Chapter Text
“Dear Evan Hansen,
Today is going to be a good day, and here’s why:”
Evan Hansen stares at the computer screen, shoulders slumping forward. He hates these stupid letters almost as much as he’s hated this whole day. Today isn’t a good day. It’s never a good day.
He presses the delete button and holds it down until only “Dear Evan Hansen,” remains.
“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?
You have no friends. (Well there’s Jared but he hardly counts. He’s an asshole who won’t acknowledge you as anything more than a “family friend”.)
Maybe if you had a friend, someone you could talk to. 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 most best and dearest friend,
Me”
Not bothering to proofread the letter, he hits print. This probably won’t even make it to his therapist, after all. Things would only get worse if he showed Dr. Sherman this. It’s the complete opposite of positive, also known as the complete opposite of what Dr. Sherman hopes to achieve with these letters.
After releasing a deep, exasperated sigh that’s been building up all day, Evan gets up from his seat in front of the computer, ready to go to the printer and get his letter and just get out of this goddamn school already.
When he turns around though, he’s met with Connor Murphy, who is standing even with the printer and thus blocking where Evan needs to go.
He really doesn’t want to see Connor right now, or maybe ever again? He doesn’t want a replay of what happened in the hallway. Being shoved to the floor again does not sound like fun, nor is it on his schedule for the day. Or any day, for that matter.
Evan swallows as a way to steel himself, and opens his mouth to ask Connor in the gentlest, most polite way he can, to move, but of course Connor beats him to it.
“So what happened?” He asks.
“I- What?”
Connor scratches the back of his neck with one hand and uses the other to point at Evan’s cast. “Your arm? Uh, how did you break it?”
Okay, this is not what Evan was expecting.
Evan follows Connor’s hand and looks down at his cast, almost to confirm that it’s still there. (It is very much still there.)
“Tree,” Evan says ever so eloquently. “Er- I fell out of one.”
He looks back up at Connor, who pushes air through his nose in a sort of laugh. “That is- wow- that is the saddest fucking thing I have ever heard.” Connor decides, and Evan really can’t help but cringe, because yeah, it really is the fucking saddest. He nods, trying to say ‘oh yeah no I know’ without actually opening his mouth.
“Come up with a better story.” Connor tells him, and his voice is strangely quiet. Evan didn’t think Connor could even be quiet, as rude as that sounds, because he always hears him yelling. He sounds kind of shy right now, and it’s definitely better than the yelling. “Something that will make you sound cool, like, say you were battling a racist dude.”
It’s surely an idea. Evan wouldn’t have thought of it. “Huh?”
“To kill a mockingbird,” Is the clarification that Connor offers. “Y’know when at the end Scout and Jem are running from that redneck guy and he breaks Jem’s arm? It’s, like, a battle wound,” Connor’s eyes have this sparkle in them as he talks. It makes him look excited, and it’s kind of sweet, if not a little surprising. Maybe Connor isn’t as scary as Evan originally thought. “Or whatever,” gets tacked onto the end of his sentence, like he’s trying to hide his enthusiasm.
Evan smiles at him. “That’s a good idea.”
Connor nods, and tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear. His hair length looks good on him, Evan decides. Evan could never pull it off.
For the second time during this interaction, Connor points at Evan’s cast. “No one has signed your cast.”
The way he says it isn’t mean, but it still makes Evan slouch just a little bit. “I know,” Evan says at the same time that Connor goes “I could,”
It may be his imagination, but Evan is pretty sure Connor goes a little bit pink, like he’s embarrassed. Connor’s eyes fall to the floor, suddenly very interested in his combat boots. “I mean, like, only if you want.”
“I do want,” Evan says quickly, which earns a huff of a laugh from the other boy.
“Do you have a sharpie?”
Instead of verbally replying, Evan simply turns around and goes in search of his backpack. It’s still sitting next to the chair in front of the computer Evan used, and is swiftly picked up. He walks back to Connor and sets the bag on the floor, finding the sharpie his mom gave him that morning with only a little bit of difficulty.
He gets back on his feet and offers the marker to Connor, who takes it and removes the cap with his teeth. He then grabs Evan’s casted arm, pulling him toward him a little too forcefully for Evan’s liking. Evan isn’t able to contain the quiet “Ow,” that slips through his lips. Connor immediately loosens his grip, and gives Evan an apologetic glance before bending over a little and writing his name in gigantic letters that fill up one whole side of the cast.
After admiring his handiwork, Connor relinquishes his grip on Evan’s arm, and spits the marker’s cap into his hand, puts it back on.
Evan notices him wipe the cap off on his sleeve before giving the sharpie back.
“Now we can both pretend we have friends,” Connor remarks, fiddling with one of the pins on his messenger bag that Evan hadn’t noticed before.
“Guess so,” Evan hears himself say.
Connor kind of nods, and then turns like he’s going to leave, but something on the printer catches his eyes, that something being Evan’s letter.
So that’s bad.
Before Evan can stop him, Connor is already grabbing the paper. “This is yours right? It says ‘Evan Hansen,’ that’s you, right?” Connor asks, eyes turned down to the object in his hands that he has absolutely no business reading.
Nodding vigorously, Evan takes a step toward him. “Yeah that’s me, that’s mine. It’s um, an assignment? Yeah, it’s kinda dumb, but if you could just give it to me-” Evan rambles on, gradually getting closer to Connor, who looks like he’s actually reading the letter now. Fuck.
His expression is unreadable as his eyes trail down the page, emotions locked behind a wall of performed indifference. Evan should still be trying to get it back, but a part of him knows that it’s already too late for that, so he just stands there, hugging himself. When Connor is done reading, he looks up and slowly extends his hand, holding the letter out for Evan to take.
“Uh, here,”
Evan surprises himself with how fast he’s able to reach out and snatch it out of Connor’s hand, which lingers in the air for a moment before dropping to the boy’s side.
The computer lab is dead silent as Evan desperately stuffs the letter into his bag, bracing himself for whatever Connor might say about all this. It takes a while for something to be said, the time filled with Evan spiraling and Connor processing.
“We could.. not pretend.” Is what finally comes.
And it almost makes Evan a little annoyed, because it’s so fucking cryptic.
He cautiously looks at Connor, who is now grabbing his bag’s strap with both hands. The hair that had been tucked behind his ear has fallen out.
“We don’t have to pretend to be friends. We could be like, y’know..” He talks like he doesn’t quite want to say the next thing that comes out of his mouth, “actual friends.” Connor looks anywhere but at Evan as he speaks, and Evan can’t say he’s not thankful for it.
This suggestion is completely unexpected. Evan can’t really believe that that’s what Connor took away from what he wrote. Can’t believe Connor is offering friendship.
His first thought is that Connor just pities him, and that’s why he’s saying it, but from the sounds of it, Connor is just as friendless as he is. Maybe he needs a friend just as much as he does.
“Yeah,” Evan says, barely louder than a whisper, “we could try that.”
Then it’s quiet again.
Evan’s backpack sags against his legs, but he doesn’t do anything to adjust it. Connor studies the floor, hair falling over his face.
If Evan really concentrates, he can hear the faint sounds of Connor’s breathing.
“Cool,” Connor finally whispers back.
And then Evan leans down and picks his bag up off the floor, and the moment is broken, and everything feels normal again.
Connor takes a deep breath and shuffles his feet, finally looking back up at Evan. He nods a nod that says ‘I’ve got no idea what else to say,’ and Evan feels the same.
Clearing his throat, Evan slips on his backpack. “Well, um, see you tomorrow?”
He doesn’t miss the way Connor hesitates.
“Sure,”