so, i wrote 1,300 words of angst. lemme just tag the co-creator of this headcanon/au,,, @overcooked-fangirl hope y’all enjoy
I had heard sobs, true, terrifyingly upset sobs twice in my life. The first time, I was maybe twelve, and my mother had received a phone call that my cousin died in a freak accident. I’ve never heard her so upset. It was terrifying, the way she covered her mouth as she broke down in those sobs.
The second was when Connor’s mother read my letter. She was so hurt, and so desperate for the idea that he could have had a friend, so desperate for an idea that he didn’t live a life in the darkness.
And then the third time came along, and it was so, so different.
I was waiting to be picked up by my mother, ignoring the dirty looks from those who knew what I had done. They knew all the lies. There was no running from it. There was no running from my words.
And there was no running from the angry sophomore who approached me, so infuriated that I had to take a few steps back, until I bumped up against a wall. What did I do now? Had I made him angry? Had I said something wrong before? My mind flew through every possible screw up that caused this, and I couldn’t settle on one.
“Are you Evan Hansen?” He demanded, taking a step closer, and I was suddenly unable to speak, stepping back only to find I couldn’t. I was terrified.
“You’re a fucking liar. You’re- You- I-” Every word, every stutter, I could see his fists clench tighter and tighter. I slid weakly down to a sitting position against the wall. My arm raised up to carefully guard my body as I pulled my jacket farther around my body.
“Go on. H-Hit me.” I said quietly, my eyes shut tight, my hands shaky. “I deserve it.”
Nothing. There was silence for a long moment, and I still didn't move. I waited for him to yell at me, to kick and punch me, to scream all the names I knew that were mine.
And then I heard a weak sob. It was the one of someone who was falling apart. I knew it too well. I’d heard it from myself.
I opened my eyes, taking a small glance at the boy who stood in front of me, and immediately I lowered my arm. He was full on sobbing, tears rolling down his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe his face. It was an ugly, real, painful cry, with tears and snot and spit. He didn’t even care that he was a mess. He was just…
Broken.
“T-That’s his sweater.” He whispered when he finally could speak, his eyes filling with more tears, and it hit me as if he had decided to hit me in the stomach.
This kid knew Connor Murphy. He knew him well enough to be a mess over it. He knew him well enough to find me and intend on beating me up. He knew him well enough to recognize his sweater on some other kid.
“Yeah. It is.” I whispered, sliding it off my body. I didn’t feel like I deserved to wear it anymore.
“They let you keep it, after all you did?” He looked betrayed.
“You- You- You can have it, man. I- uh, don’t deserve it.” I whispered, and I tossed the sweater at him. He caught it, and he held it in his hands for a long few moments, before balling it up, taking a deep breath, and throwing it right back to me.
“I already have a sweater.” He said softly, tugging at the sleeve of his faded red hoodie. “You’re gonna get cold without one.”
I stared at him, wondering why he hadn’t beaten me up already. I was still shaking as I stood, putting the jacket back on slowly.
“Zoe told me what school you guys go to.” He said finally, his hands in his pockets. “What you did…”
“I know.” I whispered. “It’s horrible, it’s vile- it- it’s absolutely a- a garbage thing to do.”
“No.” He said, letting out a long sigh. “It’s caused feelings that no one can quite put a name on. Don’t bother trying.”
I fell quiet. He was right. I had caused so much pain.
“Do you want to walk with me to where Connor’s buried?” I said after a long moment of planning out my sentence. No stutters. I swallowed.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m up for that.” He murmured, closing his eyes. “Can we walk?”
“Y-Yeah.” I said.
We walked in silence. He had headphones around his neck, but he made no move to put them on while we walked, even though it would have been easier and more interesting for him to just wear them. It made me more uneasy. Was I supposed to say something? What was I supposed to say? What could I say in this situation? Should I keep my mouth shut?
I blurted, “Connor. How did you know Connor?”
It took him a second to realize I had said something, before he turned his head, eyes on me.
“We, uh. We were buddies in middle school. I was the sixth grader who followed him around all through his eighth grade.”
“Oh.” I whispered. They were friends. They had spent a year building up a relationship. So why did it feel like I knew Connor better than he did?
“Yeah.” The boy said.
And the silence fell back between us, until we reached the cemetery. And then more silence, but heavier with every step, until we reached Connor’s grave. The boy had found a flower along the way, and had stopped to grab it. I watched him.
We stood at the headstone for quite some time, with more silence. THe boy crouched down, staring at the name, and tracing the letters with his pointer finger.
What could you say to a boy who may have been the only friend Connor Murphy ever had? Maybe the person who was actually closest to him. Or, they could have not been close at all. Maybe they- maybe it was a year of Connor pushing away this little kid. That seemed like him. Yeah.
“You know,” the boy said finally, and I didn't realize he was crying until he spoke, because you could hear it in his voice. “We never liked people calling us by our full names. He said it was too serious, and I agreed. We… we, uh, were never serious people at all. Not together, at least.” He laughed gently, and all of a sudden I feel sick to my stomach. This is his real best friend. I’ve stolen all the words this boy could have said, and he could have said the truth. “I never got to tell him anything serious, though. I regret that. There’s one thing I wish I had told him back in sixth grade.”
I swallowed, tears forming in my eyes. “What’s that?” I choked out.
It was another long moment before he replied. It felt like my whole day was full of long moments like this.
“I. I, uh, never got to tell him how I felt about him.” I could hear him choke back a sob. “And now he’s gone.”
I fell silent as he began to sob again, clutching onto the flower that he’d picked for Connor. After a long period of his sobs, he stood up, gently placing the flower on the grave.
“I mean, I doodled Michael Murphy in my notebooks for months. Had a better ring to it than Mell.” The boy said, giggling slightly as he wiped his eyes. I just stared.
We walked back together, and he spoke the whole way back together.
It felt like I was getting to know Connor for the first time.
