Archive of Our Own ^beta

Connor Murphy was a bad person. 

He smoked cigarettes. He liked feeling the nicotine cling to his lungs, the taste of fire in his mouth.

He smoked weed. He liked the hazy film over his eyes as he sunk into his couch, high out of his mind. 

He slept around. Only freshman year, when all people saw were his height, his blue eyes, and his jawline—before they witnessed the breakdowns, the fits, and the episodes that destroyed his reputation. 

He got drunk. Sometimes just for fun, sometimes to forget. Usually with Zoe, when Larry had a business trip and brought his trophy wife along. 

He had no friends, no aspirations, and no self-esteem. 

Until he met Evan Hansen. 

Junior year, Mister Whitman had assigned a partner project to everyone in English: decide whether or not the bond between Gatsby and Daisy is driven by love or infatuation. He and Evan were the last two people without partners. 

A month later, after Evan’s initial terror went away, they became good friends. 

Two months later, best friends. 

Three months later, inseparable. 

And by the summer before their senior year, Connor was in love with him.

He was sunshine personified, a bright light in Connor’s life that shone through the cracks in his heart and left him feeling warm all over. 

Evan Hansen was a good person. An amazing person. 

And Connor? Connor wasn’t good enough. 

———

Larry and Cynthia are at a wedding in Albany. Zoe is staying at Alana’s. 

They’re laying on his bed, Connor propped up against the wall with Evan’s head in his lap. He feels the waves of his hair, twists a curl around his fingertip. Evan’s eyes are shut, his eyelashes splayed out against his soft skin. He has a small, content smile on his face as he breathes softly through his nose. Like this, Connor can stare all he wants. He looks at the cupid’s bow of his upper lip, at the light smattering of freckles on his nose, finally appearing now that it’s mid-June. 

“Why do you do drugs?” Evan asks, breaking the comfortable silence. His voice is soft and innocent enough as he asks the question to make Connor smile a bit. 

“Drug,” Connor reminds him. “Singular. Just weed.” Nothing harder, after the incident.

Evan opens his eyes and looks up at him. He has a soft spot for that shade of blue.

“Why do you do pot?”

“Smoke pot,” Connor corrects offhandedly. He thinks for a moment, glancing around the room. The clock reads 9:21. “It...it softens everything up for a while. No stress for a few hours. It’s nice. Keeps your mind off things. Music sounds better. Everything is hilarious. The things around you become special again.”

He looks at Evan, and he’s smiling up at him, a tiny tug on the corner of his mouth. 

“Why do you ask?” Connor says after a moment. 

Evan flushes a soft pink and looks down at his hands. “Oh, well—“ His voice is strained, so he clears his throat. “I wanted to maybe...try it? With you?”

Connor’s brain short-circuits.

He can’t lie and say he hasn’t thought about it before. Evan giggling, cuddling up to Connor as they sit on their own little cloud together. 

“Like—“ Evan sits up. “Only if you want to. Never mind, itdoesn’tevenmatterthatmuch, I just wanted to, y’know, experience that. With you. It sounds stupid, now that I’m saying it out loud, totally stupid, right?” 

Evan’s adorable when he’s flustered like this. It doesn’t happen as often, now that they’re so close. He pokes his cheek to get Evan to look at him. “It’s not stupid,” he says. Smiles. “I’d like that.” 

There’s something in Evan’s eyes that can only be described as pure hope. “Really?”

Connor rolls his eyes, but his heart begins to hammer hard in his chest. “Yes, really.” 

In one swift motion, he slides off the bed and crosses the room to his book shelves. “This little guy,” Connor says, pulling out a thick hard-cover, “was a birthday gift from Miguel.”

He sets the book on the bed and turns to the middle, reveling in the wonder on Evan’s face as he reveals the hollow center. Inside are his favorite pipe, rolling paper, a lighter, and a small Ziplock bag of weed. 

“Oh—wow!” Evan says. “That’s—wow, that’s cool.”

Connor smiles to himself. He’ll never get over Evan’s complete fascination with his so-called “edginess.” 

He picks out what he needs and puts the book back in place. Sitting close to Evan, he feels awkward. Where does he start? “So, um. I’m guessing you don’t know how to smoke?”

Evan shakes his head vehemently. “Yes—I mean, yes as in no, I don’t. Like, obviously, ha, I’ve never—I never thought I would. I mean—“

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Connor asks. He really doesn’t want Evan to feel pressured into anything. He knows what that feels like. Hell, that’s how his own first time went. And many other firsts, too. 

“Yes!” Evan exclaims. He winces at his own voice. “Yes. I want to. Teach me...teach me how.”

They meet eyes, and Connor is, as always, astounded by the sheer vulnerability Evan displays with him. They’ve built a lot of trust over the past year, enough for Connor to completely let his guard down. And, well, he fell in love with him, so. Whoops. 

Connor busies his fingers rolling a joint. “I’ll try to explain it as best I can,” he says, his tongue darting out to seal the paper. Evan’s looking at his mouth. “Okay, so. This is a joint.”

Evan nods, completely focused on the roll between Connor’s fingers. It’s adorable, how concentrated he is. 

“You put this end between your lips.” Connor brings the joint to his mouth. “And you light the other end.” 

He breathes in deep, feeling the satisfying burn in his esophagus as his lungs fill with air. Slowly, he lets the smoke trickle out of his mouth. He smiles and blows the rest of it in Evan’s face. 

A blush rises high on Evan’s cheekbones. 

“I’m nervous,” he admits, after a beat. 

“You don’t have to—” 

“No, I want to,” Evan says. His voice is sure and steady. 

He feels a smile on his face. “I’ll light it, then.” Connor passes the joint over and watches closely as Evan sets it between his lips. As he lights the end and Evan begins to breathe in, he whispers, “Make sure not to take it in for too long, this is a really strong—“

Evan bursts into a coughing fit, hiding his face in his elbow as he gasps for air. 

“...Batch,” Connor finishes. Too late now. He wrinkles his nose and pats Evan’s back in an attempt to help. 

After a minute, Evan is breathing regularly enough to speak. “God, that hurt. Is it supposed to hurt like that?” 

Connor can’t help but giggle a bit. “I was the same way my first time.”

Evan nods and breathes in through his nose. He looks angelic, lit by the soft glow of Connor’s fairy lights. Is this what heaven feels like? Is Evan his heaven? Ha. Heaven Evan. Evan heaven. Yeah, he’s high. 

“When am I supposed to feel it?” Evan whispers, leaning in close as if engaging in a conspiracy. 

“I’m feeling it a little,” Connor says. He studies the little crease between Evan’s eyebrow. So serious. He wants to smooth it out, so he rubs at it with his pinky finger. “You’ll feel it soon.”

Evan’s ears are pink, his eyes crossing adorably as he keeps his gaze on Connor’s pinky. His eyes are so blue. Deep blue, like the seas he and his family would explore, back when they were semi-functional. Evan’s eyelids are a bit droopy, actually. And the whites are turning more into pinks. Connor lowers his hand and smiles wide.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

Evan blinks heavily, one, two, three times before he focuses on Connor’s face. “Jesus,” he says, then laughs quietly. But he doesn’t stop laughing. 

Evan’s laughing, so Connor’s laughing, and now they’re just laughing together, as close as they can be while sitting on the end of his bed. He’d like for them to be closer. As close as can be. Forever. 

As if reading his mind, Evan falls onto his back and pulls Connor down with him. They shift a bit before settling. Connor’s head is on a pillow, the memory foam’s soft crinkles reverberating in his skull. Evan lies with his cheek on Connor’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his skinny frame like a koala. Evan is the cutest little koala. 

This, right here, has got to be the greatest feeling in the world. 

They hold each other in silence, the only sound in the room being their steady breaths and the ticking of the clock. It feels like seconds and hours all at once. 

Eventually, Evan shifts so his head is on Connor’s shoulder instead. He feels the warmth of his breath and the cold of his nose against his neck. 

“Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He suddenly feels a lot more sober. 

Sure, they say it all the time. They’re best friends. Probably closer than most male best friends their age, but still. At the end of phone calls, after a goodnight text. It shouldn’t mean anything different this time, and it doesn’t. That’s what hurts.

Connor sits up, slowly so as to not scare him. He fumbles for the half-joint and lighter on his bedside table, but struggles to get the lighter to work. Click. Click. 

“Why won’t this—fucking. Fuck.”

Evan plucks the lighter out of his hand and strikes a flame on the first try. He lets it go. 

They look at each other. There’s something in the air between them, something tangible and electric. 

He needs...he needs. He needs him. More than anything. It’s completely terrifying. 

“Can we try something?” Connor asks. 

“Anything.” 

Connor’s shotgunned once before. Miguel coaxed him into it.

Maybe this is the closest he’ll get to what he wants. It’ll be enough. 

“I’m...” he starts. Clears his throat. “I’m going to take a hit.”

Evan’s looking up at him from under his lashes. Connor can’t focus. He feels fuzzy, but he’s not high anymore. 

“And I’m going to exhale into your mouth. And you...you breathe it in.” 

Evan just blinks for a few seconds. Connor’s about to apologize, but then he’s nodding his head ‘yes.’ 

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks Evan’s blushing. No, he’s definitely blushing.

He needs it. 

He stares at the joint between his fingers. The closest he’ll get. 

Connor brings it to his mouth and lights it. He feels his lungs expand and fill, feels his heart beating fast in his chest, feels himself place his hand on Evan’s cheek and gently nudge his mouth open with his thumb. 

He looks down at Evan’s mouth as he blows the steady stream of smoke out. Their open mouths connect for the briefest of moments when Evan breathes in. 

They look at each other, their faces barely an inch apart, the smoke dancing between them. Evan keeps glancing down at Connor’s mouth and back up.

Time seems to stop. 

They lean in at the same time. 

And they’re kissing. It’s soft and shy. Sweet in a way Connor has never experienced before. Nothing compares to the feeling of Evan’s mouth on his. 

He tastes like weed and the ice cream they had for dessert. 

Evan’s hands are in his hair, and he’s pulling him closer. God, even closer. Connor clutches the front of Evan’s shirt in his fingers to ground himself. 

They break the kiss, but don’t pull away. 

He looks at the eyelashes splayed out against his soft skin. At the small, content smile on his face as he breathes softly through his nose. He looks at the cupid’s bow of his upper lip, at the light smattering of freckles on his nose, finally appearing now that it’s mid-June. 

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”