Chapter Text
Connor is having a bad fucking day.
And, like most bad days, apparently the world has it out for him. Like his Mom told him that he was high off his ass this morning when he wasn't, or how Zoe left him in the rain because she was feeling a little bit more bitter than usual. Or how Miguel decided that he wanted to fuck around tonight of all nights (when Connor has stated several times that he doesn't want to talk to him anymore.)
And the other Bad Thing that happened today was going to class, falling asleep in said class, and then getting called up to the board while he was half asleep.
"Well, Connor, if you weren't always under the influence while in class, maybe you could stay awake."
The only correct response was for him to walk out and stick the middle finger at her as he did.
Which, like. Yeah.
That's what's gotten him in this fantastic situation.
And it's not like he hasn't been in the detention room plenty of times to know where it is, it just fucking sucks that his first day at school had to be in some cramped up classroom when it's already hot as balls.
Fucking great.
It's 98 degrees outside, he' s in a detention hall with no air conditioning, because of course a well off highschool like this is too stuck up to put a little work into the conditioning in the summer.
Connor's head lolls forward onto the desk, and he lets his hair fall in parts in front of his face. It's greasy.
Shit, he needs to take a shower when he gets home. He feels too fucking dirty for this early in the day. (Six p.m.)
Connor's hair trails around the classroom, and there's only a few kids, just a few. Three, he counts, including him.
One of them, a few seats from him, has her hair cut short and a promptly bleeding nose. A bumped up chin, and she has a permanent scowl to her face, pale, pinkish skin that's obviously been burned by the harsh sun. She's pretty, high cheekbones that almost make her look soft-ish, and high, tilted eyebrows.
When she notices he's glancing, she sticks the middle finger up at him.
He sticks it back, and it prompts a little laugh of bitterness out of her.
A few seats behind him, is Kyle. Yes, he knows, what a fucking white, cishet name, and he looks it too. All beefy muscles and strong jaws. It's a surprise a kid like him got counted in for detention.
And then, all the way in the back of the class, in the darkest spot of the room-(and there weren't many dark spots in the middle of summer,) was Evan. Evan Hansen.
Connor knows of him, obviously. He knows of Evan Hansen who fucks around with dudes in bathrooms and Evan Hansen the fighter. Evan Hansen the ticking time bomb.
He also knows of him because he's friends with his sister. Acquaintances, whatever. They've been hanging out for a month on and off. He's a science partner.
But he's seen him around. Getting dogged on by his 'friend', taking all the trash from his table. He's a fucking pushover, honestly, it's sad, looking at him.
Also seen him in his house. Evan always offers, like, kind smiles and seems. Nice. Never looks like he's scared of him.
Evan walks like he's not scared of anything, though, but that must be an impression. The kid is still twitchy and stuttery and so, so nervous.
But he's also.. Insanely gorgeous. Like, holy shit.
But that's besides the point, because he can't catch a crush on someone in detention hall that's the most desperate thing ever holy fuck.
Evan has his chest puffed out, just a bit, like he' s still got something to defend. His face is red and jarred and angry. He' s never seen anyone that looks so terrifying angry before. He feels like he's about to be told off or some shit, as dumb as it sounds.
When Connor catches his eye, Evan shies away from the contact, Connor immediately transferring to making a joke. A trash one, but a joke, nonetheless.
"Watcha looking at, Hansen?" His voice is too crackly, too uncomfortable, too vulnerable. Connor rolls his eyes at his own voice, and Evan only nods in his direction politely, a small, kind smile on his face.
And something about him is just.. Insanely alluring. Like. Mysterious? Connor doesn't know, but he's fucking hooked.
He slides over with his chair, and it makes an annoyingly loud squeaking sound against the floor. The teacher is still asleep, snoring away as the fan blows directly into her direction.
Lucky.
He pulls his hood over his head, tightening the strings and pulling out his phone.
Connor isn't in the mood to talk to anyone. Not today. Not ever, really. He doesn't know why now is an exception. Dealing with his reputation is hard when it's from a bunch of ruthless white, cis, straight kids that have it out for him. Ruthless rich kids that have it out for him.
Rich kids are even worse. He would know, since he is one.
Zoe gets ruthless. Pushes people away she gets bored of and talks to her friends on the phone, gossiping like stereotypical teenage girls do.
She has rumors, all around the school, about her. Connor can never take it. Rumors always get under his skin, make him angry. Make him want to punch something, something that can take it, something that'll punch back.
He doesn't cry over rumors anymore. Stopped crying about them when he hit freshman year. They were getting so genuinely ridiculous, now, even though he hates it- he laughs.
One time a rumor got spread that he was secretly a slutty gay underage stripper.
He thought about it off and on, bitterly, and he hated how he wished they would try a little harder. Maybe make up something realistic for once. He would hook up with someone in a school bathroom. He would smoke weed in the back of the school.
He would break down in the middle of the hallway.
Something like that. Something that sounds fucking real.
God, he can't even get a well thought out, genuine rumor. He's pathetic.
Evan is looking at him again, like he's confused as to why Connor is talking to him, but he perks up anyways, waving back slightly. He's.. Really polite for a kid who just got out of an obvious fist fight.
Connor wonders again what he's in for.
And why Connor is trying to talk to this kid when he obviously isn't interested.
"So, are you coming to that party tonight? At White's." Connor mumbles.
Heather White is the most popular girl in school, and also best friends with Zoe. Which. Figures. Zoe has this way about her, so light and charming and graceful- she picks up on everything and anything, like she's got the world in her hands.
That's how he sees her, at least.
She's the perfect child. Her parents, (Connor, in his brain, has stopped referring to them as his. They mixed him up with the dog yesterday. Have forgotten several of his birthdays, and barely know how he's doing in school.) Love her, adore her, want the world for her.
She's perfect.
Flawless.
And he knows it's stupid, to put someone on a pedastool or whatever, but she's so good at hiding she's fucked up.
He's quite public about it.
But, it hits him that her friends only love her for what they think she is. None of them see Zoe at home. None of them know her.
And he decides he would rather be him than be liked for something that he's not.
And Evan looks like he's considering it, for just a moment, eyebrows all furrowed and interesting and handsome, fucking shit, he's so handsome, and he glances up again to Conor and curtly nods.
Connor is going. And he knows he usually wouldn't, because of his usual disinterest in parties- especially teen parties, it can get brutal- but. Why the fuck not?
Nothing is stopping him.
He can do whatever he wants.
His Biological parents, legal guardians, whatever, have given up on him. Larry is still persistent, but not enough to wait until late tonight to see if he's okay. He doesn't care about him that much.
So he's going. He's fucking going.
"Ye- Yeah, uh, Jared keeps on, like. Insistent I go, so, yeah. And al- also, Z-Zoe wanted me there. So."
Gosh. Of course they're five seconds into the conversation and Zoe is already coming up. Can he just try to bag something good for once?
"You have a thing for her?" Connor asks, and he tries not to seem bitter, because he doesn't even know this kid, but what if he's only chatting with him to get closer to Zoe?
Even though the thought stings, it's just facts.
Nobody willingly conversates with him.
Evan makes a sound of annoyance, like he's offended. "Me and Zoe aren't even.. Really friends. I th- I think she just put- puts up with me cause we're fucking.. Science partners. Sh- She wants a goo- a good grade. But Zoe is nice? But no. I d- I don' t. S-.. So…"
Connor makes this sigh of relief.
Okay. He can try to be friends with this guy. Okay.
"Okay, cause like, I think you're okay. And chill. It would be nice, being friends, with you."
Do people just. Ask? To be friends? It would be a much easier approach. Less blurry on where the two people stand. But he doesn't think normal people ask for friendship. Friendship is just.. Supposed to happen, right?
He would have no idea.
There was Miguel. But that was an entirely different thing, and Connor didn't like thinking about Miguel, these days.
He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind, and clears his throat. Normal Miguel, fucking everything up for him.
Eva has this uncertain smile on his face, and he raises a delighted eyebrow at him. Like he's trying to hold back a smile. He looks a little wary, with his arms tied up across his chest so tightly that it must hurt.
"Wh- What are we? Kinde- Kindergartners?" Evan looks like he's on the brink of laughter, and he looks okay. He's obviously not like all to other kids at the school, there's something about him that outwardly states that.
Evan is a sore thumb in a crowd of Not sore thumbs.
And Connor feels himself curse under his breath, or in his brain, he doesn' t fucking know, because this was a stupid idea and he's so childish for just walking up to a person and asking to be friends since they look cool, like, who the fuck does that, what the fuck is wrong with him?
He turns away and Evan makes a face, all frowny and slightly intrigued. "I was- uhm- joking. I wasn't try- trying to be mean,"
" No , Don't feel bad, I was being dumb."
"Dude. I- I swear. I think it wo- it would be nice being friends with you, too."
Oh.
Connor feels something buzzy in his stomach, which is short lived, but nice. He doesn't know what the fuck it is, and decides to ignore it (like he does most things), and tries to seem like he's chill. Totally cool. Fucking fantastic.
But he' s not.
Connor is a fraud. A total fraud. People think he's all, like, cool or whatever because of his hair and the way he walks and his nails and his Fuck You attitude.
All of it. All of it is fake.
He's just as fake as Zoe. If not, worse.
"Okay. I'll see you at the party or whatever, right?" Connor mumbles, picks at his nails in fake chillness.
Evan sucks it up, believes it completely. He nods in response, and Connor nearly nods back when there's a kick to the back of his chair.
Kyle. He gives them this smile, this feral little grin, mocking, going " So you guys gonna kiss or-" And Connor is scooting straight back to his seat, settling himself there and resting his head on his arms.
Evan mumbles something that sounds like fuck you, kyle but it doesn't meet the ears of the perpetrator. Just quiet enough so there's not a fight in the middle of detention.
Okay.
Okay, nice.
All he has to worry about are his parents, and that'll be fantastic. Just peachy fucking perfect.
He sighs.
Today has been a long day.
He really, really needs a smoke.
____________________________________________
When he gets home, what Connor expected would be the inevitable, well, turns out to be the inevitable.
He was trying to have a flicker of hope that they'd just give up on him or something, kick him out when he's eighteen, because he knows he'd be better off without them.
And they' d be better off without him. He's aware of the vicious amount of baggage he' s put on them just by breathing. Remembers all those moments, all those moments they had to deal with when he was getting bad.
Now, when he's getting bad, he locks the door. Let's himself mope and just lay in bed. Let himself go loose.
Losing himself. That's a fun pastime.
He likes when the tears are coming down so hard that it burns his face, likes it when he can't breathe and he can' t focus, because nothing else matters then the instinct to sob it all out. To hang onto someone.
Cynthia used to be there. When he needed her, but that's when he was trying. When he asked. She would get him water, hold him until he fell asleep. Stroking his back and mumbling sweet little lies of affirmation how it would be okay.
It would be okay.
Now, he can't get the words out. Can't ask, because he's already taken so much. So much.
He can't ask her for comfort after killing her hope over and over and over again.
But then there are worse days. The worse of fucking days, and anyone breathing in his direction makes him wanna punch something, punch someone, because why are they looking, are they judging me, are they judging me? Why are they looking? What do they want?
Connor doesn't like being judged. It's one of the main things that get him into fights, besides his horribly brash attitude. Fucking judgy, preppy kids who think they can grab on him. Get in his face. Touch him.
Without permission.
Nobody ever fucking asks for permission . They just do. Larry takes away his door. Cynthia just touches him, all over, alloverallover, and she seems so torn when he says, when he yells at her to stop.
Miguel never asked permission.
Miguel just did.
No warning. Miguel just.. He just did.
And it was- it was while Connor, he couldn't, fuck, fuclfuckfuckfuck-
Larry shakes him by his shoulders, obviously demanding his detention, and Connor needs to snap out of it he needs to fucking snap out of it.
Connor pushes him away, because he's fucking sick of people not asking permission.
Larry doesn't react. He's going on about how he just can't walk out of class, how he can't afford to skip, how his grades are important and how he's not gonna be a teen for forever.
He knows that.
He just hadn't expected to live this long.
And that's exactly what he says. He knows he's trying to keep his cool or whatever, trying to go to the party so he can get to know Evan Hansen, but fuck this. Fuck this.
He pushes at Larry's shoulders. Pushes and pushes and pushes, points his finger all in his face and hopes it makes him just as uncomfortable as it makes Connor.
He hopes Larry feels in danger. He hopes he's scared.
He hopes it damages him, seeing Connor like this. He hopes he hopes he hopes.
"Connor, get a hold of yourself right now !" He screams, all authoritative and deep and loud. So loud.
That makes him angrier.
That he just talks to him like this. That Connor can't do anything to fight back, can't say anything worthwhile. He doesn't like feeling like this.
"You can't keep throwing this pity party for yourself, Connor. You are a man. A full grown man. You… This, all of this is pathetic. There are so many people that have it so much worse. "
So much worse.
So much worse. Right, because Connor doesn't have it bad. Why would he? He's privileged.
He should be happy. Happy with his life.
And he isn't.
Connor retreats, the angry red curtain over his eyes spreading. Doesn' t like it when tears are streaming down his cheeks, because crying only feels good when nobody's watching.
It stings.
There's this guilt that he can't shake that always comes after a fight with his Dad. He feels like he's in trouble. Like he's been bad.
It's stupid. He's stupid.
Larry is horrible.
Larry is a fucking dick, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.
Connor decides that Larry doesn't even deserve for him to loom at him. Decides that this is done.
Silent treatment is something he's fantastic at.
He waits. For a moment, just to see if Larry's got anything else to say. Got anything else to throw at him, and there's this sign Connor is sending him with only his eyes.
This is your last chance.
Larry nearly opens his mouth, but his face falls in defeat, and he sets his jacket down and sits to the table. Opens up his laptop.
Okay.
Fuck him, then.
Connor' s gonna go hang out with some pretty boy at this party, gonna get drunk out of his mind. He's gonna wreck himself.
He has nothing else fucking better to do.
____________________________________________
When Connor gets through his window (finally), wiggles down and lands on his feet in the front of his house, he just. Starts walking.
Walking is nice. Running is even better. There's that pain in his chest and that feeling for moremoremore, he just wants to keep on and keep on and never stop.
So that's what he does. He runs to Heather White's party.
And he runs like someones chasing him, and he doesn't really know if he cares if someone is chasing him. Getting chased in dreams has always been interesting. Kind of fun.
Fuck. The idea of fear adrenaline should not make him intrigued.
But Connor is not normal. He's all kinds of fucked up, actually, and he's horribly aware of that, but it still hurts a little, thinking about it. He pushes himself to keep on running, keep on going, because that's what he does. He runs.
Because Connor's a coward.
He's running away from his house because his poor dad bitched him out and he's crying over it. Gonna go get wasted over it.
Larry is right. He's so fucking right. Connor is pathetic. Everything about him is pathetic, everything, the way he talks, the way he takes up air that would be much more useful for somebody else that wants to be here, the way he holds himself up.
Connor is on the edge of cracking.
Who fucking knows. Has he already?
When Connor is finally infront of the stupid party, he questions why he's trying so hard to be this kids friend. What if Evan's not worth it? What if he's just like the rest?
Or what if Connor is just like the rest?
Whatever.
None of that matters tonight. None of it will matter for at least ten hours, when he wakes up, if he gets really messed up. Nearly a whole day, all gone, and he won't have to worry about it.
He won't have to think.
Thinking is exercise. Connor thinks thinking is filling up the time that could be spent taking action. Thinking is too overrated.
You should just..
He's stupid.
He's a fucking dumbass for coming here, he knows he is, but he walks to enter the party anyway. Nobody looks his way. Nobody even bothers to whisper about him.
He blends in. He blends in perfectly fucking well, amongst the night sky and the dark clothing. He blends in.
And then there's something that's so obviously sticking out.
Evan Hansen. His usual baggy jeans and the polo shirt that Connor wonders if he'll ever get tired of it one day, looking at how worn it is.
Evan turns to him at the slight poke to his shoulder, and offers him a warm, weak smile. Connor returns it.
Connor leads him inside, and he looks a little confused- but follows behind him anyway. When Conner sits on a couch, Evan looks at him warily for a moment, but sits down next to him.
Connor's eyes scan the room for a clue. Any type of clue of where Zoe might be, but he doesn't see her. He sees Heather, but Zoe isn't anywhere around. There's this part of him that wants to care enough to try and follow.
But, it turns out, he stopped caring for her a long time ago.
Just like she did to him.
"Zoe disappeared. I don't really know what happened, she just… went s- somewhere." Evan mumbles, picking at his nails (Evan wears light blue nail polish. You can barely see it, but it's there.) And glancing around the house a few more times.
"Hm." Connor hums. He tries to sound like he cares. "So, is this your normal crowd?"
" No. Not at all. I actually k- kinda hate parties. Too stuffy. And gross. And it has a bunch o- of bigots and assholes. Smells like alcohol." Evan notes, and Connor sounds his agreement. Alcohol smells horrible.
But when you get to drinking it, it's for the feeling that it gives you. Even if it smells like ass and stings when you drink it.
God, he sounds like an addict.
"I don't like parties either. But I guess nobody notices me here, too much people. So. I guess it's fine."
"Mhm."
"I'm gonna.. I'm gonna go get a drink." Connor states, and then he's getting up, going over to the little drink section in the corner of the room and grabbing something. Because that's the second reason why he came here, anyway, right?
So he grabs one. Or two. Or three drinks, he's lost count, and he decides to just stay around the table. He doesn't feel like getting up from the couch one more time.
And he's knocking one cup back. And then two, then three, then four- and it gets to the point where he just.. Keeps reaching his hand for another.
When he feels a warm hand grab onto his, he leans into it, because this is good, this is fine. He hums in content when he's being backed onto a couch,or a wall. There's no difference at this point. No difference.
There' s this slight buzz in his stomach can't get rid of, this buzzy thing, and somebody's grabbing him, shakeshakeshake-ing him, like he's not paying attention.
He is paying attention. He's, like, 78 percent sure that someone is Evan.
He can't hear. He's trying so hard, but he can't hear and he can't see. Only halfway.
Halfway isn't very helpful.
Evan(?) Is saying something about how he needs to get home, and Connor pulls away, pushes, because no, he can't go there, he can't- it's not safe there. He's not safe there. Not safe.
Dangerous.
"Okay," somebody mumbles, sounding all agitated and pressured. "Shit, Okay."