Everything was thrown up into the air the day Art's grandma died. He would never leave without making sure you were taken care of, but beyond keeping rent paid and completely unnecessary monthly payments into your account, Art had vanished.

He'd explained his plan before he left, he wanted to win a Grand Slam. That was it, and he was gone on an endless tour. You knew there was more to it than that, that he had to leave the state to be away from the grief you knew was chasing him persistently.

In the end, he only got 3/4 of the way there, falling short an open. You were proud nonetheless, and it felt like waves of emotion were just crashing over you endlessly the moment you got him in your arms again.

You'd done your processing of the loss, but it wasn't hard to understand that it just wasn't as easy for him. So when you two finally made your way into the canyon to go through his grandmother's old house, you made sure you always had an eye on him.

He seemed fairly focused throughout the day, but when it came to Art, seems and is are two entirely different things. While he sorted through DVDs, you flipped through her extensive album collection, until one catches your eye.

You pull it from the shelf, slipping the record out carefully before plugging the turntable in and getting the needle where you want it. Art picks his head up, his brows furrowing in question before you just hold your hand out to him, inviting him over.

With a bit of hesitation he joins you, assuming classic slow dance position as Dream a Little Dream of Me's guitar intro floats through the living room. His face softens a bit, as if the memories of afternoons with his grandma are slowly filling his head. You can tell in the way he squeezes your waist that this little reprieve was more than necessary.

You can't help but look around the room, taking in all of the memories as he sways with you. And finally, for the first time in hours, he speaks. "I don't know if I can get rid of this place."