Page 5 of Campus Crush
Although chatting with Peach might’ve also had something to do with my obsession with the game. She didn’t know me in real life and there was something freeing about that. I could just be myself with her, without any expectations.
When I was on the ice, it was all instinct—muscle memory and adrenaline and gut decisions. It was the one place in my life where I didn’t have to think so damn hard to succeed.Stardew Valleygave me a weirdly similar feeling. It wasn’t about being perfect; it was about showing up, putting in the work, and watching something grow. And if anything, I’d gotten into the habit of being what Peach called a chaotic gremlin. Sometimes I stirred up chaos just to see her reaction.
Talking to Peach made everything better. She didn’t care if I was good at math or good at anything, really. Shedidn’t know how many goals I’d scored last season or how many people expected me to lead our team to the conference championship. With her, I got to be a freer version of myself.
And maybe that was the real reason I couldn’t stop playing—or why every time her name popped up in the chat, it felt like I could breathe a little easier.
BigBear88:
Just tried to give Mayor Lewis a void egg. He looked… concerned.
PeachyKeen:
Did you expect him to appreciate cursed produce??
BigBear88:
I thought it was mysterious.
PeachyKeen:
That man’s biggest thrill is judging the grange display. He can’t handle mystery.
BigBear88:
Tragic.
PeachyKeen:
A true loss for Stardew culture.
BigBear88:
You’re the only one who gets me.
PeachyKeen:
That’s because I’m a mystery appreciator.
A small smile tugged at my mouth—real and unforced, which felt rare lately. For a minute, it was easy to forget the gnawing pit in my stomach, easy to pretend that failing didn’t make me feel like my whole world was tilting sideways.
But it was still there.
Heavy.
Sickening.
The kind of shame that wasn’t new but hadn’t dulled over the years either. It was the same feeling I used to get as a kid when numbers started swimming on the page and I knew—knew—I was going to get them wrong no matter how hard I tried. The same feeling when teachers pulled me aside and talked in quiet voices that made me feel broken.
I hated this.
I hated that I had to ask for help like I was a little kid again, like I hadn’t worked my ass off to become someone better. Stronger. Someone people looked up to.
Getting help meant admitting I wasn’t enough on my own.
And that terrified me more than anything.
BigBear88:
