Sunlight streamed in through the window and lapped at his eyelids, intertwining threads of dreams with groggy early morning thoughts as he struggled to gain consciousness. Groaning, Lars fumbled at his bedside table for his glasses, and he slipped them up the bridge of his nose with ease. His eyes adjusted to the change rather slowly, and Lars wondered if he was due for another visit to the eye doctor. His vision, to his complete discontentment, was worsening again. He'd been through four prescriptions in the last year, and he wasn't looking forward to making the trip over to the next town to get another one.

Beach City didn't have an eye doctor. Beach City didn't have a lot of things. The bud of migraine was germinating within his head, steadily growing and pounding in his skull to the beat of a tune long forgotten. His recent eyesight issue was becoming a strain on his bank account, and with the extravagance of his home, Lars couldn't see how he was going to pay for everything. He rubbed his temples sourly. Maybe he could sell the house, and get a nice apartment, just for him. Just for him and no one else.

Lars was tired. Tired of coming home to an empty house every night, tired of the constant heartache, tired of the memories wrapped up in everything he owned and how they weighed down on his heart like an anvil on his chest. He wanted to start fresh. He wanted to start anew in a foreign place where nobody knew him and nobody shot him looks of pity for something that had happened years ago, and no one stopped him on the streets with concern lacing their voices as they murmured kindly, ever so kindly, Lars, dear, how are you holding up? Are you taking care of yourself? Honey, you know you're welcome anytime if you need to talk-

Anyway.

He hated it. Hated it all. He'd leave his house to get some fresh air, maybe show up at a party or a town meeting, and everything would be fine, and everyone would be acting normal, liming around and bantering casually when out of the blue someone would accidentally mention her, and everyone would go tense and everything would be awkward and silent and suffocating and someone would get jabbed in the ribs with an elbow for bringing up the goddamned fucking elephant in the room, and they'd all turn to him with these looks of sympathy he couldn't stand. Tentatively, reaching out with tendrils of cautiousness leaking from their gazes and dripping from their voices like thick, syrupy honey, someone would speak out.

Lars- are you alright?

Are you alright? Are you alright? Are you alright?

Their words echoed in his mind like a broken record and he wanted to scream. No. No, he was not alright, and he wasn't sure if he ever would be, and it was years later and she was gone and when she left she had taken a piece of him with her, leaving behind a gaping hole that no amount of anti-depressants could fill, and he was empty empty empty empty empty empty emp

Are you alright?

No.

A tight lipped smile. "Of course I'm alright! I'm… okay. Really, it's fine."

It seemed to everyone as if Lars was most of all trying to convince himself of that vacant lie, and the fun was always halted so he could collect himself while a warm hand rubbed circles into his trembling shoulder blades, and they could all make sure that his fragile, delicate feelings weren't harmed before the conversation could hesitantly start back up again, never quite reaching the easy flow it had earlier spun throughout the space with laughter now muted, smiles diluted, and worrying looks shot his lonesome way every so often as he sulked, alone alone alone. How Pathetic.

He wanted to shout. He wanted to toss away his dignity, to drop the facade and throw a tantrum, cheeks splotchy and vision swimming, he wanted to sob like a child and yell at them to leave him alone, he wasn't alright, so stop asking, and did it even really matter? Would talking about his feelings like he was in fucking group therapy bring her back? Would anything?

Lars yearned and dreamed for the day to come when he could break out of the lie he'd weaved himself into, neat as the cursive in Sadie's goodbye letter, and just vent. But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't. He wasn't a hotheaded teenager anymore, although he'd never truly stopped caring about things more than he should've. Some things never changed, and that, he recalled with a bitter smile, was a facet of his personality Sadie had always adored.

She'd loved it, loved him, and all the little quirks that made him Lars, but clearly not enough to stay faithful, apparently. Either way, no matter what small things still remained within him from the past, he'd matured since his first serious relationship, changed. Was he going to muck that all up because he couldn't deal with a bit of friendly concern? He wasn't that low. Not yet.

Dully, back in his room and back with reality, Lars sat thinking. Maybe he really should sell the house. He shot up like a bullet, knees wobbling unsteadily with the sudden shift of weight, and began to pace. His brows furrowed and he stared down at the blurred image of his own bare feet. He really needed a new prescription.

Lars imagined leaving Beach City. He imagined trimming the forgotten garden all nice and pretty, cleaning up the gutters and brightening up the atmosphere. He saw himself calling up a real estate agent with a loud voice and a toothy smile and together they'd coerce some poor fuck into taking the house off his hands, and he'd disappear off into a brand new town with a quiet neighborhood of people who'd keep to themselves and be blissfully unaware of memories that were his business and his alone. They'd refrain from asking questions, and frankly, they wouldn't give a shit about whether he was alright or not. He could see it with such clarity that he nearly lurched towards the phonebook to set his plan into motion.

But he didn't move. He knew he could never do it of course. Not in a lifetime. Beach City had nothing- not a college, not an eye doctor, hell, it didn't even have a permanent population of over 25. It was a shitty little tourist town resting off the map and out of sight until the summer months when vacationers would drive into town and let their worries fall away for a fun week of beaching it up!

Beach City had nothing. But at the same time, it was everything to him. He barked out a harsh, clipped laugh at his paradoxical thoughts. No, he wouldn't leave. That he knew for a fact.

He'd always just end up crawling back to the place that rooted him down with memories and pain and happiness and oddities and dreams and dreams and dreams. Sadie had left. But he was going to stay, and he wasn't really sure what that said about him. Weakness? Strength? Neither?

Both?