froyo / dear evan hansen

twenty nine

connor's always hated sand. it gets in your shoes and in your hair and up your nose and makes everything dusty.

zoe used to love the beach. he remembers them at six and seven playing tag and he remembers hating all the sand in his shoes but he ignored it because zoe was giggling and snorting and he just wanted his little sister to be happy. he remembers when zoe dropped her bagel in the sand and he gave her his. he remembers when zoe buried him in the sand and he got it up his nose and in his hair but zoe was enjoying it so he didn't mind that much.

and zoe used to go to the beach a lot when things started getting bad for the both of them. she used to come back with wet hair or sandy hair or bloodshot eyes and connor didn't talk to her about it because it was too fucking painful knowing that you're the reason behind it.

and the beach is where connor finds himself now, sitting on a slippery rock by the sea, watching the waves crash on the sand.

zoe came back from the beach not too long ago, only last week, late at night. her hair was sandy and her eyes were bloodshot and she was venomous. he could tell she despised him in that moment. he and his therapist were working on body language and he recognised how defensive she was. there was a time just over a year ago where she wouldn't talk to him at all for a week, and he was reminded of that. and it hurt a lot more than it did back then.

he can see why zoe likes the beach, though. the waves are relaxing and the sand is soft and there's something comforting about it. that the ocean is bigger and deeper than fathomable. it's bigger than your problems. by the ocean, everything feels so small and far away.

it's six p.m it's seven p.m it's eight p.m nine p.m ten eleven twelve one and fuck nothing's better. he hasn't sorted anything out. it's one a.m and nothing's better.

he hasn't done this for so long. but he remembers sagging eyes and high voices and bitten nails and empty coffee mugs.

god, he was getting better. that's what the therapist was saying and cynthia and family members and he even thought he was but everything is bad now bad bad bad bad—

but he has to think. he has to breathe. it's suffocating at home. no one talks about it. does he want anyone to talk about it? because zoe talked about it and he couldn't bare it. he was always so afraid of making her like that and he did and he'd known for years she was bad and it's his fault everything's his fucking fault everything zoe said about him was true because he's a terrible fucking person.

the sea is so tantalising. maybe, maybe it could all be over. just—

one a.m and nothing's better.