Chapter Text
Evan hates first days.
It’s a pretty pessimistic outlook, he knows, but they’re scary. They’re terrifying. It’s crowded. The halls are full of friends squealing after a long time apart, and it’s tangible just how alone he is.
Evan really hates first days.
But his mom was excited. New year, new start, she said, giving him this hopeful smile. She looked so tired. He promised her he’d try, try to make friends and ‘have the best year ever!’. He can still hear her, Ask them to sign your cast! and handing him a brand new Sharpie. He said that he would, but the notion of that seems increasingly impossible as he approaches the building.
Already, he can see the kids filing in, the nervous freshman getting off buses and saying good bye to proud parents. His stomach twists, but he forces himself to walk in. It’s so loud and there’s people everywhere, and he knows they’re all looking at him and judging him, he can feel their eyes on him. He takes a breath to steady himself, but it doesn’t really do much. Everyone’s with their friends, and lockers aren’t assigned yet, so Evan has nowhere to go, no one to talk to. He plays with the front of his cast, feeling lost.
“Hi, Evan!” Says a perky voice to his right. He starts, turning to face a chipper Alana Beck. “How was your summer? Mine was productive. I did three internships and 90 hours of community service. Impressive, I know. What happened to your arm?”
“Oh,” Evan says intelligently, before catching himself. “I, uh, fell out of a tree and, broke it.”
“Oh, that’s terrible! My grandmother broke her hip back in June. That was the beginning of the end, the doctors said. Because then she died.” There’s a brief, stifling silence where Evan doesn’t know what to say to that oh my god before she perks up. “Anyways, have a happy first day!”
And the whirlwind that is Alana Beck is already halfway down the hall. Evan is still recovering when Jared shows up, teasing him about breaking his arm from jacking off too much.
“Uh, actually,” Evan stammers, blushing, “I fell out of a tree.”
“What are you, an acorn?” Jared’s laughing, and Evan can feel his cheeks burning.
“It’s funny, because after I fell, I was just lying on the ground, waiting for someone to find me,” He finds himself saying, “I kept thinking, ‘Any minute now, they’ll come for you.’”
“And?” Jared shifts, still smirking but looking slightly uncomfortable. “Did they?”
“N-No, actually, that’s the funny part. They never did.” He trails off with a weak laugh, and Jared just looks at him. Evan squirms, you shouldn’t have said anything, Jared’s never going to let you live this down, stupid, stupid, stupid, but Jared’s already found someone else to pick on.
“Hey, Murphy, I’m digging the hair length,” Jared drawls, and Evan turns to see Connor Murphy, in his signature black hoodie and his hair grown down to his shoulders. He looks over at them, annoyed, and Jared continues. “Very School Shooter Chic!”
Evan sucks in a breath as a tense silence settles. “It’s a joke,” Jared explains, as if talking to a three-year-old.
“No, yeah, it’s funny,” Connor deadpans, taking a menacing step towards them. “Am I not laughing hard enough for you?”
Jared steps back, looking scared for a millisecond. He regains his composure quickly, wrinkling his nose at Connor. “God, you’re such a freak,” He mutters, intentionally loud enough for Connor to hear, and then he’s making his way down the hall.
It’s just Evan and Connor now. The lanky boy is clenching and unclenching his fists, staring after Jared. After a too-long pause, Evan opens his mouth to say something, anything. What come out instead, to his absolute horror, is a nervous little bleat of laughter. Really, it’s nothing more than a choked-off chuckle, but it’s enough.
“Why the fuck are you laughing!?” Connor Murphy whirls on him, and Evan is terrified. “Stop fucking laughing!”
“No- I’m not!” He stammers, not that it does any good.
“You think I’m a freak?” Connor steps closer, anger basically radiating off him.
“No! I-” Everyone is staring Evan doesn’t know what to do, his face is bright red and Connor is so close and so angry and
“You’re the fucking freak!” There’s a force against Evan’s chest and suddenly he’s falling. With only one arm to break the fall, he finds himself on the floor, staring at Connor Murphy’s retreating figure. Oh.
Oh.
His face is burning and everyone is staring and he gets up, clumsily with one arm, and he’s shaking and he needs to leave, needs to get out, needs to-
“Hey, are you okay?”
It’s Zoe. Zoe Murphy. Evan feels himself get redder, as if that was humanly possible. His hands start to clam up. It’s Zoe Murphy, who he has the biggest crush on. Zoe Murphy, who just saw Evan get shoved by her brother.
“No, yeah, I’m, uh, I’m fine.” He stammers, and she raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on how much of a mess he is.
“I saw what happened, and I’m sorry about my brother.” She grimaces, “He’s a complete psychopath. Anyways, I hope you’re okay.”
And she’s off. So.
That happened.
Evan rushes to class, bad arm aching and ‘you’re the fucking freak' echoing in his head. It’s only when he sits down, seconds before the late bell, that he realizes that he never asked anyone to sign his cast.
*
Dear Evan Hansen.
Turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year, because why would it be?
I know, because there’s Zoe, and all my hope is pinned on Zoe, who I don’t even know, who doesn’t know me. Maybe if I could just talk to her. Maybe nothing would be different at all. I wish everything was different.
I wish I was part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean face it, would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?
Sincerely,
Your best, and most dearest friend,
Me
His fingers hover above the keyboard, trembling slightly. He takes a deep breath and hits send, hearing the printer whir to life behind him. He closes the document without saving it, shuts off the computer. He’s turned, trying to find his phone in his bag when:
“How’d you break your arm?”
Evan visibly flinches, but doesn’t let out the small scream rising in his throat. Small victories.
He turns to find Connor Murphy, rocking back and forth on his feet and holding a piece of paper.
“Oh, I actually, uh, fell out of a tree,” says Evan, who is apparently incapable of forming sentences.
“You fell out of a tree?” Connor snorts, “If that isn’t the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” There’s a short lapse where Evan chuckles nervously, before Connor tilts his head. “No one’s signed your cast.”
“Oh, I know,” He feels a pang of guilt. His mom had been so excited for him to start over, but, here he was, eating lunch alone in the library writing depressed letters to himself, cast unsigned.
“I’ll sign it,” Connor completely interrupts his train of thought, and Evan blinks up at him in surprise. Before Evan can even process it, Connor stretches his hand out. “Do you have a Sharpie?”
Evan fumbles with the marker in his pocket, resists the urge to wipe his hands on his pants before handing it to him. Connor grabbed Evan’s arm a bit too forcefully, causing Evan to squeak in pain. Connor gets this panicked look on his face, but it passes quickly, and he uncaps the Sharpie.
Evan doesn’t know where to look, so he looks at Connor, whose long hair covers his face as he scribbles his name in obnoxiously large letters on the front side of Evan’s cast. This is Connor Murphy, the violent, angry, emo Connor Murphy that the whole school simultaneously feared and hated. Connor Murphy, who threw a printer at his teacher in the second grade. Connor Murphy, who shoved him in the hallway.
Somehow, Evan can’t see it. This Connor is unsure, slightly awkward. Nervous, jittery. He’s none of the ridged edges from this morning. No, this Connor is almost soft.
“There,” He lets go of Evan’s arm, and Evan’s eyes widen. Connor’s name left no space for anything else. “Now we can both pretend we have friends.”
“Oh,” Evan says, tracing the edge of his cast before looking back up at Connor. “Yeah, uh, thanks.”
There’s a short silence. Evan’s pretty sure he’s shaking.
“This is yours, right?” Connor holds up the paper. “I picked up from the printer. ‘Dear Evan Hansen’, that’s you right?”
Evan’s blood freezes. His letter. His depressed, borderline suicidal letter that his therapist got him to write. In Connor Murphy’s hands.
“Yeah, actually, could I have that back?” Evan swallows, trying not to show his rising panic. “That’s really important- it’s for, uh, it’s for an assignment.” His heart picks up as Connor reads it, almost reaching out to grab it from him, when Connor’s entire mood shifts. His grip on the paper tightens, causing it to crinkle.
“'Because there’s Zoe?’ Is this about my sister?” Evan can see the Angry Connor clearly now. All tense shoulders and sharp lines. This is why people are so scared of him. “Why the fuck are you writing about my sister?”
Evan is floundering, helplessly stammering, but Connor is still going. “You knew I would find this.” He says decisively, a deadpan look painted on his face, as if Evan just proved him right.
“What?”
“I’m the only other person in here. You… You knew I would find this. You printed off this freaky ass note about my sister so... So I would find it, and lose my shit.”
“Why… Why would I do that?” His genuine confusion sort of masks his fear.
“So you could tell the school how much of a freak I am!” He’s yelling now, and Evan flinches back. “So you can go and tell everyone how fucking crazy I am, right!? Fuck you, Hansen.”
And then he’s pushing past Evan, stalking out the door.
Evan stares at the name on his cast dazedly. Connor has his letter. What if shows it to Zoe? What if he shows it to everybody? Evan would go from being completely invisible to becoming the laughing stock of the school. They would stare and point and whisper and everyone would see him for the mess that he is and-
Connor could ruin his life with that letter.
‘Let’s make this the best year ever,’ his mom’s voice echoes in his head, and Evan has to stop him. He needs to get that letter back. Before he can register what he’s doing, Evan’s pushing through the doors.
“C… Connor! Wait!” He calls, spotting him storming down the hall, out the side doors. “Connor!” He goes faster, feeling the eyes on him, but he has to get that letter back. He basically throws himself out the doors, the sunlight nearly blinding him. Connor speeds up, and Evan is running now. When he’s close enough, Connor stops.
“Get lost, Hansen,” He all but growls, and Evan would normally fall back, but he can’t stop now.
“Connor-” Evan reaches out to grab his shoulder, when Connor violently jerks away.
“Don’t touch me!” He shouts as venomously as possible, whirling around to face him. There’s a wild and hungry look in his eyes, and Evan shrinks into himself.
“I’m sorry, I-” He’s suddenly pressed against the wall in a blur of motion, and Connor is close, too close. The movement is too fast to process, but now he’s at Evan’s throat. “What-?”
And then. There’s a sharp pain at Evan’s neck, as if Connor bit him. And then there’s this pulling sensation and. Oh. Connor did bite him.
Oh.