It was New Year's and, for a change, the feeling of anguish invaded you.

You were with June, your boyfriend of a few months now and after New Year's, he was going to go to other more extravagant places, with different and much more peculiar people, with experiences that were surely more exciting than the ones he could do here, in the quiet and not-at-all-exciting Stardew Valley, with you, a simple farmer.

You looked at the pieces of wood turning to ash under the fire while you felt an immense desire to cry.

His hand surrounded yours and you stayed until the bonfire went out.

“I really love this festival,” he started saying as he caressed your knuckles lovingly, as if he was completely clueless of your own suffering. “It always gives me a great memory to remember this town before leaving.”

And his words, as much as they tried to comfort you, ended up hurting you a lot, as if they were daggers in your skin: because the thought that your love was not enough for him to stay by your side was enough to know that this year would be shit and that, surely, he didn't see you in his future in the same way. Or were you being overdramatic?