Coffee and Spice | Harvey | Stardew Valley

-15-

I know that I'm dreaming, because the events taking place are too surreal to fit into any form of reality.

I'm back in the bar and Shane is holding his drink out for me to look inside. I lean forward to peer over the rim of the glass, but in the process of doing so, I somehow slip off the edge of my chair and pitch forwards head-first. I tumble downwards through the air, my proportions shrinking absurdly as if I'm being crushed by an invisible fist. I plunge right into the liquid inside the glass. It swirls around me as I sink to the bottom, thrashing my arms around uselessly. I open my mouth in panic and inhale the liquid, choke on it. It's not water at all - it's whiskey. From somewhere far above me, Shane starts to laugh.

My eyes flash open and I jerk into an upright position, an explosive inhale tearing through my lips.

I'm in a bed, tangled up in blankets that smell far too familiar. I feel awful - there's no other way to say it. My first order of concern is doing a full-body inspection. I'm still wearing my clothes from the day before, jeans and a lace-trimmed sweater. I'm parched, and my head feels like someone is taking a jackhammer to it, but the rest of me seems sound enough.

Now that that's out of the way, what the hell is going on?

I run my fingers over the soft material of the blankets, trying to push back against the tendrils of disorientation interlaced with my thoughts. I'm not usually this spaced out after drinking, but it must have really did a number on me last night. I remember the noisy atmosphere of the bar, my throat and lungs burning from the spiced flames of the whiskey. Shane was being exceedingly aggravating for some reason...Oh, that's right, he had ratted me out to Harvey about my drinking and then I started feeling sick and then Harvey took me back to his office and then-

And then...

I look to my right and my breath stills inside of me.

A few feet from me, draped almost gracefully across a chair he must have dragged over by the bed, is Harvey. He's asleep, eyes closed, and face relaxed in a way that makes him look years younger. His glasses are slightly askew on the bridge of his nose, reflecting the rosy sunrise that streams in from the window. His full lips are parted slightly beneath his facial hair. His legs are crossed at the ankles, stretched out towards the bed, and his arms are folded over his chest which rises and falls in an even rhythm.

I'm immediately distracted from this strange turn of events by his clothes, which are normal in retrospect, yet almost render Harvey unrecognizable in their non-formal appearance. He's wearing a long-sleeved gray cotton shirt, molded to his chest and arms in such a way that I can see every line of his hard body. His usual dress pants have been swapped out for a pair of darker gray sweatpants, secured around the waist by an elastic tie and clinging to his long, muscular legs all the way down to his sock-covered feet. The socks are yet another hue of - wait for it - gray.

Part of me wants to laugh at the gray-on-gray ensemble. Even while in lounge clothes, Harvey still aligned to the most utilitarian principles of fashion. But as I look him over, the last thing I feel is humor.

That day that he caught me kissing Alex in the community center, he had told me that I needed a man, not a boy. Harvey, reclined on the chair in all of his effortless masculinity, clearly represented the distinction between the two. My breath is pulling through my lungs quicker now as my eyes scan over the sheer manliness of him: the tendons standing out on his long hands, the dark wiry hair that dusts what I can see of his arms, the angle of his jaw, the shape of his shoulders beneath the shirt, the bulge of his thighs...

Memories slowly begin trickling in at the sight of him. I can recall now with surprising clarity the events of the night before, including the stupid thing I had said in my drunken state just before I had surrendered to sleep. I can still see the hungry look on his face after I had asked if he would have fucked me the night we met. Oh, my god, why did I do that? I clutch my head in my hands, shaking it back and forth as if I can fling the dreaded memory away from myself and never have to think about it again.