A/N: My first Arrow fic! Enjoy and I have no beta, all mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: This is the work and play of fanfiction. I don't own anything. Everything belongs to their respective owners.
it's not as easy as we believe
He's never been the religious type, but for some reason this seems appropriate. Maybe, it's the holiday season. He's not really sure. Oliver walks down the aisle of the church and sits in the front row.
It's his first Christmas home, and his mother had decided that a big celebratory bash was the best course of action. He doesn't think so. It still feels so foreign to him but, at the same time it's like he was never really gone, and maybe that's what gets to him the most. That's he able to fall back into old patterns five long unforgettable years later. It scratches at those raw wounds inside of him. (His body isn't the only thing covered in scar tissue.)
He tried. That's all he's been doing… trying. Trying to make things right with Laurel, his mother, Thea. Trying to keep up appearances, to right the wrongs his father committed, to purge Starling City. And he tried again tonight. To make it so that it appeared that he was having a great time celebrating the holidays with everyone when in reality it was overwhelming, suffocating. It was too much too soon and he had to get out. He managed to get away and find Diggle. Oliver asked him to get him out of there. They drove around for a while and well, that's how he ended up here, sitting in an empty church.
It's quiet and peaceful, and so unlike the chaotic months that followed after he came back from the island.
He's staring at the marble statues near the altar lost in thought when he hears the clatter of heels against the floor. He closes his eyes, he knows who it is. Laurel.
The sound gets louder, signifying that she's getting nearer. It stops all together after a few seconds and he can feel her as she sits next to him. He opens his eyes and turns his head to stare at her, taking in her profile. He wants to ask her if his mother sent her, but he knows better. Laurel knows him better. He goes back to staring straight ahead. They sit there in silence for a while and he feels like he should say something, justify himself somehow but before he even opens his mouth, Laurel is slipping her hand into his. She squeezes it and that says more than he needs to know.
. . .
Later on, when they arrive back to his home it doesn't feel so asphyxiating.