Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

September 28^th.

“How is it possible to love someone this much when you've never even met them? Why is every single thing he does endearing to me? He's chewing on the cap of his pen like he does when he's daydreaming and I'm gone, just lost in him. He's wearing the red hoodie today. I've noticed he always seems a fraction angrier on the days he's wearing that one, must've been a fight with his parents, He always wears darker colors when he's arguing with his sister. I wonder how many of those hoodies he has in different colors?”

The insert cuts off there, instead making way for a drawing of a male with soft fluffy hair that sweeps and curls down around his shoulders; long but not so long it looks feminine. His face is a soft pale blur of warmth, light filtering in from the window he's sitting beside, basking him in a glow that makes his cheekbones seem all the more sharp from the shadows that dart across his face. His full pouty lips are curled around a dented pen cap that looks as if it had spent too long being worried between tobacco yellowed teeth. The most striking thing about the boy in this drawing is the eyes, even in black and white it's so clear how much emotion is there behind them. They draw you in and swallow you up until there's nothing left of you at all, only him. The man in the drawing is almost ethereal in nature.

Evan looks down at the paper, shading in those focused eyes that stare into the distance, distracted, searching for something no one could truly find, as the Connor Murphey in his drawing nibbles at the pen between his lips in an endearing and almost seductive manner. Evan's tongue lightly peeks out between his lips in concentration as he strokes the lead over the page, barely resisting the urge to longingly run his hand over the image and smear the drawing.

“Oh you've got it bad” Jared grinned, looking over Evan's shoulder from the desk behind him. Evan jumps, hitting his knee on the metal pole holding up the wood frame, jerking his class asignment over the notebook to cover the drawing up from sight. “W-what?” he stutters. Jared snickers with a mischevious glint to his eyes as he looks Evan over. “Oh, it's too late now-- I already saw it. Why didn't you tell me you had a thing for Connor?” He asked conversationally, keeping his voice low enough that no one would hear unless they were purposfully eavesdropping.

Evan's face burned red with blush up to the tips of his ears as he quickly looks away from Connor. “I dont.... he's just... easy to draw. You can't tell me the lighting isn't great for art. He's right by the window” He stumbled, reaching for an excuse only for Jared to turn and look at connor. The other male had bags under his eyes that looked like he not slept in a week and hair that most likely had not seen a brush that morning at all. The pen Connor was chewing on burst between his teeth, ink dripping down his chin onto the jacket, his frown tinged with the blue liquid, a line stained into his skin. The disgruntled male stares down at the pen like it personally offended him by breaking before he growls, snapping it in half, and tosses it behind the teacher's head into the trash bin; dropping his head down onto his arms, deciding to sleep it off.

Jared turned back to face Evan, his eyebrows cocking up to his hairline. “Uh.... yeah” He responds in flat sarcasm, staring the blonde down. “Not like there are better subjects or anything, especially since he looks like he's gonna kill someone, now that his pen is broken. I mean, it's not like he's been replacing food with drugs, and replacing sleep with /more drugs/, or anything. You missed the ink on his chin, by the way. Among other things.” Jared snarks out, watching Evan look a bit more uncomfortable at each word.

Evan looks over at the last comment. “oh.... the pen broke....” He sighs forlornly until his mind is occupied by the teenaged desire to see something other than ink running down Connor's chin, while those stunning eyes look up at him in a way that is utterly lascivious. He swallows hard “He still looks so beautiful though...” He whispers before he realizes what he said and his head jerks to Jared, busted. Jared is grinning like the cat who just caught the canary and Evan is more than certain he's the bird. “I mean, it's all about the lighting. It's just perfect and makes him look nice, it's not like he always looks this lovely” He stumbles over his words, only growing more and more embarassed as he goes.

“Oh my Gawd” Jared laughed. “You're got a soft spot for him a mile wide~ so, when's the wedding? because I call best man unless you want me walking you down the isle~” he joked. Evan closes the notebook, assignment still inside, with a sour expression. “there isn't going to be a wedding until I talk to him” “and when are you gonna do that?” Jared grinned. “Never” Evan shot back, moving to pack his things after a look at the clock says class is almost over, his face twisted into a pout.

“Kleinman, Hansen. Something you boys want to share with the class?” Evan looked up, noticing that the teacher had stopped the lesson, her eyes and the eyes of the rest of the class were now fixated on them. Evan's chest clenched up. He could feel the first string of anxiety tugging on his heart; it felt like a hand was gripping his throat and squeezing, cutting off the air supply to his lungs. Was he breathing too hard? Was he breathing at all? Could they all see right through him? Did they know what they had been talking about? What if Connor found out they were talking about him? What if he found out why..... Evan was terrified that he might start to cry or worse, hurl when Jared grinned “Yeah, Connor has nothing to write with” He laughed, prompting the kids to look at Connor's face when he sat up which now had the blue smeared across his chin and cheeks from rubbing his face with his sleeve.

A chorus of laughter rang through the room as the teacher sighed and turned to Connor “go clean up in the bathroom, Mr. Murphy.” She ordered, pointing toward the door. Evan shot Jared an annoyed expression at having thrown Connor under the bus but Jared only shrugged and Evan sighed, muttering a quiet “thank you” under his breath before he turns back to his desk in time for the bell to ring and the teacher to call out the homework for the night. He doesn't stay to hear the assignment, grabbing his books and bolting from the room before anyone could stop him.

Jared managed to catch up to Evan in the hallway only after darting around the large crowd of students standing around and laughing at stupid jokes that probably didn't make sense at all. “Evan! Slow down. Are you mad at me?!” He called after the boy who only stopped because the shouting was garnering too much attention for his liking.

“Not really... I just wish you didn't make the class laugh at him... He's upset now...” Evan muttered quietly. “You were hyperventilating, Evan” The humor was gone from Jared's voice, blue eyes watching him. Evan found something steadying about having the other boy defend him and get him out of a situation that would've given him a panic attack even at the cost of another person.

Evan stopped at the window by the top of the stairs, watching as Connor stomped across the sidewalks towards the parking lot, kicking a can with the toe of his shoe. He's certain the other boy is growling and he can't help but smile a little, something warm and fond building in his chest that makes him want to reach out and brush his hands over the stress lines on Connor's face. He knows he's in too deep and that he shouldn't care so much for the other male but there's something about the way connor is so open with his emotions that leaves a longing inside of Evan.

He wishes he could be that honest about how he feels.

“Watch where you're going, loser!” A body slams into Evan, knocking his books from his arms right down the stairwell into a pile at the bottom, almost hitting a few other students on the way down. He would've gone over with his books if not for Jared gripping onto his arm and jerking him away from the railing but he's certain there's a bruise on his side anyway.

Cain Devins, number 11 on the football team shoved Evan and Jared aside, glaring at them in passing. His lackeys follow their quarterback like the loyal dogs they are, growling and sneering at any student who so much as looks at them too long and isn't part of the “in crowd”. Jared's eyes narrow in indignation but he smartly keeps his mouth shut for once in his life, not up for a beat down at the moment especially when he knows it'd be three against one and those odds are not in his favor at all. He waits until they're on the second floor below them before he spits his curses at their backs.

“Asshole jocks think they're better than everyone” Jared grumbles angrily, looking back at Evan “you okay?” He asks, his voice becoming softer when he notices that Evan is clearly distressed. “I dropped my notebook” He whimpers out and Jared looks over the railing to see a group of students picking up the notebook and other books, whispering to each other when they see the drawings of connor murphey. Evan looks like he might break into tears any moment when Jared reaches out. “is there anything in that book with your name on it?” He asks, taking hold of Evan's shoulders, grounding him.

Evan manages to shake his head and Jared nods. “Go to class. I'll get it back. I know those guys” He replies, heading down the stairs, leaving Evan alone to head to his geometry class. Jared strode with purpose, his steps falling with an audible click as he darts down the stairs, weaving between students in an attempt to catch up with the group of boys who picked up the notebook that Evan was never seen without, hoping, for once, that no one noticed the boy enough to put two and two together before he could do damage control.

He was out of breath when he caught up to them, grinning. “Hey guys” He chimes conversationally, cocking a brow at the notebook as if he's surprised to see them with it. “Oh shit, kleinman. You've gotta see this. Someone actually has a crush on the mutant” A boy with a beanie laughs, motioning toward the book. “no shit?” Jared hums, playing shock so well as he approaches, looking over the page, finding a particularly lovely drawing of connor napping under the tree in the courtyard.

Jared can already imagine Evan's sappy lovestruck face as he watches out the window in class, tracing every soft curve of Connor's face although, considering the drawing earlier he's almost certain that the boy had not looked nearly so peaceful without love's rose colored glasses tinting his vision. “so we had this fun idea. Let's give the notebook to connor. Sneak it into his locker and see how he reacts” another boy grinned, this one in a worn leather winter jacket that most likely had belonged to a parent before it was passed down to him seeing how it swallowed his twig figure whole until he was nothing but a pair of long legs and a head resting atop a bubble of tattered leather.

Jared's eyes widened for a moment until the girl of the group spoke up “That's mean, guys.... that book belongs to somebody. I think we should put it in the lost and found and let them come claim it” She huffs, crossing her arms. “this is a cruel joke to play on anyone, even someone like connor murphey”

“who says it's a joke?” Jared can't stop himself from speaking up, his big mouth had always been a weakness and now it seemed that it would damn Evan as well. “okaaay?” beanie responds, eyebrow cocked up. “we're listening”. Well shit, now he had their interest. Time to go down with the ship.

“I'm just thinking that maybe it's not a joke, I mean, who would pour that much time into drawings and poems and whatever the hell else is in there long enough to fill a whole book. Whoever made that has a genuine crush and can't bring themselves to confess. We can test the waters... see how Connor responds to getting a page from the book and if he reacts favorably I'll see if I can find the owner of the notebook and return it” The girl jerks her head to him so quickly that her braids slap jacket in the face.

“Jared Kleinman wants to play matchmaker for Connor Murphey? Now i've seen it all” She laughs lightly. Beanie grins and crosses his arms “I'm in, this sounds fun” Jacket rubs at his face sorely, sending braids a glower from behind her back before he shrugs and offers Jared the notebook. “alright. Let's meet up at lunch and drop some of this sappy shit in his locker” Jared takes the notebook and grins. “Sure thing guys. I'll hold onto this in case a hall monitor stops you”

Beanie snorts “yeah, T.A. No one would stop a teacher's pet” Jared rolls his eyes “better than being a known stoner group. At least I can get away with shit” He laughs, nudging beanie playfully. “besides, it's only for Ms. Claire's class and she's hot and computers rock. So stuff it, future drop out” Beanie makes an overly dramatic offended expression and drops back into Jacket's arms, barely being caught in time. “I'll have you know that I intend to graduate. Asshole” He snickers.

Jared rolls his eyes and turns on his heels “then you'd better get to class. See you buttheads at lunch” He says, half waving over his shoulder at the group as he walks off. He stops when he's out of sight and looks down at the notebook, suddenly hit by a crisis of morality. On one hand he could return the book to Evan as soon as class was over but that means making an excuse to the group on why he lost it and that sounds like too much work, honestly...... on the other hand he could play the game and maybe even score his anxious bunny rabbit of a friend a date with the guy he's been crushing on since middle school.

He looks up, only now noticing he had been wandering the halls, lost in his thoughts. The teacher's lounge sign hangs above the door in front of him and an idea flashes across his mind. why not do both? He smirks and slips inside, knowing that no one looks twice at a TA using the copy machine. He removes the dozen or so math sheets set out to a nearby table, only half caring that the pages are soaking up spilled coffee and turns back to the machine; some class will be happy about that later on. He makes a copy of every page in the notebook and slips them inside of his binder before he closes the book and grins. If this doesn't get Evan a date at least it'll make life a bit more interesting senior year.

Evan was trying to stay calm, he really was but isn't that just what anxiety is... panicking over things that seem so small to everyone else but this... oh no, this was something that anyone would be freaked about. There were so many ways this could backfire on him and his mind was providing all of them to the last detail; scenario after scenario ran through his head at rapid-fire pace until his thoughts were so jumbled that it was a blur of bad endings he's certain were going to come to pass.

His hands gripped at the desk until his knuckles turned white. when his fingers began to go cold from the lack of blood pulsing through to them he releases and flexes his hand, clenching and unclenching until the chill starts to subside. He swallows hard and focuses on his fingers, timing the flexes to his breathing, going slow, imagining he's crushing his fears in his hand, trying to focus on breathing...

'breath. Don't make a scene. Stay calm. It will all be alright'

'but it won't be alright, will it? Everyone is going to find out the truth. Connor will find out the truth'

Evan felt his body grow cold at the darker whispers in his mind, his anxiety flaring, growing stronger into an icy darkness that threatens to overshadow his clarity and leave him gasping for air while he drowns in all the things that could've been, the things he should have done, things he should not have said. A hand on his shoulder draws him from his thoughts and he looks up into the concerned face of his teacher.

“Evan, do you need to see the nurse? You're pale and shaking” His voice is soft, slow, slightly twangy but with a rich undertone that feels like warm flannel right from the dryer on a cold winter night. The shadows that threatened to swallow evan up dissipated as if it had never been there the moment he was pulled from the hell of his own mind, leaving him to look almost shocked at the man standing over him watching with worry, as if he could see the gears in Evan's mind turning.

“Here, take the hall pass, go to the nurse's office. I'll send a student to give you your homework assignment. Get some rest, Mr. Hansen” Alana Beck's hand shot up instantly “I would be happy to bring Evan his homework Mr.Kostenko” She chimed, ever the picture of overeagerness. There's a grumble of 'teacher's pet' through the class but Alana seems deaf to the jeers. Mr. Kostenko makes a slightly disgruntled expression for a moment before he smiles pleasantly. “Why thank you. Miss Beck” he turns back to Evan with a chipper expression. “There now. It's settled, gather your things” He says while he writes up a hall pass for the boy.

Evan takes the note, getting up from his desk as he attempts to quiet the rolling of his stomach from having all of those eyes on him. He hates being looked at by so many people, it feels like they're dissecting him, looking for imperfections... for that darkness inside of him that makes his fears come to life in his mind every second of every day. He swallows and heads for the door, moving quickly, wrapped up in his own anxiety, a whirlwind of self-loathing and terror that his walls aren't tall enough to block people from seeing the broken mess he hides from the world.

He stops when he's in the hallway, it's quiet, soothing. He can hear the echo of his own footfalls and it chases away the fear. The school seems so big when you're the only one roaming the halls. He stops at the second story window overlooking the courtyard, the top of the stairs close by and a window on the other side of them that shows the parking lot. His eyes lock onto the massive Magnolia tree in the middle of the courtyard, taking in the color of the leaves and how smooth and waxy they look.

Evan feels his mind soothed a little more, the last vestiges of the shadow gone as he basks in the sunlight filtering through the window and watches a small brown bird with red markings on it's face and wings flitter in and out of the tree, undoubtedly seeking food in the chilly autumn weather. He questions if the bird has a mate in that tree with them or maybe young birds in the nest ready to fly south for their very first winter. A smile spreads over his face at the thought, the first trip with a parent.

He turns from the window and heads down the stairs toward the Nurse's office on autopilot; his mind preoccupied with a memory of his first trip with his mom. They had taken a drive to Maine for a seminar on Paralegal studies. He recalled how his mother had surprised him with a trip to the Coastal Maine Botanical Garden. He remembered running into the gift shop and looking around with all the wonder of a pre teen child before they passed through the glass double doors and he stopped in his tracks at the sight of nature spreading out before him. He had kept his mother out there with him until the staff had to find them to guide them to the exit at closing because he was desperate for just one more minute in the safe haven the flowers and trees provided him.

Evan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, being in that garden had been the first time in his life that he remembered feeling true peace. He went the whole day without a hint of anxiety... for ten hours he had just been a normal kid like any other one.

He knocks at the nurse's office, waiting a moment for a response before entering. When no answer came he opened the door tentatively, checking around the room. The nurse was out, it seemed, so he sat down on the examination table and relaxed back on the thin cotton pillow as his eyes scanned over the items on the shelf; taking in the cute decorations and large head sized emoticon stickers on the wall asking about pain level with matching expressions from one to ten. His eyes feel heavy and he closes them for only a moment to block out the light from the window by laying his arm over his face. In that brief moment of silence with only the hum of the heater to keep him company, the world is tranquil.

Jared regarded the hallway from his hiding place. It was almost lunchtime and he had slipped out of his class, citing a need to talk to the guidance counselor in order to leave. Now here he was standing by the row that houses Connor Murphey's dented locker and hoping he's not about to be busted. He looks through the papers and picks out a particularly nice drawing of Connor in his car, chin resting in his palm as his elbow lays on the open window, looking into the distance. His other hand is draped lazily over the steering wheel and he seems somewhere between annoyed and amused, the very corner of his mouth tilted and shaded in a way that makes it difficult to tell if he's smirking or scowling at the person he's watching.

He smiles a little to himself. Evan certainly had it bad for Connor but his art is pretty incredible. Jared found himself locked on the eyes, noticing that Evan always draws them the same; dark, focused, intense, as if he's always seeing something the rest of the world can't. He notes with some hesitation that if Connor really looked like how Evan drew him he might find the other boy attractive... but he knows what Connor really is and no one should have a crush on a freak like him, especially not his best frie-family friend.

He pushed aside that hint of protectiveness that rises for Evan and folds the drawing in quarters before writing in pretty cursive “Connor” on the front, replacing the first of the two 'O's with a heart before storming down the hallway, pushing the 'love note' into the locker as fast as he can on his way directly to the lunch room, not about to stick around the lockers and get caught doing that gay shit.

Once in the lunchroom he propped his shoulder and hip to the wall, arms crossed in a relaxed but defensive 'cool guy' pose by the right corner table; waiting for the group to show up or to spot Evan in passing in order to return the notebook to him, along with his other books he had dropped down the stairs during the 'incident' with that meat head football obsessed jockstrap who's definently not good enough to make state and overcompensating for that fact by acting like he's tough shit even though it's a well-known fact he never goes anywhere without his two bloodhound teammates. Bastard.

He noticed braids first, her bright red hair standing out in the crowd as she rushed over to his side, a little too eager to know how things went with the notes. Jacket groaned from behind her and hushed her quickly “do you want the whole cafeteria to know about this?” He grumbles in annoyance as Beanie watches on with a bemused grin, having caught up with them quickly after braids took off. “oh shut up, you're louder than I am” She shot back, spinning away on her heel quickly enough to smack him with her braids as she sets her lunch tray down and takes her seat.

Jacket brushed the hair away, sputtering out some strands in his mouth. “control those damn things, woman” he complains prompting Jared's laughs “jeez, you two really need to fuck and get on with it already” He laughs. Beanie snorts when Braids chokes on her milk, almost losing it through her nose. “I wouldn't go near that if he was the last man on earth!” She retorts loudly, gaining the attention of a few nearby students. Jacket turns red and glares at her “who says I would screw you anyway?!” He hisses right back, meeting her challenge. Beanie rolls his eyes.

“So that picture you have of her plastered to your ceiling that you jack off to is just there for looks?” Jared chimes in, watching his buddy crash and burn. Jacket's eyes go wide right away, his face flushing deep scarlet as his eyebrow knit together and he sputters his indignation. “I don't have any pictures of her, you know that! Stop being a dick!” Beanie laughs “Jared, dude..no. you're thinking of his Beiber poster. THAT'S the one he gets off too”

Jared throws his head back to laugh, watching Jacket try, red-faced, to convince the watching students that he is not gay and if he were it would not be for Justin Beiber. “Yeah” Braids agrees, seeming to come to Jacket's rescue for once. Jacket looks over, stopping his denial to focus on her. “You seem like the Chuck Noris type. You know, the manly men. Strong and true with grand morals who ride off into the sunset at the end of a movie. Probably a cowboy” Braids hums, actually seeming to put quite a bit of thought into it. “yeah... gotta admit, he is pretty coo-...... I'M NOT GAY, DAMN IT!!!” Jacket shouts loudly prompting the table to laugh at the outburst.

Beanie decides to have mercy on their shy friend first. “so how did it go?” He inquires, turning his attention to Jared. Jared's smile falls, he had known the questioning was coming but now that he's faced with his actions he feels a bit bad for Evan and hopes this works out so he doesn't have to deal with this guilt forever. “It went as expected. Dropped the note, no one saw. We'll find out later if he got it and kept it or not” He replies, his eyes trailing over the room before they find themselves looking out the window toward the parking lot. “Either we've made someone very happy... or we've unleashed a monster”

Evan didn't recall falling asleep but once he opened his eyes again he knew he had. It was halfway through lunchtime, which meant he had not only slept through two more classes that morning but also a large portion of their lunch hour. He quickly sat up, feeling dizzy from the rush of blood that comes with moving too fast. “Easy there, Evan. Take it slow, there's no rush” an even-toned nasally voice soothed. Evan looked over to find Dr.Ashmore sitting on the swivel stool by the desk filling out some paperwork. He looked up and gave a charming smile before standing and gliding across the room to Evan's side, extending his hand out gracefully to check his temperature with the back of a warm hand before giving a soft grunt of approval. “You seem to be in good health. Having a rough day? I understand if you need some space, you're always welcome to come here and cool off when things are too much” He chimes lightly, attempting to run a hand through his dark curls only to get them tangled in his spun locks and tug them free roughly, wincing and giving an annoyed groan when his hair tie snaps from the abuse.

Evan barely holds back a laugh as Dr.Ashmore stomp back over to his desk and yanks open the thin middle drawer right below the desktop, grabbing one of the many replacement ponytails there only to bite into it and hold it between his teeth while he collects the unruly spirals of hair back into the shape of his high puffy ponytail. He wraps the band around twice with a practiced ease that states he does this often and lets the afro puff out to the sides before he turns back to Evan and clears his throat. “Did you take your medicine this morning, mon petite Lapine?” He chides softly, a playful smile curling on his lips.

Evan sighs a bit and nods “I did. There was just.... some stuff that happened... and it was a little too much for me” He said, voice wavering a bit, unable to look the man in the eyes as anxiety flares in his chest. Why did he say that? now Dr. Ashmore was going to ask him about it and laugh at him because it was stupid to get upset about something like a drawing book. What kind of idiot was he? Evan mentally berated himself until a hand rested on his shoulder and drew him out of the tirade. He looked up into the concerned deep brown, so deep brown they were nearly black, eyes of Dr. Ashmore and calmed.

“Evan, you do not need to worry. I will never judge you. Everyone feels anxiety, you simply feel it stronger than others and there is nothing wrong with that. Do you know what that means to me?” He asks softly, letting his hand fall from Evan's shoulder, not wanting to linger too long. He waits for Evan to turn a hesitant gaze to him before he continues. “It means strength”

Evan reels back as if he had been struck. “There's nothing strong about this! I'm weak. I let everything get to me and I get upset and break down over the smallest things. I'm pathetic and no one wants to be around me because of it!” He protests, his voice dimming at the end as he realizes how loud he's being. His head falls.

Dr. Ashmore gives a solemn nod. “It is true that it's harder to block out the world or let things go with anxiety BUT.... you take a truly incredible amount of stress every day and you know that sometimes you need rest but I have never seen you give up or run away from school. You don't ask to go home. Instead, you take the time you need and then you go back out and face the world that frightens you so. That takes an amazing amount of courage, strength, and self discipline. I know too many people with the same fears and trouble as you who hide and close themselves off from the world. But not you, Evan. You face the world and still find a way to reach out to the people around you. You are a good boy with a lot to offer and if you only let yourself shine … I know everyone else would see your light too; Just like I do. Just like your friend Jared and your mother who speak the world of you”

Evan can feel Dr.Ashmore's smile on him without looking up and while he normally dislikes attention he doesn't mind this man so much. He gives a small half grin, soaking up the words. “I never thought about it that way before... thank you.” Dr. Ashmore nods and pats his back. “Are you ready to go back out there, Evan?” He asks softly, eyes locked on him, waiting for his response patiently. Evan gives a weak nod and Ashmore rises, sauntering over to the door to open it for the boy. The blonde grabs his backpack and stretches until he hears his back pop, spine aligning, and heads for the door, blushing a bit when Ashmore pushes a dumdum sucker into his hand. “Une friandise pour un gentil garçon. Bonne chance” (A sweet treat for a sweet boy. Good luck ((according to google)).

Evan isn't entirely sure what the dark-skinned male had said but he was used to that, the man seemed to have a habit of saying terms of endearment and phrases in French often. He took the sucker and headed for the lunch room to get a tray, hoping his favorite tree wasn't already occupied.

Connor hated school. He hated the conformity. He hated the teachers and their fucking superiority complexes, always treating him like he was some bad seed while his sister was perfect at everything. But more than anything he hated the students.... his classmates treated him like he was a freak; they laughed at him, threw insults, spread rumors, glared at him, and ostracized him... they spray painted his car and locker, stole his gym clothes until he stopped bothering to dress up in gym and ruined his school books so many times he didn't bother to replace them anymore or even pay attention in class.

He hated this place and everything about it and more than anything he wanted to leave but if he racked up many more absences from school he would end up talking with a truancy officer AGAIN and he wasn't willing to put up with the hassle of that; not to mention his parents fussing at him afterward. His mom would dote and hover and his father would just yell and slam the door before going to 'work' all night at the office.... then his mother would cry. Ditching wasn't worth that. He wandered the silent halls, not caring if anyone saw him, most students were too scared to say anything when left alone with him and the teachers had stopped caring and would likely just tell him to get where he's going and leave him be just so they could say they had tried to correct him if asked.

'damn bastards are only out to save their own asses' he thought bitterly as a burst of rage hit him. He spun and kicked a bottom locker in annoyance and hissed at the twinge of pain that shot up his leg, he decided that was a stupid idea but at least he felt a bit better. The brunette took a sharp left down the next hall, tracing his fingers across the row of lockers on his right side, his left hand in the front pocket of his hoodie. He moved slowly, eyes scanning the numbers, following the yellow tile line on the floor as his mind wondered.

Connor stopped and looked at the number. Locker number 420. He hated the placement but the number was humorous enough that he had forced the kid who owned it originally to give it over to him in exchange for his own locker, try as he might he couldn't remember the number of the old locker anymore. '4. 20. 69' He grinned a bit as he put in his combination and heard the satisfying click. He opened the locker and pulled out his jacket, reaching into the pocket for his wallet, keys, and smokes.

He heard a crinkle and looked down when a folded up piece of paper fell from his locker to the ground. He stuffed his things into the hoodie pocket and put back his jacket, shutting the locker before he bent down to pick up the page. His blue eyes focused on the note and he flipped it over curiously to see what it might be. He stopped and tensed up at the soft, almost feminine, cursive writing of his name on the back.

He looked around the hall, checking to see if the owner of the paper was still around if this were a trick of some kind. There's no way someone wrote him a love letter; this was clearly some asshole's version of a joke. He crumbled the paper up into a ball and stomped over to the trash, ready to throw it away when something in him cried out and he hesitated. He let out a frustrated sigh that sounded more like a growl and uncrumpled the page, unfolding it slowly. He bit his lip, cursing himself for the weakness, for any kind of hope but it was too late now. He opened the note up entirely and his eyes went wide.

There, in black and white was the most stunning rendition of himself he'd ever seen in drawing or picture.... whoever drew this had some serious artistic talent and more than that... they got all the details; every patch on his leather jacket, every frayed string on his hoodie, every single pale freckle on his neck. It was almost too much. The amount of work and dedication put into a simple drawing was incredible and Connor almost felt his stomach twist and clench at the idea that someone would look at him this closely and not be afraid... how had he not noticed someone staring at him, studying him, learning how he exhaled cigarette smoke around his tongue to form a stream he could watch dissipate into the heavens rather than a whooshed out cloud like other smokers tended to do.

Who could look at him, watch him long enough to draw something like this and not run away from him? His eyes looked over the page and he felt his chest clench, it wasn't just the amount of time put into the drawing, it was the way he was portrayed. He recalled the day the students did self-portraits in art class and he had drawn himself as some sort of shadowed beast and the rest of the class had seemed to agree with the depiction but this person... they drew him at peace, with an odd sort of smile that he knew he had not made but didn't seem out of place on him.

The drawing felt natural, the light illuminated him and made him seem softer, inviting... was there really a person out there who looked at him and saw this?.... this drawing almost felt like looking at a stranger with his face but it was welcoming... he wanted to know more, to learn who drew this but there was no name and no words on the page and some part of him knew that was better, words would only taint the art... there were no words that could've said what this portrait did. He smoothed out the page with a tender sort of care and folded it back into squares, stowing it in his pants pocket instead of in his hoodie, wanting to keep it safe and away from his vices.

He didn't want the picture by his cigarettes in his hoodie, the lighter or switchblade he was never without, no... he wanted it safely tucked away from the darker parts of himself where it could stay pure and untainted by the things that consumed him and lessened his pain.

Connor slipped out the back door of the gym, heading for his car in the parking lot. he decided to leave for lunch and grab some fast food instead of eating cardboard chicken nuggets and pencil shavings corn with a half decent fruit cup to wash the stale tasteless grub down. He climbed into the driver's seat and shut the door, rolling the window down as he pulled out the picture again. He couldn't figure it out... how someone could see him this way and why he cared so much about the opinion of a stranger he would likely never meet...

But the drawing called to him and he couldn't help himself, he wanted to know more. He folded the paper back into quarters and opened the glove box, setting it inside rather gently before he lit up a cigarette and took a long drag off it. He could feel the smoke filling his lungs, the tobacco soothing his nerves and it helped a little... but it didn't stop the fact that when his eyes closed all he could see was the drawing. He knew his mind would not be able to rest until he found out the truth behind this....

Prank or not, Connor needed to know who drew this picture.

Chapter Text

October 20th

“He's wearing the blue hoodie. It looks like he's in a good mood again, I don't see him in black or red as often anymore. That's great news. He seems different today. I think he almost cracked a smile earlier, I wish I knew what was making him happy, it's such a pleasant change from his normal anger and sadness. In a perfect world, he could smile like this all the time.”

Evan looks down at the notebook and sighs softly, twirling his pencil between deft fingers, lips pursed as he rests his head down on his free elbow, body sprawled over the top of the desk. He looks at the notebook from the side until the words jumble together and doesn't make sense but even without being able to untangle them he knows what they say; the words themselves are carved directly into his heart, into his very being.

Jared taps his shoulder, leaning over his own desk to be able to speak directly to Evan without others catching on. “you do realize that you're openly staring at him, right?”. Evan jerked upright with a start, smacking the back of his head into Jared's nose with a loud crack earning a startled cry from the male behind him who was clutching his nose with an indignant yelp of 'what the fuck, Evan?! OW!'

Evan's face went from dusty pink to deep cherry red when his classmate began to cackle at the scene, thinking Evan has been woken from a nap or the like by Jared. His embarrassment faded as he noticed Connor's eyes on the scene and a small chuckle rising from him, a tiny smile blossoming on his face at how red the small blonde is. Suddenly it didn't matter if the class was laughing at him, he had made Connor smile and that made it all worth it to him.

“Kleinman, Hansen. Excuse yourselves and go to the office. I will not have troublemakers interrupting my class” the Science teacher, Mrs.Smith hisses at them, pulling out two detention slips and slapping them down on Evan's desk as he was the closest to the front of the room. Her eyes glance down and she spots the notebook. She quickly snatches it away as Evan protests loudly, startling a few people around him who know him to be the quiet type.

The teacher lifts it from his grip. “writing notes in my class, Hansen? Why don't we share with the class what's more important than my lesson”. She stares down at the page and clears her throat even as Evan jumps up from his desk and pleads for her to return the notebook, his legs shake with panic, anxiety welling up in his chest until it becomes hard to breathe or see straight.

“He's wearing the blue hoodie. It looks like he's in a good mood again, I don't see him in black or red as often anymore.” Her eyes narrow a bit as she reads and the class starts to whisper amongst themselves, a good portion of them noting Connor's blue hoodie. Evan can feel his world tilting and the classroom starts to fade away to black, only the sounds of the students laughing as they chitter amongst themselves and teacher reciting his deepest feelings remain.

Connor was apathetic at best but he was not stupid, He was one of the first to notice that he was the only one in a blue hoodie in that class. His eyes lingered on the blonde, his panicked expression, the way he fidgeted with half-hearted curiosity. He almost felt bad for him. The boy is not very striking and has always been quiet and unnoticeable but Connor feels as if he knows him from somewhere. He was a very normal person, a normal face, normal polo, normal khakis, normal mop of side swept hay colored hair and maybe he did recognize him from somewhere but he could be thinking of someone else just as easily, He wasn't exactly some remarkable beauty.

Connor normally slept through or skipped class, not caring for the teachers or their lectures. And, for the most part, they left him alone, knowing he was a “lost cause”. Perhaps that's where he recognized the boy from. He'd skipped class and would hang out in the hallways, smoking in the school just because he could. He had seen that boy, in his tucked in polos and unassuming haircut heading to the nurse's office on many occasions. He wondered if the boy, what was his name? had health issues.

“He seems different today. I think he almost cracked a smile earlier, I wish I knew what was making him happy, it's such a pleasant change from his normal anger and sad--” “EVAN!” The sounds faded away as Evan hit the floor, not even having realized he had begun to fall. Jared was at his side in a moment, easing him into his back. “c'mon, breathe, dammit. Just focus on me. It's okay. You're fine. Breathe Evan.”

Evan could hear Jared's voice but it was too high pitched and panicked to soothe him. The laughter had died away as the class realized something was wrong. “What is he doing?!” Ms.Smith yelled in anger, her voice cracking. “He has anxiety, you wrinkly hag” Jared spit the words like venom, his eyes narrowed and trained on her with a rage that went beyond any concern for the consequences of his words or actions. All he cared about at that moment was protecting Evan “You gave him a fucking panic attack”

The teacher drops the book to rush to the back of the classroom in order to help Evan before she realizes that she has no idea what to do for the hyperventilating boy on the floor. Her eyes scan him in panic, unsure of if she should move him or speak. “Mr. Hansen? C-can you hear me? You need to breathe. Oh god, he's turning purple!” She shrieks. The class goes silent as their excitement turns to whispers of worry until Connor stands up and walks across the room with a calm confidence.

Connor remembered the 2nd of April, He had been in fifth grade and had slammed a boy's face into a set of lockers for calling his sister a slut. Connor knew he had trouble controlling his anger, he had seen it in the way he behaved at home, he knew he wasn't a saint but no one... NO ONE said a word about his sister except for him.

He had been sent to the office to wait for his mother to come to pick him up. When she finally arrived her expression was grim, exhausted, drained of all joy, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Connor hadn't felt bad for his actions until that moment, angry as he was he hadn't meant to make his mother cry. He sat there silently, biting his cheek until it split and the coppery taste of his own blood filled his mouth, listening with utter loathing as his mother apologized for him and made hollow promises she couldn't keep of it being the last time he would behave in such ways.

When they got out to the car he sat in the seat, hunched over with a grimace on his face, rolling his tongue around the burning patch inside of his mouth, intrigued by the hot flares of pain that came from straining the wound and enlarging it, aching but unable to cease his curious probing. It took his mind off the situation. He hadn't expected his mother's first sob or the way she leaned across the elbow rests to wrap her arms around him, crying onto his shoulder, pleading forgiveness for failing him.

He sat silently as his mother apologized for not being enough to give him to help he needs. He sat silently as she drove him to his first therapy appointment. He sat silently as she told the doctor everything that was wrong with him... all things he knew already. He sat silently as he realized how fucked up he was and that maybe... just maybe... this man could help him. He tried.

Connor hated therapy more than he hated school. The therapist would ask him how everything affected him, how everything made him feel and fuck if that wasn't his problem, he didn't KNOW how he felt about anything. He couldn't connect his own mentality and emotional state, so he reacted the only way he knew how. He screamed, he threw things, he cursed, and he stormed out of the office. The doctor had found him outside having a panic attack and throwing rocks at passing cars for something to do...

He pressed his hands over his ears at the honk of a car he had hit, flinching at the touch on his shoulder. He hadn't noticed the tears streaming down his face or that he wasn't breathing, only that every sensation was too much. every sound was too loud, the sun was too bright, his skin was too sensitive and the wind felt like sandpaper against his flesh. The Therapist knelt beside him and whispered to him, words he would not be able to forget... words he had remembered for years.. words that helped him and would now help someone else.

Connor knelt down beside Evan and slowly lifted him up to sit back against the wall, a hand bracing his shoulder so he doesn't fall.

His eyes glance over at Jared “shut up” He hears Jared's teeth click together when his mouth shuts, pleased, his gaze goes back to Evan. “If you can hear me I need you to blink twice. Don't worry about speaking or moving yet. Just focus on my voice” He waits a moment until he gets two blinks and nods, feeling a bit more confident. This is good. He can work with this.

“Alright. I want you breathing. I will count for you. Close your eyes. Breath in... 1....2...3....4 breath out 1.....2......3.....4.... again.”

He counts for Evan and slowly works toward eight counts “Can you speak?” Evan opens and closes his mouth experimentally and then lets out a craoked “I think”. Connor hums softly. “Good. Now. I want you to try and focus. I want you to tap on your palm, five sets of three. Count out loud for me. Can you do that?”

Evan nods weakly and starts to tap, his breath catches in his throat when he loses count and his fingers still on his palm as his mind races, trying to remember what number he was on. Suddenly the world is closing back in on him. He should've known he couldn't do this. Look at him, he's such a failure he can't even breathe right. He deserves this. He deserves death. Suddenly a hand is wrapping around his wrist and a voice is hushing him softly, easing away the dark thoughts with a gentle tone. “it's alright. I'll count for you... you just tap, okay?” Evan takes a deep breath as Connor moves his hand beneath his, offering his palm for Evan to tap against. “1.2.3. one... 1.2.3...two....1.2.3...three.” He counts for Evan as he works to five sets of three and then watches the boy breathe out slowly and finally open his eyes up to try and focus on the world.

“You're doing well, now focus on one thing at a time. Name one thing you can touch” Evan swallowed, the first thing coming to mind is the warmth of the hand gently supporting his own. “your hand...” His words are croaked but steadier than they had been before. “Good job. Okay, how about two things you can hear?”

There was a moment where his mind was overtaken with the quiet whispers of the other classmate before he shut down his mind, finding something else to focus on. “Paper rustling... my heart beating...” Connor lets out a soft hum of approval. “three things you can smell.” Evan had to think for a moment, taking in a deep breath, trying to catch the smells in the room around him. “pencil shavings... old books....... and sweat?”

Connor snorts. “you're a room full of teenagers, can't expect all of the smells to be good. Alright, do you think you're ready to open your eyes?” A nod answered the brunette and Evan took a deep breath before slowly opening his eyes and letting himself adjust to the brightness of the room, finally breathing easy.

Evan looks over at the voice that helped work him away from a hospital visit only to find his crush kneeling at his side, holding his hand with a calm expression on. His eyes shoot open and he jolts away quickly, tearing his hand from Connor's as his cheeks flush red and his heart races, throbbing painfully in his chest.

One panicked squawk escapes and he's on his feet, bolting from the classroom toward the nurse's office. Jared watches with a mixture of shock and pride at Connor's actions, realizing that there might just be some hope for Evan's feelings after all. No one had expected Connor to get involved but the surprise of the panic attack and Connor's help wears off quickly to be replaced by one boy calling out “Connor's got a boyfriend!” and laughter rising up quickly.

Jared's eyes narrow as he grabs his stuff and then Evan's, picking up the notebook from where it fell on the floor. With a glare at the teacher and the students, he heads for the door, barely out of the room as he hears a loud crash that came from Connor flipping a desk to shut up the laughing fools in the classroom. He stomps out the door, past Jared without a word only to punch a locker hard enough to dent it in passing.

The short-haired brunette stops in the middle of the hall, holding two backpacks in his hands and wondering if life will ever get easier for his friend. He watches Connor go and sighs heavily, shifting his own backpack up onto his shoulder before heading for the nurse's office to find Evan and convince him that things aren't nearly as bad as they actually are and that whole school might not actually think he's a homo by the end of the day.

Well, that was easier said than done. Not only did Evan refuse to talk to him but he locked him out of the infirmary along with the nurse. Dr. Ashmore was clearly unhappy about this, muttered curses in french spilled from him before he knocked on the door. “Evan, please open the door. I have work I need to be doing and you need to calm down and talk this out. Please don't make me have to call your mother for this.” His voice was soft and calm and he could only hope that he didn't make things worse.

Evan sat in the corner of the room with his back to the wall, knees to his chest and face buried in them as he cried. He couldn't believe how messed up things had gotten. His crush out in the open thanks to his stupid teacher, now Connor and his whole class knew and with the way news spread in the school everyone would know by the end of the day. Connor would never speak to him again... not as if he had spoken to him much before... but that's beside the point.

His head lifts as he hears Dr. Ashmore's voice coming through the door. Evan knows he needs to move but his body is so heavy with dread and anxiety that it feels impossible, just shifting is like moving through a tar pit, his body is stuck and being dragged down into his depression, the dark hole beneath him. He takes a deep breath “just a moment” He calls out, voice cracking as he closes his eyes and focuses on a single body part at a time.

He twitches a finger, then two, then closes and opens his fist. His arm lifts like a boulder but lifts nevertheless. He arches forward, placing his hands on the ground as he crawls toward the door, his fears shackles around his feet, trying to drag him away from the help waiting on the other side of the door. He doesn't deserve help, he should end it all now and save Connor the trouble of ever having to look at him again. No one would miss him, his mother would be better off not having to work so hard to provide for him, Jared wouldn't have to waste his time on him. Everyone would be happy without him.

“Evan, please open the door. Let us help you” The soft tone through the door cut through the darkness. “It's gonna be okay, buddy. If anyone even looks at you funny I'll knock their heads off” Jared hissed through the door, protectiveness welling up in his chest, a fire burning at the thought of anything harming his friend. Evan dragged himself to his feet, Atlas with the world on his shoulder but he persisted until he reached the lock and flipped it open. It was all he could manage as he fell to his knees, hunched over himself.

That alone took more strength then he believed himself to have but as the door opened and arms wrapped around him he was glad that he had let them in. He leaned into Jared's hold and sniffled. “I got you, bud. Just please don't get snot on me. This is my favorite jacket” Laughter bubbled from the boys and Evan managed to rub at his eyes, feeling the darkness of depression slipping away, back into the shadows and away from the light his friends gave off.

It was suddenly much easier to move.

Dr. Ashmore stepped into the room and knelt beside the boys, a hand resting on Evan's shoulder as he shut the door softly. “why don't you tell me what happened and we'll see what can be done about this, yes?” Evan sighs softly and allowed the dark-skinned male to grip his arm and guide him to his feet, leading him to the cot that serves as a bed and examination table, albeit more comfortable than the usual version found in doctor's offices.

Evan sunk into the cushions on the cot and sighed heavily, watching the doctor slip off to the Keurig in the corner, fixing up some chamomile and lavender tea with honey. Dr. Ashmore mixes up the tea with expert ease and snags the cream from the mini fridge, splashing some into the drink, clearly practiced at making the tea exactly how the boy likes it, having made it many times before.

The moment the warm mug is pressed into his shaking hands Evan feels the last vestiges of the shadows fading away and room stops closing in on him. He sips on the drink once or twice before a contented sigh escapes and he relaxes his back into the wall, looking over to the male at the desk. “I'm sorry for locking you out of your office,” he admits with a sheepish smile on his face.

The doctor glances at Evan with an understanding gaze, his lips quirking up at the corners into a serene smile. “It's alright. I understand how terrifying the world can be when trapped in your own mind. I'm proud of you for letting others help you. I know that must have been very difficult but you pulled through for us.”

Evan looks down into his tea, seeing his own reflection in the milky surface, looking into his tired eyes.

“so what is this all about, Evan?” Ashmore, probes, looking the boy over. “you haven't had this much of a meltdown for a while. What happened?” His long fingers flip through the papers on his desk gracefully, every move seeming calculated and precise as if it were a crime to waste even a second's worth of energy on something so simple.

The lack of attention directly on him is something Evan is grateful for. He's always despised how his therapist was hyperfocused on every expression that flickers across his face, studying him like some wounded animal in a cage, little more than a lab rat. He knows he's only there to help but he always felt like his very heart and brain were being dissected by the man, a far cry from Dr. Ashmore's more laid-back approach to him.

Evan sighed and recounted the issues in the classroom to Dr. Ashmore, only smiling when Jared chimes in his two cents constantly, watching as the man sets aside his papers at the mention of Mrs. Smith taking Evan's notebook to read aloud. His eyes darken and he begins to rhythmically tap his pen against the desk in a way belies his annoyance and spells trouble for the woman. It makes the boy feel nice, knowing that the room is full of people who would go out of their way to defend him. “I didn't mean to pull Connor into this... what if he never talks to me again because of this?”

Dr. Ashmore lifts his hands and taps the cap of his pen to his chin thoughtfully before looking over to Evan. “tell me, if he cares so little then why did he go out of his way to help you..? Even if he felt some sort of responsibility he certainly did not need to be nearly as gentle or comforting as Mr. Kleiman has pointed him out to be. He could have simply had the teacher send you to me or come to get me himself. Instead, he took it upon himself to work you through a panic attack despite knowing your feelings. Are you so certain there is no hope there, Evan?”

Blue eyes lift up to look at the man as Evan flounders for his response. His hands clench around the cup that has gone lukewarm in his grip as he worries at the inside of his cheek and takes a deep breath.

“you're right...” the words leave him before he can really think about them but once they're out there he can't help but begin to believe it.

“You're right,” he states again, this time with more certainty, admitting it aloud to make it truer in his own mind.

Dr. Ashmore smiles at the reaffirmation and nods. “Of course I am, I do have a degree in Phycology as well as a doctorate in health studies. I didn't go to school for ten years for nothing, Mr. Hansen. Now, what are you going to do with this knowledge is the true question. Will you stay silent as you have before or will you face him and talk to him?”

Evan looks over at the man, his mind reeling with the option of looking Connor in the face and telling him about his feelings. He swallows. “I don't know... I'm not sure if I can do this... I've never... been that brave before”

“If you always do what you've always done, you'll always be where you've always been”

Evan and Dr. Ashmore's matching expressions of surprise shift over to Jared who is sitting in the swivel chair across the room from the desk, chomping on an old stale cookie from a jar of treats and spinning himself in circles. “why, Mr. Kleinman... that is the most profound thing I've ever heard you say. I am very proud of you.” A bright smile lights the teacher's face.

Jared stops his spinning and glances at the bright smile, then at Evan's jaw nearly on the floor and blinks for a moment. “what? I was just reading my fortune out loud” He grumbles, a half-eaten fortune cookie dangling from his mouth as he holds up a slip of paper in his hand. He quickly pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth and makes a face. “your cookies are stale, man. Get some better treats. Who gives kids fortunes cookies for going to the nurse” He huffs, crossing his arms.

Evan laughs loudly, nearly doubling over at his friend's antics before he wipes the small tears gathering on his lashes and takes a deep breath. “ I'll do it” He replies, confidence staining his tone as he stands up and drains the mug of tea, swallowing some courage with the honey and milk. He sets the mug on the edge of the desk and smiles at the doctor. “thank you” his eyes dart over to Jared “both of you”

Without another word he grabs his backpack, stuffing his books into it unceremoniously and slinging it over his shoulder. “and just where are you running off to now?” Dr. Ashmore chimes with a smirk of the cat who caught the canary, already knowing the answer as he leans forward, lacing his fingers and resting his chin upon the nest of digits.

“I'm going to find Connor!” Evan cheers as he throws open the door, nearly smacking Jared with it in his excitement. A sharp cry from the other boy and a shout for Evan to wait for him and Jared is on his feet sprinting after him.

The sound of footsteps greets the doctor as the door slips closed with a soft 'whoosh'. He chuckles as he stands, going to pick up the mug and clean it with the hand soap above his personal sink. After a quick wash, he turns his head to the sound of rustling plastic, noting that Jared had not cleaned up his cookie mess. With a sigh and a grumble of “teenagers, honestly” He struts over to the crumbs and paper, scooping the mess into his hand, stopping at the sight of the fortune.

He lifts it up “You will do well in earning and saving money”. He re-reads it a couple more times before he grins and stuffs the small paper into his pocket, stepping on the lever and tossing the trash into the open can, letting the lid drop with a clang. “Mr. Kleinman... what an interesting young man.” He hums and he slips over to his desk, turning on the radio to play quiet classical music as he does his paperwork. Best to get what he can done before someone else shows up, honestly, a Doctor's work is never done.

Connor slams the door behind him, Storming out into the courtyard. Everything was a mess now because of that damn polo wearing punk. He had done so well at getting people to ignore him and now that was all ruined. He throws his backpack at the large tree in the middle of the yard as hard as he can, shouting out his rage as he watches, with satisfaction, how his belongings scatter when the zipper bursts. His parents will replace his bag and there is nothing inside of it that he cares about anyway. Everything he really likes is inside of his jacket pockets.

He reaches into his pockets, jerking out the cigarettes stuffed there, stopping when the drawing flutters to the ground. The anger drains from him quickly as he kneels to the dirt, hesitating to touch the paper, as if the rage that consumed him would stain the innocent feelings within the drawing, like ink crawling up the edges of the page until the art and love behind the person who drew it would be stained just as black and cold as his own heart. A strong breeze blows and his hesitations disappear as he grabs the page to keep it from flying off.

Part of him wants to rip it up and toss it. Throw away these stupid feelings so he can forget how his heart beats in his chest, the heart he thought long since crushed by his anger. He unfolds it instead, looking over the sweeping lines of his own face and feels something within him he hasn't felt since he was a child..

He feels hope.

There really is someone out there who looks at him like this... he still can't believe it. It always seems like a dream until he opens the paper and traces every single line on the page with his fingers, getting the lead remains of the pencil on his fingers tips, like the admiration on the page could seep into him and heal him just a little bit. He knows that despite his best efforts, the drawing has become a sort of security blanket for him. He looks at it when he feels alone or hopeless or like he's nothing more than the monster his anger has made him into.

That's most of the time.

A sigh escapes him and he slowly folds the page back into fourths. He thinks about getting it laminated so that the edges don't fray any further and the lines where it folds stay intact. He's put the piece of art through so much hell already, the drawing is slightly smeared from his touches and the paper is missing an edge of two, almost ready to rip at the folded seams but he can't bring himself to put it anywhere but in his jacket.

He holds onto that little reminder that someone out there doesn't hate him... someone sees him... sees something in him that he doesn't even see himself. Maybe that is why he helped that kid in class.... he wanted, just a little bit, to be more like the person the artist saw him as. He hated himself a little more for that. He picks up his backpack and tucks the paper gently into a binder, shoving it back into the bag and slinging it over his shoulder as he stuffs the cigarettes back into his jacket pocket and grips the first branch of the tall oak tree.

He climbs, one foot after the other, a familiar feeling from childhood as he goes higher and higher until the branches and leaves hide him from sight. He thinks to himself how foolish he is as he spears a nearby branch through the bag straps, letting it dangle there while he sticks a cancer stick between his lips and lights up right in the middle of a flammable tree. He chuckles a bit at himself as he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, one hand fiddling around with the switchblade there, biting back the urge to pull it out and drag a long line of red across his flesh.

He sucks in a thick cloud of smoke and blows it out of his nose, settling on a slow death instead as he pulls out his headphones and his cell, hooking them up and turning on the first album that comes up. Screams fill his ears and he leans back into the bark, a leg on each side of the thick branch as he watches the sunlight filter through the leaves across his face.

A little voice in him wonders what his artist would draw him like in this moment when he feels hopeless and alone. His hands itch to pull the drawing out and rub at the edges of it but he holds back, instead brushing his thumb over the smooth wooden handle of his blade until his mind quiets.

Classes go by as he empties the pack the rest of the way, a chimney in a tree, watching the day float by. He isn't sure how long he's up there but he knows he's missed lunch and a couple classes. It isn't until he hears the first bell for the end of the day that he finally takes a final drag, long and heavy, into his lungs and holds it while he snubs out the cigarette onto the wood of the trunk. He releases the smoke from his lungs and flicks the bud down to the base of the tree like all the others, giving zero fucks about who finds them there.

He grabs his bag and hefts it onto his shoulders before settling his boots onto the branch below and making his descent down toward the solid ground below. He can't hear the students over his screeching music but he can see them walking about, some watching him as he approaches. He knows they're talking about him but he can't bring himself to care, all he wants is to get out of this concrete hell, back home and cuddle up to mary jane in the safety of his room; preferably beside his window so he doesn't have to hear his dad bitching about the smell again.

He turns up his headphones as loud as they'll go, happily taking the headache over the blatant gossiping of the other students as he walks by, he wishes they would all just drop dead and leave him alone. He picks up the pace toward his car, tunnel vision zeroing in to where he wants to be. He can't wait to be inside of the machine, music pounding so loud it rattles the windows with the second pack he has hidden in the glovebox in hand.

He's so focused on his car that he doesn't see the student running towards him until they slam into his back, shoving him a couple feet forward intto the ground, hard enough to leave his head spinning.

Hard as he tried Evan couldn't find Connor anywhere. He was beginning to worry, what if he really upset the other or someone was mean to him. The day was almost over and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of the other boy. His shoulders slumped as Jared patted his back and convinced him to at least grab a snack from the vending machine before the day ended.

With a sigh he followed the other boy who crammed a five into the machine and jabbed at the buttons on the display, watching the packs of chips fall down, a single pack of cookies following. He hits the change button and grabs their goods, tossing them to Evan before he slots the remaining coins into the drink machine, feeling a little hint of satisfaction with each clink of the coins dropping into the bank. He knocks on the front in time to the cans dropping and snags them up along with the couple quarters he gets back, dropping them into the safety of his pocket.

“you can pay me back later” Jared chimes, heading for a picnic table near the overhang with his friend. They take their seats as Evan divvies up their spoils. “cool ranch or Cheetos?” He questions. “Cheetos are OBVIOUSLY the superior choice, bro” Jared grins as he snags up the bag and pops it open, dumping some into his mouth messily, most of it missing and dropping down his shirt. “don't give me that look, I'm saving it for later” He muttered around a mouthful of cheesy crisps.

Evan snorts a bit, looking the boy over. “thanks for trying to cheer me up, Jay” He hums softly, not touching his own bag of chips, simply staring at them with a forlorn expression. Jared sighs and swallows the thick lump of cheesy goop in his mouth before licking at his orange stained lips and fingertips. “look, I know you're depressed about not being able to find Connor but you really should eat. We missed lunch, you've gotta be hungry... you can't starve yourself over him. It'll all work out... I know it”

Evan hesitantly looks up “How?” A sheepish look greets him. “I may have made some copies of your drawings and slipped one to Connor anonymously” He had expected anger but not really a bag of chips thrown in his face type anger. “YOU DID WHAT?!” Evan shouted.

Jared flinched a bit. “it worked out. He keeps looking at that drawing like it's the best thing since sliced bread. He loves it, Ev. If you tell him you drew it I just know he'll give you a chance” He spills, hands up in a placating gesture. “I just wanted to see if you had a chance before you got your heart broken by a jerk who doesn't deserve you” He confesses.

Evan gets up, leaving his food behind as he stomps ahead. He can hear Jared dumping the unopened cans of soda, cookie pack, and Doritos into his backpack before chasing after him. “Evan wait, I was just trying to help. I'm sorry!” Jared calls after him.

Evan had never been quite so glad for crowds as the bell rings and he is lost in the sea of students. He doesn't feel like riding the bus home with Jared today, instead, he heads toward the parking lot, hoping to lose the boy out in the mess of car riders and self-driving students.

Jared jerks his head around the hall, calling out for Evan, worried about the boy. He feels like the worst friend ever. He knows he meant to help but he also knows that deep down.. he was already aware that he was betraying Evan's trust.

Evan sighs and presses his back to the wall of the school, half hidden amongst the bushes as he waits for the crowd to die down a bit more so he can start walking home. He opens his backpack and pulls out the notebook, opening it as he looks through page after page of pictures of Connor, tracing his fingers over the boy's face longingly. Why can't he be braver and just tell Connor how he feels about him, instead of hiding in the bushes like a coward.

He jumps at the sound of a honk. “HEY FAGGOT, WHERE'S YOUR LITTLE BOYFRIEND?!” His head lifts as he stares at three of the football players stuffed into a silver truck with oversized wheels. He recognizes them right away. Cain Davins and his pack of Bloodhounds. Overcompensation much?

He follows their gaze to Connor and tenses up, realizing they are calling after him. Did he really mess things up for him that much? He feels his chest clench and gets up from the bushes, heading toward the sidewalk. Connor is wearing his headphones, not even seeming to notice the assholes jeering. Cain growls “DID YOU HEAR ME, BITCH?! ANSWER ME, YOU FAG!”

Evan flinches slightly, swallowing hard. It's bad enough that they bully him but he can't stand seeing them bully Connor like that too. He wants to say something, he really does, but he's so scared... if he steps up he'll end up bullied even more. One of the boys in the truck, Derrick Michaels number 68, the linebacker, leans up toward Cain with a devious smirk.

“how about a game of chicken?” He purrs, watching with glee as Cain revvs the engine. Evan's eyes widen in horror as he watches Cain slam down on the gas pedal, heading right for Connor. He doesn't think. He doesn't have time to. He runs.

His body slammed into Connor's, shoving the boy aside with more strength than he thought he had, and for just a moment he felt relief... then the pain hit him with all the force of a silver 2013 dodge ram 1500. The world was moving in slow motion almost like he was watching the scene in a movie. His body was thrown across the pavement, skidding to a stop. He didn't notice the gasps of horror from the students or the frantic squeal of tires as the truck stopped.

The last thing that crossed Evan's mind was how beautiful the sky was before he closed his eyes, in that oddly quiet moment, he thought he could see sky for forever.

“EVAAAAAANNNNN!”

Chapter Text

Snow. That was the first thing that crossed Connor's mind as his head lifted. It looked like snow.

Papers fluttered to the ground around him and it made him momentarily forget his anger at whoever had pushed him. He reached out a hand slowly, catching a page before it touched the ground and examined it. He grunted when he found nothing on it and tossed it aside, noting others nearby. One, in particular, caught his attention, a drawing of a boy. his soft and fluffy dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck, small beads of sweat dotting his skin as he leaned back against a wall. His jeans were tight and showed how his legs crossed over each other at the ankle, black and white sneakers on his feet. He was in a T-shirt with a band logo on it “Thirty Second to Mars”. He really loved that band. a cigarette was lightly pressed between his lips, smoke slipping into the sky, tendrils whisping up to the clouds above only to vanish from sight as his eyes reflect the light off the phone in his hand.

A hoodie was tied around his waist as he stared idly, seeming bored with the world. He didn't recognize the boy at first, not without his trademark leather jacket and his hair pulled back but the art style wasn't something he could forget. He had spent over a month staring at that art style, tracing it with eyes and fingers, engraving the curves and soft lines into his mind, memorizing every detail until he could draw a copy from memory alone, a shitty copy, but a copy nonetheless.

Suddenly the world was moving in slow motion, his body turning to lead as he pulled his headphones from his ears, a cacophony of sound assaulting him as he cocked his head to look behind him. There was a tall silver truck, skid marks trailing behind it from an emergency stop and three terrified jocks sitting inside, pale as the paper in his hand and shouting out excuses.

“We weren't going to hit him! It was just a prank. We were playing chicken with him. That blonde dumbass jumped in the way! It's his own fault!” Cain screams, terror racing through his mind as the words bubble forth like a fountain. He didn't want to go to jail. He was afraid. What would happen to him? If this blows up his scholarship could fly out the window.

Connor was caught on two words of the many the boy was throwing out. “blonde dumbass”. He questioned for a moment who he knew that was blonde, counting off a short list in his mind while his chest filled with dread... he had counted off the list down to one single person and he didn't want to think about it. He willed his body to move, looking away from the truck and the screaming teens inside who had gone from excuses to blaming each other.

His heart sinks into his stomach as his eyes catch sight of a trail of blood across the pavement of the parking lot, following it to the body of his classmate. Unassuming hay colored hair, an unassuming ripped polo, and dirty khakis. He hadn't found the blonde to be that incredible before, a normal looking waif of a boy who could easily be mistaken for anyone else. He hadn't thought that the boy stood out but holding the drawing in his hand, seeing the sketchbook that the boy always carried strewn about and page after page of lovingly drawn renditions of him scattered... he didn't know why he hadn't noticed him sooner.

The brunette he was always with, he wished he had paid more attention to them so he could at least know their names, was knelt beside him; tears rushing down his cheeks as he tries desperately to get his friend to open his eyes.

He didn't.

Connor tried to get up but his legs felt like they were glued to the ground, he idly wondered if they had been run over like the shorter male not far from him yet he couldn't bring himself to care if they had been. The realization dawned upon him that the person he had been looking for was right there all along and now... now he was injured on the ground not too far from him but still as out of reach as he had always been.

His artist, the one who drew him as more than a monster and returned the hope that he could be seen; really truly seen, had saved his life a second time and now he was paying for it. Evan's arm was shifted at an unnatural angle, his hair was being stained a beautiful sunset, as the halo of red seeped out around his fallen form. To Connor, he looked like a broken angel.

He hadn't cried for much in recent years but this sight made his eyes burn in a way he found too familiar, an unwanted return to a time when he had nothing left to give a world that didn't understand but tears. He was helpless again. At this moment he was only able to watch as the beautiful pages of love lie spread out over the ground like dead leaves falling from a tree as it withers while winter sets in.

He doesn't notice the students whispering in hushed voice along the sidewalk, littering the path as they watch the scene play out. His eyes are locked on his artist. He is only focused on the ache he feels as the last bit of his heart is carved from within him while he watches this boy he never even realized he cared about dying not fifteen feet from him. Watching someone who had far more worth to this world bleed out in his stead.

He wants to feel anger, pain, anything but this hollow ice that's settled in his chest... he wants the feelings he is familiar with, the ones he has always turned to and hidden within before. He wants to scream, to cry, to tear up the pages and forget what they mean to him but he can't. He can't bring himself to move. This moment is all that's left, just him and the artist, in their own quiet hell, dying slowly together.

A hand on his shoulder is what finally breaks the spell, giving him the strength to move. He looks up into the familiar hazel eyes of his sister. He wonders how pitiful he must look right now to have earned her sympathy. She moves past him after looking him over to ensure he's not harmed only to stop beside Jared and kneel down, pulling off her green sweater.

“lift him up. We need to stop the bleeding” She commands, calling the brunette back to reality and spurring him into action. He eases Evan up and she presses the sweater beneath his head, helping to clot the blood rushing from the cranial injury. She helps Jared lie him back down and sets about moving his arm into a relatively comfortable angle. She nods to Jared and stands up, facing down her classmates with an ice cold tone and a heated glare.

“if you're not helping then get lost. You're in the way and distracting those who are actually doing something useful. If you want to gossip then do it somewhere else, you vipers. He could be dying and you're just... chatting about it like it's nothing.” she spins on the heel of her vans to face the jocks in the car. “and you...You're the worst of them all. You think THIS is a game? Look at what you've done? Do you find it funny?! You tried to kill my brother and you might have killed this boy instead and all you're worried about is your scholarship or your dad grounding you for messing up his truck?!” She screams at them. “do you even have a heart?!”

Those words are something familiar to her. She had screamed them in her brother's face enough times, usually in the moments before she ran to her room and slammed the door so he couldn't reach her anymore. That never stopped him from banging on it from the other side screaming profanities and threats at her. He would pound his fists to the door, shaking her body through the wood as she pressed her back to the barrier between just for more weight to keep him away. He would fight and rage until he grew tired and then would storm away and slam his own door, leaving her with nothing but the sound of her mother brokenly begging him to talk to her to fill the silence.

It hadn't always been this way. Their family used to be happy. Zoey could remember many holidays she and her brother had gotten along for. They had set out a tray of freshly made cookies for Santa and after much pleading from both children, they had climbed upstairs to bed with a cookie each in hand. Zoey had been too excited to sleep so she and Connor had gathered in his bed, trying to stay away for the sounds of hoofbeats and bells only to fall asleep together with half a cookie dangling from her mouth.

the next morning the small family gathered around the tree in their pajamas with presents in their laps and assorted wrapping paper strewn about them. Zoey had been five in her pink rabbit themed footed onesie that looked more like a costume than actual night clothes, sitting beside a six year old Connor in blue and white pajamas, a large depiction of a train on the front of the white T-shirt with deep blue long sleeves, his matching blue pants spotted with the cute picture of trains on a track and white polka dots. He had opened a transformer and was holding it above his head joyfully, the picture of childhood innocence.

That photo was still above the fireplace. Zoey didn't remember when exactly he started changing. It seemed so small at first but as time passed and his anger grew beyond control she began to look at Connor less like a brother and more like a boogeyman. He became a monster before her eyes and terrorized her to no end simply to release even a bit of a rage he felt. Watching the boy on his knees, nearly in tears and looking as though the world were ending, she wondered if perhaps... her brother wasn't as gone as he seemed.

“MOVE!” Quickly the sea of students parted as Alana Beck bolted out of the school, Dr. Ashmore in tow. Connor's eyes lifted off Evan's prone form to the school nurse as he jumped down the stairs, two at a time. Dr. Ashmore swallowed hard as he rushed to Evan's side. “has anyone called 911?!” He shouts, collapsing beside him as he scans him over to assess the damage. “I called them on the way to get you” Alana replies. “the dispatcher is still on the line. Help is on the way.”

“Good” Ashmore confirms as he feels fear creeping up his spine, even with a doctorate, he's not a brain surgeon. Head injuries are far above his pay grade. He kneels and looks over at Jared. “I have a feeling you're going with Evan when the ambulance gets here so I need to know now if you saw what happened. Someone has to give the police a report when they arrive.”

Jared rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. “I got here after he was already hit...” He whimpers. “I didn't see what happened... but it's easy to guess” He hisses, glaring at the boys in the truck. Dr. Ashmore sighs and stands up. “did anyone see the whole thing?”

He watches the crowd part as a young man in a beanie steps forward. “We saw it all”

The boy is joined by two others, one of them being a girl with red hair in braided pigtails that fall over her shoulders and freckles dotting across her skin like constellations. Her ocean blues eyes were misty with worry as her chipped glossy nails dug into puffy sleeve clad arm of a beanpole in an oversized jacket that swallowed his torso up. His spindly legs were shaking and his face was pale as a sheet. His steel grey eyes were locked on the kneeling brunette not too far away, his concern for his friend being the only reason he wasn't blushing to the roots of his platinum blonde hair at the touch of the short female beside him.

The caramel skinned boy in the beanie approached Dr.Ashmore, setting a hand on Jared's shoulder in quiet solidarity and nodded to the man. “We saw everything. I'll tell the cops. Don't worry”. His tone is even and his face is scrunched into a frown that feels out of place. It's obvious that this boy is more accustomed to smiling. Dr. Ashmore gives a quick nod of confirmation, watching Jared's eyes light up with hope at the faintest sound of an ambulance siren heading their way.

It was only moments but those second dragged on, a nearly silent hell as all sound stopped save the for the siren. It moved closer and closer, bringing salvation for the boy with it. Finally the white vehicle with it's blinding flashing lights pulled in the parking lot and paramedics rushed from the back to pulls out the gurney and sped to Evan's side, lowering it and lifting the boy onto the dark blue plastic bed with brutal efficiency, calling codes into their mics all the while.

Connor stumbled to his feet weakly, a drawing clutched tightly in his hand, crumpling the edges of it as he waddles himself slowly toward the ambulance, wanting to go with the boy who had given him so much hope. He is stopped by an arm moving out before him, blocking him from taking a step further. He looks up into the hazel eyes of the Doctor. “let me go” he hisses as he tries to move around him.

The arm moves with him, the man's curly hair bouncing slightly as he moves back in front of him again. “The cops will need your statement and as much as you might like to go with Evan that is the LAST thing that poor boy needs. You've got the proof of his feelings in your hand... he wouldn't want you to see him like that. Besides, his best friend deserves to go with him and there can only be one passenger. Think, Connor. Think of what's best for Evan right now.”

He feels rage boil up inside of him. This man is standing between himself and his artist. His hands clench into fists as his anger threatens to bubble over, only for the sound of crunching paper to stop him and drain the fury out of his veins to quickly it leaves him cold. He wants to be angry, to shout and fight and get his way but he doesn't. He doesn't react with anger because Ashmore is right. Evan needs comfort and support from those he trusts and that, much as he might wish it, is not him.

Soft brown eyes look down, scanning over the paper in his hands as he opens and closes his mouth. His voice is shaky from disuse and anxiety but he manages to croak out a hesitant question, looking up to meet the taller male's gaze. “will he be okay?”

Charles Ashmore is no stranger to injured children, he has set bones, stitched up cuts, wrapped sprains and the like but this is not like any of those. This time, there was so little he could do for the boy he had grown fond of, he felt helpless, knowing that this was beyond his skill level. He wanted to give Connor a positive response, to comfort him into believing that everything would be fine if they just had faith but he wasn't even sure of that himself. “I don't know....”

Honesty has never felt so horrible before. “I wish I knew... but head injuries are finicky at best. He could be fine or it could take a turn for the worst. The brain is such a fragile thing. I just don't know. All we can do is hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and be there for him should he make it out.” The words felt like a cheap gesture, far from the placating speech he had mentally written up moments before.

A heavy hand landed on Connor's shoulder, causing him to look back at a middle-aged man, thick brown hair in a crew cut, sideburns that were almost comically thick. Green eyes set above a cherry nose and pudgy pink cheeks and a rounded chin. His neck had vanished underneath the buttoned-up collar of his well pressed and starched uniform, Connor could only imagine how uncomfortable it was to wear, assaulted by the mental image of the officer walking and sitting like a life-sized Ken doll.

“Hey there son, I know you've had a day but we need you to answer some questions for us. Come with me.” His voice set Connor on edge, a low tenor that reminded him too much of his father, the use of “son” not helping that mental image at all. He felt like telling the cop to go fuck himself, running to his car and following the ambulance to the hospital to wait for any news about the artist. Those thoughts quieted when he heard a familiar female voice beside him. “could I stay with him during the interview?”

Connor turns slowly to face Zoey, confused and oddly comforted at having her so close at the moment. It was odd, he hadn't been so calm around Zoey in years, he idly questioned if maybe it was shock setting in about this whole fiasco. Connor didn't think about it for more than a moment before his hand was sliding over Zoey's, gripping softly, soaking up the contact as he looks off into the distance.

Heidi groaned low in her throat as she wiped the sweat from her brow on the back of her scrub-covered arm. He took a moment to stop by the water fountain and lean down, take a long drink from the cool spray, cupping a bit in her hand to wipe down her face before she stands back up. It had been a long day, the ER packed. She wasn't sure what it was about Fridays that just made people lose their minds and do stupid shit but here she was, a few minutes out of being guts deep in some guy that had asked his friends to hold his beer while he did a backflip off the roof of his house.

He had landed on his rake and impaled his stomach in several places. That would be one hell of a story to tell at parties.

“Hansen!”

Heidi's head lifted. She could've sworn she heard her name. She shook it away and ran her hands through her hair, she was ready to sweat right through her scrubs at this rate, she would do just about anything for a shower at this point. She sighed heavily. Only a couple more hours before the end of her shift then she would go home and have dinner with her son, take a long cool shower, and sleep as long as she could before her next shift at 4 am. She stretched her arms over her head, taking a moment to move side to side, letting out a content sigh at the cracks as her spine realigned.

“HANSEN!” Her head jerked to the left, rushing toward the cry of her name, ready for the next person to be wheeled in with a grievous injury. Instead, she was met with a body wearing a set of star wars scrubs blocking her way as she spun the corner and skid to a stop. “Hasan? Sorry but I've got to go right now. It sounds like we just got another patient in.” she gasped, slightly winded from the quick sprint.

“clock out. I need to speak with you. It's urgent” Hasan Badak was a relatively young man who could've been a surgeon but decided to be the thick of things instead. He stuck out as head nurse for multiple reasons. Firstly being that most people, when told that the head nurse would be in to see them soon, did not expect it to be a man. Secondly they sure as hell were not expecting a rather short Indonesian man with bright purple hair, a single piercing in his left ear, and a sleeve tattoo up his arm.

The concern and shock at his appearance would always fade quickly when he greeted the patients with the brightest smile and warm nature. It was clear to anyone who met him that he was in the perfect place for him, this job was his calling. That trademark lopsided grin of his was nowhere to be found at the moment and that itself was enough cause for concern.

“Hasan, this really isn't the best time... what about the patient?” she asked, trying to look around him to see who's being brought in, watching other nurses rush around to help. “I know. Heidi, I need you to clock out. You can't work this one.” Her heart sunk into her stomach, going cold. Something wasn't right. She didn't hesitate a moment longer before rushing to the nearest badge reader.

Heidi quickly swiped her badge on the wall mounted reader, punching in her code and selecting the clock out button before she logs out of her account and spins on her heel, facing Hasan. She swallows at the way he shifts side to side, barely hiding the bad news he's about to lay on her. “what is going on?” Her throat constricts with the sinking feeling that something is very wrong. “Hasan, please.” she pleads softly, touching his arm. “talk to me”

Hasan swallows, teeth clicking against the tongue ring in his mouth as he works against his cheek nervously. “I need you to stay calm. the patient is your son, Heidi. Evan was hit by a car. You're off the clock, this isn't counting against you, just..-” He pauses, watching the realization wash over the woman. He reaches out his hands to grip at her upper arms, keeping her standing. “take a breath. It's going to be alright. C'mon. Let's get you upstairs. I know you'll want to watch over him”

Heidi feels her body being moved but her mind is a chaotic mess. Only moments ago everything had been normal, now the world was tilting. Evan was hurt? He was in the ER? Would he live? How bad was it? Her mind was a whirlwind of questions, each more frantic than the last. The walk from the nurse's station to the glass outside of the operating theatre was an eternity of horrified inquiries both mentally and aloud, most of which she couldn't even recall the answers to.

Hasan sat her down on the chair and slipped away unnoticed, only to return with some tea. He set it down beside her, his hand on her shoulder. She's certain he muttered some condolences but they fell on deaf ears, all she could think of was how pale her son was underneath the harsh white lights in the operating room. She watched the doctor's work, repeating medical jargon and facts to herself, listing off the different areas of the body and their functions, anything she could think of so she wouldn't focus on the fact that he son could be dying on the table and she was trapped behind glass fifty feet from him.

Heidi stood behind the glass, her hands pressed to it, like a child looking through a shop window at something they wanted desperately. If only it were something so simple and innocent as that. No, she was looking through the window at her only child, her family, praying that he would come back to her. Her legs felt weak at the rapid beeping of the pulse of the boy on the table and she allowed them to fail her.

Heidi Hansen, a loving mother, kind nurse, and patient woman who gave her all gave even more of herself on her knees in that room, alone, praying to any god that would hear her to save her son.

Zoey slumped into the driver's seat of the car, groaning as she runs her free hand through her hair. She offers out the hand holding a small stack of pages to her brother in the passenger seat, eyes darting over to him to scan him and assess the damage. She hadn't seen Connor look this devastated in years.

“I finished gathering the pages. It was hard to find them all but this should be it.” She bit her lip, hesitant to ask him about the collection of love notes, drawings, and journal entries, almost all of them regarding her brother. One or two of the drawings being of a middle-aged woman with light hair, sitting in front of a window with sun streaming over her tired face. She had warm eyes and calloused hands with long slender fingers that wrap around a steaming mug, a noticeable tan around her left-hand middle finger that suggested she had only recently ceased wearing a wedding ring.

Her legs were curled up on the window seat, half crossed beneath her body. She was wearing scrub bottoms and a camisole T-shirt that had clearly been beneath her shirt, her hair pulled up into a clip, some strands falling from what Zoey assumed was a long day at work. She was smiling in this soft way as if she were worlds away in her own mind but the memories she was lost in were soft and happy. It looked as though the woman in the drawing could just start to move, turn her head to look at the artist and smile. It was almost unsettling the amount of detail that was put into each freckle that dotted her nose, each fine hair at the base of her neck, the eased laugh lines and wrinkles on her face that tell of too much stress on that poor woman.

There were other drawings, the boy she had seen earlier tending to the young blonde who had been struck by the truck. She recalled seeing the brunette around but his name escaped her. She had never really paid him much attention. She felt guilty for that now, she couldn't even call him by name. There was one drawing of Dr.Ashmore pouring over work documents at his desk, a hand nestled in his curls, his tongue barely poking from his lips in concentration, a stack of papers on one side and a strawberry kiwi propel on the other. It must have been a warm day for him to be missing his lab coat. Zoey found herself smiling at the thought of someone watching all of these people, capturing them in their element, at peace with the world. The drawings were lifelike, honest, and true to those he drew.

The biggest surprise, more than finding out that her brother had an admirer, imagine that, had been finding a drawing of herself among those pages. Wielding a deep blue marker she was leaned over her desk, legs crossed over each other, drawing stars along the cuffs of her pale blue jeans. She wore a focused look on her face, her cheeks slightly rounded as one side pulled in just slightly to show that she had been biting the inside of it, brows lightly furrowed and eyes deep, the same eyes as her brother. She swallowed hard and put her hands on the wheels, palms itching to look through the rest of the pages and see what else-- who else was among that stack.

“Are you alright?” Zoey thought about slamming her head against the steering wheel but held back, of course, he wasn't alright, she could see that just from looking at him. She berated herself mentally for the stupid question, ready for Connor to swoop in and prey on her concern for him and tear her down further but instead, he simply shook his head while tracing the drawing in his hand.

“I… don't know. I feel hollow, broken. Like everything inside of me was scooped out. I feel like a Halloween pumpkin”. Connor's eyes were dull and Zoey felt concern welling up, something she quickly pushed down. They hadn't been close in years, he didn't need her, it would only end with pain on her part. That's what she thought until the first tear began to roll down Connor's face.

“Zo... what if he dies?” He whimpers, voice cracking, pushing the drawing away when a tear lands on it and smudges and lead on the page. “he got hurt because of me. Why? Why am I like this?! Why do I hurt everyone I care about?!” he pleaded, something raw and frantic in this voice that shot right through her heart, leaving her feeling almost sad on behalf of Connor. It had been a long time since she pitied him.

Her mind was drawn back to earlier, his hand sliding against hers, warm, beseeching, taking comfort from having her there and despite her mind warning her, she hadn't pulled away. She had done her best to be there for him because that's what siblings are 'supposed to do' right? That kind of thing hadn't mattered to her family much before and if she were truly honest with herself she wouldn't have felt anything if the stranger sitting next to her had been the one hit by the truck. He wasn't her brother anymore. Yet today, those thoughts had been turned upside down.

Connor curled into himself, pulling the hood of his jacket up and tugging the strings and to try and hide himself from the world as he cried loudly, letting everything lose and not seeming to care that Zoey was sitting right there beside him. She hesitated, watching him for a moment before looking away, feeling as if she were intruding on his moment of weakness but it was hard to ignore, he hadn't cried around her since they were just children, back before he became little more than anger and threats.

Her hand reached out slowly, hesitantly pressing to the back of his, ready to jerk away if he should try to grip her or twist the offered arm. It didn't happen. He forwent the hand she offered in favor of flopping to his side, his face pressed against her shoulder as he shook and sobbed into the silence of the car, the sun fading over the distance, casting a soft golden glow over his cheeks, illuminating the flow of salt water staining his face.

Zoey stopped hesitating, she stopped thinking. In that cramped space of the car, with soft music playing the background and the sun shining down through the windows she wrapped her arms around Connor and held her brother while he mourned for a love he might yet have lost.

When Heidi finally emerged from the room overlooking the theatre she found an all too familiar young man sitting in one of the hard plastic seats in the ICU waiting room, his head hung low, fingers curled in his hair, and blood staining his pants. She felt guilt settle heavily in her gut, while she was busy in the watching room Jared had been out here terrified, having seen what happened to Evan first hand. She sinks into the seat beside him, and arm draping over his shoulder.

“how are you holding up?” to her credit her voice only wavers slightly and the moment she takes to clear it and swallow gives Jared some extra time to compose himself. “I would be a lot better if I weren't in the hospital waiting to find out if my best friend is gonna die” he bites out, hands moving from his hair to his knees, gripping them hard enough he's certain bruises are forming. He doesn't mind that, it's something to focus on. It takes away from the ache in his chest that feels like fingernails clawing at his heart, shredding it to little more than bloody ribbons.

The hand on his shoulder moves around to pull him into a one-armed hug. “I'm so sorry, Jared. I wish I could tell you that he'll be fine but I don't know. He's pulling through so far but that doesn't mean he's out of the woods. He keeps going into seizures... that's not good at all.” Heidi bites her bottom lip, taking a breath before getting up. “i'll grab us some drinks, what do you want? Coke? Sprite? Water? Orange fanta?” she fights not to look back at him, worried she might end up in tears as well if she sees the blood on his clothes again.

When no response comes she heads out, going to the nurse's station to get a couple of the small cans of soda, bringing back a fanta and water. She sets the soda down beside Jared and flops back into her own seat. “do you want to go home and change your clothes?” she suggests softly. Jared shakes his head quickly in response, pulling his knees up onto the chair, rocking lightly. He didn't want to go anywhere, not until he knew that Evan would survive.

Two heads jerked up when the door to the operating room opened and the head surgeon stepped out. Heidi was on her feet in an instant, panic and hope battling it out, feeling so many emotions at once she fears she might burst. “Kevin, please... is he alright? Please tell me he'll be okay” She begs, hands clasping in front of herself, eyes squeezed shut as if she could block out a negative answer.

The male made an uncertain face. “He's alive and stable...” Heidi looked him over, watching him chew at his lips, clearly needing a cigarette. “but?” She could tell there was more that he wasn't telling her. “but he's comatose. We can't give a true estimate of when he will wake up.... or if he will at all. It's a coin toss at this point. We've done all we can for him. I'm sorry Heidi”

The world seemed to drop out from beneath her at that moment. Evan was alive... but he might never wake up? It felt wrong, having him so close but unable to truly have him back was the worst kind of torture. She had been the bearer of bad news before but to be on the opposite side of that was something else entirely. She felt a new sort of heartbreak for the people whose loved ones were beyond the help of the doctors and nurses at the hospital.

Heidi allowed Kevin to hand her a paper with a room number on it. The world was hazy at best, she didn't remember entering the elevator to go up to the sixth floor or going to the second door to the left. She didn't remember waiting in the window seat for the other nurses to wheel Evan into the room and lift him from one bed to the other, covering him and setting up the equipment they needed to monitor him. She only remembers the clarity that came with looking at her son, pale but peaceful, laying in the bed over starch white sheets, under a starch white blanket, in a room with starch white walls. It felt too out of place, like a dream.

She knew it wasn't.

A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts, Jared was sitting beside her already and the nurses would simply come in after a knock. She wondered if maybe she was hearing things from the stress of the whole situation but another knock came and she opened her mouth to answer, choking on the words and coughing for a moment before Jared places a hand on her back, rubbing gently.

“Come in” He calls out softly, watching Heidi work through a short coughing fit. When she looks up she is faced with two teens, both with soft brown hair. One stands out to her in particular and her eyes widen as she looks him over.

“I know you. You're the boy from Evan's drawings. You're Connor.”

Chapter Text

His hair is longer than most boys and not as fluffy as the pictures had led her believe. It falls over one of his eyes and she wonders how he sees clearly. His hoodie is dirty and scratched up but free of blood though there are tell tale wet dots on the front that show he had been crying recently.

He isn't what she expected at all but she would recognize those beautiful blue eyes anywhere. She had thought perhaps Evan was seeing things when he drew one side of the right eye as brown but now that she had finally seen him face to face she knows those few colored pictures were accurate. Standing in the door is a boy she can hardly forget.

“He... uhm, he talked about me?” The young man was clearly awkward and unsure of how to respond to the woman recognizing him. If she knew who he was then it was only a matter of time before she told him to leave. “I'm afraid not, I only recognized you from Evan's many drawings of you. Are you two friends?” Connor felt the fear fade quickly, he had a chance to give a good impression. Some part of him questioned why the hell he would care about something that trivial but apparently it meant something to him to have the artis-... Evan's mom like him.

“Uhm... kind of, I guess. We aren't exactly close but... I think I would've liked to be.”He trails off as he slides his hand into his pocket to rub at the folded drawing he had been using for comfort the last few weeks. He takes a breath. “Okay, that's not entirely true”

It's not what he would usually do, he had never had a real issue lying before but he doesn't want to do that to this woman, especially not with his artist right there in the bed; it feels wrong to him. He draws out the folded paper with his name on it and offer it out to her. “i found that in my locker a while ago and it's been helping me get through some hard times. I really wanted to meet the person who drew it; to get to know the person who saw me like that. I didn't know it was him until the accident. He dropped his notebook and I found the rest of the drawings. I just wanted to see him... talk to him, if I could. I want to know why he's drawing me.”

The words flow like a river of truth from him, the things he had been thinking to himself this whole time. His eyes were trained on the floor, hands on his pockets and shoulders tensed, worried he would be laughed at or judged. He was so worried about the reactions of the others in the room that he missed how Zoey's eyes widened as she watched him spill his guts or Jared's guilty expression.

There was a moment of silence before the smaller of the two boys spoke up. “That was my doing. I took the picture from evan's notebook and slipped it in your locker. He's been hiding that crush on you for a while and he's way too shy to have ever told you himself so I wanted to help him. I was watching you to see your reaction and find out if he had any chance. You've got a reputation, connor, I didn't want my friend to get hurt for looking your direction.”

Connor's body tensed up and he bit his lip, a glare burnining into Jared from across the room. He spins on his heels, ready to storm out of the hospital room, the anger and pain building up at the idea that the only thing that had kept him alive was some dumb prank after all. It hadn't even been Evan who left him the note but his friend, who frankly, had been an asshole to him in the past. A softer voice stopped him from leaving.

“I'm glad Jared gave you the drawing, I'm sure Evan would be too. It brought you here.” Connor paused and looked across the room at Heidi. Her smile cut through him, it was the same look his mother used to give him before he had made her afraid of him too. It reminded him of better times, more peaceful times before all he felt was anger, pain, or fear of the thing he had become. His shoulders drop and he let out a heavy breath.

“Yeah, I guess it did” His eyes dart over to the boy in the bed, wanting to approach but not feeling worthy of even being in the same room with him, let alone sitting at his side. He felt like an outsider, intruding upon something sacred. His artist was defensless right now, vulnerable and weak... that was something no one should be around someone like him. “we should go.”

His voice came out quietly, wavering for a moment before he steadies it, he's shown enough weakness for one day. The notebook is heavy in his pocket, burning into his side with guilt and regret. He reaches into his inner jacket pocket and pulls the book free, offering it out to heidi despite how much he wants to keep it with him. “you should have this, not me. He's your son. I'm an outsider.” He can't bring himself to meet her eyes, fearing what he might find there.

A rough and calloused hand craddles his, soft and warm in a way that he hasn't felt in a long time. He tenses and jerks his hand away from her, the kindness almost burning through him like fire, it was too much and not enough all at once. He had accepted contact from zoey earlier during his moment of weakness in the car, but even that had made him want to scream and run away, to punch the dashboard until he forgot what that sweetness felt like.

Heidi watched him curl into himself, seeming to understand that touching him is not a wise idea right now. She could see it written in his very body language and face, he was unused to positive contact, to a degree that is scared him. Her heart ached for this broken boy that he son had fallen for, yet, a sense of pride welled up in her chest at the knowledge that he son had seen the good shining through the pain.

“I appreciate the offer but you need that book more than I do and I know Evan would want you to have it. Well, maybe not, considering how many drawings of you there are but....” she paused and took a breath. “maybe this will help you both come to terms with things and when he wakes up, maybe you'll be there and you can finally talk about everything. Maybe... just maybe, this can help both of you find some peace.”

Peace? It was a common word, something you could hear every day but the mere concept of it was so foreign to connor. Could he really find that? Was he worthy of it? He had done so much wrong, he destroyed everything he touched, hurt everyone who so much as came close to him... he was a monster. Monster didn't live peaceful lives. They left a trail of death and wreckage behind them until they were hunted down and put out of their misery.

It was only a matter of time before his anger caused something he couldn't run away from, then he would spend his life behind thicker bars than the ones on his bedroom window.... if the world decided he was allowed to keep living. Is that really the kind of life that she wanted for Evan? Of course not. She just didn't know any better. Connor knew that she wouldn't offer him a place at her son's side if she knew what kind of person he really was.

But even knowing that, there was a small part of him that begged for her to never know. He wanted that kindness, god... he wanted to stay by that boy. He wanted someone to look at him and not be afraid of him. He wanted to post all of those drawings along his walls and stare at them all day and night and just bask in the knowledge that despite everything he had done, whether he deserved it or not, he was loved.

“Please keep it” The request was soft, quiet, as if she were speaking to a scared animal. Connor almost scoffed at the mental image but that might have been rude to the woman who was watching him. He wondered when he started caring about who he offended

For a short time, the beeping was the only sound in the room, it toned on, stable, constant beeps that reminded them that the boy on the bed was alive. Connor swallowed, his eyes darting over to the blonde, staring for the longest time before he nodded, agreeing to keep the book. “Could I...” He trailed off, trying to gather his courage, shoving down the dark voices that scream he's unworthy. “Could I come sit with him, sometime?”

Connor doesn't look away from Evan. He doesn't want to see the judgemental stares he's certain are on Zoey and Jared's faces, he missed the smile that blooms over Heidi's lips, lighting her up just slightly, bringing her releif. “I would love that. Thank you, connor. I'm sure Evan would love to have your company”

Connor felt the subtle burn behind his eyes and pushed it away, refusing to allow himself to break, he had cried enough and Lord knows he didn't want this woman to see him like that. He hated how much he cared. She was a stranger, for fuck's sake, and suddenly she was all important? What the hell was wrong with him? He felt anger boiling in his veins and the urge came to punch the wall but the only walls available near him were the one above the chair heidi was in or beside him where Evan slept. Neither of those were options. He was pissed but only because that was the only reaction he could bring himself to give when pain and sorrow weren't acceptable.

He swallowed back the need to fight and bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste the acrid copper of blood spilling against his tongue. A breath escaped as he relaxed, the pain helping bring clarity and with it the sweet sensation of being numb. He felt the blissful embrace of nothingness, his respite from the wrath clawing at his insides. “Thank you”

He gripped the book tighter in his hands and nodded his head toward Heidi, the only form of acknowlegment he would give before he turned on his heels and headed for the door. He paused at the entry way and shot one last longing look at Evan before he took a breath and headed out into the hallway, situating the book back into the safety of the inner section of his jacket before stuffing his hands into his pockets. He kept his head ducked a bit, glaring ahead as he left the room and stomped down the hall, glaring at anyone who so much as looked his direction.

Zoey sighed softly. “I'm so sorry about my brother. He's not exactly a nice person. To be fair to him though, that's the best behavior I've seen from him since he was thirteen.” Heidi only hummed softly. “I like him just fine. I can tell he's working through a lot and he's really trying. Maybe he'll have an outburst but so long as it doesn't hurt Evan that's alright. Sometimes we just need to get it out and I think that poor boy has a lot he needs to get out. He's like Evan in that way. Some people just feel too much, so much so that they don't know how to comprehend those emotions. When it becomes too much they overflow and lash out like Connor, or lash inwards at themselves like Evan. They're not perfect but I think they would be good for each other, they each have something that can teach one another.”

Jared watches the doorway. “I don't know Mrs. Hansen. I think Evan might already be Connor a lesson and he's not even awake to see it.” The words are slow, quiet, almost as if he's thinking aloud rather than talking to them but Zoey hums softly in agreement before she gives a small grin and a wave, heading out of the room after Connor, not wanting to keep him waiting in case he gets angry about it.

By the time Zoey made it to the car Connor was already sitting inside, waiting with his booted feet on the dash as he glares at a blinking street lamp on the edge of the parking lot. She took a heavy breath, preparing for the anger that she was sure would come when she got within range of him; she could only hope the drive home would be quick and silent. She opened the car door and flopped into her seat, starting up the car before she could even close the door properly. She could have yelled at Connor for having his feet up on the dashboard but she bit her lip agreesively and held back what would certainly start an argument. She could hear Connor's music from her seat clear as if the headphones were in her ears instead; she took the sign as what it was and left him be. The drive home was blessedly silent.

The Kia shuddered as the engine died, the driver's side tilting when Zoey emerged and pocketed her keys. She spared half of a glance back at Connor before heading inside, exhausted from the long day but awaiting the barrage of questions she was certain that her parents would have. As soon as she opened the door she received the questioned she had predicted, a flurry of inquiries about health, safety, who was involved, where they had been, and more were thrown her way, leaving her struggling to keep up with the interrogation that should not have even been meant for her.

Zoey was ready to shout when all sounds ceased. She followed her parents' eyes to where Connor had entered the house. Her mother was the first to approach. Cynthia reached out to Connor. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, nearly a whisper. Her hand never reached his shoulder, simply left inches above him, floating uselessly as she attempted to decide if it was smart to touch him or not. Connor never turned his gaze from the hollow stare toward the direction of his room.

Cynthia looked her son over, worrying at her lip as she watched the hollow reaction from the boy, her heart breaking for him. “Connor, baby, please.. answer me. Do you want to talk? Come sit down, it's going to be alright.” she crooned, trying to offer comfort. Finally, Connor reached up and pulled out his headphones. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed.” He didn't wait for a response before he began walking, heading for his bedroom, but before he entered he paused. His mind was filled with dozens of things he wanted to say, he wanted to lash out but couldn't find the strength to yell or fuss or fight, he simply wanted to sleep until this was over and Evan woke up so they could talk about the poems, the drawings, and the note. He wanted everything and nothing at all. His bones were heavy. Why was he so heavy? It was hard to move. He wanted to turn the doorknob but it felt like moving a brick wall, everything was cold and wrong... he just wanted to sleep.

After a few minutes of trying Zoey lost patience with him and approached, shooing his hands away so she could open the door for him. She could have insulted him or laughed at how pathetic his attempts were, and any other day she would have... but today was not like any other day... Today was different. Connor grunted something and pushed open the door, going inside his bedroom. He turned to shut the door and looked at Zoey, meeting her eyes before he whispered a single work in a husky tone and closed the door in her face. Was she having an aneurysm? She could have sworn Connor just thanked her... he never thanked her for anything... today really was different.

Grass green eyes blinked open and closed a few times, trying to get the world into focus with little luck. After a few moments of rubbing at them, he could finally see.... why on earth was the room upside down? “Okay, calm down. This is fine. Just take a breath and try to make sense of things.” After a moment of soft deep breathing he looked around the unfamiliar room he had found himself in.. and promptly realized that the room was not upside down, he was. He yelped as he plummeted down, thankfully landing on a well worn in bed. He grumbled in annoyance as he sat up. “that sucked.”

There was a loud slam of a door nearby, making him jump. His head snapped the direction of the noise, he panicked. He wasn't sure where he was, how he got there... and he's pretty sure he was floating a minute ago. What if he was kidnapped?! His mind ran over a dozen worst-case scenarios in a split second, all of them ending with him dead. Fear rose up inside of him as he attempted to remember the steps to keep from a panic attack. Another slamming door and then footsteps; whoever kidnapped himw as coming closer. He quickly dove into the closet, cracking the door, ready to blitz attack his captor and make a break for it. The door opened and then closed and he could hear a male sigh. He took a deep breath and threw open the door, screaming as he launched himself at the other occupant of the room.

“Evan?!”

Chapter Text

Evan threw himself at his attacker, putting his body weight into an attempt to take him down. He let out a yell that he hoped was intimidating as he closed his eyes and braced for impact. The impact came but it was not the soft flesh of another body, it was the hard floor. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the person above him who had not moved an inch.

“Connor?” his chartreuse eyes widened as he stared at the object of his affections.... the very person he had just tried to tackle... and missed? His gaze trail over the other male before settling on his feet, where his own were....... phasing through him. He felt his heart drop into his stomach. Evan was pretty sure his feet hadn't done that before.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, peeking one open, after a moment, in hopes that he was simply seeing things, but he found his legs still phased through Connor’s feet. That was new... And absolutely terrifying. Evan looks up to comment on it but finds Connor staring at the open closet door.

It had been a long day, but Connor didn’t think it had been so long that he would be seeing things. He thought he just saw Evan in his closet but that was insane. He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling heavy and hollow all at once. His chest was achingly empty, but his limbs were lead weights keeping him grounded in place. Everything was suddenly so exhausting. He had been blessed to look upon his face in the hospital but here... it felt more like his own guilt for what happened to the artist haunting him instead of a friendly visit. It was like seeing a ghost, but he hoped it was nothing like that since ghosts only happen when someone has died.

There was a knock on the door. After a couple more knocks the door creaked open slowly and Zoey stood in the open space. “Connor? Are you alright?”. Connor could not bring himself to respond or move. His mind was a blur of fear. What if the artis-… Evan. What if Evan had died while he wasn’t there? What if he would never see him again? What if he could never talk to him? Would he have nothing but the memory of a warm hand in his while the boy worked through a panic attack and the drawing in his pocket to remember him by?

There was a moment of silence before Zoey approached, putting a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Connor? You're still in your hoodie” Her voice wavers slightly as she looks over his sweat-soaked clothes and haunted expression. The silence stretches on, louder than thunder and heavier than steel. It was overwhelming. She approached him and gripped his arm, following his gaze into the closet.

“Connor, please say something” Zoey whispers, fear building thick in her chest. She was ready to call their parents for help when he finally spoke. “I thought I saw....” he trails off, not sure how to tell her he’s seeing a boy who might die any time in his closet. He quickly shakes his head. “Nothing. I'm fine”

Zoey watches him, eyes locked on his face, watching, searching for something... she wavers for a moment, hesitating before she sighs and releases him. “You should take a shower and get some rest. It's been a long day” Connor gives her a weak nod, not in agreement, but simply so she will leave him alone and let him think. It really had been a long day and his patience was wearing thinner by the second. Zoey had been a huge help today and the last thing he wanted was to yell at her for it. He would have to do something for her later but for now, he just wanted her to go.

He tried to show his desire for solitude by turning from her, going over to the bed. He gingerly pulls the notebook from his inner jacket pocket and sets it down, opening it so he can spread the pages over his bed to look at. He hears Zoey approach him from behind, not reaching out for him but making her presence known.

“I know you’re not actually fine, Connor. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to... but if you change your mind” …. Zoey hesitated. Was she really about to invite her brother to her room? She hadn’t had him inside of her bedroom since she was seven. She started looking for any excuse to retract the offer when her eyes trailed to the bed where the notebook was sitting, open, pages spread over the bed. One of the drawings stood out to her. Most of the drawings were in black and white, people, anatomy, and scenery... but this drawing was in vivid colors. It was a glorious oak tree that stretched out with massive branches, cloaked in leaves that reached to the edges of the page. The warm green hues of the leaves and the grass reminded her of breathing in the smell of nature on a warm summer day. Golden rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves, washing the page in the warm orange and yellow of a sunset.

The drawing reminded her of the large shade tree in the Orchard her family used to go to when she was just a child. The drawing was the smell of apples and fresh-cut grass, the taste of fresh-picked honeysuckle from a bush, the sound of the river she and Connor would dance in, shoes in hand, and faces pink with the juice of blackberries, ripened, plump and succulent from the summer sun. She could remember rolling down the large hill, racing with Connor through the tall grass, and contests over who could spot the most birds or catch the most insects. She remembered the end of a long day, ice cream dripping down her hands when her cone from A La Mode melted too quickly, lapping at her sticky fingers to get every last drop of the treat before she fell asleep, satisfied and happy, against Connor's shoulder in the back seat.

Zoey knew how this would end, she would be burned sooner or later but now... right now she could see her brother in his eyes. Her walls built over the years to keep her heart safe were cracking. She would never admit it out loud, but she missed the brother she knew. She hesitated; she knew this would likely end terribly but she couldn’t bring herself to retract the offer. “if you change your mind, I'm just down the hall....”

Connor tensed a moment before he turned to face her, watching her with wide eyes. He couldn’t understand why Zoey was being so nice to him. He thought she hated him, with good reason.... he had hurt her so much in the past. Why was she going out of her way to comfort him today? Whatever reason she might have had didn’t matter right now; he was just grateful to have someone in his corner while things were falling apart.

Zoey quietly steps back, giving one last longing look at the drawing of the tree on the bed. She had spent too much of today thinking about the past. She turned and left the room, shutting the door with a soft click. She still needed to go talk to her parents about what happened today.

Connor was left alone in the silence of his room, staring at the closet once again. He approached the darkness, clicking on the light as he looks through the small room, pushing aside his hoodies on the hangers to check every inch for any sign of Evan. “you’re seeing things... you really are going nuts” The whisper in the silence echoes against the walls and makes him all the more aware that he’s talking to himself... but he was so certain... he saw Evan...

Connor forces himself to move. He needs to unwind, to do something, anything to get his mind off today. His body is sticky with cold sweat, his hair is plastered to his forehead, it is uncomfortable and looks like an absolute mess. A quick lift of his arm assures him that he smells as bad as he looks right now. He locks his bedroom door and goes into the adjoined bathroom, stripping his hoodie over his head, his shirt with going with it; both are slung into the wall as he walked on. He didn’t bother closing the door.

Evan had been across the room, coming to terms with the idea that he cannot be seen, heard, and felt by anyone right now. He had been trying to figure out exactly what was going on, but his mind was hazy, he didn’t remember anything past going to bed last night and somehow, he was in Connor’s home... in his BEDROOM of all places. He tried to leave while Connor and Zoey were talking but when he tried to walk out the bedroom door, he found himself turned around, walking right back inside. A few more attempts to leave proved to him that he was simply unable to go anywhere but Connor’s room right now.

Anxiety dictated that he tries to figure out why he was trapped in the room, but Connor seemed to have other ideas for the poor blonde. As soon as Zoey had left Evan’s mind had been utterly distracted by Connor stripping off his clothes as he crossed the room directly in front of him. Evan wasn’t entirely sure if he was dead or not before but if he were... this was certainly heaven. Try as he might he simply could not tear his eyes away from the shifting of shoulder blades and lean muscles along Connor’s back as he took his top off. His hair was an ungodly wreck, but it swept gently over his shoulders like a lover’s hand, brushing across his skin. His body arched to turn on the water and plug the tub, long legs stretched out behind him, arms reaching, the movements showed exactly how tall he was, all lean lines and soft curves. He was bent just enough that his jeans pressed tight against his lower stomach and dragged attention to the patch of brown hair trailing down below the band toward an area that Evan was trying very hard NOT to think about.

Then Evan looked away. God how he wished he had his sketchbook right now, but it would be wrong to draw Connor in such an intimate way. Normally Evan drew while watching the subject, needing them to remain in a pose for a bit so he could outline them but the sight he just beheld... he knew he didn’t need another glance at that, it was seared into his memory. He felt an ache in his core, heat running through him as he heard pants unzipping from behind him. Some part of him was more than glad that Connor could not see or hear him in this situation, he was certain he would’ve died of mortification.

Evan tried not to think about what was happening behind him in the bathroom, but the sounds of water moving in the tub as the other male undoubtedly climbed into the warm pool brought his mind right back to the memory of Connor’s light freckles stretching over his back. There was a map of the galaxy etched into Connor’s skin, speckles of dark stars and supernovas dotted along a pale night sky that Evan ached to trace his fingers over. He wanted to draw constellations against his flesh, to feel the lines that tether him to the deities of old and worship the expanse of skin he was unknowingly offered.

Evan was being rather poetically creepy, he realized. He shook thoughts of Connor away forcefully, not wanting to dwell on the male who was... sighing softly at the soothing heat of the bath and oh god... did he just moan. Evan’s face burned with heat; the sound filed away into the deepest recesses of his memory as he attempted not to short circuit. He needed to get out of there, and he needed to go fast.

Evan looked around for any exits... the windows had bars on them... That was worrying but he decided not to think on that too long, there was too much shifting going on behind him and he was too close to the bathroom for his liking. He tried to open the door, but his hand simply phased through the doorknob. He stared down at the knob that was currently halfway through his palm and took a deep shaking breath. He had expected to panic but clearly, he was so far past panic that he was completely calm at this revelation. He pushed a hand out and shuddered when it went directly through the door, he yanked his hand back as if he had been burned, staring at the wooden door before him. After a hard swallow, he thrust his hand back out, watching it go right through the door. He pulled it back... he pushed it back in... and then removed it again. After several more attempts that proved his reality was completely fucked, he took a step back and sucked in a breath.

Evan crouched a bit and pushed his upper body forward as he took off running directly at the door, ready to phase through and face whatever was on the other side.

That is not what happened.

Evan hit the door face first, hard enough that he flopped back into his ass and rolled, legs over head until he hit the bed. He groaned. “I’m dead, why do I have to feel pain?” he groans angrily, hissing as he rubs the back of his sore head, where he’s certain a lump is forming. After a moment he sits up and opens his eyes and promptly wishes he hadn’t.

Connor had gotten out of the tub while Evan had attempted to escape and, in his distraction, he had not heard the other emerge. Now Evan was on the floor staring up at a completely nude and dripping wet Connor Murphey who walked, at crotch level, directly through him to sit on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, and dab as his wet hair with a towel.

Evan blacked out.