The small town of Wisconsin is covered in a layer of pristine, white snow. Snow had come early this year, settling over everything in a soft, unbroken hush, where the streets lay quiet beneath a smooth, untouched sheet of white.

It was December. Here and there, houses glowed against the cold, their windows lit amber and gold, strings of Christmas lights blinking lazily along rooftops and porches. The decorations weren’t extravagant, just simple and earnest, the kind that felt less like a display and more homely, faintly nostalgic. The air itself seemed to carry that feeling, something gentle and familiar, like a memory you couldn’t quite place but didn’t want to lose.

For Lars, it always stirred something soft and complicated. A kind of nostalgia that sat heavy in his chest, equal parts comfort and ache. He liked it, in his own way, but even so, he found himself wishing for more. Christmas was always hard enough for him, given he had no immediate family save for Gus, and in some ways Karin, but he often spent it alone.

Across the road from Gus and Karin's house, set just a little apart from everything else, sat the garage. It wasn’t much to look at. A squat, practical building half-buried in snow, its roof now carrying a layer of that thick fresh snow. The path leading up to it had been shoveled once, carefully, but fresh powder had already begun to reclaim it.

The space had been converted just enough to be livable, like a small bungalow. A small bed sat tucked against one side, always neatly made with the pillows sat perfect ontop the thick, plush duvet. Everything had its place, carefully arranged. Not that he had many belongings to begin with. Across the room there was a small bathroom, a little cramped but spacious enough to move, with a built in bathtub and connected shower.

It wasn't much... But it was his. Separate, tucked away, and safe. Safe in a way that everywhere else wasn't, a place for him to untense his shoulders and sigh without the feeling of judgement pressing the corners of his concious.