Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The orchard was a great place to get high. Great, in fact. But it was closed and Connor didn’t feel like climbing over a fence at the moment so he decided to settle for second best. Ellison State Park was not too far away and was empty most of the time, though especially in the evenings. Late evenings, anyway. Who goes there while they’re supposed to be eating dinner with their Perfect Families in their Perfect Houses?

So, Connor drove. He eventually pulled up to the parking lot, letting out a satisfied sigh at the sight of the completely desolate lots. No one had to see him get high as a kite. Nice.

He took a trek up the hills, absentmindedly peeling at the skin of his lip, a terrible habit he had picked up as of late. The silent weight of the joint in his jacket’s pocket was of slight comfort to him, a familiar sort of presence.

Connor sat himself down in the open field, the setting sun low in the darkening sky as he pulled the packet and lighter out. The breeze was calming, tossing his tangled, greasy hair out of his face. When was the last time he had had a shower? When was the last time he had eaten? Had he eaten yet today? Ah, shit. Oh well.

The teen had placed the joint between his chapped lips, bringing the flame up with a hand to cover it from the wind, before he heard a barely-there thud and a whimper. He brushed it off as nothing, probably some stupid animal or his imagination running away from him. But then he heard something else. A gasp for air. A wheeze? What was happening?

Connor turned his head, brow raised and joint finally lit. If he was about to die to some animal with rabies he was going to be high while he did it. He couldn’t hear anything anymore, the dull smoke entering his lungs allowing the previously simmering concern to fade a bit. He loved animals, of course, but honestly if one just fell from a tree it probably deserved it.

All noises had turned into a light buzz, no new complaints from this Mystery Animal to be heard, and Connor was just about to turn back (because honestly he just wanted to get high in peace) when something caught his eye.

Blue?

Blue.

A blue polo shirt? What kind of ratty-ass fashion sense--

Oh. It’s a person. Well, ok, that was obvious when he first realized it was a shirt. The problem was that it was a person who had just fallen out of a tree. A person had just fallen out of a tree and was now laying on the ground. Groaning.

Connor had some fatalistic humour, and this? Well, he just could not keep his laughter in.

“Oh my god, dude, did you fall out of a tree? That’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard oh my god !!” He was trying not to cackle. He really was. But this, plus his growing high and the fact that he hadn’t been able to properly laugh in long enough to be classified as ‘too long’ was making it pretty damn difficult.

Until, anyway, he actually looked at the guy who had just rolled over. His face seemed vaguely familiar (probably went to his school or something. Church? No, he hadn’t gone to church since he was six what the hell), and his arm was broken enough that he could tell now that he was actually paying attention. What was really weird was how Polo Shirt hadn’t really been crying all that much until Connor had opened his mouth.

This kid had an almost hysterical smile on his face, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes as he looked up at the taller teen. “Eheh, yeah, I- I guess it is pretty sad, huh? I’m pretty pathetic, just, just kinda laying here, hah.”

Nope. Not what was needed right now. Connor didn’t know how to comfort people he did not know what was going on he didn’t know what to do oh god-

“No, no, dude, I was joking, stop. You’re not pathetic, just, Jesus fucking Christ, here.” Connor sat next to Polo Shirt and was pulling out his phone, about to dial 911, before a hand shot out to grab his phone.

“What the fuck?” Connor’s gaze shot to the shaking form next to him, a brow raised and his phone held high above his head.

“Don’t- Don’t call anyone. You don’t have to call- please don’t- I just-” (Polo Shirt sure had a way with words) Polo Shirt let out a sigh of frustration, stopping himself from blubbering anything else before starting again. “Please don’t call anyone. I can’t do that- go in an ambulance, I mean. I just can’t. You can’t take me there either, you- you can’t do all that you can’t you should go home your family’s probably worried and you should really get going before they call the police or some-”

“Dude, stop talking.”

He looked the kid up and down, Polo Shirt’s eyes finally shifting to look at the pink clouds floating high above. The tear stains reflected gold, making him look a lot sadder than Connor had first noticed. And god he looked familiar.

“First of all, my family won’t care, it’s fine. Second, I’m either calling an ambulance or driving you there myself. Falling out of a tree is sad enough as it is, I’m not going to make you walk? What the hell? How awful do you think I am?” The question came off a little harsher than he had meant.

Connor took a drag from his joint, watching as the smoke rippled upwards. The other teen didn’t speak either, the crickets’ chirping the only noise echoing from tree to tree, before Polo Shirt began to shift only to let out a gasp of pure surprise and pain.

“Ok, yep, if you’re not willing to get into an ambulance I’m driving you myself. What’s it gonna be?”

So, slowly but surely, they made their way to Connor’s car. It was too nice for him, he knew. Too polished, too sleek. It smelled like new upholstery mixed with smoke, weed, and something unnameable. It was wrong. But it drove him where he wanted to go at the speeds he wanted to go at so he didn’t complain. Also he wasn’t about to complain about how his rich-ass family bought him this.

They only spoke again once they had entered the vehicle, Connor slowly backing out of the parking lot. He had thrown his joint into the forest before helping Polo Shirt up and to the car, but he couldn’t lie when he said he was missing it. Just a bit. He had specifically come out to smoke and here he was helping some random dude to the hospital.

“I, uh, thanks,” Polo Shirt mumbled, obviously trying to move as little as possible, each bump drawing a hiss from deep in his gut.

“No problem, dude. So, what were you even doing there? Like, the only people I’ve seen anywhere like this are going there to smoke, but you don’t seem like the kind of guy to smoke.” Connor glanced to his side, momentarily pausing before his eyes widened. “Shit, also, what’s your name?”

Polo Shirt let out some weird, half-snort, only to wince at the jolting movement. “I- I’m Evan Hansen.” His smirk faded quickly, however, gaze focusing on the passing trees. “I, uh. I just fell. I was climbing? And I, uh. Yeah. I lost my grip and just. Y’know. Fell.”

Connor’s brows furrowed, concern etched in his face for a heartbeat, only to switch back to neutral. He doesn’t know this Evan Hansen. His name sounds familiar, and he looks familiar, but he doesn’t know him. He shouldn’t care all that much, probably. But it’s only natural that he care whether or not someone wanted to die . Right?

“Listen, Evan. I don’t know you. We probably go to school together or some fuck, but honestly? I have no idea who you are or what you’re like. So I’m gonna pretend what you just said is true for now, to save both of us the emotional labour that I know neither of us can handle at the moment, and let it go. I’m Connor Murphy, by the way.” His hands had been tapping on the steering wheel nervously, feeling as though he couldn’t sit still.

Evan was very quiet from that point on, simply nodding in response to Connor’s miniature speech. The driver put on the radio, needing some noise to distract him from the gaping emptiness enveloping the car. He didn’t expect Evan to reply, not really, but this was just unnerving.

The ride to the hospital was short, but it couldn’t have been short enough.

Chapter Text

The waiting room smelled weird. That’s all Connor could think about as he sat in an uncomfortably stiff chair, in an uncomfortably bright room. His leg wouldn’t stop bouncing and the concoction of medication and sickly clean sanitation made him nauseous.

Connor didn’t like hospitals. Never had. Far too many questions he didn’t have answers to. The doctor wouldn’t stop poking and prodding and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know, he didn’t know Evan, he didn’t know how this happened. The whole situation had made him frustrated, a low ringing in his ears as his fingers itched for the joint he had left at the park -- why had he fucking tossed it? -- but he wasn’t going to leave.

Why wasn’t he going to leave? Why was he staying here? There was no point. But there was. Because, whether or not Evan would say it outright, he knew there was more than just an “I fell” to this. So he wouldn’t leave.

Also it didn’t seem like this kid had anyone else waiting for him and that was just fucking depressing.

When did he start caring about any of this stuff?

He supposed Evan was just too familiar to leave behind at the moment. Fuck. He just had wanted to get high and now he was fucking-

A man walked into the waiting room, interrupting the teen’s internal debate, and Connor lept to his feet at the mere mention of the name Evan Hansen. He didn’t like this enthusiasm, though. It was wrong, unnatural. Like this whole “caring” thing. It was all so unusual, settling strangely in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m here for Evan Hansen,” he declared once he had made his way over to the doctor, fingers antsy and playing with the silver ring adorned on his finger.

“Relation to the patient?”
Oh. Uh. “Friend.”

Was that right, though? They had just met that night . They could barely call each other acquaintances, but it wasn’t like they’d let him in with that relation.

God this was creepy, wasn’t it? He didn’t even know Evan and he had just waited for, what, a couple hours for him to get out of surgery? Damn, this was a bad idea. He supposed he was too deep in the rabbit hole to turn back now, though.

“Right this way, sir.” The doctor -- what was his name? -- waved his hand, turning to walk in the direction of what Connor assumed to be Evan’s room.

The lights almost blinded him as they walked down the bleached hall, murmurs floating out of open doors. How many doors had they passed? How many more until he could sit down and will the silent buzz of irritation away? His fingers twitched around the ghost of a joint.

Finally the doctor stopped, opening a door identical to all the others. How on earth did anyone find their way around here? What was this, a fucking Labyrinth? “Evan? Someone is here to visit you.”

Connor cautiously entered, suddenly feeling very out of place. He didn’t know anything about this kid, and here he was, the only visitor. What a disappointment this must be for Evan, seeing Connor Murphy -- the psychopath -- instead of literally anyone else.

Connor waved a stiff hand, uncertain of where to look, as the doctor left the room. His fingers itched, and Connor finally gave up on trying to still them. His hands grasped the sleeves of his jacket, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing- The door clicked behind him, and it felt like some kind of finality to his own doom.

What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to sit down and talk to this kid he barely knew? What even about? God, why did Connor get himself into this situation? He should’ve just stayed in the park and gotten as high as he could manage.

“So, uh,” he sat down in a chair to Evan’s right, eyes darting from Evan to the rest of the room. A couple of monitors beeped rhythmically, the sound grating in Connor’s ears. The walls were just as bright as the rest of the hospital, hurting the backs of Connor’s eyes and made him feel like he shouldn’t be there. He shook the unsettling chill crawling down his spine, continuing, “Jesus, I’m really not good at this. Uh. How’re you feeling?”

Evan let out a snort of hollow laughter, gaze focusing on a tile of the ceiling; the bags shadowing the forests in his eyes were far too obvious. Connor followed his gaze, the stain on the tile staring back at him. “Oh, just dandy. I’m laying in a bed, hyped up on pain meds, mind you, in a hospital my mom definitely can’t afford. Which means she’ll have to start working more, a-and she’ll get more stressed, and she’ll hate me and be so disappointed in me because I’m such a-a hassle. And I made you go out of your way to come in here, when obviously you have family who’s probably worried about you, and you should really be getting home I mean what right do I have to keep you here? Really- like, you should really be getting back, it’s getting late and-“

Evan’s voice halted, finally inhaling a breath, his uninjured hand grasping onto the sheets. Connor sat there, staring at Evan in slight shock, because this boy, who he’d barely heard talk up until this point, just gave him a literal speech.

How the fuck was he supposed to be prepared for this? Everything he had known about Hansen -- granted it wasn’t that much but still -- had been pointing in every direction but ‘I’m going to give you a monologue about all my life’s problems.’

“Woah woah woah, calm down, Evan. You’re fine, everything’s gonna be fine, and your mom is not gonna be disappointed in you. She’ll be happy you’re okay.” He shifted his chair closer to the bed, one hand resting on the railing beside it. He chanced a reassuring smile, but guessed it looked more like a grimace.

He didn’t bother to mention his family wouldn’t care whether or not he came home.

Evan took a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. His knuckles were almost turning white at this point, and Connor was tempted to take hold of the shaking fist, but that’d probably be weird, right? Yeah.

“Sorry, sorry. The meds seemed to’ve turned off my, uh, my filter a bit,” Evan’s voice drooped, exhaustion beginning to seep into his every feature, turning what was probably meant to be a chuckle into a shell of an impersonation.

“You should get some sleep, dude. You look like shit and’ve had a long day.” Connor awkwardly pat Evan’s uninjured arm, beginning to stand to get the fuck out of this situation before the hand that had previously been giving the blanket a death-grip closed around his wrist. Connor swallowed a wince.

Evan let go as fast as he had grabbed on, eyes darting back to his own figiting hands. “W-wait, uh, sorry but do you think you could stay? I know that’s really really stupid and I shouldn’t’ve even asked because I barely know you and you probably don’t care, but it would just mean a lot because I don’t really like hospitals and the idea of waking up without anyone there is kind of terrifying-“

Evan opened his mouth to begin a new sentence, only to be met with a hand placed over it, clunky rings cool to the touch. Connor looked him dead in the eye, saying, “It’s fine. I’ll chill out here; I didn’t really want to go home anyway. You’re fine, Hansen.”

Was it fine though? What was Connor doing? News flash, Connor, you don’t know who this guy is. He’s hyped up on painkillers and that is the literal Only Reason he wants you here! And now your hand is on his face? Really? Oh, god, this is a trainwreck.

Connor brought his hand away from Evan’s mouth like he had been burned, leaving the boy looking slightly perplexed. The shock morphed into gratefulness, however, a timid smile creeping into view. Connor couldn’t help but return a smirk as he lowered himself back into the creaky chair.

“Er- sorry, uh, about just covering your mouth by the way, but I didn’t really want to tell you to shut up again.” Apologies sat weirdly on his tongue. Too big and swollen, like cotton being forced down his throat.

Evan fiddled with the edge of his sheets, eyes focused on the repeating action, smile faltering slightly. “Sorry for rambling so much. I can’t really- it can be hard to stop? It just kind of happens, you know? Or maybe you don’t, I dunno, but. Yeah. Sorry.”

Connor waved him off, an easy half-smile calming Evan a bit as he lowered himself more into the (undoubtedly uncomfortable) mattress.

“Goodnight, Evan.”

“G’night Connor. Thanks f’r staying.”

And then Connor was left in a deafening silence, very much awake, and very much uncertain of what he was doing.

God, what was he doing?

Chapter Text

Connor was not a good person. He knew this. His temper had a habit of snapping despite every effort to stop it, he had so many self-destructive tendencies it was worrying, and he could be genuinely harmful to people who didn’t deserve it.

He was not a good person.

As he sat in the itchy chair next to Evan Hansen’s hospital bed, Connor’s mind decided to fill the empty space with memories. Memories of every time he had broken. Every time he had felt the pressure in his head and allowed it to take over, allowed his fist to contact with a wall. Or really any hard surface in range.

He remembered every time the front door had slammed behind him, the night’s silence breaking with his harsh steps down various streets as his feet carried him wherever they deemed fit. The dark spaces between the trees watched his every move as he would trek away from his house, needing to escape everything. The shouts to get out seemed to echo around him no matter how far away he traveled.

He remembered feeling so angry, and so alone. What it felt like to truly see red and not register what he was doing, only to come to his senses and fear his own reflection. What it felt like to be trapped in his room with a chair propped up on the other side, muffled sobs racking themselves through his fingers as he curled inwards. The feeling of the walls closing in on him until isolation became a part of his existence.

He remembered feeling numb. An emptiness he couldn’t understand, only knowing that he was, well, nothing. His insides had been scraped out, leaving a cold husk in their wake. He tried everything he could to get any emotion out of himself, finally giving up and taking minor satisfaction in the sting of inhaling cigarette smoke and the sweeping calm that came with pot -- well, until pot stopped working.

He remembered that night. He didn’t want to think about that night.

Connor’s eyes roamed back to the sleeping boy in front of him. Every so often a soft mumble would escape his lips, and Connor couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. What did someone like Evan Hansen think about? What did he even enjoy? The two hadn’t exactly had any conversations up to this point, so it wasn’t like Connor knew anything about this kid. He just knew he had been climbing a tree. And fell. He had to enjoy trees to be climbing one at least, right?

A groan escaped Connor’s lips, hands rubbing furiously at his eyes, stinging from lack of sleep. Maybe he should just try to go to rest. It’d be more enjoyable than staying up for god knows how long with his own thoughts. A lot less dangerous, too.

He should probably message his parents, right? Okay, maybe not Larry, but at least let Cynthia know he wasn’t dead. Would she care though? She’d probably be disappointed he hadn’t-

Okay, nope. Not going down that road, not tonight.

Connor tugged his phone out, quickly sending a message to his mother that he wouldn’t be coming home that night. She replied nonchalantly, seemingly satisfied with just knowing. She asked about if he was high. He pocketed the device. Exhaustion began to creep along the edges of Connor’s vision, causing the world to blur a bit.

He didn’t really want to fall asleep quite yet, something about it seemed unsatisfactory. But when he was tugged into a distant slumber, his head resting on the edge of Evan’s bed, he didn’t complain.

Where in the fuck-

The first thing Connor processed when he finally awoke was that he had no idea where he was.

The second thing was that someone’s hand was definitely in his hair and he didn’t know who.

Connor jolted up, scrubbing furiously at his eyes as the world came into view. His neck ached from laying on it wrong, and he was sitting in a chair? A thrumming beep entered his ears as his eyes finally adjusted and he was able to calm down.

In front of him Evan was still asleep, somehow undisturbed by Connor’s burst of panic. He assumed Evan had been the one who’d been touching him, though the fact his body had decided that had been a good idea was a little annoying. He was suddenly very aware that his hair was greasy. Sucks for Evan.

The third thing Connor processed was that he and Evan were, in fact, not alone. Across from him, on the other side of Evan’s bed, was a middle aged woman with worry and stress etched into her skin.

She had started when Connor had jerked upwards, now looking at him with a mix of warmth, confusion, and pure worry.

He didn’t have to guess who she was, someone that worried was definitely related to Evan. They had the same eyes, too.

Why could he tell the similarities of their eyes?  Literally so many other features were similar and he went with eyes?

“Good morning,” the woman (Mrs. Hansen? Ms. Hansen?) spoke, exhaustion dripping from her voice. One hand rested on the bed as she turned towards him, a lazy smile falling across her face, “I’m Evan’s mom, Heidi. I don’t think I’ve seen you before, are you two friends?”

Oh boy. Okay. He had two options here.

Judging by the lack of people in this room, and the fact it was Saturday, it wasn’t hard to piece together the fact that Evan didn’t know many people. Connor vaguely remembered the kid hanging around Jared fucking Kleinman but, on the occasions they were seen together, Evan never seemed to have been treated like an actual human. So he could just say he and Evan had been friends for a little while and save this woman the disappointment of the knowledge her child has no friends.

However, take a look at Connor. Sleeves balled up in his fists despite the heat, the sweater itself splattered with paint and falling apart at the seams. His fingernails painted black and a couple rings standing out like steel against oil against porcelain. His hair was knotted, falling into his harsh eyes and unkempt. Eyes themselves like ice, one grimy with dirt, and off balance with the sudden change in colour. Shadowed by deep purple, exposing the lack of sleep he was ever able to manage.

His body was ahead of the game, decomposing before he was even dead. He curled in on himself, posture the thing of nightmares and giving way to the almost embarrassing amounts of self-loathing flowing through his veins and searing his skin. His clothing was not only dirty, begging for a run through the wash, but it radiated weed and smoke.

So option two was to tell this obviously caring, loving woman that her son was friends with a depressed, skinny, probably-going-to-kill-someone stoner.

Was that better than no friends?

“Uh, well, you know. We go to the same school? I’m Connor Murphy. We’ve talked. A bit. I just was at the park the same time he was and. Yeah.” He cringed at the crackling of his own voice, broken from sleep and halting from the half-lie he had just spewed.

The woman -- Heidi -- nodded, her smile staying present, though her eyes seemed to dim a bit. Congratu-fucking-lations, Murphy, you said the wrong thing. Again. Connor’s shoulders hunched, eyes falling to his hands as he spun his ring, a silent mantra beating in his ears in time with the heart monitor.

A muffled groan caused both guests to flick their gaze to Evan, who was wiping at his face in a sad attempt to properly wake up. After finally moving to take in his surroundings, his brows furrowed at the sight of Heidi. His eyes then shifted over to Connor, brows relaxing slightly.

What the fuck did that mean.

Evan turned back to his mom, confusion and anxiety seeping into his eyes and fidgeting hands. “Mom, w-what are you doing here? Don’t you- shouldn’t you be at work? What time is it?”

Heidi’s hand lept to hold Evan’s, the other resting on his cheek to calm him. “I moved my shift so I could see you before I had to go, it’s okay. I have to leave soon, though, you slept for longer than I expected.” She let out a quiet chuckle, sitting back down, though not releasing his hand. Connor caught the look of guilt morphing Evan’s face for a brief moment before it disappeared. He held his tongue. “How are you feeling, honey?”

Connor watched as the two talked, taking in what functioning families seem do when someone is hurt. Every so often he’d be prompted to talk, occasionally saving Evan from stuttering through a question involving the both of them. He thankfully didn’t have to talk too much, Heidi more focused on her son than this stranger who had apparently brought him in.

A million questions and much fretting later, Heidi kissed Evan on the forehead before saying her goodbyes.

He hoped the foreign sound of the “I love you” hadn’t visibly twisted his face.

He also hoped he hadn’t looked too confused when Heidi had said “it was nice meeting you” before leaving.

And then it was Evan and Connor again, neither sure where to start. What were they supposed to do? Connor didn’t exactly know how this whole “making friends” thing worked, and he seriously doubted Evan was any better. Was that even what was happening? Did anyone want to be friends with Connor? God, what the fuck was he doing here? He should’ve left when he had the chance, never should’ve waited in that unsettlingly bring room, surrounded by people who actually cared.

But he did care. That’s why he was there. Who would’ve thought Connor Murphy was capable of caring about anyone? It was almost laughable.

He didn’t even care about himself, and here he was, caring about Evan fucking Hansen because he “saw something” in him, or some shit.

This was just rich.

Chapter Text

Fuck, this was awkward. Connor and Evan were alone in the hospital room, both so unsure of how to socialize they couldn't even look at the other. Connor spun his ring around his middle finger, brain moving far too fast to process anything but far too slow to come up with anything.

All he knew was that there was no way in hell Evan was going to be the one to come up with a conversation topic, so he was going to be the one who had to come up with something. Ah, shit.

What was a good topic to even talk about in this situation? Connor’s mind immediately flew to self-deprecating jokes, but judging by Evan’s entire personality he probably wouldn’t understand them, much less appreciate them.

Also Connor was still unsure if Evan had thrown himself out of that tree or not, so bringing up the fact that he wanted to kill himself was probably not the best idea.

Evan continued messing with the edge of his sheets, occasionally raising his hand to bite anxiously at his nails. The not-so-silent snap of them breaking sent a subtle jolt up Connor’s spine, an unsettling scratch settling at the nape of his neck.

What did he know about Evan? Anxiety? Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea, bring up his crippling inability to function like a normal human being, Murphy. Trees? He didn’t even know if Evan liked trees, just that he had fallen out of one. That’s something to start with, right? Fuck, was that a good idea? Wait, Connor, don’t talk yet, don’t-

“So, you fell out of a tree, huh?” Crescent moons formed in the centres of Connor’s palms as he internally berated himself. This is why we don’t talk without thinking, Murphy. Jesus fucking Christ.

Evan jumped, apparently having accepted the awkward silence as his fate. His eyes momentarily landed on Connor’s before darting back to various parts of the room.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I wanted to see what everything looked like from up there? And, uh, so I- I started climbing, right? And, uh, then, eventually, I, uh, I lost my grip? And kinda- I just- I, uh, fell.” Evan rubbed his hand on the sheets, eyes focused intently on everything outside a five-foot radius of Connor, though he supposed avoiding eye contact wasn’t exactly a rarity.

Connor hummed lazily, “And you like trees? I mean, you must give some flying shit about them to have been climbing one, right?” He tried to catch Evan’s eyes, not appreciating the fact that he couldn’t see Evan’s face, and therefore couldn’t really tell what he was thinking.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, I’ve been interning at Ellison State Park as a park ranger so I guess I, uh, I could be considered an expert? On trees? Pretty lame- it’s a pretty lame interest I guess, but I dunno. Trees can be cool?” Evan’s voice died out slowly, almost visibly retreating into himself as he finished speaking.

Connor let out a sigh, looking back down at his own hands. He lazily realized his nail polish was almost completely faded -- was the black empty? There was a CVS not too far away, right? Idly he began to reposition himself on the absurdly uncomfortable chair he was situated on. It seemed that there was no possible way for him to maneuver himself so his legs wouldn't feel stiff.

Eventually, after a shameful amount of repositioning, Connor settled on sitting cross legged on the arm chair. His lanky legs fit through the spaces under the armrest, feet slightly overlapping as he shuffled for a moment longer.

When Connor finally looked up, he was met with incredibly confused, brown eyes staring back.

“What, uh, what are you doing?” This had got to be the longest Evan had looked at Connor while speaking. He couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed.

“This chair is actually the least fucking comfortable thing I’ve ever sat in,” he deadpanned. Ah, there goes the eye contact. God damn it, Murphy.

Evan nodded silently, eyes falling back to the painfully bright cast taking up the majority of his forearm, fingers began picking at the same spot as before. After failing to gain purchase on the carefully wrapped material, his fingers raised to his teeth.

Connor watched the movement, eyebrows furrowing. Again. He had messed up again. How many times was he going to say something that ruined everything in the span of 12 hours? How many times was he going to manage to say something so wrong? Sure, he knew he was bad at talking to people, but this was just sad.

Evan’s nails snapped under his teeth causing Connor to jolt from his thoughts. The harsh sound continued, a steady beat along with the heart monitor, slowly crawling under his skin and up his spine. Connor knew the familiarity of the pressure in his temples all too well but he couldn’t snap. Not at Evan and absolutely not in a hospital room.

But everything was too loud. Too loud and too bright and too much. He shivered at the hair falling into his eyes, quickly pulling one of the hair ties from his wrist and forcefully wrapping his matted hair into a bun. The cuffs along the ends of his sleeves burned against his skin, his mind buzzing and white noise humming in his ears. He needed to get out this was all too much this was all too much-

He couldn’t snap at Evan. Why he cared so goddamn much about this goddamn kid was beyond him at the moment but he just couldn’t. He knew that all this could lead to him yelling and ripping and clawing and he couldn’t do that to this kid.

So the only other option was to leave. He had to leave. He had to get out.

“I’ll be back later,” Connor muttered, struggling to get out of his seat without collapsing. His legs felt like jelly, or like sticks flowing through molasses, they wouldn’t work properly and he hated it so fucking much.

He didn’t bother looking behind him as he left, the only thoughts running through his mind, that he could decipher, demanding to get out and away. He didn’t see exactly where he was going, only that he needed someplace where he could be alone. He needed to be alone and deal with everything that was happening.

Connor also didn’t bother to look at Evan’s face before the door shut behind him, the boy’s confused protests going fully ignored.

His steps echoed throughout the hall, though he was unsure if anyone was there to hear them. He didn’t pay attention to whether or not he was passing by anyone, though perhaps he should have because the next thing he knew he was wedged between a shelving unit and a wall, desperately pulling off his jacket in a very dark supply closet he was definitely not supposed to be in.

Had he cared enough he would’ve thanked every fucking deity he knew that no one had seen him.

Soon his jacket was laying on the floor in front of him and his knees were pulled up to his chest. He rocked himself slowly back and forth, counting in for 4, hold for 4, out for 4, repeat. His nails dug into the not-so-old scars littering his arms, willing himself to calm down.

He didn’t know how long he stayed in that cycle; rocking, scratching, counting, breathing. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 4, in for 4, hold for 4, out for 4. Scratch, scratch, scratch. He felt his fingertips turn damp.

Eventually Connor’s breathing regulated, the dull ache of his arms bringing his mind back to its regularly scheduled programming and the jeans pressed against his legs felt a little less like they were made of crawling ants. Connor snatched his jacket up from the floor, letting out an irritated huff at the sight of his arms, now red from scratching and a few beads of blood resurfacing from old wounds.

He made his way out from the closet, making sure to not knock anything over because god knows he wasn’t going to stick around to clean it up. He slipped out of the room, stopping for only a moment to locate the direction of where Evan was staying.

He really needed a fucking map or some shit for this maze of a building.

As soon as he entered the room Connor focused on the bathroom door across from him. Evan watched anxiously as the taller teen strode into the bathroom, arms crossed with the jacket bunched tightly to his chest.

The door shut quickly behind Connor as he made a b-line for the sink. He allowed the warm water to wash over his reddened skin, refusing to look at his reflection for the time being. He didn’t need to look at what he expected to be a wreck of an exterior.

He supposed it’d fit the interior.

After his skin felt marginally better, Connor splashed water into his face, taking in a few more deep breaths. He really didn’t need this right now. He didn’t need his brain to freak out when all he wanted was to be a decent person for the first time in his goddamn life. Though, he supposed this was still him, it wasn’t like bringing some kid he recognized from school to the hospital was going to change that.

Nothing had changed from when he had entered Ellison.

Ah, he was right, his reflection did look like shit.

Connor pulled back on his jacket, not bothering with the buttons, and left the bun. Taking it out seemed like too much work, and he didn’t feel like dealing with uncooperative hair deciding vision was a tall order.

Finally, Connor took a breath and left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He took his seat on the excruciatingly uncomfortable chair, legs back in their crossed position, before raising his eyes to look at Evan.

Evan, who's eyes had a mixture of worry and overwhelming anxiety swarming in them.

Chapter Text

“W-what just happened? I’m sorry if I- if I did or said, uh, anything wrong? Or if I upset you or anything, god, I’m so so sorry, I probably- I said something, didn’t I? Or I didn’t say anything? That was it, wasn’t it? God, you probably think I’m super annoying, right? Or, uh, like, uh, totally disinterested in everything? I’m rambling I- I’m sorry I just- sorry.” Eventually, Evan’s fumbling died out, his eyes darting about the room, every so often falling on Connor.

Connor’s eyebrows raised as the knowledge of Evan’s anxiety pelted him in the face. Of course Evan thought it was his fault, oh god . Connor raised his hands in front of him, waving them slightly.

“Oh, Jesus, no , Evan, what? I didn’t leave because of you!”

Evan’s gaze shifted to him, seeming to assess whether or not Connor was lying or not.

He licked his lips nervously. “Then why did you leave? If- if I wasn’t bothering you?”

It was a simple question, a reasonable one. Connor should’ve been able to answer casually, not giving too much detail as to what had happened but enough as to reassure Evan he hadn’t randomly ditched him. However, acting like a normal person would in this situation was apparently too much to ask for, as Connor curved in on himself. His walls shot up, eyes hardening and shoulders growing stiff. This was not a topic he talked about, especially not with someone he didn’t really know.

“I- ugh, how do I explain this. I just- I had to go some place dark and quiet for a second, okay? It’s no big deal. It wasn’t your fault, that’s what’s important here.” Connor’s eyes focused again on his rings, fingers spinning and tugging at them and teeth pulling at his lip.

He could tell that Evan was still working to calm his heart, though the panic was mostly gone from what Connor could tell. It looked as though he wanted to keep talking, though he didn’t know how to broach the subject. An uncomfortable silence laid around them, thick like a blanket, though it was quickly broken by a nervous stutter.

“L-look, you don’t have to tell me what was- what happened, and, uh, I don’t- I don’t want you to feel pressured to talk about anything? But, uh, I just- I, uh, I was- I was worried? You- you just, kind of, left. Without saying? Anything? Really? But, uh, yeah, I just- I’d like to maybe know what happened if you’re okay with sharing it?” Evan’s voice shook with uncertainty, the sheer lack of confidence in what was being said obvious in his posture.

Connor sighed. “Well, I’m not about to fuckin tell you all my life’s problems, okay? But I’m fine. I handled it, this stuff happens sometimes. It’s weird, but it’s over and I’m fine, okay? Don’t worry about it.” His voice was rough, and guarded, brows furrowed as he refused to look at the other boy as he spoke.

When Connor finally raised his gaze, it was to Evan’s eyes flicking from Connor back to his own hands. Eventually Connor followed Evan’s line of sight down to his arms, riddled with scars and red from irritation. Various scabs had been reopened in his desperate attempt to calm down, causing beads of red to resurface. His arms were laid bare, the sleeves of his jacket only reaching mid-forearm, leaving Connor to simply cross his arms in an attempt to hide what he could.

“Don’t worry about it,” he repeated, tone more of a growl.

Evan’s eyes filled with concern, though he didn’t pester Connor about it. Neither of them were close, and so it was in his best interest not to push something so obviously personal.

They returned into a nauseatingly uncomfortable stand still, but without the growing irritation in his mind from before, Connor was able to start to properly think of conversation topics.

Well, that’s what he would’ve preferred.

Instead, he found himself empty of ideas, unsure of how to proceed after he had quite literally flipped out in a nearby closet -- for what, twenty minutes? Half an hour? -- and proceeded to get stared at. Eventually, after staring at a floor tile long enough for his eyes to feel dry, Connor groaned.

“Ah, shit. Okay. I’m really not good at this-” Connor gestured vaguely to the space between him and Evan, hoping it was a good enough explanation- “but, I don’t know. I should probably be heading home, really. But, uh, I guess I can give you my number? Or you could put in yours? I don’t know, only if you want to keep in touch.”

Ah yes, because he would want to keep in touch with some random kid in his grade just because this Random Kid found him after what possibly might’ve been a suicide attempt. And then proceeded to sleep next to him and freak out in the middle of a visit for no reason. Because, you know, logic, eh, Murphy?

Evan seemed startled by Connor’s suggestion, and he was about to take it back before the boy in front of him spoke up.

“Uh, I- I’d like that, actually? I don’t really, uh- I don’t exactly have friends, y’know? I mean, Jared insists we only hang out for his car insurance and, uh, yeah. I’d like that. But, I mean, only if you want to I don’t want to intrude or anything.” His fingers messed with the pale sheet, the last sentence rushed, as if he were afraid of getting cut off, leaving a possible misunderstanding hanging in the air.

Connor smirked slightly, though his mind helpfully supplied its input -- he’s only going to talk to you because he’s tired of being a total fucking loner. You’re not actually wanted, Murphy -- as if he had asked for its damn opinion. He tried to push those thoughts away, for the first time in his recent memory trying to be optimistic. Connor and Evan could perhaps not be too unlike each other, despite the contrasts in their personalities.

So, Connor handed over his open phone with a quick reassurance that he did, in fact, want Evan’s number. After Evan had handed back the device, Connor sent a quick message, just so the other boy had his number, seeing as neither of them knew where Evan’s phone had been placed.

Somewhere in the room, they both heard a muffled buzz.

C.M: hey its connor murphy

With a slightly awkward “see you later” from each of them, Connor left the room. He started on his way down what he desperately hoped was the right hall -- I swear to fucking god if I’m ever back here and they don’t have a map I’m gonna draw one my fucking self -- and eventually made his way out to the parking lot.

Once he entered his car and was sat down he took a long, exasperated huff of air. He really did hate hospitals, and overstimulating while there was the actual nightmare scenario. Suffice to say, he was glad he was out of there.

As Connor began to drive, whether or not he was actually going home still up for debate, his mind began to drift. Why had he decided giving his number to Hansen had been a good idea? Why had he decided any of this had been a good idea? Yesterday he had, what, been pissed off so he had decided to go smoke? And then he decided “hey, let’s bring this kid to the hospital, freak the fuck out, get his number, then leave!”

Had he not been in the middle of the highway, Connor would’ve slammed his face against the steering wheel.

But he didn’t care. He shouldn’t care, anyway. There was no point in him caring, he knew he’d probably never get a message from Evan anyway. Evan would probably forget he existed and just go about his perfectly happy life with his parents.

Or, at least, parent. Connor had only seen Evan’s mom in the hospital and she seemed pretty busy. Either way, Heidi was worth forgetting Connor, and he knew it. This wasn’t some budding friendship. Connor Murphy didn’t make friends, and that’s how it had been since second grade. That wasn’t going to change.

Connor pulled up to his house, the driveway strangely void of his parents’ cars. He shrugged it off, quietly thanking nobody in particular for the chance to be home alone for a little while.

He cracked open the door, the afternoon sun shining in behind him, only to find the house completely empty. Connor cocked an eyebrow, wandering around the rooms just to be sure, before allowing a smirk to form on his face.

After looking in the fridge and cabinets for a snack, Connor made his way up to his room empty handed. Put off slightly at the severe lack of anything appealing to eat, Connor crawled onto his bed, eyes surveying the mess his room was in.

Across the floor was scattered clothing, clean and dirty mixed to the point where he couldn’t tell nor bothered to care. Various open paint bottles and cans sat, waiting near some old, overused canvases patiently waiting with paintbrushes he had gotten years ago resting in water-filled jars. His walls were mostly a bland gray, save for the one furthest from his bed covered by a large sheet pinned to the wall. A single bookshelf was littered with various novels and random things he had picked up from thrift stores on days he had skipped school but needed something interesting to do.

Connor let out another sigh, absentmindedly picking at his nails, before he turned to his desk that doubled as a bedside table. Pulling open the top drawer, he internally berated himself for constantly buying new bottles of black nail polish without checking first if he was out as his eyes surveyed the absurd number of gas station nail polish. He grabbed one, shifting awkwardly into a sitting position and beginning to open the bottle, before his phone vibrated in his pocket.

After fishing it out and unlocking the screen, he couldn’t help the glowing ember of hope simmering in his gut at the messages staring back at him.

E.H: Hey, thanks for your number! I wanted to thank you for driving me to the hospital and for staying the night. I hope you didn’t get in any trouble?

E.H: Also, do you maybe want to hang out tomorrow or something? Only if you want to, of course.

E.H: It’s just that I just got discharged and wasn’t really planning on doing anything tomorrow? Again, only if you want.

Chapter Text

Connor wanted to believe Evan actually wanted to spend time with him. He really really wanted to believe that. But he would never let himself actually hope that was the case. Sure, seeing those texts had involuntarily shoved a “maybe” in his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Evan just didn’t want to be alone and had no one else to turn to. That was it.

C.M: sure, im free, when n where u wanna hang

After replying, Connor tossed his phone to the side, wincing slightly at the thunk of the device landing on hardwood. He began to paint over the old polish on his nails, not bothering with remover -- did he even own any, still? -- though the exhaustion from sleeping in a hospital chair quickly began to set in.

He was finishing up, eyes drooping slightly, when the echoes of the front door opening reached his ears, sending a spike of electricity down his spine. With a final stroke, Connor slid the bottle back into the designated drawer, before jogging over to shut his door.

Connor could vaguely hear voices coming from the kitchen downstairs, though the actual words seemed to morph through the floorboards into unrecognizable mumbles. At least that meant no one was fighting.

He fell back onto his bed, eyes closing for a moment. It would be so easy to just fall asleep, maybe he’d get to miss dinner too and just wait until no one was downstairs to grab something.

Then he remembered his still very wet nails that had very new nail polish on them.

Connor groaned, digging the heels of his palms into his eyelids. Sitting up, his gaze made its way to the paints and canvases resting on the floor. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to paint, quite the opposite, really, but there was something about hairs on linen that made him want to grind his teeth at the moment.

His eyes flicked down to his arms.

They were still red, the jacket discarded beside him no longer hiding what little it had been earlier. Connor grazed his fingers lightly down the expanse of them, scars crisscrossed on all sides from shoulder to wrist. He grimaced at the slight burn from the aggravated lines, deciding painting on them probably wasn’t the best idea even if he couldn’t care less about his health.

His fingers tugged absentmindedly at his lips, the taste of nail polish immediately exploding in his mouth. Oh, well that was fucking smart, wasn’t it, Murphy? Jesus, patience is a thing, maybe wait for a hot second for your nails to dry before destroying your lips? Gagging, Connor wiped his hand away from his mouth, though the taste dissipated after not too long.

Connor grumbled, eyeing the paints and brushes resting on the floor once again. Letting out a sigh, he crawled out of bed, simultaneously wrestling his pant leg up to his knee.

A harsh knock on his door jolted Connor from his mindless painting.

“Connor, dinner’s ready, come on down,” he heard Zoe’s voice through the wood.

Oh, boy.

He let out a noncommittal call in reply, focus not leaving his leg. Connor’s eyes traveled up and down the expanse of it, eyebrows raising at the sheer amount of paint he had just lathered on his skin.

The galaxy-like pattern reaching from his ankle to his knee was rather relaxing to look at; the warm, twisting colours contrasting with the deep blues and purples while still resting easily in his eyes. With a gentle touch of a finger, Connor was unimpressed to find the paint still far too wet for comfort, though he wasn’t about to walk down to dinner with his leg out in the open. There was no way Larry would let it slide without comment.

With a grumble, Connor did his best to lower the pant leg over the paint without anything rubbing too much, though it would be a goddamn miracle if his leg came out of this alive.

Just as he opened his bedroom door, Connor heard his name called from the dining room. Connor deemed the stomping of his feet down the stairs good enough of an answer to what he assumed had been Cynthia’s shout.

He fell into his seat, the array of barely-edible food in front of him making his stomach tie in a knot. There was no way in hell he was eating this -- though, with the shouting sure to come, it wasn’t like he was going to have much time to eat anyway.

To his left, Larry sat, phone out presumably open to some business email. Across the circular table Zoe’s gaze was cast down on her lap, body slouched and brows furrowed. Cynthia finally entered the room, setting down a glass of wine next to her plate, and sat down to Connor’s right.

The silence was eerie. All present knew of what was undoubtedly coming, the voices that were surely to bounce off the walls until throats were raw and someone backed down. It was so routine at this point that Connor began to wonder why they bothered to stall it at all.

“So, where were you last night, Connor?” Larry spoke up, ready as always to pounce.

“Out.”

Why Connor was already so defensive didn’t make much sense, even to him. He supposed he just wanted to be left alone. When was the last time they pointed out something Zoe had done? Or mentioned him doing anything vaguely right?

“That isn’t an answer. While you’re living under this roof you need to understand that your mother and I have to know where you are. So, where were you?” Larry’s voice was gruff, and Connor shuddered at the thought that that was where he had gotten his own tone. Larry had only just put down his phone, fork piling on food as he glared at the eldest child.

“I was out, okay? I don’t see why it matters, you guys don’t actually care,” his voice had died down to a mutter, though it hadn’t been quiet enough to go unheard. Larry put down his fork.

“Young man, we’re your parents and need to know your whereabouts. Where were you all night?” His voice was beginning to raise, irritation clear and fists clenching.

There was some sick sort of entertainment Connor found in angering his father. Whether it was watching the vein pop out on his temple, the slight shake in his fists as he obviously tried to restrain himself, or maybe it was the danger he knew was in each taunt.

With every poke Connor made, the closer he was to getting punished. Funny, how addictive that could get.

Okay, maybe not funny. More messed up. Though, Connor had never been the posterchild for healthy coping mechanisms.

“I was out . It’s none of your fucking business where I was.” Connor’s voice came out as a rumble in his chest, vibrating his ribs as he watched Larry from underneath his hair.

“Watch your tone with me, Connor. I demand to know where you were, though, knowing you, you were probably out getting high, right?”

Connor let out a bark of laughter, void of any humour at all, an empty smile plastered across his face. He did his best to catch Larry’s eye, almost enjoying the way he could see the exact moment his father’s temper broke.

“Ah, yes, of fucking course I was getting high! I couldn’t possibly be doing anything else, could I? Because that’s all I am; the kid who gets high, right? And, of course, I must’ve passed out on some bench after blowing some dude for weed! And you would hate that, because Larry Murphy having a drug addict and one of those homosexuals as his son? God, that’d be an absolute fucking tragedy! ”

Connor heaved a breath, only now realizing he had stood up. His eyes flickered over to the other two family members, Cynthia staring with wide eyes and Zoe’s gaze still remaining focused on her lap. Her body seemed stiff, however, prepared at any moment to jump out of her seat and bolt for her room.

She’s afraid.

Of course she is, you psychopath, do you see yourself? You’ve literally shouted you were going to kill her once. She has every reason to be scared.

Larry stood up, eyes hard and nails most likely leaving half moons in his sweating palms. Connor knew he was pushing it, knew the shouting match that was only going to escalate from here. Over the pounding in his ears and the destructive shout in his mind to keep pushing , he absently hoped Zoe would leave soon.

Larry scoffed, nose scrunching up in distaste. “You’re not gay, Connor, are you still hung up on that shit? And I have every right to question whether or not you were out getting high - it’s not like you’ve given me any reason not to think it.”

Ah, there’s the vein.

Connor let out another laugh, resting his fists against the table. He always forgot that at the single mention of being gay, Larry wouldn’t hesitate to dismiss it, no matter how many times he was open about his sexuality.

Rationally, however, he knew his father was right about one thing. He hadn’t given them many reasons to believe him when he said he hadn’t simply been getting high. In addition, now that he thought about it, his initial intention had been to get high.

He wasn’t about to tell Larry that, though.

“Listen, Larry,” Connor spit the name out like venom, “I know it might be hard to believe your son could possibly do anything worth being proud over. I know it must be so hard to believe I could do anything right! But maybe, just maybe , if you looked for once in your goddamned life, you’d find that I have actual interests and hobbies! Wow! Who would’ve thought!”

Connor’s fist connected with the table, his mind barely registering the sharp sting in his knuckles. The plate next to his hand shook as Cynthia let out a gasp of shock. Connor wondered, for a moment, how she could possibly be surprised by any of this anymore.

Zoe’s fork clattered onto her plate, food barely touched, as she scrambled out of the room without a word.

Not too long after, Connor followed suit, though not without a few more shouts from both men. Nothing from Cynthia but a disapproving frown.

The slam of his door was followed by the thump of his body falling to the floor, back pressed up against the frame. He let out a shuddering breath, now-dry nails bunching up and pulling his greasy locks.

Connor didn’t get up. Slowly he began to rock, the wooden floor digging into his tailbone as he did so. The yells that had just been traded echoed throughout his mind as he took in deep gulps of air.

The thought of staying on the floor made him feel ill, however, his exhaustion slowing down his overcrowded brain. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed, the grumbling in his stomach be damned.

Eventually, Connor pulled himself to his feet, grabbing his phone off the floor as he made his way to his bed. At the moment, he couldn’t care less whether he brushed his teeth or changed, and so he didn’t bother with either.

Opening his phone, he was mildly surprised to see notifications, though he couldn’t be troubled to look more into what they were. Instead, Connor plugged in the device, turning over on his bed to face away from the door.

He fell asleep to the distant shouts of his parents, the occasional mention of his name being tossed between the two.

Chapter Text

The first thing Connor processed when he awoke this time was that his leg felt like it was on fire.

He swore under his breath as he shifted to his other side, denim rubbing against his already tender skin. After several more minutes of tossing and turning, each movement causing his leg to ache more, Connor finally gave up on falling back asleep and shuffled up, leaning against his headboard.

The decision to sleep in his jeans had been a terrible mistake.

Connor wrenched his pant leg up to his knee, wincing at the sight of his leg. Flecks of dry paint scattered onto his deep blue sheets, skin aggravated and turned a bright red. He flopped back down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling in quiet irritation as he willed himself to get up and have a shower.

In an attempt to busy himself, Connor grabbed his phone, hoping for some distraction to keep him in bed for a little while longer. His brow cocked at the notifications lighting up his phone from the night before. He opened them, lips twitching into a barely-there smirk despite his continued fatigue.

E.H: Any time works for me, actually! I’m not really up to much.

E.H: So, any time you’re free and want to hang out, I suppose?

Glancing at the time -- Jesus fucking Christ it’s three in the morning? I guess that’s what I get for falling asleep at six but come the fuck on -- Connor decided he wasn’t about to make any alternate plans any time soon.

C.M: ill pick u up at 12, whats ur address?

Letting out a final sigh of dramatics, Connor pushed himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. He figured showering and scrubbing off the remaining paint was probably the best decision he could make at the moment, but that thought didn’t stop him from sitting on the bathroom floor for twenty minutes, staring blankly at the wall.

Finally, after a long shower filled with bouts of mindless pauses, Connor changed into some clothing he deemed clean enough, and sat back down on his bed. He didn’t know quite how much time had passed between when he had first woken up and his current position, but he knew trying to fall back asleep would be fruitless.

The grumble of his stomach interrupted his mindless scrolling of social media an hour later. Pulling himself off of his bed, Connor ambled his way down the creaky steps of the house. He made himself a sad looking bowl of cereal, falling into the couch that always felt too soft.

After hours trying and failing to find things to busy himself with, Connor felt his phone vibrate. The sudden jolt startled him, the timeless atmosphere surrounding him shattering with the notification’s presence.

The message held Evan’s address, though he hadn’t seemed to question why Connor was up at such an ungodly hour. He nodded, though to no one in particular, and decided he could get away with going for a walk at this point.

Man, going out earlier would’ve been better, then you could’ve seen the stars.

The morning air was cool, though not as brisk as he would’ve liked. The sun casted a warm glow down the deserted street Connor made his way down, the occasional bird breaking the chilling silence. He wasn’t sure where he was going, only that he wasn’t prepared to deal with his family yet. The longer he could stay out the better.

Eventually, Connor found himself reentering his house. The state the house had been in when he had left was gone without a trace, Cynthia preparing some disaster of an omelette as Larry rested in the living room with Zoe. Larry had his laptop out, typing vigorously, the crease in his brow standing prominently, as Zoe scrolled on her phone.

It was unsettling, how normal the Murphy family looked without him there. They looked almost functioning, as though he was the one standing between them and a happy life of visiting on the holidays and going on picnics on the weekends.

It sent a shiver down his spine, his fists clenching in his pockets at the reminder of how intrusive he seemed to be.

“Oh, Connor! You’re awake!” Cynthia must’ve heard the squeak of combat boots hitting the hardwood. She turned around, a trying smile on her face that faltered at the sight of him. “Were you out?”

Connor nodded gruffly, not bothering with trying to speak up. He saw how Zoe seemed to glance up at him, and how Larry didn’t even bother to acknowledge his existence. His nails dug into his palms.

“Would you like to stay down here for breakfast? We’re going to be having omelets,” Cynthia tried again.

Connor had to give her credit, she was nothing if not persistent.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Connor began to make his way up the stairs, desperately hoping to get away from his family, until he remembered he was probably supposed to ask for permission to take Hansen out.

That’s what normal teenagers did, right? They asked their parents’ permission to go hang out with other people. And their parents would decide whether or not they were allowed to go. Had he ever done that? He supposed not, though it wasn’t like he had ever had people to hang out with in the first place.

With a slight uncomfortable pressure deep in his chest, Connor slowly made his way back down from the stairs. He took a breath, not sure why anxiety seemed to be wrapping it’s claws around his throat. He cleared his throat, causing Cynthia to jump slightly.

God, was the entire family scared of him?

“I, uh. I’m going out. Later today. Just a heads up.” His voice was choppy, unsure of what he was saying or why.

Connor supposed he just wanted to screw this up as little as possible.

Cynthia’s brows raised, evidently surprised that he was giving any forewarning at all. They had all gotten used to Connor simply leaving without saying where he was going or when he planned on returning. He was rarely out for more than a night, and those cases were only when he desperately needed space so he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone.

“Oh, alright. Try to make it back for dinner, alright?” Connor quirked an eyebrow, not expecting her immediate compliance.

“Wait,” oh, god, Larry, “I don’t want you going off getting high.”

Interesting, how Larry only bothered to recognize Connor as a member of the family when he was planning to berate him about something.

“Oh my god , really? I’m not going out to get high, I don’t even smoke that often anymore, Larry.” Connor’s voice was exasperated, fatigue evident in the bags under his eyes.

The older man turned, lowering the screen of his laptop slightly to regard Connor better. His brow raised, mouth a thin line where Connor remembered a friendly smile used to rest eons ago.

Larry spoke up again, tone like stone, “If you’re in fact not going out to get high, where are you going and why?”

Connor let out a noise akin to a snarling animal, hands running through his hair. He didn’t want this. All he had wanted was to give Cynthia a heads up, for once . He had actually tried to be thoughtful of her plans.

Why did he want to hide the fact he was hanging out with someone, though? It wasn’t like he had much to be afraid of, Hansen didn’t seem to be like the type of person to do anything remotely close to rebellious. Granted, he couldn’t say much in regards to that, he hadn’t really gotten to know the kid, but if the khakis and polo shirt were anything to go by he was pretty confident in his first assumption.

But he knew what would happen if he told his family he had met someone close to a friend. They’d suck all the life out of what growing bond might be there. They’d latch onto Hansen like a leach, asking questions and pulling him apart until there was nothing left, all the while certain Hansen was a dealer.

Or maybe Connor was just needlessly paranoid.

“I’m just, I’m going out, is that such a bad thing? I thought I’d just give you guys a heads up or whatever, sorry I guess.” Connor’s shoulders hunched, fingers absentmindedly picking at the new nail polish.

“No, no, this is good!” Cynthia moved the omelets to a side plate, a more genuine smile making its way onto her face. “This is good, thank you for telling us Connor.”

The teen did his best to give his mom a smile, though he couldn’t be sure if it reached his eyes or not. His gaze flashed back to Larry, who still didn’t look convinced.

“Cynthia, we can’t just let him get away with this. Him telling us he’s going out doesn’t change the reason why. ” Connor bristled at the sheer lack of confidence Larry seemed to have in him.

“I’m not going out to get high , Larry. It might be hard to believe that I maybe only smoke occasionally but it’s the truth! Now I’m gonna go get ready.” The sentence was ended with finality, as Connor spun on his heel and made his way up the stairs to his room.

If either parent had tried to get his attention as he ascended the steps, they went unnoticed.

Connor jogged down the stairs, cringing at the excitement radiating from his heavy steps. He willed himself to calm down, that there was no reason for him to be excited, that wasn’t normal for him, though it failed to do anything to quell his racing heart.

He called out his departure, typing out a quick message to Hansen simultaneously, before slamming the door behind him and entering his car. Connor had the address opened, hoping his knowledge of the town would suffice for directions.

Despite one scare that he had been going in the complete opposite direction to what was correct, Connor entered the Hansen driveway without much worry. He shot Hansen a message, unsure of whether he was supposed to walk up to the door.

He didn’t have to stew in uncertainty for long, as almost immediately after sending the text, Connor saw Hansen lock the door and jog down to his car. They shared relatively awkward greetings, as Connor, again, struggled to find a topic they could both talk about.

As he began to back out of the driveway, Connor’s eyes caught sight of the cast, harsh against the blue of Hansen’s shirt and tan of his complexion. It was stark white, the plaster seeming so out of place now that they were out of the hospital.

“So, uh, what’re- where’re we going?” Hansen’s stutter had almost left Connor’s memory. He wasn’t used to hearing people trip over their words, or, in Hansen’s case, nearly falling flat on his face at times.

“I thought it’d be chill to just chill at the park? There’re swing and stuff we could fuck with and just. I dunno, chat?” He had chosen the location because he assumed it to be quiet, and something Hansen might enjoy, though perhaps he’d been wrong? He wasn’t sure what the other teen was interested in, so maybe this had been a lapse in judgement?

Connor glanced to his side, trying to register Hansen’s reaction to their plans without taking his eyes off the road. If he hadn’t been mistaken, Connor could almost swear he saw a silent smile begin to spread across Hansen’s face.

“Yeah yeah, that sounds good.” Connor hid a sigh of relief

The rest of the ride passed in relative silence, though the radio was soon turned on. No matter how comfortable the silence may have been, the severe lack of noise was far too unnerving for Connor.

The ride was quick and relaxing, though every so often Connor could see Hansen fidget nervously. He pegged it on the kid’s obvious anxiety, though he couldn’t help but feel slightly dejected.

He doesn’t even know you and he’s scared. You really made yourself quite the reputation, Murphy.

Soon they pulled into the nearly empty parking lot to the park. The only other visitors present were off on the field connected to the jungle gym and swingset, a baseball being thrown between the father and son.

Connor and Hansen left the vehicle, both still unsure of what to say to the other. They made their way over to the swing set, the crunch of the pebbles filling what they could of the awkward air between the two.

“Man, ok, so obviously neither of us are the best at this whole. Friends thing,” Connor stated, though there was a humorous lilt to his tone.

Hansen let out a snort of amusement, before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, we’re, uh, we’re not very good at this.”

Connor let out a huff of laughter, leaning back into the rickety swing. After a moment he kicked himself off, allowing momentum to swing his body. His eyes fell back to the cast demanding attention on Hansen’s left arm.

“Hey, uh, no one’s signed your cast.” Yeah wow great observation there, Murphy, you want a gold star?

Hansen’s eyes, too, lowered to the cast, fingers picking at the plaster almost on reflex. “Y-yeah, I know. I mean, I haven’t had it on that long anyway? So, like, it doesn’t, uh, it-it doesn’t say all that much about me? But, uh, I didn’t see my mom that much yesterday anyway, so she was too busy to sign it, and, uh, Jared’s been busy, with, w-with whatever, so, yeah. I know.”

Connor nodded, brows creasing as he crossed his arms. One hand pat his bicep without much thought, as his gaze moved away from Hansen. With far less confidence than he was used to, Connor stated, “I’ll sign it.”

Hansen’s eyes shot up, surprise obvious as he stared dumbly at the teen next to him. He began stuttering a “you don’t have to” as Connor’s mind began to race. It demanded he stop, that Hansen didn’t want his signature, but he continued nonetheless.

“Do you, uh, have a pen? Or anything?”

Hansen fumbled with his pocket, searching for something to write with, before pulling out a thick sharpie. Connor took it cautiously, then tried to do the same with the cast, though the hiss of pain sent a terrified spike through Connor’s spine. His memory provided all the times he’d hurt someone, whether on purpose or not.

He mumbled an apology, before beginning to scrawl his name across the cast.

Shit, okay, get this right. It doesn’t seem bad, how do you even mess up a signature? Hansen seemed to think it was fine for you to sign it, right? So you couldn’t possibly fuck this up. Yeah, look at that! That’s an okay signature, Murphy!

Hansen’s sarcastic “oh, thanks” rang in Connor’s ears, his eyes widening slightly. He hastily passed back the sharpie, before spinning his ring. The repeated action, along with the silent scratch of metal on metal, provided enough comfort to quell some of Connor’s anxiety, however he couldn’t fight the urge to curl in on himself a little more.

He couldn’t be bothered to worry if Evan saw his form retract.

How on earth could you fuck up a signature on this lonely kid’s cast? It’s so big, there’s no room left for anything, asshole.

“Yeah, well, now we both can pretend we have friends, I guess,” he mumbled, eyes not moving from the shining band around his finger.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hansen open his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by a voice.

“Evan, there you are, holy shit!”

Connor’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing to focus on the waving teenager running up from the parking lot. He chanced a look at Hansen, who’s eyes were wide and brows raised up to his hairline.

“Jared?”

Chapter Text

Why in the hell is Jared fucking Kleinman here?

Kleinman ran up to the two, a shine in his eyes Connor didn’t recognize. As Connor’s gaze followed the approaching company it flickered over to Hansen, and he noticed the look of anxiety and understanding swirl in the chestnut eyes. Connor’s brow raised as Kleinman proceeded to walk directly past him without so much of a glance.

“Evan, you’ll never believe what I just found out, and like you weren’t answering your texts and you weren’t home but, like, okay, so-” Kleinman’s voice rocketed through the air like a gunshot as he continued to ramble on and on about some new video game he had been playing.

Or at least, that’s what Connor thought was being talked at Hansen about. Honestly, he was lucky if he understood anything that was being said at all. Kleinman left no room for Hansen to contribute to the conversation, simply throwing words at him as his hands flapped in front of his shoulders. Connor had never seen someone so excited to talk about anything before.

However, Hansen looked slightly distraught. There was the sense of comfort, as if this was normal, and as if this was an interaction that gave him some reassurance, but there was something else there. Connor watched as Hansen occasionally stole a glance at him, before returning his gaze to Kleinman.

After an uncountable number of minutes passed -- had Kleinman taken a single breath during that entire interaction? -- Kleinman’s voice began to slow.

“So, yeah! What’s up with you?” His eyes fell to the cast, the lone signature sticking out against the harsh white. “Dude, you broke your arm? How the hell did you manage that? I can’t remember the last time you willingly left your house! ” His snort of laughter was quickly covered by a hand.

“Oh- oh well, you see, I was, uh, I was climbing a tree? I was interning at Ellison State, uh, Park, so, uh, I’m kinda a tree expert now? But, uh, anyway! I- I was climbing a tree there, and I just, uh, fell.” Hansen’s fingers pulled at the inner plaster of the cast, shifting his gaze to Connor and back again.

“Shit, you fell out of a tree? What are you, an acorn? And who’s Connor? Wait, dude, it isn’t-” Kleinman’s gaze shot to Connor, whom Hansen had gestured to at the question. His eyebrows raised as he looked the teen up and down, apparently only just noticing that he and Hansen weren’t alone.

Connor felt his shoulders hunch as he stared back.

Keeping eye contact with Connor, Kleinman leaned over closer to Hansen, who, in return, leaned farther away. Without looking away, in a stage-whisper, though Connor wasn’t sure if it had been meant to be so loud, Kleinman asked, “dude, how in the hell did you get the school shooter to sign your cast? And why are you here with him? ”

Suddenly, Kleinman looked into Hansen’s eyes, an expression so serious it could’ve been comical had Connor not felt the scratch of claws down his spine with every word being said.

“Dude, blink twice if you’re being held hostage and I’ll call the cops.”

Hansen blanched, “J-Jared, no , what on earth?”

Connor’s eyes had fallen to his hands, nails scraping repeatedly at his arm through the fabric of his sweater. With brows furrowed, the growing urge to simply walk away echoing through his skull, he closed his eyes.

“You know, Hansen was the one to suggest we hang out. You don’t have to worry about me kidnapping him or whatever shit you’ve come up with.” His voice came out stilted and uncomfortable, though he hadn’t meant it to be so harsh or threatening.

Well, maybe he had. He couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt when, through his hair, he saw Jared flinch.

Though, it was followed by the nauseating remembrance of this is why people call you a psycho, Murphy.

“H-hey, dude, I was joking. Chill out.” Kleinman’s voice betrayed his obvious attempt at seeming cool and calm in response to Connor’s snap.

“Yeah, no, calling me a school shooter was a fucking hilarious joke,” he mumbled.

He couldn’t tell if either boy had heard him, though he didn’t know for sure if he had wanted them to.

Hansen coughed, the tense air surrounding the three becoming too much for him to handle. Both Connor and Kleinman looked at the person between them, Connor’s brow raised in question.

“U-uhm, Jared, I, uh, I know talking about video games is, uh, is really important to you. And that’s fine! That’s totally cool and I love hearing you talk, uh, talk about them, but, uh,” Hansen’s eyes flickered between the two, hands gesticulating nervously, “you, uh, you can’t just? Barge in when I’m with someone else? I mean, obviously my mom totally and completely understands, but, uh. You can text me, you know? Or, like, leave a- leave me a voice mail? But, uh, Connor and I, we were, uh, we were hanging out, you know? So like, obviously any other time I’m one hundred percent okay with you showing up without warning, but just, uh, just not? When I’m trying to hang out with someone else, you know?”

The anxiety was almost palpable as it radiated off of Hansen, every word spoken with less confidence Connor had thought possible. His hands had stopped fidgeting as much, though they continued to fumble together on his lap, every so often pulling at the hem of his polo shirt.

Kleinman seemed to take a small step back, an amalgamation of emotion Connor didn’t quite recognize nor understand clouding his eyes. His hands had long stopped moving, now shoved deep in the pockets of his shorts. A curt nod was given amidst the ever present silence.

“Yeah, okay. I gotcha. Sorry. Please, continue with your date or whatever.” Kleinman began to walk away, a weight in each step that hadn’t been there when he had arrived. Quickly, he turned around, calling back at the two, “but, dude, I think you’re with the wrong Murphy,” before entering his car and driving off.

What the fuck did that mean?

Connor watched Hansen visibly stiffen at the last remark, sudden unease overtaking all other emotions. His lip tore between his teeth as his eyes grasped for something to focus on. Eventually, he settled on the rhythmic toss of the baseball, far across the park. Connor’s gaze focused on the ball as well, a metallic taste forming in the back of his throat as he remembered that false sense of comfort Larry had tried to enforce so long ago.

“I don’t really know what he meant by wrong Murphy ,” oh, but you do know what he meant, “but, uh, you aren’t being forced to be here with me, you know? You can leave whenever.” Connor spoke in a hushed tone, though the steel reinforcing his statement gave way to the protective boundaries forming around him.

“I mean, I can’t really, you drove us here and I don’t know my way back,” Hansen chuckled, before his eyes widened. “That was so rude oh my god, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean- oh god I’m so so sorry!”

Connor’s chuckle was empty of emotion, of substance, of anything. It was pure apathy, as he replied gruffly, “yeah, maybe not the best response. Look, I don’t want you to just be hanging out with me as a, I dunno, a thanks for driving you to the hospital or whatever. If that’s what this is I’ll drive you home.”

A hand reached for Connor’s shoulder, the touch causing him to flinch back reflexively. Connor’s eyes broke from the father and son, resting on Hansen’s alarmed eyes staring back at him. The hand lowered, Connor slowly shifting back into a comfortable arrangement on the swing -- these really were not meant for tall ass teenagers, what the hell -- before silence left the two watching each other with guarded eyes.

“I’m sorry about that, I- I really didn’t mean to be rude. I just, I don’t really want to get into what Jared was saying? He can be an- an asshole, and he really isn’t the best friend, but. Ugh,” Hansen sighed, cast-free hand pulling at his hair. “He’s used to me listening to him, I guess? So, like, uh, when I said I couldn’t do that anymore, I just-”

The poorly sewn together words rattled against Connor’s ears, his jaw clenching. Normally, he’d be fine with Hansen’s attempts to get across some semblance of a point. But after Kleinman had shown up he found his patience running thin. He didn’t want to yell at Hansen, but he couldn’t take the absurdly slow pace he was running at right now.

“Hansen, you need to take a breath,” Connor cut in, one hand raised, “you’re rambling and I’m gonna need you to get to the point soon.”

Hansen did as instructed, taking in a large breath as he gathered what he was trying to say. A moment passed, the two sitting in thought, before it was broken by a slightly more assured response.

“A year or so ago I, uh, I had a crush? On, uh, on Zoe, your sister, and- and Jared never really? Let it go? So, uh, he’s just- he’s just poking fun at that. But! But I swear, me- me hanging out with- with you has nothing to do with that, or, uh, me repaying you?” Hansen’s eyes were closed, his poorly constructed reply ending in a question, as though he was unsure whether or not it had been the correct thing to say.

Connor turned back to the two family members across the field, though they appeared to be packing up for the day. With his elbows placed on his knees, fingers never quite having stopped their scratching, it was difficult to see anything past his curtain of hair.

He shouldn’t feel so antsy. His stomach shouldn’t feel so constricted and his shoulders shouldn’t feel so tense. His arm was just getting itchier with every run of nails on cloth until he was fighting the urge to pull up his sleeve. His foot was tapping -- when had it started doing that? -- and he wondered, distractedly, why he was reacting so much to anything Hansen had said. This was stupid, and he shouldn’t be so fidgety after learning this near stranger used to have a dumb crush on his sister.

He supposed a brother never quite stopped being protective over his baby sister.

So Connor took a breath. His hands clasped together in front of him, ceasing the needless scratching down the length of his forearm -- god, that’s gonna be red . His leg continued to bounce, but he supposed simply not shouting was already progress enough for one day.

Instead, he tried to focus on the fact that Hansen no longer had his eyes on his younger sister. He focused on the affirmation that Hansen was here of his own free will and that he did not, in fact, want to leave as soon as humanly possible.

Or, maybe he did, but that was because of the poor kid’s social anxiety, not because Connor was thought to be about to snap and murder someone.

He took another breath before speaking up. “So, you and fucking Kleinman, how long have you known each other?”

Chapter Text

The two continued to talk, and though still stilted and occasionally uncomfortable, both Hansen and Connor seemed to be warming up to each other. Connor still couldn’t understand how anyone did this on a regular basis, though. It was exhausting.

They had left the swing set, walking lazily around the field and climbing the jungle gym without much thought. Connor had given up all hope of sitting comfortably on the swing, and his incredibly cramped legs had rejoiced when he had demanded the two start moving.

There were still bouts of tense silences, both teens unsure of how to continue the conversation. It wasn’t easy, necessarily, to talk to Hansen, but it didn’t make Connor want to punch the kid, so he deemed that good enough.

After an hour or so of mindless chatter in attempts to get used to the other’s presence, Connor drove Hansen home. That journey wasn’t any more comfortable than it had been on the way to the park. Eventually, they arrived at the smaller house.

“Uh, thanks. For the, uh, y’know.” Hansen slowly began opening the door, eyes darting from his lap to Connor.

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll see you later.” Connor’s voice was only barely more certain than Hansen’s had been.

With a stiff nod and another “thank you,” Hansen left the car. Connor watched him enter the home, heaving a slow sigh. It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed his time at the park, it had been better than he had expected to be honest, but he couldn’t help but be relieved now that he was alone.

His mind then drifted to who was waiting for him at home, however, and he decided Larry was the last person he wanted to see. Better to postpone the inevitable interrogation for as long as possible.

Connor pulled out of the driveway, casting a final curious glance at the building, before cringing at the rumble of his stomach. What had he eaten today? He swore he remembered having a sandwich earlier, though had that been today? Maybe that had been a few days ago, he really couldn’t remember.

Connor deemed the angry growl of his stomach answer enough and made his way down to the nearest Wendy’s.

This had been a mistake.

Connor had been praying to whatever deity that may or may not have been looking down on him that there would be a drive through. After talking with his parents and then Hansen -- and fucking Kleinman’s grand entrance -- he was so tired of interacting with people. Drive throughs promised quick and to the point cooperation so both parties could move on as soon as possible.

He had so desperately hoped that there would be a drive through.

His hopes now lay dashed on the tiled floor of the Wendy’s Connor was currently standing in, along with discarded napkins and the occasional fry.

Eventually, Connor made it to the front of the line, fingers playing with a ring as he hunched his shoulders in an effort to get across the message that he really didn’t want to talk thanks .

The girl at the counter seemed to understand that, thankfully, though her overly enthusiastic tone sent chills down his spine.

“Hi! What can I get for you today, sir?”

Connor relayed the order of fries, chicken nuggets, and probably way too much sauce to the cashier, glad that he didn’t have to worry about talking with anyone else until he got home.

After paying and waiting for his order, Connor released a satisfied sigh. The growing irritation in his stomach seemed to relax slightly, allowing his tense shoulders to slump, at his first bite of food.

God, he had been hungry.

His gaze scanned the inner seating area, searching desperately for an empty table as far away as possible from all other customers. His eyes only stopped when they made direct contact with one of the last people he wanted to see right now.

Fucking Kleinman stared back at him, eyes wide and a burger shoved halfway into his mouth. The table he was sat at was the only one Connor could imagine joining, as all the others were either next to a group of loud teens or looked as though a war had broken out on their surface.

With a deep breath to steel himself, Connor reluctantly made his way over to Kleinman’s table, placing his tray down in front of the empty seat across from him.

“Neither of us want this, but I’d rather die than sit anywhere else in this god forsaken building, so. I’m sitting here,” Connor declared in a dejected mumble, falling into the seat.

Kleinman tried to take a breath around the enormous bite of his burger he had just taken, leaving him in a coughing fit before he could take a large gulp of soda. With a few more feeble coughs, Kleinman finally looked directly at Connor, pure confusion etched in his face.

“What in the shit are you doing here, Murphy?”

Connor sighed, brows furrowing as he dipped one of his chicken nuggets into sauce. “Well, I’m not going home, and I haven’t eaten much in the past couple days, so I’m here.”

They sat in silence for a moment, neither one sure of what to do or say, as Jared rock back and forth slightly, fingers fussing with a paper napkin. They had never been on good terms, Kleinman generally happy to use Connor as the butt of his jokes, though Connor couldn’t help but think something was off about Kleinman’s entire persona.

Looking at him now, shoving too much burger into his too small mouth, Connor begrudgingly submitted to the hunch that the two boys weren’t nearly as different as he would’ve hoped.

He, of course, would never admit to that fact, however.

“Wait, why don’t you just eat in your car?” Kleinman broke the somewhat tense silence, brow raised in question.

Connor paused for a moment, processing what had just been said. Leaning back in his chair, looking from his food to the door for a moment, he suddenly stood up without a word.

“Wait wait, no no no, I got something to say before you go,” Kleinman rushed, stopping Connor in his tracks.

After waiting for the other teen to sit back down, Kleinman looked at the table, uncomfortably rocking from side to side. A moment passed before he took out a fidget spinner from his pocket, distractedly flicking it as he sat in thought.

“So, like, why are you, school stoner and literal embodiment of anger management issues, suddenly hanging out with Evan?” Kleinman’s eyes were stuck on the food now abandoned on his tray.

Connor felt aggravation hum at the base of his spine, both the insults and possible implications fueling the buzz in his ears. “What do you mean?”

Kleinman let out a hollow laugh, replying, “I mean, let’s be honest here, he isn’t the best company. Why are you hanging out with him ?”

Connor’s brows furrowed, eyes burning holes in Kleinman, though he still refused to raise his eyes.

“Like I said before, he offered. And, I dunno, maybe I just wanted to talk with him, is that a crime?” His voice was a low growl, reverberating in his chest and causing Kleinman to flinch.

The two glared at each other, obvious doubt clouding Kleinman’s eyes, as he responded, “No no, you want something. What do you want from Evan? I mean, he couldn’t possibly owe you anything, right? So what do you want?”

Confusion began to overtake the anger simmering in Connor’s gut. An eyebrow raised at the questions as he took his time to reply, chewing thoughtfully on a fry.

“What could I possibly want from him?”

Kleinman huffed in irritation, “that’s exactly what I’m asking you, Murphy.”

It took another moment of Connor staring, Kleinman’s eyes resting on different parts of his face, before the shorter teen spoke up again, uncertainty ebbing into his words.

“You really don’t want anything from him?”

Connor groaned, his impatience to leave causing his leg to bounce. “No, I don’t want anything from Hansen. I don’t do that. I know I’m an asshole but I don’t stoop that low, Jesus Christ.”

Kleinman’s eyes lowered back to his food, his free hand grabbing another fry and tossing it into his mouth. “Okay. But, god, I swear. Murphy, if- if I find out you were taking advantage of him-” Kleinman sighed, abandoning his stiff attempt of a threat- “whatever.”

Connor took the finality of that statement as permission to leave. He took his tray and bolted from the building, ignoring the irritated protests of the workers. A distant ringing echoed in his ears, hands unlocking and opening the car from muscle memory.

What the fuck.

Connor took his time to finish eating, foot tapping as his mind did it’s best to make sense of what had just happened. Kleinman’s expectations had been so slow . His mind couldn’t help but sift through every memory he had pointing to how anyone could possibly come to the same conclusion Kleinman had. The scary realization at how justified Kleinman’s concern had been made him nauseous.

Connor threw out the rest of his meal, no longer hungry and seeing no point in further delaying the undoubted questioning he was in for. He took his time driving down the various roads, occasionally going down a side street just to see how much time he could put between now and his return home.

To his disappointment, it didn’t turn out to be much.

The door creaked open, causing Larry to eye Connor with scrutiny. It sent another wave of irritation through his body, but he made sure to make eye contact with his father.

“You were out late.”

“It’s only four,” Connor bit back, confusion laced in aggravation.

“It’s still late enough, are you going to tell me where you were?” Larry’s voice was unwavering, the only hint of displeasure being the burning embers in his eyes.

Connor scoffed, beginning to turn towards the stairs muttering, “I actually can’t believe you’re still asking that.”

He had begun to make his way towards his room, before Larry’s grip could be felt on the sleeve of his sweater.

“Young man, you never answered . Where were you today?” The wall of indifference had begun to crumble, impatience leaking into his words.

Wonder how far you can push him before dinner, Murphy.

“I was out. Now let go of me,” Connor attempted to pull his arm away, apparently underestimating the strength of his father.

“I am your parent and I deserve to know where my son was. Connor Murphy, where were you all day?” Larry’s voice had begun to raise, grip tightening around the teenager’s sleeve.

“I was literally out with a friend, Larry, why do you so badly want to know? I was just hanging out, y’know, like normal teenagers do!” Connor, again, tried to get out of his father’s grasp, pulse increasing at the unknowns this conversation held.

“How do I not know you weren’t out smoking weed again! You even stink of it. That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?” Larry had begun to tug Connor down the stairs, earning a surprised grunt from the teenager.

“I wasn’t- fuck, Larry. Why is that all you think about me? Is that the only thing about me you bother to pay attention to? That I sometimes smoke?” His voice grew higher despite his best efforts, the fact that Larry was holding back a little less this time around spiking his nerves.

“That’s all I know about you, Connor! You’ve never bothered to tell me anything else about you, so why shouldn’t I assume that’s what you were doing?”

The two were standing in the kitchen, and Connor was mildly confused as to why Cynthia wasn’t already here beginning on dinner. His gaze focused on the fist still bunched in his sleeve, every fiber of his being demanding to get out and away, before shifting back to make eye contact with Larry.

“If you bothered to look maybe you’d find out a lot about me, Larry! Why don’t you put in some effort at actually being a decent father? ” Again, Connor put his weight into getting out of Larry’s iron grip, skin burning and eyes beginning to blur. “Let the fuck go of me, Jesus fucking Christ!”

Finally, putting his entire body into pulling away from Larry, Connor’s sleeve tore from the unforgiving grasp it had been in. Without missing a beat, he climbed the stairs two at a time, white noise deafening him.

His door slammed shut, the lock clicking behind him as Connor fell towards his bed. His breath came in laboured gasps, throat screaming in protest as he attempted to gulp down air into his greedy lungs.

Connor’s sweater was quickly pulled off, his skin itching and crawling at every brush of fabric. His back hit the headboard, nails pushing half moons into his forearms as his legs were pulled tightly to his chest and he began rocking back and forth.

His mind rattled, brain pounding, shouting every affirmation of how worthless and disgraceful he was. Of how his father didn’t want to know him, and how Kleinman had had every right to worry about his intentions.

When various shouts of his name made their way to Connor’s room, demanding he come down for dinner, the door remained closed.

Chapter Text

Connor barely left his bed the following few days.

His door was left unlocked the day after hanging out with Hansen after he had left to use the bathroom, though he promptly closed the door and fallen back onto his bed after returning. At lunch and dinner Cynthia would knock quietly on the frame, cautiously entering and leaving some food on his desk. When she left she would take what was left of what had been previously brought up, though it was almost always untouched.

At one point Larry had entered the room, taking his time in berating Connor for not getting up. Thoroughly put off by Connor’s unsettling lack of reaction, he had left, shutting the door behind him and leaving Connor in silence once more.

Unsurprisingly, however, staring at a wall gets boring after a while, and so Connor reluctantly reached for his phone. He was surprised to see he had a couple of notifications, not having picked up the device since he had gotten home from the park. He was even more surprised to see that the sender had apparently been worried about him.

E.H: Hey, thank you for driving me home and taking me to the park!

E.H: Sorry, this is probably really annoying, but could you message me when you get home? I just worry, it’s kind of a thing I do, sorry, but I’d really appreciate it!

E.H: Hey, it’s been a while and you haven’t messaged me? I know this is probably really really annoying, but it’s been all night and I’m just getting worried. Sorry.

There were a few more, each one getting more and more paranoid. Connor’s forehead creased in displeasure, mentally punishing himself for not checking his phone earlier. It had been days, no wonder the kid was freaking out.

C.M: sry dude, my bad, i didnt check my phone. i got home fine, dont worry

Hansen was quick to respond.

E.H: Oh, okay! Thank you for messaging me, sorry for being clingy or annoying.

E.H: I’ll stop bothering you now.

Connor huffed, unsure of whether he should respond or not. Half of his brain willed him to send a reply diffusing Hansen’s worries, but the other half begged him to just put the phone down and go back to sleep. He opted for the former.

C.M: np, n ur fine. It wasnt cligny or annoying, ur good

He sighed, shutting his phone off before turning on his bed. Connor didn’t know why he felt oddly disappointed to leave the conversation at that. The same half of his brain pushed him to sleep, or stare into nothingness, but some part of him felt the need to get up.

He had been lying in the bed for three days, barely moving save for bathroom runs, or to occasionally reach over and take a couple bites out of what was being given, almost like a peace offering, from Cynthia. Maybe you should thank her, she’s the only one in this family who bothered to care about your sorry ass.

Connor’s body felt stiff, so little movement taking it’s tole on his spine and joints. He internally debated forcing himself to actually get up and do something; shower, eat, move into the living room, something. Eventually the need to use the bathroom motivated him to also wash up, seeing as his entire body was aching and felt gross.

After showering and brushing his teeth, Connor felt marginally better. He had to keep himself from lying back down on his bed, the covers looking so tempting and the warmth he’d find equally as promising. Instead, luckily, he made his way down to the kitchen where he found Cynthia busy at work, undoubtedly making him some lunch.

“Oh, Connor! I’m so glad you’re up!” He winced at the hint of genuine pride in her voice. “And you’ve showered, how wonderful!”

Connor’s fingers found their way to his ring, eyes glued to the checkered tiles of the far-too-clean kitchen. Praise for getting out of bed and showering settled uncomfortably in his stomach, the reminder of how pathetic he was tying knots in his gut. He suddenly found himself without an appetite.

“Yeah, uh, I was just gonna head out for a bit. Get some fresh air. I dunno when I’ll be back though so don’t wait up.” Connor’s voice came out monotoned, giving warning to his leaving still completely foreign to him, but he felt as though he owed Cynthia something.

She simply smiled and nodded, wordlessly handing Connor the sandwich she had just finished preparing before leaving the kitchen, most likely getting ready to go out with some of her Mom Friends for the day.

He looked distastefully at the food in his hand, not quite sure what to do with it. After a moment’s hesitation, Connor deemed it edible enough to bring with him, seeing as he hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t know how long he’d be out. Hopefully for a while, you don’t want to get caught up with Larry again, definitely not after that three day stunt you just pulled.

With the sandwich in a small bag and keys in hand, Connor made his way into his car, before driving in an unknown direction. He had no idea where he was going, but anything was better than another day spent cramped in his room. If he was going to be overwhelmingly apathetic, he was going to be outside while doing it.

Eventually, Connor found himself outside of a small house. Why he had subconsciously driven to Hansen’s house he didn’t know, nor did he have the energy to get into. However, since he was here, and Hansen probably didn’t get enough sunlight, Connor saw little harm in inviting him along for the ride.

C.M: im outside ur house rn if u wanna go for a ride. just no talking for a while.

E.M: On my way!

Connor was unsurprised when his eyes caught Hansen locking his front door in a blue polo and khakis. At this point he was legitimately concerned this kid might only have two shirts and a singular pair of pants. It was beginning to get worrying and that was coming from Connor Murphy.

Neither spoke a word as the car pulled out of the driveway and swiftly down the road. The silent hum of the engine lulled the air between them into more of a relaxed cloak than the asphyxiating blanket it had been in the past. Hasnen’s eyes found their way onto Connor from time to time, though they quickly flicked back to watching the surrounding greenery blur past. Connor could sense the confusion and underlying anxiety surrounding Hansen, but he ignored it for the time being.

They found their way to the fence surrounding The Orchard. Connor’s mind still felt cotton stuffed and empty so he didn’t bother worrying about why he came here, or, more so, why he decided Hansen, of all people, should come with him. Instead, he climbed over the fence and began inspecting how to open the rusted gate from the inside for Hansen.

After some trial and error, Connor soon found that ramming his entire fucking body into the metal was enough to open it slightly -- or maybe you just bent it. Hansen had jumped slightly at the screech of old joints, not used to the action of opening and closing after so many years without motion. The look of surprise on Hansen’s face had been enough for Connor’s mouth, previously set in an emotionless line, to twitch up slightly.

Insects buzzed around them, birds chirping far up in the trees that had been left to their own devices for so long. A subtle breeze knocked Connor’s still damp hair, and the crunch of twigs and soil beneath their feet served as a relaxing wave up his body. Hansen’s eyes darted around their surroundings, taking in the warmth the overgrown woods seemed to be filled with.

Eventually they made their way to somewhat of a clearing, though the grass was still long, and the evidence of new trees to come was scattered around them. The two settled under one of the larger trees they had come across, the branches hanging far above them.

Sitting in silence, they inhaled slowly the overwhelming calm The Orchard seemed to bring them. The sun setting across the horizon allowed them to judge how much time was passing, though when the sky turned orange and pink, and the sun was a shimmering red orb just above the trees, neither made any effort to get up or break the far too comfortable silence between them.

As the time passed, Connor allowed himself to think a bit. The past few days had not been his best, the outrageous lack of care or emotion swirling to make an almost lifeless shell of himself. His mind had been foggy the entire time, as if time hadn’t been passing and he was stuck.

His eyes shifted over to Hansen, whose eyes were closed and who seemed to be in absolute bliss. Connor didn’t understand Hansen, not really. How he had the energy to almost constantly be freaking out was beyond him. It was exhausting just thinking about worrying that much, so Connor couldn’t say he wasn’t at least a little glad Hansen seemed to be relaxing now.

He felt as though he had, maybe, done something right for once.

With his mind’s voice falling into a muted white noise, and the warmth of the sun resting on him, Connor found himself smiling, feeling, for the first time in years, safe in his own body.

Chapter Text

Crickets had begun to chirp around Hansen and Connor, providing an enjoyable background noise as they watched the sun set behind the horizon. As time slowly inched forward, Connor began to realize he didn’t really know where to go from here. He suspected Hansen would want an explanation as to what had happened, and he was probably owed one after being dragged out to an orchard for hours in complete silence, but he didn’t know what he’d say.

With some regret, Connor decided to break the silence; “I come here a lot, actually. Usually I smoke here, but either way it’s…nice.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, just loud enough for Hansen to hear without it being too sudden a sound.

Hansen flinched ever so slightly at the new sound next to him, despite its low volume, though he soon relaxed back against the trunk of the tree. He nodded, probably unsure of how to respond, allowing Connor to continue as he liked.

Another minute passed in comfortable silence before he spoke up again, voice still soft but growing accustomed to being used again. Connor was just glad it didn’t feel like razor blades were scraping his throat with every word. “No one’s here, obviously, so there’s no one to rat me out. It’s a good way to get away from home, and it’s not too far away, either, y’know?”

Hansen hummed in response, eyes flicking over to Connor’s arm as the sound of nails scraping against cloth reached his ears. Connor’s eyes were still fixated on the setting sun, the scraping of his arm almost an unconscious action he had grown used to doing when his skin itched and buzzed. This place held memories, and with memories came guilt.

“I just, I needed to get out of the house. I’ve been lying in bed all day every day for a while and, I dunno, grew antsy I guess? I also haven’t eaten much or anything, so there’s that.” As if to confirm this, his stomach gave a loud growl in protest, the half a bite of food he had forced himself to eat the night before obviously not enough to satisfy it.

Hansen’s brows knitted in concern at this, eyes shifting to the grass beneath his feet. “Do you, uh, shouldn’t you- you should really eat something then, right?”

Connor’s hand paused in its merciless scratching, before he shoved it into the large pocket of his hoodie, searching. “Yeah, yeah I brought a sandwich with me,” he pulled out the bag, the contents only slightly smushed from being in such a vulnerable location, “do you want some?”

Connor took out half, offering it to Hansen, who declined with a shake of his head, before taking a large bite out of it. Something inside him immediately revolted against the texture and act of chewing and swallowing food, the texture making his stomach twist in knots and the taste of whatever Cynthia had slathered on almost scaring away his hunger. But he forced himself to eat, knowing that starving to death was not worth saving him from a few disagreeable minutes.

As Connor ate the half of the sandwich, small bite after small bite, the two fell into another lapse of silence. It seemed as though that was something they were doing a lot of that day, though neither one of them really minded. Being able to sit comfortably in each other’s presence, even if it only lasted that day, was relaxing.

Hansen opened his mouth, only to close it a moment later, hesitating as he rethought what he was going to say. Connor quirked an eyebrow, watching him curiously as he chewed. After a final bite, not quite finishing the half, Connor put the mostly eaten section of the sandwich back in the bag with the untouched half.

Hansen took a breath, opening his mouth again, speaking nervously. “Why did- was there a, uh, a specific reason why you needed-“ he huffed in aggravation, irritation growing as the words seemed to fumble around his tongue- “If you don’t want to, uh, to go home yet, you could come- if you want you could come to my place? My mom has work and then class so she won’t be home until, uh, until really late so.”

His voice trailed off, fingers anxiously picking at the grass surrounding them as he waited for a response. Connor’s mind came to a rather confused halt at what Hansen was proposing. Would you look at that, Murphy, someone is actually volunteering to spend time with you.

Well, this was new.

Connor’s fingers twitched for something to do, and he almost wished he had brought up something to smoke just for something to do. The atmosphere was still soothing but he couldn’t help but feel the need to busy his hands. They began twisting his ring.

“Yeah, uh, sure. That sounds good.”

They made their way back to the car, Hansen using the walk to share small bits of information he remembered from sleepless nights when he needed a distraction. Connor found it oddly comforting, hearing him talk tentatively but still with genuine interest about things such as how larger trees apparently can share nutrients with younger trees through an underground web of fungi -- spider-shrooms?

Soon they arrived in the car, falling back into a steady silence during the brief journey back to Hansen’s home. They quickly pulled into the driveway, the remaining space void of any cars as Hansen had predicted, and they walked up and through the front entrance.

Connor being in Hansen’s house felt off-putting to say the least. It was small and much cozier than his larger house had ever been to him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he shouldn't be there. He almost felt as though if he came too close to Hansen’s life he’d end up causing it to splinter and crack, eventually tainting it permanently. And sure, maybe he was being a bit dramatic, but he still couldn’t stop his shoulders from tensing and his arms grasping his biceps, as though he was afraid to touch anything incase it shattered beneath his fingers.

A note was left on the table, a brief message scrawled on it with a heart at the end, next to a $20 bill. By the way Hansen picked up the note and tossed it with barely a glance, Connor suspected this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

He had guessed Heidi worked quite a bit, but the thought that Hansen was left alone in the evenings for who knew how long left a bad taste in Connor’s mouth.

By the frustrated cloud surrounding Hansen, Connor guessed he had many thoughts on his mother’s schedule.

With a breath to clear the fog from his eyes, Hansen turned back to Connor, a small and nervous smile obviously forced in place. Connor, who was standing, stiff as a rod, just inside the kitchen, shifted his eyes from one part of the room to the next, gaze falling on a few pictures of a much younger Hansen and, if he guessed correctly, a much younger Kleinman.

“You, uh, you don’t have to look so nervous? I mean, it- it isn’t exactly a mansion, it’s not like there’s anything of great value you could- you’d have to pay for if you broke it.” There was a teasing tone in his voice, smile a little more genuine as he looked at Connor. Despite this, Connor could almost hear Hansen’s anxiety running a mile a minute, going over every possible reason he might be uncomfortable.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands if he wasn’t pulling himself as far inwards as possible -- maybe, if you try hard enough, you can shrink down to a molecular size -- so he settled for stuffing them in his hoodie’s pocket, more space available now that he’d tossed the remainders of his lunch.

The two made their way into the living room, neither quite sure what to do. The peaceful silence they had been immersed in earlier had disappeared completely, leaving them in the all too familiar stalemate of two people who didn’t know how to talk to each other.

“How- how long have you been painting your nails?” The question was timid, causing Connor’s eyes to lazily crawl up to the other end of the couch, where Hansen stared at the floor, biting his nails.

He took a minute to think back, the truthfully fond memory filling his chest with a painful nostalgia. “When I was younger Zoe wanted to practice painting nails but Cynthia was too busy and Larry wouldn’t be caught dead with pink nails. She dragged me into her room and sat me on the floor, and it was a fucking disgusting colour, but I still liked it, god knows why.” As he spoke he picked at the nail polish, but his bittersweet smile faded quickly. “When Larry saw he wasn’t happy, called it sissy or some shit so I stopped for a while. But then the rebellion in me kicked in ‘n’ I decided Larry hating it was just the cherry on top of the whole thing. It’s calming, y’know? A way to focus on something simple.”

Hansen nodded, though Connor doubted he really understood. Judging by the question, Connor assumed he’d never painted his nails in his life, but he still appreciated the attempt at connecting.

Though, a part of him grew defensive, waiting patiently for Hansen to laugh and call him a girl or something. But as Hansen continued to sit in thought, that voice became a faint whisper. Still prepared for the moment when, surely, this kid would drop the act, but far less distracting.

Another awkward silence was beginning to settle just as Hansen’s stomach growled, making both boys jump slightly. Connor smirked at Hansen’s nervous laughter, deciding that even if he wasn’t quite hungry yet, Hansen shouldn’t suffer.

“Should we order something then?”

Hansen began to stand up hurriedly, though whether it was because of his hunger or anxiety Connor couldn’t tell -- maybe a mixture of both? -- He vanished from sight, only to reappear a moment later with his laptop.

After a few minutes spent debating their options they ordered and spent the time waiting talking about mindless subjects. It still wasn’t quite a smooth, natural conversation, but it was rather pleasant so that was a victory in Connor’s book.

When they expected the pizza to arrive at any minute Hansen grew stiff, fidgeting double what was usual, and not only was it slightly concerning but it was also kind of getting on Connor’s nerves. Every snap of a nail or jerk of a hand set Connor more on edge.

“Hey, uh, everything okay? You seem pretty antsy over there,” he tried to keep his tone light, a little teasing, but it seemed to do little good.

Hansen shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, yeah, uh. It’s just I don’t- I’m gonna have to get the pizza at the- at the door? And I’m just- I really don’t, uh, don’t like doing that. At all. I- I can’t do that.” His eyes were trained on his lap, fingers twisting the hem of his shirt, as he spoke. Hansen’s voice wavered, the panic evident the more he stumbled over his words.

This was new to Connor. He had never had a problem with how others perceived him, or at least not to the extent that he would be rendered unable to do something like get pizza. And Connor was only ever really cautious of what his fellow students whispered about and saw him as - he didn’t give a flying shit about what a pizza delivery person who got paid below living wage thought.

The knock on the door helped Connor make up his mind, whether or not he actually cared about being judged. Hansen looked like he was about to start hyperventilating and Connor had no fucking idea how to help with any form of panic or anxiety attack - his tactics being less than ideal. So, instead of saying anything, Connor simply snatched the bill from Hansen’s grip and walked to the door.

When he returned, large box of cheese pizza in hand, it was to see an incredibly grateful Hansen bouncing his knee before jumping up to grab the two of them plates.

It took Connor a moment to get Hansen to stop thanking him, the praise making him shift, nails returning to briefly drag across his skin underneath his sleeve -- you don’t deserve thanks, who do you think you are? What have you even done to render yourself worthy of-

“Wait, so what do you do when your mom isn’t here and you need to order takeout?” Connor hadn’t meant the question to come out so quick, or harsh. His unfiltered concern startled them both, and Connor quickly curled in on himself, but left the question hanging in the air.

The reply was a barely audible, “I don’t? Eat?” followed by an incredulous scoff from Connor.

“Dude, you can’t just fucking not eat, that’s so bad for you. Jesus Christ, eat cereal or something. ” He was, admittedly, being a huge goddamn hypocrite, but just because he didn’t care about his health didn’t mean he couldn’t care about this idiot’s.

Hansen let out a timid chuckle, but it was genuine nonetheless, and pointed out as such; “I- I mean, you’re one to talk.”

“Touché,” Connor replied, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. He reached over for a slice of pizza, ignoring the irrational objections swarming his stomach. Whether or not he had an appetite, he had to eat.

The two continued eating, thoughts once again wandering, and soon they were chatting about stupid things one would expect to hear at ungodly hours of the night. Connor could tell Hansen still had problems lingering in his mind, but he supposed the best he could do was help distract the kid from them for the time being.

His phone vibrating on the coffee table tore into what strides had been made between the boys, Larry’s name popping up on the screen.

Chapter Text

Connor couldn’t have stopped the groan that ripped itself out of him if he tried. An overwhelming surge of annoyance and aggravation forced his muscles to stiffen and jaw to clench. With a quick glance at Hansen, who looked more startled by Connor’s reaction to the call than by the call itself, he grabbed the device.

“Connor, I don’t know where you’ve been all day but you need to come home now,” Larry’s voice demanded in lieu of a greeting.

Connor shifted so he couldn’t see Hansen in his peripheral, wanting to focus on getting off the phone as quickly as possible, before growling, “you’ve literally never cared before this, why now do you give a shit about where I am?”

Larry’s voice matched his level of aggression, though there was a hint of exasperation bleeding through -- Cynthia must finally be rubbing off on him. “Because, Connor, I’m tired of you getting high and coming home at some ridiculous hour. I’m making it stop, so you’re coming home now and we’re talking about your drug use.”

Connor thought he was going to scream. Or maybe cry. Both? -- You’ve literally ruined what he sees of you so bad that he thinks the only thing you ever do is get high. Oh my fucking god, Murphy, could you have screwed up worse? -- He took a long, deep breath, until his lungs began to burn. It helped, though the ringing in his ears continued to vibrate through his skull.

“You know, Larry, I don’t only go out to get high. I’m more than just some kid who does drugs, maybe you’d know that if you took my fucking advice and tried to encourage my other interests? ”

Connor belatedly noticed the increasing volume of his voice, the conglomeration of noises in his head deafening him so much he had to shout over them. Larry’s stern reply was drowned out, fingers pulling through his hair as he felt himself spiral.

Ah, looks like you couldn’t stop yourself from yelling once . Great job, Murphy. And now you’re, what, freaking out? God, pull yourself together for once, it’s not like this is anything new .

What broke him out of the trance-like state fueled by anger - though whether it was directed at Larry or himself he wasn’t sure - was the sudden shift in the cushions beside him.

Distantly, he heard a sharp intake of breath, muffled by both the fuzziness of Connor’s mind and what he assumed was a hand. Connor lowered his phone, snapping his attention fully on Hansen, who was shaking furiously, though he was obviously trying to stop it by curling himself into the tightest ball humanly possible. From what he could see of his face, Hansen’s cheeks were wet with tears as he tried and failed to breathe.

Connor hung up the phone, throwing it somewhere on the carpet, before he moved closer to Hansen. At the sudden advancement he seemed to try to make himself smaller, Connor silently cursing himself for not understanding how to do shit.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, uh,” He had never heard himself speak so gentle, and he would’ve laughed at it had the circumstances been different. Connor moved back on the couch, putting some more distance between the two, before cautiously raising a hand towards Hansen. “Is- is touch okay? Or..?”

It took a moment, but soon Hansen nodded his head stiffly. Connor carefully rested a hand on his shoulder, still an arms length away, memories flashing in front of his eyes of what a monster you can be.

As Connor rubbed his thumb rhythmically, counting breaths evenly, Hansen’s breathing began to even out and he started to lean more into the touch. Connor, not wanting to accidentally make the situation worse, made sure to leave several inches between them.

Hansen mumbled a thanks, then began stumbling over apology after apology. The words seemed to be forcing their way out of him, as if afraid to go unheard.

“No, no, dude, don’t apologize! You just had a fucking panic attack, you’re fine, I’m sorry for definitely being the reason it happened.” Connor’s hand shot away from Hansen as he attempted to get up, before Connor stood up as well. “You should stay, I’ll go grab you some water.”
He left before Hansen could begin apologizing again, a tight knot forming in his chest. As the glass filled with water from the fridge, his mind began to play a mantra of accusations, and he couldn’t even begin to say they were wrong. He had no reason to believe he hadn’t caused any of that.

Connor shuffled back into the living room, handing the glass of water over before sitting on the other side of the couch. His arms crossed, patting his biceps every so often, as he forced himself to think of anything other than the two blaring facts: Larry was going to fucking kill him, and he was definitely shouldn’t be here anymore.

“Okay, uh, I think I should probably get going, if you’re gonna be okay on your own? I just, I don’t think I’m really good for you to be around right now, seeing as that just happened, and, uh, yeah.” Connor mechanically stood up, hands still patting and feet now scuffing against the hardwood.

He nodded to himself, as if confirming what he had just said, and reached for his phone that had somehow landed across the room, only to be interrupted by glass hitting wood. Connor jerked around, startled by the noise so foreign to the rather silent room, seeing that Hansen had put his cup down as fast as possible.

“No no no no no that- that isn’t what happened! Oh god you- it wasn’t you it was just- the yelling and- and the, uh, my- my mom working again, I just-”

“Hansen,” Connor cut him off, eyes resting on Hansen’s shoes, “you don’t have to explain anything to me, got it? It’s none of my business why that happened.”

Hansen nodded violently, “yes, yes I- I know that but- but I’m not gonna let you- I can’t let you leave thinking that that was on you when- when it wasn’t!”

The determination in Hansen’s eyes put Connor on edge, a defensive wall forming in his eyes. “Hansen, I know that I did something and it’s fine. Seriously, it’s nothing really new, I should’ve seen this coming if I’m being completely honest. I’ll leave you alone, and you can keep hanging with Kleinman. It’s better for you.” His voice was drenched in sincere apathy, a scratchy monotone, and he hated it.

Hansen’s brows furrowed, eyes dancing around the room until he stood up, finally making eye contact with Connor as he blurted, “it wasn’t your fault it was my dad’s. ”

Connor blinked, pure confusion written in his face as he stared at Hansen. He had never thought the kid capable of shouting, nor making eye contact while doing so, though it seemed as though that brief surge of panic-induced confidence was shortly lived.

As Connor grasped for something to say to that, Hansen’s shoulders hunched and his fingers tugged at the hem of his polo. Silence stretched out for a moment before Hansen was the first one to speak up, finally accepting that Connor wasn’t going to.

“My, uh, my dad. He- he yelled? A lot, but, uh, but mainly when- it- it wasn’t all the time though. And, uh, with- with the yelling came, uh, other stuff and- and I just,” he sighed, sitting back down on the couch and bringing a knee up to his chest, “the- the yelling and your dad just- just kinda- yeah.”

His voice tapered off, leaving Connor standing with this sudden onslaught of information that he shouldn’t have been told. He knew, immediately, that Hansen shouldn’t have felt the need to tell him that. That was stuff he was not meant, let alone entitled, to hear but now he was just left holding it, terrified of fumbling and letting it drop, or accidentally ripping it with his angry fingers.

So, both out of fear and a lack of certainty on how to react, Connor decided to simply sit down on the opposite end of the couch. He didn’t know if he was supposed to reach out to Hansen, or say anything. He couldn’t say “I understand” because truthfully he didn’t. He didn’t understand what Hansen had gone through and he wasn’t going to lie about that. That would be seriously shitty.

Hansen spoke up again, saving Connor from the struggle of trying to come up with something himself. “I- I probably shouldn’t’ve said that? But, uh, I just. I couldn’t let you leave thinking I- I hated you or something I- I couldn’t and- and I get it if, uh, if you still want to leave? Because I mean I’d want- uh, I’d leave too, if someone just- just dumped that on me so, uh.”

Connor nodded slowly, willing himself to speak up because he could see Hansen beginning to spiral again and he needed to say something now.

“Dude, it’s fine, seriously that’s all totally understandable. I’m not gonna leave just because you said that but like, fuck, I’m seriously sorry for yelling too, god, I need to watch that,” Connor began to mumble to himself, but his eyes focused on assessing Hansen.

He seemed to take in a relieved breath at that, a nervous cough of a laugh coming up before he could stop it, “yeah, it, uh, it wasn’t even just that though so- so don’t blame yourself? Like, I get it, y’know, dads can- can suck. But with my mom too I just,” Hansen broke off into a frustrated sigh.

Connor didn’t want to push for details, he knew that would be inconsiderate and rude, but he couldn’t help the small itch of curiosity worm itself into the back of his mind. He elected to stay silent, see where this took him.

“It’s just- she- she works a lot. She has to, it’s not- it’s just her paying for stuff and- and I get that I should- I should just be grateful because she- because it’s not like I’m an easy person to take care of? But- but I can’t help but, ugh, I dunno. It’s stupid that I’m so angry about this but- but I can’t help it.”

Connor hummed in understanding, knowing too well how toxic inexplicable anger could be. “You’re not a bad person for being pissed that your mom is gone most of the time. You’re allowed to be mad, that’s a normal reaction for being fucking home alone almost constantly.”

Hansen nodded, though Connor wasn’t sure if it was out of actual agreement or not. He thought it was probably as good as he was going to get, however, so he let it go. Though the thought that he probably owed Hansen an actual fucking explanation wouldn’t stop showing itself. He tried to reason that he had already sort of explained today’s get away, but he couldn’t shake the idea that he needed to explain himself.

“Really though, I’m sorry for freaking out. Larry and I don’t have the best relationship you could say so we end up arguing a lot, but I’ll make sure to keep that from happening as much when you’re around.”

Hansen gave him an appreciative smile and a nod, allowing them to sit in a comfortable silence for a couple minutes before Connor’s phone began to vibrate again, this time displaying the name Cynthia.

Connor sighed, “I should probably head out before I make the argument I’m going back to worse than it has to be. Thanks for hanging though. And for the pizza.”

Hansen walked Connor to the door, watching as he entered the car and drove off. Connor was not looking forward to getting home, though at this point he never seemed excited to get home. At least soon he’d be able to crawl back in bed.

Chapter Text

Connor honestly couldn’t remember how many times he had slammed his fist against Zoe’s bedroom door. He couldn’t remember if it had been simply once, a single terrible night forever etched into the insides of his eyelids, or if it had happened again and it was wiped from his memory.

The idea that it was, maybe, a common occurrence and he had no idea sent a claw scraping down Connor’s spine, ripping a gouge in his back. He couldn’t stand to think he treated her like that, or that she perhaps thought he meant anything he said.

When Connor had arrived home, Zoe had bolted for her room. Her steps were heavy on the staircase, each thump drumming in his mind the reminder of who he was to her. What she thought of him.

Who could blame her though?

Larry hadn’t hesitated to start shouting, going on about something “important” Connor had already forgotten. Cynthia had tried to talk to him after, voice edging on a desperation to get through to him, but Connor was already half way up the stairs to his own bedroom.

She really did try to help him. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know how.

A week later, Connor woke up to the sun peeking through gaps in his shades and shining directly into his eyes. With a groan, he rolled over, only to rest his face across on his phone. Despite how tired he was -- how are you tired after sleeping for fucking years -- the cool metal was far too uncomfortable to sleep on.

He sighed, turning it on to see if any messages were waiting for him from Hansen. The two had been texting fairly often, finally getting into more of a comfortable rhythm. They both were beginning to understand how the other operated; Hansen didn’t take it too personally when Connor shut himself away, and Connor didn’t take it too personally when Hansen’s anxiety spiked in his presence.

It was a learning curve for both of them, and it was far from a perfect friendship, but after knowing each other for a little over a week Connor was kind of proud of his ability to hold onto someone for as long as this.

E.H: Hey! So, My mom wants to meet you.

Oh. Well fuck.

E.H: I just mentioned that you had been coming over sometimes and she wanted to meet you. She’ll love you for just existing, so you don’t have to worry about anything if you want to come over.

C.M: hansen, im not the kind of kid moms typically like

E.H: No no she’ll love you! She’s just happy I have a friend, it’s okay!

C.M: ill be there, dont tell me i didnt warn u tho

E.H: Thank you so much! You’ll be fine! If you could be here around 6 that’d be great, thank you!!

Connor sighed, hand dragging across his face as he pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. This was going to end poorly, he knew it. He radiated “bad influence” and if his own parents and the side eyes he got in public were anything to go by, adults didn’t tend to like him.

But he supposed this was something he owed Hansen, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t already agreed to go in the first place, so he forced himself to have a shower, brush his teeth, and pour himself some of the coffee leftover from everyone else.

When the time came, he looked himself over from head to toe, before slouching in dissatisfaction. The only clean pair of jeans he had had bore holes in the knees, and his hair, while clean and soft, looked untamed. He settled with pulling his hair into a ponytail, hoping that gave off a nicer vibe whatever that meant, and prayed he wasn’t about to fuck this all up.

He was wearing a sweater over an old button down, the shirt having short sleeves and no way was he dealing with that judgment. Connor gave up on looking himself in the mirror after a bit, the sight of his heterochromia eyes matched with prominent enough bags making him too tempted to call the whole thing off.

He jogs down the stairs, pausing at the front door while questioning if he should tell Cynthia where he was headed, before the last voice he wants to hear interrupts his inner debate.

“Where are you going? Your mother’s going to starting dinner soon, you shouldn’t be leaving.”

Connor’s shoulders hunched, frame going stiff as he took a deep breath to make sure he didn’t snap. It was an easy explanation, really. It was simple, and he could do this. He could explain that he was going to his friend’s house for dinner, that was it. You know, the friend he refuses to acknowledge you have.

“I’m going to my friend’s house for dinner, that’s it. I’ll fucking come home after, his mom just wants to meet me, okay?” He hadn’t really intended it to come out so harsh, but baby steps. He was happy that he just hadn’t yelled at Larry.

Larry hummed in recognition, nodding though Connor hadn’t turned around, and mumbled something about how “this mother will surely be disappointed, you showing up like that.” Connor, nails digging into the centres of his palms, slammed the door shut behind him.

The drive felt far too long but when he reached the Hansen driveway Connor wondered where the time had gone - hadn’t he just left? His mind buzzed as he exited the car -- you’re going to fuck this up, you always do and this won’t be any different. Why would it? He’d be better if you just drove him away now, you’re no different from the monster you’ve always been. You’ll end up hurting him, Murphy, and you know it, you’re just being selfish.

A moment after Connor knocks on the door, feet shuffling from side to side stiffly, the door opens to show Hansen slightly ruffled, as though he had sprinted down the stairs. He relaxed slightly, a smirk playing at his lips, taking comfort in the fact that he wasn’t the only stressed one here.

The house continued to feel almost claustrophobic, the strange comfort it radiated still unnatural to him, but it had been getting easier as he continued to visit. The smell of spaghetti wafted in through the air and Connor almost had to grab the wall for support. He didn’t know what that was but it smelled incredible and he hadn’t eaten all day.

When Hansen showed Connor to the dining room, three places set and his mother bringing out a large bowl of noodles with some unknown sauce drizzled on top, he was hit with a wave of nostalgia.

Then with the sudden realization that calling this woman’s son by his last name in front of her was probably really fucking rude. Like, extremely fucking rude. Shit. Connor was going to have to have to call Hansen Evan .

Granted, that was what normal friends did, but that implied a certain level of comfort and trust he was extremely unused to. Oh boy, this was going to be interesting.

The three of them sat around the small table, everyone dishing out food without talking before they were all settled and unsure of where to begin. Connor wasn’t used to trying to impress people, generally he couldn’t give a flying fuck what adults thought of him, but this was Hansen’s mother .

“So, Connor, you two met at Ellison, yeah?” There was a certain level of pride and hopefulness that was offsetting about Ms. Hansen.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I was just chilling out there when he accidentally fell. I mean- we go to the same school so we knew of each other but, uh, that was the first time we ever talked?” Connor shifted in his seat, eyes dancing from his plate to the other two.

Hansen simply nodded in agreement, fork playing with the noodles on his plate.

“That’s nice! And you two have been hanging out quite a bit since? I think I remember you staying overnight at the hospital.”

Connor nodded, the motion jerking and bordering on violent. He didn’t know how this woman could possibly look so happy with the knowledge that he was Hansen’s friend. Out of everyone else, it was him. Connor Murphy.

Larry was right, she should be disappointed.

The rest of the dinner passed alright, Ms. Hansen asking questions about Connor’s interests that even he hadn’t thought about for months. He wasn’t used to anyone giving him so much attention when he talked about art or reading. He was so used to keeping his mouth shut, only allowing fire to escape. This was so different.

At the end of the evening, Connor helped clear and wash the dishes. Part of him wanted to thank Ms. Hansen for the food and being so genuinely kind, but another part just wanted to delay his leaving of this bubble of peace.

His mind could barely process the fact that there had been no raised voices that entire time. Hansen had gotten more comfortable as he had begun to realize his mother and Connor weren’t going to hate each other, and so he added in some commentary now and then as well. A few hours and nothing had been louder than a laugh. It was unreal.

Eventually, he found himself at the front door saying his final goodbye to Hansen and his mother. He was startled by the arms wrapped around him, the whispered “thank you” from Ms. Hansen coupled with a slight squeeze. When she pulled away she had a watery smile, and he returned what he hoped looked like a genuine grin, not one mixed with rocks and blades like it usually was.

He nodded to them both before jogging down to his car, tapping his fingers to the beat of his music and a smirk remaining on his face. He couldn’t stop himself from driving around town before finally heading back home, going over the evening’s events over and over until he was convinced he had left a good enough impression on Ms. Hansen.

When he opened the front door he hadn’t quite wiped the grin off his face, there was still a shine in his eye. He walked into the living room, looking to grab one of the softer blankets, to find Zoe on her laptop on the couch. She was in sweats and a tank top, probably unable to sleep, and her hair was tied up so messy no one could question whether they were siblings.

She froze for a moment, looking like she was about to bolt for her room like usual when he came home in the evening, but before she could they locked eyes. Connor was unsurprised, though he couldn’t blame her, and he wouldn’t dare be angry at her for being afraid, but his chest was still warm from dinner and his eyes were brighter than they had been in a while. Zoe must’ve seen something.

Cautiously, she settled back into the couch, allowing her muscles to relax. Her eyes stayed on him warily as he pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, but Connor was filled with overwhelming happiness.

He ducked his head, turning quickly to hide the growing smile on his face, but when he closed his bedroom door and had wrapped himself in the blanket, he beamed.

Connor knew it was stupid, knew that being so ridiculously happy that his sister hadn’t run from him was insanely concerning, but he couldn’t help it. He knew things probably wouldn’t be perfect, knew that they would never be where they had been before he had started letting his aggression get the better of him, but this was proof that maybe he could do something.

Chapter Text

Connor remembered when Larry would actually try.

He remembered his father coming home and messing up his hair, he remembered relatively enjoyable dinners, he remembered Larry actually laughing.

No matter how fuzzy or faded those memories were, they were still there. But then Connor got more stubborn, he got less willing to put up with the small things, and he began to close himself off because that seemed like the best option.

He couldn’t remember the first argument, but he remembered the first time he lashed out. He remembered shoving his chair across the room, watching it fall and the far too loud clatter it made as it hit the wood flooring. He remembered being terrified of himself. He remembered the dead silence afterwards.

The silence had been worse than being yelled at.

Larry had stopped trying so much. He had never understood the idea that Connor preferred books to sports, art to competition, so it was unsurprising when there had been a baseball glove under the tree instead of a paint set. He supposed pretending to have the son he always wanted was easier for Larry than accepting the truth and learning to love that.

Connor was now used to defending himself. His walls rarely came down when in the house, though now he tried to lower them slightly when around Zoe -- might as well try to be a good person, Murphy. Can’t go lower when you’ve already hit rock bottom, right? He was also used to Larry assuming the worst and not admitting that Connor had some promise to improve (even when he agreed to a month of therapy and a month of rehab, he had never had any belief anything would change).

So when Larry had asked if this “friend” Connor supposedly had would like to stay for dinner the upcoming weekend, it was fair to say Connor was cautious.

“You just want to make sure he’s not some drug dealer, right? Or, like, that he isn’t a murderer or gay or something . ” He was standing up from the table, ready to leave as soon as Larry had entered, voice guarded.

“Well, I would like to know more about him, yes. But also you went to his house last week and I’d like to return the gesture.” Larry’s stance was businesslike, stiff. It was unsettling how the two compared in posture and clear uncertainty.

Connor simply nodded, eyes hard, wary, before he retreated to the backyard. He wasn’t surprised to see Zoe out there, earbuds in and laptop on the table on the porch. He took a breath before slowly making for one of the additional seats at the arraignment. With only a side glance and a slight shift in her seat, Connor saw no reason why he couldn’t, necessarily, join her. The table was large enough, and he was more than willing to leave at the first sign of her not wanting him there.

Neither had actually said much to each other, though that was better than what had been the routine prior. Not talking also meant not swearing at each other, so Connor would count this as a baby step.

When Zoe had realized Connor hanging out with this “friend” was good for him, she had stopped making offhand comments about how it was fake, or that the friend would run as soon as they realized how fucked up Connor was.

He appreciated that.

They had both gone back to their respective activities, Zoe scrolling and Connor messaging a very anxious Hansen about coming for dinner -- god, this is going to be a disaster -- in silence, before Zoe spoke up.

“Hey, uh, Connor. I’m gonna need the car tomorrow, Alana and I are gonna hang out and her car’s in the garage.” Her voice was walled off as well, few emotions besides caution weaving through them, and Connor began to suspect their family might actually have something in common after all.

Connor thought back to how he might’ve reacted to that statement a month before, how he might’ve jumped to accuse or defend. How he might’ve growled out a response before leaving.

Fuck, you’re lucky you met Hansen like you did, or who knows how badly that would’ve gone.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Nice, Murphy. Real smooth.

The look of genuine relief and underlying surprise that flooded Zoe’s face seemed to tear into Connor’s gut, but he tried not to think about it. This was progress, right? Super weird and awkward, but it was something.

Zoe’s shoulders seemed to have relaxed, and she wasn’t faintly leaning away from him anymore. If Connor looked close enough he thought he could see the ghost of a smile on her lips, seemingly proud.

Progress.

The buzz in his hand tore his mind away from what this small interaction entailed.

E.H: Connor, I really don’t know. I’m not good at meeting people, and I really don’t think your parents will like me.

E.H: I mean, you’ve met me, you know how awkward I am.

C.M: dude ull b fine, theyll b happy u dont do/sell drugs n r str8, dont worry

When a few minutes passed without reply Connor began to worry. He reread the texts, brow furrowing as he tried to reason out why Hansen would disappear without warning.

He didn’t miss the hint of concern Zoe cast his way at his anxious shifting, before he jumped to read the text Hansen had finally sent in reply. Upon reading it he snorted, now getting a look of pure confusion from Zoe, an amused smile hidden behind his palm.

E.H: I’m not straight, actually?

He debated for a moment what to send, because he could very easily screw this up by being sarcastic, before deciding, hey-

C.M: oh thank fucking god

-honesty was the best policy, right?

The response he got was undeniably confused, and obviously Hansen wasn’t quite sure what to say or think with this, so Connor decided to rest his undoubtedly racing heart.

C.M: im v much gay n hearing u r too is some good fuckin solidarity. be warned tho larrys not great w it n cynthia ‘tries’

E.H: Oh, okay, cool! I mean, I’m bi, so I don’t know if that really changes much of anything? But I mean, I’m glad you’re cool with it?

C.M: nah thats chill 2, dont worry, i was using gay as more of a “not str8” thing

C.M: but ye just a heads up that my rents rnt gr8 w that stuff incase it comes up

E.H: Okay, well I’ll be there - I don’t want to seem rude - but thanks for the warning!

Connor sighed in satisfaction, putting in his earbuds and allowing the warm evening to lull him into a relaxed haze. Zoe didn’t say anything, only looked him once over before going back to her laptop.

God, this was a mistake.

After a stilted introduction, Hansen doing his best to seem polite but every tug at his cast giving way to his anxiety, the family sat around the table. Connor had done his best to stay under the radar the days leading up to the dinner, and he was hoping the evening would be quick and painless.

“So, how did you meet Connor, Evan?” Cynthia was the first to break the silence, a hopeful glint in her eye.

“Oh, uh, well a month ago I was, um, we both happened to- to be at Ellison State Park? And, uh, I- I fell from a tree I was- I had been climbing, and Connor found me.” Hansen’s eyes had stuck to his plate, his shoulders hunched.

“Oh dear, that must’ve been awful! I’m glad Connor was there, sweetie. And you two have been spending lots of time together since, yeah?” Hansen simply nodded, fork pushing the chicken around his plate.

“So, Evan, what do you like to do as a hobby? Baseball, soccer…?” Larry’s voice was still hard, and Connor bristled at the obvious hope that some child would enjoy sports like he had failed to do.

“Oh, um, I actually enjoy nature? Like, hiking and kayaking? I got into plants too- my mom got me into them since she had to teach me how to take care of the ones in our house?” His words were still forced, the caution Hansen continued to hold continuing to be present.

Larry nodded, a noncommittal hum floating through the air in place of a real response. Hansen deflated slightly, casting a worried glance to Connor. He could tell Hansen was overthinking, worrying that he had ruined something, but before Connor could speak up, someone else did.

“What’re your favourite plants?”

All eyes rested on Zoe, who shrugged at them all, returning focus to Hansen. He seemed startled, and again made eye contact with Connor, who raised an eyebrow. The last thing he wanted was for this kid to deal with the same disinterest he had gotten from Larry.

“Oh!” Hansen’s danced from Zoe to Connor as he spoke, “well, I love succulents just because they give off such a calming energy? And- and trees are so powerful and, uh, and strong? So that’s super cool. Also, uh, air plants are interesting, just- just because of how they get their water? So, uh, yeah.” He shrugged, eyes falling to his hands in nervousness.

“Dude, what the fuck are air plants?” Connor cuffed Hansen’s shoulder, genuine curiosity filling his eyes.
“Connor, language.”

Connor didn’t even bother to look at Larry, attention focused on his friend. Seriously, what the fuck is an air plant?

Conversation continued, various questions surrounding botany and nature being posed mainly by Zoe and Cynthia, Connor simply content to watch the interaction. Larry stayed relatively silent beside Connor, watching Hansen closely and radiating stern judgment. It sent a shiver up Connor’s spine, causing him to subconsciously shift towards Hansen throughout the dinner.

The sight of Hansen relaxing slightly, shoulders falling and the subtle rock giving away his comfort, was almost heartwarming to Connor. Cynthia and Zoe were talking about something (Connor had tuned them out ages ago) and Hansen was watching intently, the remains of his food left forgotten.

It wasn’t until Connor got back from driving Hansen home that his blood ran cold. There was no guest to look forward to, no dinner to behave for, nothing standing in the way of Larry and him pouncing on each other.

“Connor, come in here?” Sure enough, Larry’s stone voice made its way from the livingroom.

Connor found Larry in his recliner, laptop open -- he never stops working, huh? -- and forehead creased. He didn’t bother sitting, ready to hear whatever was going to be said and leaving as quickly as possible.

“I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re hanging out with someone who isn’t like that , but I am worried.” The laptop had been closed, but Connor was having difficulty registering anything anymore.

His mouth twitched up, an almost-laugh forcing its way out of his throat. “What do you mean ‘like that’? Also, fuckin, ‘worried’? What could you be worried about?”

Larry shifted, and Connor recognized the darting of his father’s eyes. “Well, I believe being around someone who isn’t a homosexual will be good for you-”

Laughter cut him off. Connor’s hands were braced against his knees, chest coughing up dry belts of false glee.

“-But I’m worried he might be- well.” Connor looked up at Larry, astonished that there was actually something the man could be so uncomfortable talking about that he just wouldn’t say it.

“Wait wait wait, holy fuck,” surprise was replaced with flames licking his vision, “you don’t like Hansen because you think he’s mentally ill, right?”

The silence was answer enough. Connor’s fingers pulled through his hair, gripping tightly at the roots, the dull ache working it’s way through his buzzing head.

“Holy fuck, I mean, I knew you weren’t good with this shit, but seriously Larry? So he has anxiety, who fucking cares? Do you only like him because you think he’ll turn me straight? ” Connor thought he might be trembling, but his limbs were too numb for him to notice.

Larry’s reply was a blur of mumbles, save for a piercing slur that had Connor seeing red.

“No, fucking listen here Larry,” Connor felt emptied out with the exception of the searing heat in his gut and the hum at the back of his mind begging him to calm down, take a deep breath, you’ll end up doing something you’ll regret. “You don’t ever get to say that about anyone. Hansen is actually a good fucking thing in this hellhole, so you don’t get to fucking pull him apart and decide he isn’t okay to hang around because- because of your own fucking ableist homophobic bullshit! ”

The pain of knuckles contacting a wall broke Connor out of his trance for a moment, long enough to see Zoe in the doorway. Bile welled up in the back of his throat at what he’d just done, eyes burning and hand aching. With a mumbled “fuck this” he sped past her, keeping as much space as possible between him and her.

You can’t do anything fucking right, can you? One step forward and then you fucking collapse backwards, god. She’s terrified of you, she’s so fucking scared of her older brother and who can blame her?

Cynthia tried to ask what had happened, but the dull concern was wasted on deaf ears. Connor made his way up to his room, not bothering to get ice from the freezer, and was soon out the door with a bag and lighter in his pocket. His bleeding knuckles and what sounded like Zoe yelling pushed against some of the fog in his mind, but his surroundings continued to blur in a flood of too much.

Connor remembered when Larry would actually try, but it was getting harder and harder to call back upon those memories through the clouds swarming around him.

Chapter Text

After a few minutes of driving, the open window blasting the summer breeze through his hair, Connor came to realize that that had definitely not been Zoe. No matter how much he wished he could’ve heard her voice backing him up, the thumping in his temple pushed the far more likely theory that she had bolted up into her room as soon as she could.

One step forward, two leaps back.

The lighter in his cupholder vibrated along with the car’s hum, beginning to grate on his nerves, but soon he was pulling into the desolate parking lot of the orchard. The last time he had come here it had been with Hansen. How strange.

He had never wanted to come here with anyone else before. That wasn’t saying much, as he had never actually wanted to spend time with anyone else before, but it was still an unnatural feeling to him. He wasn’t used to explaining anything to anyone, wasn’t used to anyone giving a shit.

It was all rather unsettling.

But it was just him again, slamming closed the car door and pulling himself over the wall, bag and lighter deep in his pocket. The sound of a single pair of feet crunching the sticks littering the lightly worn path barely registered in Connor’s ears, the buzzing at the back of his mind demanding his attention.

Eventually he realized he’d reached the top of the shallow hill, the setting sun’s rays shining in his eyes and breaking him from his mindless state. His gaze focused on the large tree he was used to sitting under, the roots providing the best seat possible for a fucking tree.

But Connor stopped after a few steps, brow furrowing as he glared at the new company sitting under the only relatively comfortable seat in the orchard.

“Murphy? Are you stalking me?”

Fucking Kleinman.

“I mean, I’m flattered, but come on, this is a little excessive.” There was a smirk curling across his lips, though obviously Kleinman was a little startled to see someone else here.

Fuck that though, no way was Connor sitting under that tree now. Without a word, he turned around and started on his way to a nearby tree, only ten or so feet away from his usual spot.

The bark dug into his spine, and the roots weren’t nearly as comfortable, but it’d have to do - you’ll be too high to notice soon, anyway. Silently, Connor dug a blunt and his lighter from his jacket’s pocket, bringing the joint to his mouth after lighting it, body working on muscle memory.

His eyes followed the smoke up, sighing deeply and almost forgetting the person sitting not too far away. The breeze and rustling of branches was able to ebb away the burning of his skin, however he soon threw his jacket off in an attempt to get his arms to stop fucking itching.

If Kleinman noticed the scars, he didn’t mention anything.

After a few minutes of relative silence, the slowly oranging sky settling Connor’s temper, - or, possibly, you’re just high - his mind began to wander, specifically to how in the hell Kleinman knew about this abandoned-ass orchard at the edge of town.

“Hey, Kleinman,” Connor swallowed, his tongue feeling a little heavy, “what’re you doing here?”

“What, you interested my life story?” It was said with a scoff, oozing a level of confidence only the deeply insecure could muster.

Connor shot a harsh glare in the general direction of Kleinman, though his vision was a little hazy with the softness behind his eyes. There was a moment of silence where Connor debated taking back his question completely before Kleinman spoke up. His voice was still holding it’s always-present cockiness, but there was a hint of something else.

“Just needed a break from the rents, they’re on my back about school.”

Connor hummed, taking another drag from his blunt before watching the smoke rise again. He waited a minute before speaking up again, his words beginning to slur together.

“Ok, that makes sense, but what’re you doing here. Like, at an abandoned orchard that you have to fuckin climb a fense to get into.” His eyes were trained on the horizon, the setting sun hiding further behind the line of trees.

“Me ‘n' Evan used to come here all the time when we were little.” Kleinman’s voice was quieter, though there was a hardness behind the statement as if he was trying to sound like he couldn’t care less what he and Hansen used to do.

Except obviously he fucking cared, apparently the asshole couldn’t lie for shit.

Why would he care though? Every time Connor had seen Kleinman and Hansen together, Kleinman was always treating Hansen like dirt. Something about fake friends? Family friends? Whatever.

Connor scoffed, “you’re a dick to Hansen.”

Smooth, Murphy. Fucking great. Wonderful.

Kleinman was silent for a moment, long enough for Connor to chance a glance at him. His brows were furrowed, glaring down at his hands that were fidgeting with a tangle.

“Whatever, mister school shooter.” Kleinman laughed, a noise too close to a cough to be real. There was no humour, something Connor recognized all too well.

With a huff, Connor looked down at his blunt, taking a final hit before pulling himself to his feet. Kleinman started when Connor plopped down next to him ungracefully, eyes shooting up.

Hey, Murphy? What the fuck are you doing? He literally just called you a school shooter? Just leave?

Silently, Connor offered the blunt to Kleinman, brow raised. He took it back when Kleinman shook his head, taking a long drag before speaking up again. Both pairs of eyes were focused on the tangle fidget toy, time seeming unreal for a moment.

“Don’t fucking call me a school shooter or I’ll kick your ass.”

Okay, better I guess?

Kleinman’s eyes darted to look at Connor for a moment before returning to his hands. He mumbled an apology, Connor nodding in recognition before blowing more smoke into the air in front of them.

“I’m not that bad. I mean, I’m an asshole, yeah, but he gets it.” Kleinman’s voice was boisterous again, the fake confidence starting to grate at Connor’s nerves. Who was this dick fooling?

Connor snorted at the statement, barking out a laugh. Kleinman focused a gaze full of confusion and mild concern at a coughing Connor. It took a moment of Connor studying Kleinman’s face with a level of amusement that slowly diminished before he came to a slurring realization.

“Holy fuck you actually think Hansen finds it funny?”

Kleinman went back to forcefully pulling on the tangle, eyes looking everywhere but at Connor, words guarded. “I mean, obviously it’s a shit thing for me to do but like- I don’t know. I’m a fucking terrible friend but he gets that I’m not being serious. He gets it.”

Kleinman shifted under Connor’s hard stare. His posture was still cocky, expression a look of feigned certainty, but there was obvious concern if one were to look close enough, and Connor was fucking studying this ass.

Connor shook his head, taking another drag before stating, “You’re such a fucking asshole to him, you really think it’s a joke?”

“I- I mean we’re close, yknow? Like, we came here all the time when we were little, and I talk to him about my special interests and shit, why wouldn’t he think I was joking?” Kleinman’s voice was falling out of it’s nonchalance, a hint of desperation incredibly unlike him tainting the words, causing Connor to look him over once again.

“You’re not fucking serious. There’s no way you actually believe he thinks you’re joking.”

The lack of response was enough, both pairs of eyes falling on the tangle curled between Kleinman’s fingers. The two sat in relative silence for a few minutes, the crickets beginning to fill the air with music and the oranges of the sky shifting to a deep crimson.

There was a tingling of Connor’s arms, a barely-there stinging of his exposed skin. He tried not to think about it.

Kleinman mumbled something, too fumbled and rushed to be heard over the slight breeze. Connor put out his blunt next to him, humming in confusion.

“Fuck- I just. I’m sorry for being an asshat to you. And Evan. But you too. You didn’t deserve that shit.”

It was stilted, and rather unexpected, but Connor found himself appreciating the effort. It wasn’t every day someone apologized to him, and honestly he was surprised Kleinman cared enough to do anything like it. He was used to being the bad guy.

You are the bad guy. There’s no way Kleinman thinks you’re a good person. No one thinks that. You literally threatened to beat him up. Stop kidding yourself, yeah?

Before Connor could respond, however, Kleinman spoke again. “So, you asked me why I’m here, now I get to ask why you’re here. So, why the hell are you at an abandoned orchard when any normal person would be chilling at home?”

The confidence was back, if not a little toned down, and honestly it was nice to be back to some semblance of the normal dynamic between them.

“Larry was just being an asshole, it’s no big deal. Nothing new.” The end fell into a grumble he wasn’t sure Kleinman heard.

Kleinman hummed in question, to which Connor simply replied, “he said something fucking awful and I freaked out.”

Connor registered Kleinman nodding, though neither said anything. Out of being uncomfortable or not knowing what to say, Connor neither knew nor cared.

After a moment of them watching the sky grow darker, Kleinman huffed and grabbed onto Connor’s arm. He was about to pull back and ask what the fuck Kleinman was doing before something was shoved into his hand.

A fidget cube.

“You kept fucking scratching at your arms and I didn’t want the thing anyway, it sucks. Just take it and stop tearing your stupid arms apart.” Kleinman spoke with his normal amount of cockiness, waving a hand flippantly, before returning to fidgeting himself.

Where the fuck did he get this.

Sure enough, after Connor glanced down, both arms were red from his apparent scratching. He hadn’t even noticed he had been doing it, normally weed at least let him chill with that, but he supposed tonight was a special case.

The two sat there for a little while longer, both fidgeting with their respective objects, and the air becoming a little cooler in the late summer breeze. Kleinman left after a few buzzes from his phone and an uncomfortable “keep it” after Connor offered the cube back. The tree was a little less comforting after Kleinman left, a little more empty, like it was missing something he hadn’t known it needed.

Connor only pulled himself from the ground after Cynthia sent a few messages and tried to call him, making his way between darkened trees.

He kept the cube.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed uneventfully, Connor spending most of his time either in his room or at some various place with Hansen. It was odd, spending time with someone, especially someone who didn’t make his skin crawl. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Kleinman had been scarce, though Connor found his mind drifting to the asshole whenever he found himself pulling out the small cube. This was also seriously fucking weird. The last time someone had gotten him a gift was a couple years prior, and even then it was because his parents had felt obligated to. And it had been bullshit.

After the glove his parents had given up trying to please him with objects, though Cynthia still came home sometimes with a new paint colour or some cheap poster.

Connor found himself laying on his back, the new - and your last - school year quickly approaching, with absolutely nothing to do. His music was turned to a volume the perfect balance between vaguely annoying for the rest of his family but also not too loud to pierce his skull. It also drowned out the sounds of shouting below him, which was another bonus.

His ceiling was an excruciatingly bland white, the remains of glued-on stars long torn off dotting the empty space. Connor remembered scraping those off with a pair of scissors, and if he squinted he could probably some small dents in the plaster.

What would Hansen say if he saw those marks? Would he stutter his way through some questions? Eh, probably. Connor would end up flipping his shit, probably beating Hansen up or shoving him out the door. All for asking some questions. Not even intrusive questions, god what was wrong with Connor? That’s probably why Hansen was hanging out with him though, right? To provoke him or some shit? Who’d actually want to be friends with the school psycho? Connor could just never talk to Hansen ever again, that’d fix-

Nope. That escalated way quicker than expected.

Connor pulled himself off the floor, stretching a moment before pulling out his old paint cans from under his bed. No fucking way was he spiralling this early in the day, the sun hadn’t even started to set.

With an uncertain mumble of “you’re being stupid, Hansen’s a chill guy, he wouldn’t do that,” Connor began scraping the remaining pieces of star off the ceiling, before pulling out a brush.

Connor jolted as he heard a slamming door echo below him. He could only guess that had been Larry, as he tended to be the one who slammed whatever door was closest that could cut off him and Cynthia.

He jumped again when his door flew open.

“Connor turn that music off . Your mother and I are trying to have a conversation downstairs and I can’t hear myself think!”

Larry thundered through the door, only to stop as he looked around the room. Various colours splattered the flooring and furniture, a large dollop of crimson paint staining Connor’s bed sheets where he had knocked over an open can.

Connor felt his hand clench around the brush now at his side, dripping purple onto his shoe. As far as he could tell, the music wasn’t even that loud, definitely not as loud as Zoe’s sometimes was.

But understanding now that Cynthia had slammed the door, obviously this fight was something different. Plus Cynthia was the only one in this house vaguely on his side, so better try not to piss her off too much. So Connor jumped down from his bed, and turned the volume down a bit.

Fuck Larry, he wasn’t turning his music off.

“Connor, turn the music off. Your mother and I need to be able to hear each other and you’re making it impossible.” Larry spat after some complaining about whatever Connor was doing. His eyes were hard, fists balled up by his side.

Oh this was going to be fun.

“Zoe can play her shit as loud as she wants, I’m turning mine down. What’s the difference, you can’t hear it from downstairs anymore anyway.” Connor had a hollow smile plastered to his face, prepared to whip purple paint at Larry the first excuse he got.

“Connor, your music is putting your mother on edge, turn it off. ” Larry took another step into the room, looking around again briefly, “and clean this mess up, what’re you even doing?”

Connor kept his eyes trained on Larry, but he knew that he, in fact, should clean this up. Paint was everywhere. Somehow not a single surface went untouched. But, if it made Larry so angry, he was going to leave the paint there as long as he could.

“Nah, I’m good, Larry, but thanks for the suggestion. If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna continue listening to my music and I’m gonna finish painting, then I’m gonna leave this hell hole for a little while to chill with Hansen. Thanks.”

Larry’s brows furrowed, frown turning into a small snarl, as he finally walked right up to Connor, causing him to take a small step back. “That wasn’t a suggestion. Why do you refuse to listen to anyone? You need to get your act together. You’re going to be starting senior year soon and I’m not going to waste my time on some punk who won’t take anything seriously.”

None of this was anything different than what Connor was always accused of. Lazy, stupid, whatever. He was surprised there hadn’t been some pull on “attention seeker” there. Connor was almost ready to scoff this off and go back to his shit, when Larry continued.

“You’re tearing this goddamn family apart, and you owe it to your mother and I to get your shit together. But you know what? I’m done with you. If you haven’t fixed your disaster of an attitude by the end of the week I swear…”

Larry walked out of the room, one more order to turn his music off thrown back before the door slammed shut. Connor was left in relative shock, just staring at the door. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to yell, or laugh, or anything.

Suddenly the music playing was pounding against his chest, making it harder to breathe. Connor quickly shut it off, looking for a good place to put his brush before frustratedly throwing it to the side and sinking to his knees.

This was fine, this was fine. This happens. He’s dealt with this before. Right? He’d gotten through this before. But fuck, what was the point. This was stupid, he was being stupid. Who gets this angry about lame-ass accusations like “you’re tearing this family apart”? He should be laughing. Right? That’s right out of some sitcom from the 90s, he should be laughing.

And so he tried. Connor forced out a bark of laughter, quickly muffling it with a paint stained palm. His fingers raked down his arms thoughts running a mile a minute, jumping to conclusion after conclusion.

He should call someone, right? Hansen had anxiety attacks or whatever, maybe he’d know what to do? But fuck, no, Hansen’d definitely think it was stupid. Because it was. It was stupid this was stupid.

Knowing by the burning of his arms, the way everything was too much or too loud or too soft or too light, and the fact that he now had to stop himself from laughing as fire bubbled in his lungs, he definitely needed to call someone.

So he rung up the first number he blindly clicked on.

“Connor? What’s up my dude, didn’t expect you to call. Ever.”

Ah, fantastic, Kleinman, definitely the person he wanted to call.

“Wait, you okay? You’re breathing pretty hard there, asshole.”

Ohhhhh this was great. Yep. Wonderful. Fantastic. Fuck.

“Uh, okay, one sec-” Kleinman began mumbling to someone else, probably talking about how fucking stupid you are, or how the fucking psycho called him and is probably gonna end up killing him or-

“Evan says he knows your address, do you want us to pick you up?” The confidence in Kleinman’s voice had lowered, thankfully.

He probably thinks he’s better than you, who wouldn’t. He and Hansen are gonna tell the school all about how they helped a poor helpless maniac. School-shooter. Psychopath. You know what you should do? You should fucking-

“Okay, nope, I hear you mumbling some pretty messed up shit, Evan and I are on our way.” Click.

Wellllll fuck.

A quiet knock came from the door, causing Connor to scrub his eyes as dry as he could get them, letting out a few coughs.

The door opened slowly, a very worried face poking in as Connor glared back up. Zoe opened the door some more, but she stayed in the opening, not daring to enter the room any more than she already had. Connor didn’t move either.

“I heard something after the door slammed shut I just…” Her voice dissipated, staring at Connor who hadn’t left the floor, knees pulled to his chest.

He growled something out, though it was cut off by coughing, Connor’s haggard breathing making speaking way too fucking difficult.

“Get out, Zoe.”

Her brow furrowed, but she took a cautious step back. Good.

“I said, get out, or I’m gonna end up fucking killing you. ” Speaking felt and sounded like choking on blades. Connor began pulling himself up to his feet, legs wobbling slightly.

“Connor, listen, this is fine. You’ve been fine, right? You’ve been okay, I can help-”

“ Get out Zoe! Did you not fucking hear me?! Get the fuck away from me! ” Connor cut her off, marching towards her, continuing to yell, until she ran back to her room. The entire house shook with the slamming of the door, the sound probably reaching the neighbours.

Oh how fucking perfect. That went fantastically, you absolute psychopath.

Connor fell back to his knees, every muscle tense.

When the door next opened, Kleinman and Hansen were greeted to a galaxy ceiling, paint splattered everywhere, and Connor shaking on the ground, sleeves wet.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t see anything. Everything was a blur of colour and unknowns, movement flashing around until he was dizzy. Something touched his shoulder, and he couldn’t stop the gasp that sounded - was that you? - or his body seizing back.

Why was he fucking vibrating?

Someone said something, or tried to say something, or were Connor’s ears just broken? It sounded like a mumble, words trying to push past cotton, he couldn’t understand it. But then someone was kneeling in front of him, hands raised, and he swore he knew them. Maybe. Fuck, nothing was making sense.

The person lightly touched his arm, though it was barely registered through everything else, and Connor let them gently pull him up. He grasped what he saw to be their arms quickly, shakey legs nearly giving out from under him.

The person said something again, but it was still unintelligible.

“Fuck, I- I can’t-” It turned out Connor’s mouth wasn’t cooperating either. Great.

He heard something along the lines of being hushed, and felt himself get lead out of his house and into some car. Wait, was there another person here? Right, he called Kleinman. Right? But why the fuck would there be two people here if he called Kleinman?

Why in the fuck did he call anyone?

Connor tore his arms away, an explosion of fire lapping up to his elbows as the past twenty minutes became clearer. The fog in his mind began to disperse and with a quick rub of his eyes he realized not only had fucking Kleinman come but Hansen had, too.

Fucking great. Fantastic! He honestly couldn’t think of how this could be any worse.

And now he couldn’t fucking breathe.

Connor’s chest heaved, gaze darting between the two boys with an icy anger he wasn’t sure who it was directed at. He tried to work past the fact that his lungs felt like they were going to burst and how the feeling of damp sleeves rubbing against open cuts made him want to scream. He tried to look past the fear and worry in Hansen’s eyes, and the barely masked concern in Kleinman’s. He tried to look past all of it, because it was all fucking stupid.

“Connor, c-come on, we’re gonna bring you to-to my place. My mom’s not home- not home, so we’ll be alone. It’s gonna be ok-okay.” Hansen’s voice dripped with an amalgamation of emotions that made Connor’s head spin.

“No, no no, don’t fucking do that Hansen. You don’t want me at your house this is- this is some fucking trick, right? You guys pretending to care?” Connor’s lips twitched into a hollow smirk that made Kleinman flinch, which Connor quickly caught sight of. “Yeah, you’re- you’re scared of me. Aren’t you, Kleinman? Hansen, you’re horrified by fuckin everything you must be scared of the psycho, yeah? Yeah?”

They’re fucking taping this, aren’t they? They’re taping you and they’re gonna fucking broadcast it so everyone can see how fucking crazy you are.

“Connor, fucking stop. Listen, we’re not scared of you, we’re fucking scared for you, okay?” Kleinman stepped between a panting Connor and Hansen, obviously more than a little pissed off but still worried.

He was fucking worried.

Connor clenched his fists, doing everything in his power not to punch something -- or someone -- while his chest continued to feel like it was about to split in two. He didn’t fight the timid hand that reached for his upper arm, but the violent flinch made Hansen back off, simply opening the car door for Connor to step into.

He climbed in with a mumbled, “don’t fucking touch me right now,” and though no one replied, he knew they both heard.

After a far too quick drive, Connor was back in Hansen’s house, Kleinman pointing towards the living room before entering the kitchen. A minute after Connor ungracefully sat down, Kleinman sitting next to him in anxious silence after setting down a glass of water, Hansen returned from the bathroom with a first aid kit.

“I-I’m gonna just. Bandage your arms. Is that okay?” Hansen was obviously anxious, a nervous energy almost radiating off of him, but Connor appreciated the fact that at least the asshole wasn’t actually afraid of him.

Yet.

Connor gave a stilted nod, trying to ignore the shift of Kleinman and the barely-there gasp from Hansen as he bunched up his sleeves. He fucking knew this was a bad idea, this was bullshit. He shouldn’t be here.

Connor flinched again at the hand lightly wrapping around his wrist to display his arm. He let Hansen do his thing, cleaning and wrapping or whatever, hardly noticing the feeling of disinfectant and bandages. He made a conscious effort to look anywhere but Kleinman or Hansen.

“Hey, Connor?” Kleinman’s voice broke the tense silence in the room, but Connor continued to stare at the coffee table, only grunting in response. “What the fuck happened back there?”

“Jared, you can’t just-”
“What, Evan? He freaked out and I wanna know why.”

Connor’s shoulders tensed, but he tried to take a deep breath. This was fine. Everything was fucking fine. Who cared if they hated him? Who cared if they thought he was an over sensitive freak? They probably already did, and Kleinman had asked the question, so may as well give him some sort of answer.

“Larry.” Connor’s voice was quiet, a low growl that held fire that burned his throat as he talked.

He hoped that answer would suffice.

It seemed Connor had been right, as Kleinman didn’t push any further. Hansen quickly wrapped up with the bandages and said something about clothes. He left to put back the kit, leaving Kleinman and Connor alone.

“You know, I get it.”

Connor’s gaze rolled to Kleinman, brows furrowed. “What do you mean you ‘get it’? I didn’t even say what Larry fucking said, you can’t ‘get it’. Plus don’t you have, like, two lovely moms or some shit? And don’t lie to me, Hansen’s brought it up before.”

Kleinman’s eyes shifted to match Connor’s glare, though there was still a masking sense of humour to it. He leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the couch in nonchalance, before speaking up. “Yeah, I had a dad. He was a fucking maniac.”

Connor blinked, unsure of what to say. He’d been called a maniac before, even by Kleinman, but this held a different sort of weight to it. Kleinman would throw the word around in the halls, but this felt like a hit to the chest.

Hansen returned before Kleinman could keep talking, a bundle of clothes in his arms. “I thought you’d- you wouldn’t w-wanna head back home? After everything that- that happened, I mean? So you can stay the- uh, the night. My m-mom isn’t gonna be back un-until real late so I, uh, I can just send- send a text or something? So she won’t- so she’ll know why you’re here?”

Connor was tempted to say no, god he would love to say no. Just leave and spend the night on a park bench. It’d be so easy to just leave. But Hansen seemed pretty anxious, if his shifting feet and speeding stutter had anything to say about it. And Kleinman would probably tackle him if he tried to leave, so.

Connor begrudgingly took the clothes, muttering a thanks, before leaving to find the bathroom so he could change.

Kleinman called for pizza, and the three of them watched shit TV while eating until late into the evening. Apparently they were all sleeping in the livingroom, though Connor couldn’t say it wasn’t more comfortable than a rickety park bench. Kleinman and Hansen talked back and forth, not really including Connor but after trying to get him to participate they had given up a bit. Instead the conversation seemed open, nothing cutting Connor completely out, and enough for him to jump in if he wished.

He did not.

Eventually, Hansen fell asleep. Connor and Kleinman were sitting on the floor in front of the couch while Hansen snored, draped body taking up all available space. The TV was playing, though it was providing more white noise than coherent plot at this point.

He wasn’t sure when, but eventually Connor’s searing anger had melted a bit. There was still a twist in his gut and an itch under the bandages, but his borrowed pants were soft and the room was comfortable. The floor was comfortable. Hansen’s snoring allowed for a soft beat, consistent. Everything was warm.

“My mom and I went through some absolute horse shit while my dad was here. We ended up filing charges. That’s all I’m gonna say about it because it fucking sucks, but yeah. I fucking get bad dads.” Kleinman was still watching the screen, but the harsh lights brought out how exhausted he looked. Connor hummed in attention, allowing his gaze to fall back to the screen.

“You’re just. You’re not fucking alone in this, okay? And yeah I was shit to you, but Hansen’s never done anything that bad and he gets the whole ‘shit dad’ thing, too. Stop convincing yourself you’re a lone wolf or whatever. You’re not that special. We get it.”
Connor nodded, too tired to dispute and far too out of it to reply. He just hoped Kleinman saw him nod, maybe heard him mumble an apology. Maybe Kleinman saw Connor falling asleep in the prime position to break one’s neck, and brought him onto his shoulder.

Whether or not any of that actually happened, neither seemed to object.

Chapter Text

Connor woke up with an odd weight settled next to him. His neck stung, back positioned uncomfortably, but whatever was next to him was comfortingly warm. He found himself curling into it, the dull ache in his arms fading slightly with the new distraction. To his surprise, whatever was next to him curled in return. Something wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him in closer.

After a moment, the movement stopping, Connor opened his eyes enough to see what was happening. To his surprise, he saw his arms wrapped around a body, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and face laying on this person’s chest.

Holy fuck it’s Kleinman get off get off get off-

Connor’s entire body stiffened, causing Kleinman to groan quietly, still very much asleep. Kleinman’s arm tightened slightly around Connor, causing him to huff tiredly. His neck hurt like hell and he was starting to get hungry. Also he was fucking sleeping on Kleinman. What the fuck.

Only a moment after Connor had succumbed to his fate of being hugged until Kleinman came back to life, he heard the door to the living room squeak quietly on its hinges. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Hansen walk in, a tray in his arms.

He set it down on the coffee table before kneeling down in front of Connor, a teasing, lazy smile resting on his lips.

“Cozy?”

“Shut the fuck up, Hansen.” Connor’s voice was rough, sleep continuing to drip from his words, and it held little malice.

Hansen shrugged smile growing a bit. He began to stand up before Connor stopped him with a very determined whisper.

“Wait wait wait. Kleinman is a log right now and I’m so hungry, please get me out.” Hansen snickered - holy shit when did Hansen learn how to tease - and began to pull Kleinman’s arm from around Connor, poorly holding back his laughter.

Eventually Connor was freed, a plate of eggs and bacon placed in his lap immediately after sitting down on the couch. He and Hansen ate in relative silence, Connor close to falling back asleep again, until it was broken with giggling.

Connor looked up at a blushing Hansen who was shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth to mute the sound. He shot a questioning glare, only to make Hansen giggle more.

“Hansen, what the hell is happening?” His voice was laced with amusement, but it was slightly stiff, as if his throat wasn’t used to being used to tease kindly.

Hansen stuttered over a beginning to his sentence, before settling on mumbling, “j-just, your hair? It- it looks like the- uh, a- a lion’s mane?”

Connor’s brows raised, before coughing out a chuckle. He raised a hand to feel his hair, the untamed mess apparently sticking out in every fucking direction. He deemed this disaster enough to require his hair to be shoved into a poor excuse for a bun, and so as Hansen began to zone out while eating, Connor pulled out a hair tie.

 Another hour passed before Kleinman rose from his coma-like sleep, groaning immediately from the uncomfortable position he had been in. After being ordered to “ta-take off your fucking binder, Jared, I swear t-to god I t-told you to last ni- night,” and filling his stomach with probably too much food for any normal person, the three sat in relatively awkward silence for a few minutes.

None knew how to talk, or if they should bring up what had happened the previous night. Connor began to pick at the bandages wrapped around his forearms under his sleeves, but his hand was quickly slapped away by Hansen.

Who then ducked his head, looking as though he was about to apologize for hitting Connor, before firmly shutting his mouth. Both Kleinman and Hansen had focused expressions, furrowed brows to match their eyes almost glaring at the coffee table.

Connor just looked between the two of them, relatively confused and slightly pissed at literally everything that was happening.

Why the fuck did he call them? It wasn’t like he hadn’t been able to deal with worse on his own. This had been a waste of his and their time. This was stupid.

Some part of Connor’s mind - the part that had begun trying to actually rationalize stuff again - tried to explain to him “ that was one of the worst nights in awhile, it’s good that you called them, shut the fuck up” but it was quickly drowned out.

He still tried to listen to it.

Kleinman and Hansen wouldn’t have come if they didn’t care at least a little bit, right?

You should say something. You probably fucking traumatized them or some shit, you should at least apologize.

Eventually, after swallowing the lump in his throat and forcing the sound out, Connor managed to break the silence.

“Listen, I don’t- I don’t fucking know how to do any of this-” he gestured all around him, eyes focusing on his knees but able to catch both Kleinman and Hansen jumping at his voice- “but- I dunno. I’m sorry for last night, and for taking over your evening.”

Connor paused for a moment, his throat burning and the words drying his mouth out. He knew he had to say something, though. He owed it to them. “Thanks. Though. For helping.”

He cautiously looked up, watching the expressions of Kleinman and Hansen carefully. After a moment of neither saying anything, just looking at him, Connor was prepared to just stand up and walk out. No reason bothering them anymore, right? They had already put bandages on him and fed him and let him stay over and it was time to go immediately now.

Before he could stand, however, Hansen spoke up. “D-don’t fucking apologize. ”

Both Kleinman and Connor rose their eyebrows at that, neither one used to Hansen swearing. He was normally too nervous to say anything like that around Connor, but Kleinman had grown used to it when he and Hansen had been closer. It had been years, though. It was nice.

“Duh-don’t apologize for asking for our help. We’re your friends, Connor, of course we fucking helped! We care about you!” Hansen’s eyes held determination and so much kindness it almost made Connor dizzy. He didn’t know how to react.

“Evan’s right, asshole. We care about you, even if you are a piece of shit. Don’t say you’re sorry for any of this - you have nothing to apologize for. Just don’t fucking do it again, call us or something next time.” Kleinman’s eyes were trained on the coffee table, fingers picking relentlessly at his fidget toy - seriously where the fuck did he keep hiding those.

Again, Connor wasn’t sure how to react. He simply sat there, brows furrowed and shoulders uncomfortably tense. His eyes couldn’t stay on Hansen or Kleinman, so they trained themselves on the hint of bandage poking out from under his sleeves.

He let out a sigh, steeling himself before beginning to speak. “I don’t. Fucking. Know how to deal with this,” he gestured between the three of them, eyes not moving from his lap but voice betraying how desperately he needed them to understand. “I don’t know what this is. The closest I’ve ever been to literally anyone was Alana and that was mainly because she would talk so I didn’t have to. This is weird, and it’s fucking stupid and- and I’m really trying to not insult you assholes but it’s really fucking hard right now.” Connor huffed in frustration, angry at his tongue for being too heavy and at his arms for itching and at his hands for wanting to punch something.

A lapse of silence passed, before Kleinman stood up suddenly.. He mumbled some excuse about forgetting “those stupid goddamn meds” before jogging into the kitchen where Connor assumed his bag was. Hansen also stood up suddenly, saying something along the same lines, and rushing to his room.

Connor’s hands found their way to his forearms, body reflexively curling in on himself. He knew he should’ve left, he should’ve bolted as soon as possible. They didn’t want to deal with the fact that he didn’t know how to properly talk to people without either insulting them or shouting.

But then Kleinman returned, a glass of water and partially eaten granola bar being placed on the coffee table, and he grabbed a remote. Hansen returned soon after, handing Connor a glass of water and keeping one for himself, and sat down on the other side of Connor.

And suddenly Connor’s shoulders relaxed. His body sunk further into the cushions, and he took a large gulp of his water. The warmth radiating from Kleinman and Hansen was honestly comforting, and he was glad his mind had decided to stay rational, just for a little while longer anyway.

They were all here. No one was bolting, no one was insulting anyone out of malice. The atmosphere was warm. It was safe.

The three shared the far too small couch for a while, watching shitty shows and yelling aggravatedly at whatever stupid thing the characters were doing. The tension of before lifted as the time passed, and at some point they had turned off the TV to talk to Heidi for a while before she left again.

Hansen didn’t say much to her, obviously still stewing in both anger and guilt for being angry. After Heidi left they didn’t turn the TV back on until Hansen had been able to complain, Kleinman and Connor earning a small smile of gratitude from him once he had finished.

Connor knew he was going to have to leave soon, go home to Cynthia and Larry and Zoe, but for the time being his phone was turned off and he was busy watching reruns of some old comedy. He was comfortable, despite the insistent itching, and it was nice to feel someone’s hand slap his fingers away from the offending bandages.

It was all very weird. The explosive laughter that forced its way out of him when Hansen yelled something at the screen, or the genuine smile on his face when Kleinman brought back leftover pizza for the three of them. It was new, though. And that was something he wouldn’t regret letting last a little longer.

Chapter Text

Coming home had been exhausting. Larry had immediately pounced with a barrage of questions, assuming the worst, while Cynthia had simply watched, every so often trying to interject. Connor had simply ignored them, walking up the stairs and into his room without hesitation.

When he closed the door behind him, however, he found the room far too uncomfortable. The air was stuffy, bordering on suffocating, and the atmosphere was pushing against his chest. He couldn’t stand to spend any more time in there, the splattered paint and dirty laundry providing no comfort in their familiarity. Connor supposed going to apologize to Zoe was the best excuse to leave the room as fast as possible, even if he was dreading that interaction with his entire fucking soul.

After shoving open all the windows in the room, Connor made his way slowly down the hall. He attempted to formulate some semblance of a proper apology - you need to get this right, she deserves this - but it wasn’t coming nearly as easily as he hoped it would. This was, without a doubt, going to fucking suck. Apologizing was apparently terrifying and he had not been prepared for that.

After standing in front of the door for what felt like an hour, Connor finally steeled himself and knocked on the door. It was quiet enough he thought Zoe wouldn’t hear it, but before he could knock again the door creaked open, Zoe standing between him and the rest of the interior.

She raised an eyebrow, gaze sweeping over Connor cautiously. He couldn’t help but wince at the obvious discomfort, before he attempted to give a reassuring smile that undoubtedly looked closer to a grimace. Her expression became even more questioning.

Connor cleared his throat, arms wrapping around himself so he could tap on his biceps. “Listen, I wanted to apologize? Like, actually really apologize. Because yesterday was a fucking nightmare and you didn’t deserve that. So. I’m sorry.” His eyes were boring holes into the flooring between the two of them. After a moment of silence, when he was contemplating whether or not he should leave, Zoe stepped out of the way so he could enter her room.

He walked as though he was stepping on eggshells, making sure to position himself so, if she needed to, Zoe could leave without getting too close to him. He opted to sit on the desk chair, legs crossed and hands still rhythmically tapping on his arms.

“What the fuck is going on, Connor?” Zoe’s voice pierced through the silence.

Connor flinched slightly, eyes darting up to where Zoe still stood in the doorway. Yeah, there’s no way she’s going to sit in the same room as you. It’s honestly surprising she’s still in this house at all.

“You scream at me, leave for less than a day, and suddenly you’re apologizing? Just, what the fuck is happening?” From this distance, Connor honestly couldn’t tell if she was terrified, angry, or legitimately curious. Probably a mixture of all three.

There was no way this was going to fix everything, he knew that, but he had to try something. He wasn’t about to let himself slide free after yelling he was going to kill her. For the second time. Fuck that.

He sat there for a while, explaining himself and a majority of the shit that had been going on since the day at the orchard. He explained Hansen, and Kleinman, and he apologized again. He didn’t expect her to forgive him, he didn’t even hope as far as her accepting his apology, he apologized again to be safe.

That evening, Zoe and Connor sat in the same room for a few hours. As Connor scrolled on his phone, every so often glancing over to Zoe on her laptop, he could feel the tension in the air fade. She hadn’t accepted his apology, which he told himself was fine, but she had allowed him to stay in her room. She still sat next to the open door, but it was something.

This was something,  and maybe that was enough.

Connor did not want to go to school that first day. He could feel the anxiety flowing through his veins, and he could only force himself to drink a cup of black coffee, any food being out of the question. Insomnia was a bitch, worst of all when he had set an alarm to wake himself up at ass-o’clock.

But when he arrived at the school, exhausted and angry and so ready to bail and waste the day at the orchard, he heard his name called. He guessed it was some asshole ready to pounce on him, so he turned ready for a fight.

He saw Jared, standing next to Evan, waving his hand wildly. Evan looked ready to slap Jared, the anxiety surrounding the first day of school absolutely radiating off of him, but he was still able to offer a genuine smile when Connor approached them.

Connor let himself listen to them talk, still far too out of it to contribute to the conversation, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Evan still had his idiotic cast on, a far too large “Connor,” with a slightly smaller but still just as obnoxious “Jared” right beside it, scrawled with a black sharpie. Connor knew what had happened that day when Evan had nearly fallen directly on him, and he knew what had been going through Evan’s mind as he had sat in that tree. He wasn’t sure if Jared knew, but hoped Evan would talk about it.

Until then, Connor wouldn’t push it.

Jared was wearing the stupidest pair of shorts Connor had ever seen in his life. They had way too many pockets, and undoubtedly every pocket held fidget toys. That was the only explanation to how the man could always have a billion of them on him. Currently he had one in his mouth, comfortably chewing as Evan stuttered on about some interesting book he had been reading, the excitement surrounding sharing one of his interests causing his tongue to trip over itself more than usual.

Funny, how he was friends with this asshole after years of fighting.

Connor was towering over both of them, looking even taller with Evan hunching his shoulders. His bandages were still visible if someone looked hard enough, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. His jeans weren’t clean and his hair was a disaster, but for the day that was fine. He was out of bed, he was at school, and that was enough.

He realized, with a sudden wave of astonishment, that he was alive.

Not only was he simply living, but he was more content than he’d been for years. Just a few months ago he was preparing to cast himself into eternal nothingness in attempt to better himself and everyone else. He had written a list of the things he needed to buy and everything. But he was still here.

And when Alana walked up to the small group, tapping on Connor’s shoulder to talk to him about her summer, he realized that he wasn’t fixed, but he didn’t have to be. He was fine with giving Alana an ear to destroy with words coming so fast they were hard to catch, just because he knew she needed to feel heard. He was fine with prompting Evan to ramble about forests and videogames and books because he knew Evan didn’t get to talk about that stuff without backtracking almost immediately. He was fine with playing videogames with Jared or listening to him excitedly talk about one of his special interests as he flapped his hands because he could understand how much the subject meant to Jared.

And that was really fucking surprising.

Connor’s eyes caught Zoe walking towards them, a cautious gleam in her eye, as Alana paused to let Evan interject something. Zoe walked up to them, worming her way to stand between him and Alana in the slowly growing circle they had made. Connor couldn’t help but be caught off guard, only ever really interacting with Zoe when she either told him off for fighting with someone, or seeing her and purposefully ignoring her existence.

“You look ridiculous standing here, by the way. You’re like a tree or something, seriously.” Zoe glanced up at him, a playful smile hinting at him, and he couldn’t help but grin.

This was good, too.

The conversation turned towards Zoe and Alana asking about Evan’s arm, only for both of them to sign their names along with the previous two signatures. The bell rang soon after, the group dispersing but Evan, Jared, and Connor heading in the same direction.

“Evan, Jared, school is homophobic because it inconveniences me personally, I swear to fuck. ” Connor stated this around a long yawn, Evan laughing and Jared shoving him playfully.

Connor belatedly realized, as the other two began complaining about their own exhaustion, that he had used their first names. He couldn’t remember when he had last called them by anything other than their last names, but the feeling of saying it flowed nicely out of his mouth. Normally names tended to feel hot and uncomfortable - everything about them felt far too personal unless he had spent a considerable amount on time with the person. But now everything was beginning to soften.

Things were changing, he was changing, and that was enough.