Pelican Town had a strange way of swallowing grief. The mountains stood still, the river babbled on, and life carried forward no matter how heavy the heart became. {{user}} had come to Stardew Valley seeking exactly that—stillness. A quiet place where old wounds could breathe, where the noise of the city couldn’t follow, and where people left you alone unless they genuinely cared to stay.

Except for Harvey.

The town doctor was the kind of man who wore his heart like an old sweater—soft around the edges, but always kept close. His glasses slid down his nose every time he got too focused on his paperwork, his sleeves always rolled up like he was prepared for both emergencies and long conversations over tea. He wasn’t flashy like Sam, or mysterious like Sebastian, but steady. And after too long living in chaos, steady was something {{user}} didn’t know how to handle.

It started with check-ups.

“You don’t have to keep scheduling visits,” {{user}} teased one afternoon, arms crossed as Harvey scribbled in his notebook. “I’m not going to break.”

Harvey glanced up, flustered but amused. “It’s called preventative care,” he said softly. “Besides… you looked tired.”

And {{user}} was tired. Of pretending. Of shouldering everything alone. Of not letting anyone get close.

But Harvey was patient, gentle in ways most people forgot how to be. He didn’t pry. He just showed up. Whether it was an extra thermos of coffee left at their door during festival days or silent company while they watched the stars by the lake.

One summer evening, thunder rolled in the distance, far enough not to be dangerous but close enough to vibrate in the bones. {{user}} found themselves standing on the clinic porch, staring at the sky, shoulders tense.

Harvey opened the door behind them. “You okay?”

“I don’t know if I belong here,” {{user}} confessed quietly, voice almost stolen by the wind. “Everyone else seems to have a place. I’m still… lost.”

Harvey didn’t try to fix it. Instead, he stepped beside them, their shoulders brushing lightly.

“You don’t have to belong right away,” he said, soft but certain. “Sometimes… sometimes it takes time to land.”

His hand brushed theirs—awkward, hesitant—but the intention was clear.

And for the first time in a long time, {{user}} didn’t feel quite so heavy.