Stardew Valley |This Modern Love | F!Female Farmer x Sebastian

Let Go

CW: PTSD flashback involving: fear of drowning, abuse, attempted murder, houselessness.

Bleary-eyed, Sage stirs, her limbs askew and aching on the old couch cushions. A moment of confusion slows her brain, then memories of the night before populate her mind like a bolt of lightning. The warm rain, the otherworldly beauty, the late night talk, and falling asleep nestled into Sebastian.

How he might not be leaving soon, after all.

Her face heats, remembering the scent of his body wash and skin. Craning her neck, she spots him at his computer, the keyboard's steady clack a hum in the background. Lenny rests on his lap, and for the first time, Sage finds herself jealous of her cat.

Still, she savors the moment. Waking up in the same room (as friends, she reminds herself) feels intimate in a way that's terrifying yet comforting on a soul-deep level. There's room for both, she supposes. Sage watches with a soft gaze as he reaches down to scratch Lenny's cheek, as the cat presses against his touch in return.

The clacking stops as she groans, arching her spine in a stretch that radiates into her entire being. Sebastian leans away from his monitor, grinning. "Nice bed head. And I thought I had a shit sleep schedule. It's one in the afternoon."

"Pff." Sage huffs as she flattens her hair, but a smile slips through. "It was a long night!" Rolling her neck, a final release of tension, she pads to Sebastian and squints at his screen. "What are you doing?"

"Just working on a project for a client." He pulls a spare chair next to his. "Have a seat. Brought you coffee, too."

She sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder. "I'm so glad we share a caffeine addiction." Sipping, Sage stares at the lines of letters and symbols. They make no sense to her, but to Sebastian it's an entire playground. Sage watches his eyes narrow as he creates in a language she'll never comprehend.

"I have no idea how you understand all that."

Sebastian snorts. "That's how I feel when you talk about your farming stuff." He pauses. "Not that I mind, though."

"Huh." She'd never considered it that way, as if she was cultivating a skill others would consider beyond their reach. In her mind she's just been doing her best to survive. But if she retreats and removes her survival-focused lens, maybe she is building a skill. "I'm glad the storm didn't turn out to be anything serious. Though," she says, waggling her eyebrows, "who knows. In ten years, maybe they'll discover a bunch of freaky aftereffects."

"Hmm, yeah, in ten years, we could turn into moss people. We'd have to scrape it from our skin every day. Scratch my back if I scratch yours?" Sebastian freezes for a millisecond, blinking, then turns to his computer.

The implication isn't lost on Sage, the hint that in ten years they might still be a part of each other's lives. The thought warms her more than the coffee, straight to her toes and the tips of her fingers. "Well, we'll have to. If we don't, everyone will guess we went out into the rain, and they'll point at us and call us moss people. Can't have that."

He chuckles. "No, no, we can't."

Sebastian's phone rings.

"Hello? Oh hey Sam, what's up?" He frowns. "What? Why the fuck were they out so early? Is she alright? Fuck...that's heavy. Yeah. Go ahead. Talk to you later."

Sage's stomach clenches, the warmth gone. "What was that about?"

"Do you know Pam?"

She does and doesn't. Pam's an alcoholic - she knows that because she can spot one a mile off. She sees it in the way Pam shuffles to the saloon every day, the vague smell of booze as much a part of her as her 80s perm and lurid purple eyeshadow.