froyo / dear evan hansen

epilogue

"i'm not going to forgive you."

her voice is croaky. she's still, watching the waves crash on the shore.

"i know." his voice is softer than what she was expecting, and it makes her flinch. "i'm not going to ask you to."

"then why are you here?"

zoe looks extra pretty when wisps of salt-strewn hair float in the beach breeze. if it hadn't been now; if they were different people, connor would've told her, and she'd slap his arm and later point to a garbage bag and tell him that's what he looks like. but it's now and they're them and connor holds his tongue.

he sighs, gazing out to where zoe is staring. she hasn't shifted attention once.

"you know," there's something about her tone that he recognises. "a year and a bit ago, i was down there." she points to a small island where a big rock is embedded in the waves, it's face sticking out slightly above it. her finger is shaking slightly. "i was ready to go."

connor stares at that small island. they used to stand on there together and wobble and grip each other's hands and sing that silly nursery rhyme about being king of the castle on that rock when they were younger.

"why didn't you?"

there's a trace of a smile on her lips. "it's weird. alana was there. she hauled me out."

"i'm so—"

"don't. please."

connor's always hated sand. it gets in your shoes and in your hair and up your nose and makes everything dusty. zoe's bare feet are dug deep into it. they used to bury each other's feet by piling handfuls of sand and pouring water and had competitions of who could get out the fastest. he always let her win.

"i love you." he finds himself saying. "i really do. and i know i've been shit and showing it."

and now zoe looks at him, and she chuckles. "do you remember when that plastic bag wrapped around your ankle and you started crying because you thought it was a jellyfish?"

connor laughs too. "yeah. remember when you got sunburnt and you started crying because you thought you were gonna die of skin cancer?"

and zoe smiles, before staring back out to sea. "i wish we could've stayed like that for a little longer."

"me too."

the way the sea whispers and the way the sea consumes you in an aquamarine embrace is proof enough that there has always been restless souls.