Sebastian's POV
I'm halfway through debugging some new lines of code when the door slams open like a damn tornado.
"We have to go to Hannah's. Now," Abigail announces, arms crossed like this is a mission from the gods.
I don't even turn around. "Is she okay?"
It stings to say her name. Hell, it stings to think her name. The way I treated her at the Moonlight Festival... cold, distant—like a coward. I know I hurt her, and the worst part is, I meant to. It was easier to shove her away than deal with the truth clawing inside me.
"She said she has something weird to show us," Abigail says cryptically, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve.
"Weird how?" I ask, finally spinning in my chair to face her.
Sam stretches on my bed like he's just been waiting for the plot to kick in. "Weird enough to drag us across town instead of letting you make out with your laptop?"
I roll my eyes, but I close out the terminal window and stand. Hoodie on. Pack of smokes in my pocket. I grab my lighter like armor.
I haven't seen Hannah since the festival, and truthfully, I'm nervous as hell. I don't do nervous. But there's a specific kind of ache that comes from knowing you pushed away the one person who saw through all your noise. Who looked at you and didn't flinch.
And now... it might be too late.
We walk through town, leaves crunching beneath our boots. Fall has swallowed everything—amber trees, cold skies, that bite in the wind that hints at change whether you're ready for it or not. My cigarette glows as I take a long drag, more to settle my chest than anything else.
As we approach the winding dirt path to Hannah's farm, I realize something jarring.
I've never actually been here.
Not since it became hers.
Not since she turned it from some forgotten patch of land into something alive.
I half expect a typical farmhouse. But what rises through the trees is something else entirely.
The cottage is warm and welcoming—wood and brick, wrapped in the colors of fall. A deep porch with stacked firewood, rocking chairs, flowerbeds still blooming despite the chill. To the left, two sprawling crop fields with hand-carved scarecrows and stone paths. To the right, barns full of animals, a chicken coop nestled near the house like an old friend.
It's... stunning.
"Holy cow-s," Sam breathes beside me.
Abigail grins, almost proud. "Right? She built all this herself, and with Robin's help of course."
And then I see her.
Near the coop, carrying a tin bucket and muttering something to a chicken blocking her path.
Hannah.
She's wearing a red ruffled top that catches the wind and a denim skirt dusted with mud. Her hair's a mess in the best possible way, half tied-up with loose strands sticking to her cheeks, and the sun just—finds her. Like it's got a crush too.
My stomach does this annoying twist thing, and I take another drag.
There's my friend.
The one I kept at arm's length because I was too afraid of what it would mean to let her in.
"Hannah!" Abigail calls out. She looks up and waves, her smile soft but real. Like nothing ever happened. Like maybe there's still time to not ruin this completely.
We cross the field toward her, boots kicking up dust, and I catch her voice floating over the fence.
"Move, Louise," she scolds a chicken who flaps lazily out of her way. Then she beams at us. "Guys, look what happened when I put that weird egg in the incubator!"
I pause. Weird egg?
Inside the coop, it's way bigger than I expected—windows, wood floors, a little heater. It smells like hay and cedar, and oddly... like home.
"This place is bigger than your bedroom, Sam," I mutter.
"Rent it to me, Hannah," Sam says without missing a beat.
She laughs, and that sound cuts through me like the last warm day before winter.
Then she turns around with something small, black, and fuzzy in her hands.
We all lean in.
"What is that?" Sam grimaces.
Abigail squints. "Is that... a chicken?"
"No way," she gasps. "Is that—?"
Hannah nods, grinning ear to ear like a kid at a science fair. "A void chicken. It hatched from the weird egg I found in my coop one day, that showed up for reasons I don't know..."
She sets it down, and the thing starts hopping around like it owns the place. Its feathers are black as shadows, its eyes glowing crimson like embers.
It's creepy.
It's awesome.
Sam makes a face. "Can we name it Sebastian?"
"Hard pass," I mutter, though I'm trying not to smile.
"They lay void eggs," Hannah says seriously.
Sam blinks. "That wasn't a joke?"
"Nope." She looks proud, after holding the tiny creature like it's the crown jewel of her farm.
Abigail kneels beside it, fascinated. "That's wild. Stardew is weird."
Hannah meets my gaze for the first time since we got here. Just a second—but something passes between us. Something unspoken and still alive.
She's not mad.
She's not bitter.
She's just... Hannah.
And I hate that I ever made her question what she means to me.
"Cool chicken," I say quietly, because it's all I can manage.
She grins. "Thanks. I named her Voidette."
Of course she did.
She turns her attention back to the others, and I just stand there, silent, watching her.
Because in this moment—sunlight in her hair, laughter on her lips, a literal monster-chicken hopping around her boots—I'm hit with something that feels dangerously close to love.
And I have no idea what to do with that.
Not yet.
But maybe...
Someday
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