cigarettes and valentines // tree bros

chapter 4

With a sigh, I apathetically clicked the print button. It'd be a while until the ancient equipment in the lab would decide to work. Burying my head in my hands, I put all of my energy in attempting not to cry. I didn't want to be like this anymore. Fighting these thoughts was exhausting. I needed something, someone to listen to me, to see me to...

"So," I looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Connor Murphy. The Connor Murphy. The same Connor Murphy who pushed me in the hall this morning for no reason. He was infamous for being a generally unfriendly individual. And he was looking at me as if I was the scary one. His voice was as shaky as his hands. "What happened to your arm?"

I was frozen. An actual question? His fingers smoothed over the strap of his bag nervously. My own hands were gripping onto the hem of my shirt as if it was the only thing with the power to keep me on earth. He wouldn't quite meet my eye, which was lucky because I wasn't exactly willing to look back.

"Oh, I, um..." My frantic search for a lie fell flat. I never was a very good liar. After a few seconds, I realised I was going to have to just tell him. "I fell out of a tree, actually."

He laughed, or breathed, or coughed; some kind of small, light noise that I could barely hear. And then he smiled. It was one of those moments that people would call you crazy if you tried to tell them about. I smiled back, attempted to mimic his sound.

"You fell out of a tree?" His tone didn't match his words. It was genuinely surprising that I wasn't offended. As he closed some more of the distance between us, I noticed the aroma of coffee. It was strong; more like he had just done an all-nighter rather than he just enjoyed caffeine. "That is just the saddest fucking thing I've ever heard, oh my God."

My smile began to feel less forced. There was something about his demeanour; it seemed like this was just how he tried to make friends. I looked up, into his eyes for the first time. They seemed to be scanning my expression, searching for evidence of a negative reaction. I couldn't think of something to say, anything to reassure him.

"Uh, no-one's signed your cast," his observation was accompanied by a point to it, almost as if he thought I hadn't noticed. I nodded, choked out some kind of affirmation. He coughed again, highlighting how stagnated the conversation was. "I'll sign it."

"Oh, you... you don't have to..." I replied, but it wasn't a question. Mom did tell me to ask people to sign my cast. She'd love this.

"Do you have a sharpie?" At his request, I fished around in my pocket for it. He grabbed my arm – causing me to gasp with pain, and he sent me apologetic look, that totally could have been pity. He carefully spelled his name in block capitals, biting his lip as he scrawled a horrifically oversized "CONNOR" that covered an entire side of the cast. He let go of my arm, stepping back to admire his artwork.

"Oh, great," I sighed, before realising what I said. "Thanks." Connor smiled, weakly.

"Well, now we can both pretend we have friends." I didn't know if Connor was the kind of friend I wanted people to know I had. There was a formula for escaping from the particular low level of social standing I had, and Connor Murphy wasn't it. Still, he didn't really have a negative effect on my anxiety, so befriending him couldn't be that destructive.

"Good point." I replied, pointlessly, before making a move to go collect my paper from the printer. God, wouldn't this be fun to talk to the doctor about. Connor held out his hand, which was holding the very paper I was going to retrieve.

"Is this yours?" I stopped, stopped moving, stopped breathing. My entire body seized with outright fear. It may be dramatic but somebody reading one of those absolutely ridiculous letters was my worst nightmare. He scanned the sheet quickly, turning back to me. "It just, uh... it says 'Dear Evan Hansen' – that's your name, right?"

"Y-yeah... uh, i-it, it's a.. uh, an assignment?" I stuttered, aware of how idiotic that sounded. How fucking stupid I sounded. I had been so confident this far. He smiled, a knowing smile. "Y-Y-You, you, uh, you didn't read it, did you?"

"They made me do that shit too," he responded, not giving me the answer I wanted, handing me it back. I stuffed it in my bag, not caring about its condition. Fire burned in my cheeks. His smile seemed easy. I wondered briefly how many people had seen that same smile. My breathing quickened, without my consent. "It, uh... I caught a few words. If you, ah..."

I knew what he was going to say. I didn't want to hear him say it. I didn't want him to watch me hear him say it. He was going to say that he was there if I ever wanted to talk. And then, I'd be too scared to actually talk to him and I'd say something on social media about being sad and he'd get mad that I didn't talk to him. I lowered my head, choking out a breathy "thanks" and I quickly shuffled out of the room.  This is why I never try to make friends.