Chapter 7: Adapting
They stood in silence together. There had been no one else at the funeral. Robbie Rotten might have been well known, but he was not well liked.
Sportacus had changed a great bit since she had left for Álfheim. He wasn´t as fulfilled, as structured, as happy. She suspected he might never return to his old self. Forever damaged. Forever scarred.
She wasn´t sure if she could handle the new Sportacus. It had only been a few days since her return, but it was painfully obvious to her that life in Lazytown would no longer be the bright, magickal experience it was when she was a child.
She reached out and touched Sportacus´ hand. It twitched, but didn´t grab hers in return.
So this was reality. This was adulthood. It was full of change, death, and uncertainty of the future.
---
He knew he was being difficult. But there was so little to live for now; so little to motivate him. He flat out neglected his workouts and spent his days outside on benches, watching the clouds.
He had never had so much to think over before. He was not unintelligent, as Robbie had often accused him of, but his mind was of a specific type. The puzzlements of life were simply not his place; he stepped aside for the more experienced when such situations arose. But now, standing at the mound of a buried friend, he was faced with all those puzzlements, without a way to hide. And it was weighing on him heavily.
Why did it have to happen? Where did he belong in this world of constant change? Would he ever feel the joy and excitment he used to live by? Or would he slump lower and lower into his pit, until the day Stephanie stood alone at his own mound of dirt?
Would she even care enough to be there?
---
Stephanie lead him away to a small grassy area, out of view of the cemetery. Just like clockwork, Sportacus found the nearest bench and sat at the end.
She joined him, kicking her feet and nudging him sweetly a few times, but he never responded. He was deep in his own troubles now.
"I called Trixie," she said, "college is going well."
Sportacus sat motionless.
"Sometimes I miss being in school, having so little to worry about," she continued.
Nothing.
---
It wasn't the death in particular that bothered him. He certainly missed Robbie, though; maybe more than he wanted to admit. He knew his place was beside Stephanie, and that there had been no real reciprocated emotional connection with Robbie. But Robbie was gone, forever, and it made him miss him in ways he never had.
The world was one Original less, and yet no one really understood the loss. And there was no real way for him to explain it.
---
She leaned into him, trying to initiate something. Anything.
He reciprocated, unlike with words, and right there in public view, though no one was around to see, they had quick, passionless sex.
She pushed her dress down, embarrased by the energy she put into it this time. Sportacus adjusted his clothes and went back to his blank, wordless stare.
"That was nice," he said flatly.
She nodded, feeling his monotone voice suck at her own joy.
"Something that Robbie would do," he said.
She blushed. That was not her intention.
"I'm not Robbie," she said.
He was silent.
"Do you want me to be?" she asked, hurt.
"I just mean it was nice," he responded. "Boldness suits you."
He attempted a smile, but it was useless. She knew it was a mask. It was the same mask he wore when she told him about needing to get pregnant. It was the same mask he wore when he told her that he would love to have a child with her.
She followed his gaze. She hadn't been home long, but sex was already starting to become a chore. It no longer raised feelings of excitement or enthusiasm, and, most importantly, it failed to have any emotion.
