fumblings and mumblings //. DEH

Red Dye and Puzzle Pieces

(First fic! Welcome. Margy, if you're reading this I'm blocking you. ❤️

Mentions of smoking and sex. )

    Connor Murphy made my heart beat a hundred times per minute. Not because I was underly in love with him, but that he scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

My feet planted on the newly soaked welcome mat. The rain from earlier today seemed to linger hours after the storm. It was humid, unpleasant the heat let me convince myself that it was the the sticky air that caused the beads of sweat to fall down my neck. Not the crippling fear that I'd soon meet my genuine end. It was almost laughable at this point. That same rush of fear slammed into my stomach yesterday. And last week. Since the first Wednesday in December, basically.

I knocked on the door as I've gone for the past five Thursdays. My knuckles hovered above the door for a moment, in an attempt to slow time. I exhaled, maybe he's not home?

All day I tried to forget this. I tried to forget that through Zoey, Connor had scheduled a tutoring appointment. Why he did this, and why it's gone on for weeks now is completely beyond me. My heart skipped a beat as the neatly painted door swung open with a loud thud. He panned above me as if expecting someone taller. His eyes shift down,

"Evan Hansen," he said, still unreadable as ever. He looked insane and hilarious. His newly bleached tips were in separate wet bunches. Obviously, he was about to dye his hair. I thought it was odd, knowing that his sister did the same thing all
the time.

After recovering from the sight, I noticed his black hoodie somehow drenched in what I hope was red hair dye.

Connor seemed to wear the same outfit everyday. Black jeans, a canvas jacket, and some form of black boots. I imagined him like a cartoon character, standing before a closet with the same set of clothes repeating along a line. This theoretical Connor would set an imaginary hand on his chin in a questioning manner.

"Which one of my recovering-heroin-addict uniform should I wear today? Oh, let's change it up a bit."

This version of Connor really took some weight off the moment.

"Bad time?"

"perhaps," he shrugged his shoulders. Visually, nothing indicated sarcasm, or self-awareness. I wanted ask if we were allowed to laugh, but realized how dumb that would be.

His eyes; I'd only ever caught glances. They were deep pools that drilled into his face. They lied under a defined brow line and casted faint blue shadows in the afternoon light. I stepped back, and tried not to notice the brown surrounding his pupil on the left side.

After Blut conversation, I held up the heavy blue backpack at my side. He nodded; and motioned for me to come in.

Connor's feet made lazy stomps on the expensive hardwood floor. We passed through a desolate foyer, then went up a staircase completely packed with pictures. The house's decorating was completely inconsistent -  as if his mother couldn't find the peace between minimalist and horder.

There were pictures of him, and his family that seemed to age as we went up the stairs. Which each step I watched his father's hair turn gray. Larry's eyes sunk further and further into his skull (as Connor's are now). His Mother's once pink and bright face seemed to fade and distort. As a divergence from her parents, my sweet friend only grew more beautiful.
I'd been here before, but never really looked.  (I've hung out here with Zoe, but he and I studied at Starbucks.)

I watched her go through different phases in a matter of seconds. Some I remember, some I don't don't, and some I wasn't there for. 

My favorite photo was of a young Zoey clad in a pink dress like Glinda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz. Connor sat next to her as an awfully grumpy Tin Man.