Kleinsen Oneshots

where we can talk like there's something to say (i like you)

Inspired by: one of my favorite Drarry writers tagging their fic "there are no kisses in this story," "calibrate your expectations appropriately." Absolute king. (Sorry about the no kisses bit. :/)

Oneshot Info: 2.5k, technically Pre-Slash (but slash in my heart), Summer Camp AU.

Apparently, "I don't want to be a fucking camp counselor" is not a valid objection because of the language.

Apparently, "I don't want to be a camp counselor" is also not a valid objection because there's no "reason" provided. (I don't want to doesn't count.)

Apparently, "I have so many better things to do" is also not a valid objection. Because it isn't. It just isn't Jared. No, you don't, Jared.

But that's fine. It's all fine. Because the thing is: Jared's mom still thinks Jared's friends with Evan Hansen.

Yes, yes, the one and only, Mr. Turn Jared's Whole World Upside Down When He Walks Into The Room. (It's a long name, Mr. Turn Jared's Whole World Upside Down When He Walks Into The Room, but Jared would put it into his phone if it didn't fit. Evan stripped down to his bare essentials.)

Anyway. So Jared's mom still thinks they're best buds, maybe because she never checks in with her one and only son, and she mentioned cheerfully that Evan was going to be a camp counselor too. Or, technically, a junior camp counselor.

And he'd thought: Evan will be there. It will all be bearable, because Evan's stupid pretty face will be there too.

But Evan. Evan.

He forgot how unbearable it is to be around Evan.

"Your mom didn't tell you I'd be here?" Jared whispers out of the corner of his mouth, because Evan is looking at him weird.

They're standing around in one of those summer camp circles, like a cult, all the kids looking vaguely uncomfortable and all the junior camp counselors looking acutely uncomfortable.

Especially Evan.

Evan looks like he's going to throw up.

Jared has the urge to pretend he needs to go to the emergency room—for whatever fucking reason; he would use some random sickness he read about in morbid fascination on the internet. And he would get Evan to "drive" him.

And they would just sit in the car, him and Evan, Jared pretending he doesn't care by scrolling through his phone as Evan sits beside him, breathing deeper.

But Jared doesn't do any of that.

"Yeah, no, my mom told me," Evan murmurs beside him, rubbing his hands nervously on his jeans.

The camp counselor—the real one, not the ones that are here for money and to get their parents off their backs, but the one person who seems to be excited (concerningly so) to be here—is saying something. Evan's watching her raptly, as if missing a single word will spell complete and utter disaster.

"Dude, why are you even here? This has to be your version of hell," Jared says. Even though he shouldn't. Even though clearly the two people talking to him at once is making Evan even more anxious.

Stop, Jared, he tells himself, but Jared doesn't really know how. He's been trying. He's been trying since the day he started.

"I'll tell you later," Evan says, apologetic and annoyed and urgent. He's good at fitting many emotions into the same voice, Evan. He's always got at least three bubbling out.