Chapter Text
Evan woke up one morning in Connor’s bed, the hoodie still heavy on his shoulders. For a second, he let himself believe it was another ordinary day in this not-quite life he’d built — Cynthia waiting in the kitchen, Larry silently buried in his newspaper, Zoe watching him too closely, and Connor sitting on the desk chair like always.
Except… Connor wasn’t there.
The room was empty.
Evan sat up too quickly, his pulse pounding. He rubbed at his eyes as if maybe he’d missed him, as if Connor’s ghost could’ve just been hiding in the corner, waiting for another sarcastic entrance.
But hours passed, and he never came.
By late afternoon, Evan finally broke — whispering out loud, voice cracking, “You can’t just leave now. You don’t get to—you don’t get to leave me too.”
And then, like always, Connor’s voice drifted from behind him: flat but softer than usual.
“Relax, Hansen. Still here.”
Evan turned, relief flooding and breaking all at once. There he was — leaning against the wall, hair falling in his face, looking almost… tired.
“Thought you were—” Evan’s voice caught. “I thought you were gone.”
Connor shrugged. “Not yet. But…” His eyes flicked away. “…soon.”
The words hit like ice water.
Evan shook his head desperately. “No. No, I-I can’t—I can’t do this without you.”
Connor gave him a small, almost pitying smile. “You were never really doing it *with* me, Hansen. I’m just in here.” He tapped two fingers against Evan’s temple. “I’m not real. I’m just your brain throwing my ghost back at you until you figure your own shit out.”
Evan’s chest ached, tears starting again without permission. “But it *felt* real.”
Connor’s expression softened, the bitterness slipping away. “Yeah. It did. For me too.” He hesitated, then added quietly, almost like a confession: “You gave me something I never thought I’d have. Someone who actually wanted me around. Even if you made most of it up.”
Evan’s knuckles dug into his thighs as the sobs caught in his throat. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched. Connor pushed off the wall and crossed the room, crouching in front of Evan. His eyes locked with his, steady and fierce in a way Evan would never forget.
“Listen to me,” Connor said firmly, “You’re alive. You still get to make choices. You still get to mess up, and fix it, and try again. You don’t need me to do that. You don’t need to wear my hoodie forever or fake dumb emails to matter. You just need… you.”
Evan shook his head, shoulders quaking. “I don’t know how to be just me.”
Connor’s hand hovered close, like he wanted so badly to touch him, but didn’t. Couldn’t. “Then start figuring it out. Promise me.”
Evan bit down hard, fighting not to cry outright. “I promise.”
Connor gave him one last lopsided smirk. “Good. And hey—don’t forget me, or I swear I’ll haunt your ass for real.”
Evan laughed through a sob, tears spilling anyway. And just like that—Connor was gone.
In the weeks that followed, things didn’t magically get better. Zoe still didn’t trust him—maybe never would. Cynthia clung too tightly, and Larry stayed withdrawn. The truth still pressed against Evan’s ribs, aching to be confessed, terrifying in its inevitability.
But there were changes, too—small, fragile ones. Evan went back to his own house eventually. He stopped wearing Connor’s hoodie every single day, though sometimes, late at night, he pulled it on like armor. His hands shook less when he typed, even if the words didn’t come easily.
And sometimes, sitting in silence, Evan swore he caught the faintest trace of Connor’s voice—like an echo in the back of his mind. Not sharp, not mocking. Just steady.
Telling him to keep going.
Telling him he was still here.
Evan Hansen never forgot Connor Murphy. Not the lies, not the grief, not the ghost who lingered long enough to make him realize that maybe, against all odds, he still wanted to live.
It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t easy. And it wasn’t the kind of love story people wrote down in books.
But in his own quiet way, it was enough.
Bittersweet. Just like Connor.