where's my mind / poetry, oneshots etc.

reverse dear evan hansen au / dear evan hansen

"hi, evan," a grey-haired man that evan faintly recognised greeted him as he stepped into the headteacher's office.

evan smiled half-heartedly, the sound of his heart too overwhelming to hear anything else. he wiped his hands on his trousers, not looking the man in the eye.

"we're, uh, we're connor's parents." the man said.

his heart almost stopped as those words were spoken. evan licked his dry lips and nodded.

the woman, who had been quietly sobbing, reached into her handbag and produced a crumpled letter.

"connor wanted you to have this," she said shakily.

connor?

he took it, hands trembling as he unfolded it.

dear evan hansen,

turns out this wasn't an amazing day after all. this isn't going to be an amazing week or an amazing year, because why would it be?

i know, because there's zoe, and all my hope is pinned on zoe, who i don't even know, and doesn't know me. maybe if i could just talk to her. maybe nothing would be different at all. i wish everything was different.

i wish i was part of something. i wish that anything i said mattered to anyone. i mean face it, would anyone notice if i just disappeared tomorrow?

sincerely,

your most best, and dearest friend,

me.

"i– i'm sorry," evan choked, "i don't– i don't understand."

"evan," the man –connor's father– exhaled heavily, "connor, uh, connor took his own life."

evan looked down at the letter again, the words burning into his mind. why would connor write this, addressing it to him? would anyone notice if i just disappeared tomorrow? did he even consider him a friend?

"we... we didn't know you two were friends." mrs. murphy dried her eyes.

and the world was spinning, blurred, in an ecstasy of grief and pain and aching, and everything became one and all he could hear was that letter over and over again in his head and he wanted to scream and bring his most best and dearest friend back and it was all going so fast and he couldn't breathe and the world was spinning, blurred by tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping melancholically onto the paper and blurring the last words his friend ever wrote and the world was getting darker and spinning faster and faster and–

"we weren't friends."

"what? but it's– it's addressed to you..."

evan shook his head, shivering slightly. "we weren't friends." he repeated.

maybe if he said it enough he'd believe it. that connor wasn't gone, because he never knew connor. how can you miss someone you've never met?

"then why...?"

"it was– for my therapy. i had to write a letter to myself. a pep talk. and, um, i– i wrote it and he got mad at the zoe bit, and, um–"

he fiddled with his cast, a painful reminder of his friend. he couldn't look at the connor scrawled on it in thick, black sharpie.

they never went to à la mode. they never went to the orchard. they never never talked or joked, they never climbed the tree, they never climbed higher and higher–

connor never came to get him.

"but... we weren't friends, so..." he shrugged, hand itching to take hold of the doorknob. "sorry."

his fingertips grazed the cast again.

connor never came to get him.

•

this is such a cool concept i've been thinking about it a lot.