It starts on a Wednesday, when the sky is gray and the wind is cold. It starts on an autumn morning, before Halloween season, before carved pumpkins on gardens, before early evenings with pumpkin lattes.
It starts slowly with the leaves turning redish and falling, falling, falling to the ground.
It starts on an autumn Wednesday, with Connor doodling absentmindly on his notebook and paying no mind to his biology class.
It starts as the bell rings loud and grating and familiar, and he finishes outlining the old oak tree he had been drawing.
It starts when he is beginning to pack his shit.
"Hi, uh, so, Evan- I'm Evan?"
There is a boy in front of Connor. He is wearing a blue shirt that reminds him of what the sky used to look like in warmer days and the kid is fidgeting, scratching the back of his neck, glancing back and forth, and Connor supposes he should say something before the kid works himself into a panic attack.
"And?"
Connor is distracted, he doesn't particularly care about this nervous kid and he is not sure why he is talking to him in the first place.
No one talks to Connor at school, not if they can help it. Except Alana, but in his experience, Alana doesn't talk, she monologues.
But this kid speaks again, stuttering and hesitating, "we, uh, got paired up? For the science project? Mr. Jackson just assigned us? Sorry, you probably know that- not that there's anything wrong if you don't! There isn't, I just meant- sorry, I'm sorry, I just thought I should, uh, introduce myself. I'm Evan."
Connor blinks, tries to process all the words coming out of the boy's mouth, but the kid is looking down at his battered shoes and giving him a smile that is all wrong, wobbly and curling down at the edges, and not at all reassuring, so Connor speaks quickly, "sure, do you want to come over after class?"
The boy, Evan, looks up surprised and wide eyed, a deer caught in headlights, but then he nods, and his lips curl up in a small grin before shuffling out of the classroom.
It's a Wednesday, Connor is alone in the room, he is late for AP English.
It starts.
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It starts on a Wednesday morning but it doesn't truly begin until an early evening on a Friday.
Until then, it's filled with stunted conversations, awkward laughs and tense silences.
It's turning up the radio and looking down. It's failing attempts at middle ground and it's stuttering and it's walking on eggshells.
It's being alone for so long and not knowing how not to be anymore.
But it's on an early evening bleeding into a Friday night that it begins.
It begins with their project drying on Connor's bed.
It begins with a shit, it's late, I should be going.
And it begins with a wait, I'll drive you.
It begins with two boys sitting on Zoe's car and not knowing what to say.
It begins after their project is finished.
It begins in the car.
It doesn't begin smoothly, it takes a couple of failed trials and short lived conversations that leaves Connor unsure of what to do.
They are almost at Evan's house when he decides, "so, uh, tomorrow-"
"I think-" Evan starts and they both pause.
It should be awkward, by all means, it should make things worse, but instead something shifts in the air, it becomes lighter, and they laugh, because this is theirs, this is something they are used to.
It's the common ground they had been lacking, it's meeting somewhere in the middle.
So, it begins; it doesn't get easy, but it gets easier.
"I, uh, was thinking," Evan says after his giggles died down, but a smile still linger, "you're in 's art class, too, right?"
Connor slows the car down, they can see the Hansen's small house a couple of blocks ahead, then answers, "yeah," a pause, "I think she hates me. Why?"
Evan is fidgeting again, looking unsure and a little scared, and Connor feels he should say something, and hates himself a little for coming up short. The question hangs in the air, floating between them until Evan takes a deep breath, soldiers on, "nothing, just- do you have a partner yet? For the art thing, I mean. She assigned it last week?"
"Yeah, no, I know. I mean, no- no, I was thinking of doing it alone." Connor parks the car, turns to look at the boy, "you?"
"Yeah, me too."
The house is dark and silent and Evan isn't getting out of the car, and it feels important, it feels like taking a chance.
"Or," Connor speaks slowly, giving time for Evan to run away, "we could, maybe, do it together?"
Evan smiles and there is relief in his eyes, "I'd like that, yeah, I mean, it makes sense. I mean, I'd like that."
Connor smiles, Evan gets out of the car, and it feels important, it feels like a promise.
It feels like the beginning of something new.
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After that, life goes on.
The days get colder, Autumn turns into Winter, snow slowly blankets the ground.
The days get colder, but the silences grow shorter, conversations come easier, laughter bubbles louder.
It's still tentative, unsure, new.
It's winter and the days grow colder, but it's the middle of the afternoon and Connor laughs as he watches Evan shuffling out of the door and into the street, a bundle of coats and scarves and gloves, nose red and cheeks already pink from the cold. Evan glares, rolls his eyes, smiles.
They walk through white-covered streets, telling winter stories and tales of past Christmas. They laugh and shove each other, slip in the frozen ground, fall, giggle and help each other up.
They make their way downtown, go around stores looking for Christmas gifts and end up not buying anything at all. Evan stops only in front of one window shop, it's an old, japanese place, with bonsai carefully placed all around. Connor passes it without batting an eye, but the other boy stays, looking longingly at the small trees, a small smile on his lips. He watches as Evan shakes his head and walks away, but the look on his face stays with Connor.
The trip back is calmer, quieter; the evening turning into night, the air growing even colder and the boys gravitating closer.
"You should've come for Thanksgiving." Connor says suddenly, "the turkey was shit, but the pie was good."
"Yeah?" Evan speaks quietly, sounding amused, "mom and I, we always bake an apple pie for Thanksgiving."
Connor tries to imagine Evan baking, apron and flour in his hair, snorts, "I'd pay to see that alright. Our's from Walmart." There isn't bitterness on his voice, but it's not happy, and he tries to move on, eyes the other boy, "does she make you say stuff your grateful for, too? Your mom looks like she'd want the whole deal."
Evan smiles, "yeah, she does." He pauses, chuckles, "it's a bit of a nightmare, to be honest."
They laugh, but they are in front of Evan's house again, and there's a familiar ache in Connor's chest that comes with saying goodbye.
But Evan isn't saying anything, wide eyes fixed somewhere behind Connor.
So he turns around.
It's a winter night and it's cold, but the house across the street had taken the afternoon to finish hanging Christmas decorations all around. Fairy lights, snowmen, reindeers, Santa Claus. It's colorful and bright and festive and beautiful.
The days are cold and the nights colder, but as Connor stands in the curb beside Evan, he finds himself watching the way the boy's face lits up at the sight of the bright lights and how his eyes turn softer, warmer, and the delighted smile playing on his lips, more than the decorations themselves.
There is a warm feeling settling itself in his chest, carving a space underneath his ribcage.
It's winter, it's cold and it's almost Christmas; Connor can't count five things he's thankful for this year, but he's looking at the first.
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( "Hi, I just wanted to, to say merry Christmas? So, uh, merry Christmas, Connor."
"You came here just to wish me merry Christmas?"
"Yes- I mean, no! No, not just that, I, uh, bought you a gift? It's stupid, sorry, just, it made me think of you, so I thought, 'hey, why not?' , right, so, here- merry Christmas. I'll just- see you at school, bye!"
"Evan, wait!"
"Yeah?"
"I, hm, bought you something, too- it's not wrapped, though, 'cause I wasn't sure how to, to, uh, do it without fucking it up, so, sorry for that, I guess. Here- merry Christmas, Evan."
"It's the bonsai from-"
"Yeah. Don't mention it."
"That's amaz-"
"I said don't mention it."
"But-"
"Evan, you're mentioning it again."
"Merry Christmas, Connor."
"Merry Christmas, Evan." )
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And as all things come to an end, the snow melts and Spring rolls around, banishing the cold and bringing colors and life and light back.
It's Spring, it feels like waking up from a deep sleep, stretching and drinking a hot cup of coffee.
It's Spring and it's almost the end of school year, and it's not always great.
They found each other and it helps, but it doesn't fix everything.
Connor still fights with his parents most of days. He still feels angry and hurt and tired sometimes, burning up and restless, skin crawling and mind racing, and sometimes he still lashes out at whoever is near and sometimes he goes for pot.
And Evan, he still has anxiety and he still has panic attacks, sometimes. He still needs to write stupid letters to himself and Connor knows he still hates himself a little.
Sometimes Connor still needs to usher him into a bathroom stall and try to talk him down of hyperventilating. Sometimes Evan comes to school looking tired and sleep deprived and hurt, and Connor needs to coax him into eating his lunch. And sometimes Connor still needs to reassure him that despite all of it, he's not going anywhere.
It's better, but it's not a magic solution.
And it's not a solution but it helps.
Because those days Connor can't seem to muster up the energy to move and his mother and sister tire of banging on his door, those are the days he misses school, and those are the days Evan comes over after school and sits on the only chair in the room and just talks.
He brings Connor his homework and recounts the highlights of the day. He talks about trees and tells him how the bonsai is doing.
And sometimes he doesn't talk at all, just sits in the chair or the floor or the foot of the bed and does his own homework.
And it doesn't make it all go away, but it helps, because most of all it's his way of telling Connor I'm still here, you're not alone.
Connor doesn't really understand it, but it's Spring and Evan is smiling down at him, and it's soft and shy and warm, and he thinks he can learn to believe it. He thinks it might be worth sticking around for, it might be worth giving therapy a shot.
It's Spring, and it's not always great, but it can get better, and most importantly, neither of them is alone anymore.
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And Spring means warmer, sunny days, with a cool breeze and flowers blossoming everywhere.
It's one spring afternoon, sun bright in the blue sky and Connor is feeling restless again, hands twitchy and thoughts looping together.
And Evan doesn't look much better, eyes tired and wrinkled shirt, short sentences and pale face.
It's building up to be one of the bad days for both of them, and as soon as the bell rings, loud and obnoxious and grating, Connor makes a split second decision. He grabs his bag, finds Evan outside and tells him follow me.
They walk in silence, kicking stones on the floor, doing their best to ignore the heat, and Connor curses himself for not having his car back yet.
So, once they turn a corner and the old ice cream place is still standing there, going inside is not much of a choice. And when Evan asks him how he knew about this place, he only shrugs and steals a M&M from his bowl.
The orchade is closed down and it takes them a lot of trial and error before finally managing to sneak in.
It's worth, though.
The place is abandoned, and the grass is a little too tall and there are no four-leaf clovers anymore, but when he looks back at his friend, Evan grins at him and says thank you.
They lay on the grass in silence for a while, under an old oak tree, looking up at the blue sky and breathing. It's peaceful and silent and ethereal, and when Connor does talk, he speaks quietly, afraid to ruin anything.
Evan asks him about the place, about his childhood, about his future. He listens to his answers, nodding and blinking, even when they are sad and bitter and angry. He takes Connor hand on his own, and it's warm and reassuring, and it sends his mind spinning and his blood pounding on his ears.
But then Evan speaks again hesitantly, "Connor?" And all he can manage is a strangled yeah? "Is this a date?"
Connor thinks of Evan, nervous and stuttering in AP Bio, of Evan with snow covering his hair and Christmas lights shining on his face, and of Evan waiting for him outside after his first consult with a shrink.
And he looks at Evan now, with sunlight on his eyes and grass on his hair, their hands still clasped tightly, and it feels right, it feels like destiny, it feels important, it feels like a promise.
It feels like no question at all.
So Connor takes a deep breath, sits up, smiles, "yeah. If you want it to be?"
They kiss under the shade of the old oak tree, and Connor can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.
It's the end of Spring, and it feels like a promise, it feels like forever, it feels like a happy ending.
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Summer arrives in a blur of too hot days and sudden rain, it comes as a storm and it stays as a light rain.
They don't have school, and Connor starts growing his hair; he gets a job in a bookstore, half to pass the time and half for the joy of being around so many books.
Sometimes, when he finds some obscure book on trees, he uses his employee discount and brings it to his boyfriend.
Evan finds a job with the park rangers, spending his days surrounded by trees and animals and nature. It's the perfect job for him, and since he got his car back, Connor doesn't mind driving all the way to the reserve to visit him.
It's a late summer afternoon, and the heat feels almost unbearable, but the rangers tell him Evan is deeper still in the woods, so he follows the trail, carefully holding the book.
He finds his boyfriend climbing one of the trees, a distant look on his eyes, something shifting in his face. Then, there's the loud crack of a branch snapping and Connor screams, heart pounding, fear seizing his heart.
But Evan is still hanging by another branch, and their eyes meet when he finally notices Connor having a heart attack down on the ground. It doesn't take even five minutes for the boy to prop himself up and climb down the tree, careful to step on safe branches.
The book is laying on the grass, forgotten as Evan comes to hug him, grasping tightly and not letting go. And Connor holds him as close as he can, listening to his heartbeat and muttering a series of never fucking do that again, asshole.
They don't talk until they're sitting on Connor's car, engine running and radio on, and when they do, it's Evan that speaks, "I'm sorry I scared you."
"It wasn't really your fault, just be more careful, okay?"
"Yeah, I'll- It won't happen again."
The silence hangs and stretches on and on and on, and Connor can't breathe right. "Better not, it'd be a shame to mess up that pretty face of yours."
There's an smile on Evan's face now and breathing is easier. Summer comes with bumps and bruises, but the radio is singing softly here come's the sun, and I say it's allright, and they believe it.
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( "What happens now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Next year, you'll go to some fancy college and I'll- I don't know. Everything will be different."
"Not everything. We'll figure it out."
"Promise?"
"I promise, Connor."
"We can email."
"Yeah, we can. Or, we can just call or text or drive, like normal people, you know."
"I don't know about that, normal's pretty overrated."
"Yeah, it is. We'll figure it out."
"I think I love you."
"I know I love you too." )
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Summer ends, and it feels like the end of an era. It feels like closure and it feels like closing a book.
But it also feels like a beginning, and it's scary and new and wonderful amd theirs.
It feels like a beginning, it feels like a promise, it feels like belonging.