snickered at the idea, her face scrunched into the same wide toothy grin I couldn't believe I'd used to hate. "Okay yeah, only because I have to see you do it."

It sounded like she was trying to call my bluff. But it wasn't a bluff, so I held out my hand, pinky outstretched. The ball was in her court now, and I couldn't believe my pulse was skyrocketing at the thought of touching fucking fingers, of all things. Especially considering what else we'd done in this room…

Claire lifted herself from the chair, taking a couple of slow steps to close the distance between us, and suddenly, touching pinkies was the last thing I was thinking about doing with her. Flashes of her from my dream replayed every time I blinked, and I had to know just how much of it was real. I wanted her to push me back down on my mattress and climb on top of me, to know if her lips were as soft as I'd imagined. They looked like they would be. And she looked so perfect and put together that I wanted to be the one that absolutely fucking ruined her. It was disgusting, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I didn't want to.

But when that icicle of a pinky wrapped around mine, my face smoldered like she could hear every vile thing I was thinking. I snapped back to reality, which was the mother of my child smiling so innocently down at me, and next-level shame slithered in. Not only was I not supposed to think about any of my friends that way, but it was also beyond wrong to imagine doing something like that to someone who was pregnant… right?

"I can't believe you!" Claire laughed as she dropped her hand and pulled away.

I couldn't believe me either.

"Uh, what can I say?" The words nervously poured out alongside a laugh I didn't know I could make. "Full of surprises here."

"Yeah, you really are, " Claire teased with a smirk. "Every time I think I have you figured out, I realize… I don't know you as well as I thought." I was still processing how to take that comment when she looked down at me, softening the smile, "But I want to."

She is so. Fucking. Cute.

"Oh, uh, yeah," I sputtered, trying to give any other fucking response than staring. "Me too."

And I'm so. Fucking. Embarrassing.

Claire took an aimless step away from my bed. "I admire you a lot, with how you're handling this and all, y'know?"

I couldn't tell if that was a joke or not. "Really?" Claire sounded candid, but her words couldn't be true. I wasn't even sure if you could call what I'd been doing handling, to begin with.

"Yeah! This is… a lot and, I know I don't make it any easier." She released that same breathy laugh before spinning around. "But I can tell you're trying harder to be better, and… I need to try harder too."

"Never thought you'd pull a me to come apologize," I started, running a clammy hand through my hair. "So I guess you're already makin' moves."

She exhaled a short giggle. "Yeah, maybe. Slowly but surely."

"I can be patient," I said with a shrug. She had no fucking idea how patient I could be.

Claire half-smiled at me in acknowledgment but didn't say anything back to that. Instead, she gave a surveying glance around the room. "It feels like forever since I've been in your room. I almost forgot what it looked like."

"Have you been in here other than that night?" A worry I didn't know I had until right then.

"No, not really." She glanced back to the front of the room. "I've stood outside the door with Ann trying to wrangle Cliff into hanging out with us, but I've never hung out in here… other than with you."

"Oh."

"But uh, definitely cleaner than I remember!" Claire added with what I now assumed was her nervous laugh, the pitch of her voice noticeably higher. "And definitely cleaner than my room."

I wasn't going to admit that I'd literally just cleaned my room yesterday, so I just nodded. I'd never seen Claire's room, but I'd be lying if I never thought about what it might look like. Apparently, it was a mess too, and somehow I wasn't surprised.

Claire silently wandered around for a minute, opening the door to the bathroom and poking around the general area. But when she approached the side of my bed, an unexpected pulse of anxiety filled my chest.

"I… kinda can't believe you still have this," Claire said over her shoulder, hunched over my bedside table.

The location she was inspecting immediately had me shooting up from my seat and rushing over.

"Have what?" I nervously demanded.

"The rock, silly." She laughed and picked it up, rubbing it the same way I'd seen her do on the beach. "After the way I treated you that night, I thought you might've thrown it back to where it came from."

"Thought about it," I admitted as a joke. Even though it was the truth.

She returned the stone to its spot, her eyes fixed on the black photo propped next to it. "It's super adorable that you have all this right here."

Any response I could have provided was stuck in my throat. I wasn't sure what she meant, but in my self-conscious mind, it looked like a small shrine dedicated to her. And that was embarrassing as fuck.

I was still reeling, trying to craft some justification for all those items in one place, when Hatchet was thrust in front of my face.

"What's this?"

I paused, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "You can't read the title?"

She slapped my arm with the paperback, fighting a grin. "Don't be a dick."

"Okay? It's Hatchet." I pointed to the unmistakable outline of the tool on the cover. "See?"

She raised an eyebrow. "So it's a book about a tool?"

"No, it's about what the tool symbolizes."

"Oh." Claire tilted her head, her eyes widening. "So you like, actually read?"

I frowned. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"Shit. Sorry." Her hands flew up as she shook her head. "Not, like, in a mean way or anything!" Claire insisted with a weak chuckle before inspecting the book a bit closer. "I just always thought you spent so much time at the library because of… y'know, Mary."

"Well… that was part of it," I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. "But… I dunno. I always liked to read. My mom did too, so I guess I got it from her."

Claire glanced down at the book and then back up at me. "Is that something you'd do together?"

"Uh, sometimes. If she was around." It'd been one of my favorite things to do with her, but the memories were few and far between. And the older I got, the murkier and rarer they became. I cleared my throat in an attempt to refocus. "She, uh… she worked a lot."

Claire hummed in acknowledgment, scanning the front and back cover again. "So, you've read it before?"

"Oh yeah. More times than I can count," I answered, thankful for the change in topic. "I've had it since I was a kid. It's one of my favorites."

"Can I read it?" she surprisingly asked.

I raised an eyebrow. "You like to read?"

"Uh… not really. I mean, I don't not like it, just…." Claire's attention darted between me and the book rotating it in her hands. "This just seems like a book I could actually finish, and if you like it that much, it must be good, right?"

"Well… I'm kinda in the middle of readin' it right now." While I wanted to be thrilled at the idea of Claire enjoying Hatchet, too, I wasn't ready to let go of the book quite yet.

She tilted her head with a slight pout. "But you just said yourself that you've read it more times than you can count."

"So? I'm at a good part." That look she gave me, though, I hated that I couldn't help wanting to give in to whatever she asked. "But, uh, I should finish it up tomorrow or somethin', and then you can borrow it."

"Nice! Good deal." We hadn't even made a deal, so I wasn't sure what that meant.

She returned the book to its original spot on my covers, and I froze when her eyes went to the wall behind my bed.

"Oh, whoa… what's that? Over there," Claire asked, pointing to the poorly patched hole in the wall on the other side of my bed. She didn't even wait for me to answer before hurrying over to it.

"It's a wall," I answered, slowly following and wishing she would have wandered somewhere else.

"I realize it's a wall, smartass. The patch." She gave two knocks on the white blob standing out against the tan paint of the unpunched wall. "It's riiiight next to your bed. You know what happened?"

I sighed. "It's so fuckin' stupid. Especially lookin' back."

"Tell me!" Claire spun around to face me, hands clasped together as she pleaded. "Please? No judgment! I might tease you, but I would do that anyway."

There was that fucking look again. I wasn't even going to try and resist. "I punched it. Thought that was obvious."

"Well, yeah. It's too high for a kick for sure," Claire said as she inspected the height of the patch with feigned intensity. "Why'd you punch the wall, though? Did Saibara piss you off? Kai? Or maybe a certain farmer came into your place of work and really rubbed you the wrong way?"

I was too tired to fight a chuckle at her suggestions. "No. I said it was stupid." And I hadn't thought about that night in a while. Or, at least, what I could remember of it. "You go to the horse races in the spring?"

It was no surprise when Claire shook her head no. She might have been the only person that attended fewer festivals than me.

"So people come from towns all around for the races," I started, recalling that bustling spring day. "The races are pretty big here. Inn gets packed, lots of drinkin', lots of fuckers…."

"Lots of fuckers," Claire repeated with a nod, "got it."

I exhaled a laugh and continued. "I got into it with a few drunk nobodies that were givin' Ann a hard time. I was drinkin' too and… mad about some other shit anyway, so it wasn't like I was actually helpin'."

When I realized I'd gotten a little off track, I looked back to the patch. "Long story short, Doug sent my ass packin' to my room at peak rage and… I dunno, the wall was pissin' me off."

"Yeah, this wall's got some attitude, I can tell," she said with a few more knocks on the wall.

I snorted at the irony. "Of course, you'd be able to tell."

Claire huffed and clicked her tongue at me before turning back to the wall. "So... Doug wasn't mad you smashed the wall for giving you a funny look?"

"Oh no," I remembered the way he looked at me after seeing the hole. It was a face I never wanted to see ever again. "He was fuckin' pissed. But it's better than breaking a guest's nose, I guess."

"Yeah, maybe a little," Claire joked with a wink in my direction.

I cleared my throat and forced my eyes back to the patch. "Doug made me patch it. I'm supposed to paint it too, but he hasn't gotten the paint yet. And it's not like I'm gonna remind him."

"And so, did it hurt to do that?"

I stared down at my right hand. "I was drunk at the time but fucked up my knuckle pretty nice." I held the top of my fist out to her and motioned to the faded blotch of scarred skin between my pinky and ring finger. "Hurt like a bitch for a week or so, but—" My voice caught in my throat when Claire brought both her cold, calloused hands to mine.

"Does it still hurt?" One hand cradled my fist while her other delicately traced the scar with her thumb.

"No," I choked out. It wasn't like I would have been able to say anything else if I wanted to.

"Even when I do this?" Claire dug her thumb a little harder into the scar and raised her eyebrows when I didn't flinch.

But the only reason I didn't was because I was too paralyzed to actually move. "Uh, nope." My throat clearly had a mind of its own, producing quite possibly the most embarrassing chuckle I'd ever had the displeasure of releasing from my mouth. "All healed. Just a little stiff sometimes."

"Well, all's well that ends well, I suppose." Claire lifted my hand to see my wrist and then dropped it when she didn't find my watch. "Anyway, sorry to bother you for so long. I told Ann I'd be right back, so…. I should probably, y'know..."

I tried to hide the tinge of sadness that bubbled up in response to that. I didn't want to leave whatever little world we were in, but I knew we had to. It wasn't like Claire could stay here all night… I mean, she could have, but those were very off-limits thoughts. Not to mention selfish. If we were actually going to be friends, I couldn't think about Claire like that anymore.

I had to refocus. "Yeah. I know."

But neither of us made an effort to move.

"You're not walkin' home alone, are you?" my voice filled the space between us after Claire remained in front of me for another minute.

"Oh, no. Ann's coming with me," she answered slowly, not taking her eyes off mine, "spending the night and stuff…."

"Oh, cool." It didn't feel like I was making the situation any less awkward, but the fact that I couldn't stop staring probably didn't help. "I mean, that's good."

I didn't even know how to say bye to Claire. Almost every time we parted from the other, it was on bad terms that left one or both of us upset, storming off in opposite directions. Now that we were actually in a good place? No fucking clue.

While I was too busy deciding how to properly part, small arms snaked around my waist, followed by a crown of twigs lightly colliding with my chest. I flinched at the poke and tried to readjust myself, so I didn't get impaled as I nervously went to wrap my arms around somebody I didn't think I'd ever get to hold again.

But I felt Claire's body tense against mine as she loosened her arms to pull away. "Shit, I'm so sorry, I should've asked first before I—"

"No. That's not it." I lightly encouraged her to return with hands on her shoulders, a potentially selfish impulse that I couldn't believe I was giving into. "Your sticks stabbed me at first, is all."

"Oh." She melded back into me, and I wrapped my arms around her, praying she couldn't hear how savagely my heart was racing in my chest. "Alrighty then."

I couldn't believe I was holding her. It was almost even more surprising that she'd been the one to initiate it. Even though I knew I was biased, Claire seemed to fit perfectly into my arms, and it felt so fucking good. The familiar smell of sweet pine greeted me when I breathed her in, just inviting me closer. I wanted to hold her tighter, to etch every single sensation from this moment into my brain. I wanted to find any and every reason to not let go.

Which is not how you're supposed to feel about hugging your friends. Or at least, it didn't seem like a particularly friendly feeling. And being friends was the priority—no, the only goal. It had to be.

I knew I needed to let her go before I physically couldn't.

"Wait," Claire mumbled into my chest as I loosened my grip. "Five more seconds."

So I held on. "Five more seconds?"

"Oxytocin," she mumbled into my shirt as if I was supposed to know what that meant.

My first instinct was to look down, but all I saw were the berry-covered twigs sewn into the top of her head. "The fuck are you goin' on about?"

She pulled away and dropped her hands to her sides. "Oxytocin. You make it when you hug for longer than 10 seconds."

"Oh." I still had no fucking clue why that was relevant, but I wasn't about to turn down holding her. Another selfish thought that needed to be stopped.

"It makes you feel better, helps trick you into liking somebody—which sometimes I think we could use," she explained with a laugh.

Maybe I needed help feeling better, but I didn't need any more assistance in liking Claire. I needed the opposite.

"That's uh… interesting." I scratched at my head, wondering if what I felt was from the hug alone or the person I'd shared it with. "Guess I do feel a little better."

"Awesome!" Claire beamed before glancing over her shoulder. "Ah, well, I should probably get back to Ann. But… I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" I repeated in confusion.

"Well, with the festival over I have a little more time on my hands. And, y'know, you made that big deal about how easy it would be for you to do my job. I figured I'd do you a favor and actually invite you over to save you the embarrassment of showing up randomly."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. "How kind of you."

"What can I say?" she joked back. "I love proving people wrong. And I've been dying to prove you wrong."

"Oh? Uh, okay, yeah, I'll stop by after work," I stammered, trying to keep up with Claire's banter. "And uh, prove you wrong."

Why am I so fucking bad at this?

Claire shook her head with a snort, surely laughing at how fucking stupid I sounded. "Alrighty then," she replied, flashing me a mischievous grin before heading to the door. "I'll be looking forward to it!"

Despite all the bullshit that'd happened today, I was too. And fuck, did I forget how good it felt to actually look forward to something.


((SO... because of who I am as a person, I drew Claire in *what I imagine* to be the Fall Music Festival clothes. You can see it on my tumblr or I can send it via message since FFN REALLLY doesn't want me putting the link here lmao.

OKAY. So I've always loved the Goddess Festival from Harvest Moon BTN, the gowns, the flowers, all of it. So it always irked me that the fall music festival didn't also have their own get up? So I designed one, using some inspiration and feedback from Durotos and Practicado. So thank you two!

But ok, I'm v proud of myself. I set a deadline and I stuck to it! Haha honestly I was super grinding this past week because I REALLY wanted to get this bad boy done before school started up again. I'm back to the Big Grind next week, so I will be so super honest that the next chapter (while there is progress) will not be coming out as soon as this one did. Like I've said, I still have so much story to tell! I just... y'know have a whole ass full-time job that I have to do as well. I love writing this story though, so rest assured that I will update as soon as I can :)

Shouts out to rageaphobia, my stellar, amazing, fantastic betareader for her invaluable help as always. And thanks to those of you out there reading and supporting the fic! 3 Feel free to reach out to me on tumblr or discord in the meantime, my username on both is krosaceae! I'm always down to chat about fandom stuffs.

Last but not least, the title of this chapter is based on I Don't Know You by The Marias. Prepare to see a lot songs from The Marias. I swear, they exclusively make music for Claire in my fic lmao. I thought the slight change of 'I don't need you' to 'I don't know you' was a fun way to compare the two chapters side by side. Anyway lol :-)))