A/N: What up, ducks. Ready for some more fun and not at all sad timez™ with ya girl? No seriously, this chapter is actually pretty cheery! Just a last spot of hope and not too much angst, before we get to genuinely the most stressful and draining chapter I've ever written as of yet. So with all that to look forward to, I hope you can enjoy this chapter!
I don't think there are any triggers here this time round, but let me know if you think otherwise.
These Broken Parts - Chapter 11
Bizarrely enough, it wasn't the uncomfortable ache throbbing at the base of his neck, or the consistent humming and beeping of machines, or even the glaring bright lights once morning hit, that Evan registered when he first awoke the following day; it was the sweet, heavy, intoxicating scent of flowers. Instantly, he knew he was not in his own bedroom, but the pastel array of pink, purple and yellow puffs of colour surrounding him created an environment that was altogether unfamiliar. He blinked, wincing at the stiffness in his neck and back as he looked around the small space: Flowers and balloons and cards and soft toys lined every ledge, even sprawling onto the floor, walls and ceiling. And Connor lay still, unaware of the explosive brightness which had no doubt been brought there as a tribute to his tragedy.
The hospital. I'm waking up in the hospital, which means I fell asleep at the hospital, which means I've been here all night, which means I still have to apologise to Mr and Mrs Murphy for running out on dinner with them, and it also means Mom probably has no idea where I am and oh my God, she'll be so worried, I'm a terrible, terrible son, where is my phone, I need to call her right now. His body had yet to calibrate, nevertheless he dug keenly into his jeans pocket. First, one fist closed around a small glass bottle, nail polish, that will have to wait until later, thenthe other found the clunky off-brand device. He pressed the power button to discover the time, 8:34, along with the notification that he had nine missed calls and 37 new messages. There was a nauseating surge of dread as his stomach plunged to the flaw, and, thumb trembling, he unlocked the screen to check what he'd missed out on during his unexpected stay at the hospital.
To his relief and surprise, not one of the missed calls was from Heidi. Three were from Alana, two were from Cynthia Murphy and, much more recently, (so recently it made him wonder if it had been the vibration in his pocket that had drawn him out of sleep) the other four were from Jared. Confusion mounting, he checked his messages - again, surprisingly few were from his mother: a single message apologised for going straight to bed as soon as she came home from the night shift instead of waiting up to see Evan, and he didn't quite know whether to be glad or frustrated that she hadn't even noticed he was gone. It's probably for the best, he reluctantly concluded, if I'd had to explain where I've been, things would have become pretty awkward pretty quick.
Without warning, the door swung open. "Oh, you're awake! Good morning, I got you some breakfast," the voice from behind him caused Evan to jolt in his seat, twisting suddenly to see Cynthia standing in the doorway, a paper bag and some coffees in hand. She strolled in, a definite bounce to her step, and the sort of smile on her face that suggested she simply couldn't help but beam. Just behind her followed her husband, his expression visibly relaxed compared to his usual stern demeanour, and if he didn't think it was impossible for the lawyer to embody the word, Evan would have recognized the wonder there. He hurriedly pressed his hair down, for fear of looking unpresentable before the Murphys, Ah, who am I kidding, it's too late to make a good impression. Besides, I'm wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday. I slept in my nice shirt, and now it's gross and creased. Cringing, he awkwardly raised his casted arm by way of greetings as the couple sat down opposite him.
"Hi... Uh, g-good morning. I'm, uh, I just want to say I'm so sorry about running out last night, it smelled great and I'm sorry I inconvenienced you, I really just had to, uh, you know it was just that -" the synchronization of the sympathetic smiles made him falter. At least they're not angry at me. That's something.
Larry shook his head, dismissing Evan's apology with an almost paternal firmness, "No no, Zoe told us you were feeling a little overwhelmed. It was just a bit unexpected, that's all. Anyway, you're alright, and that's the main thing."
"There was no inconvenience, Evan, we just wanted to know where you were. We were a little worried, with you just running out like that. And then Zoe told us she found you here, though we didn't realize you'd be staying the night." Cynthia's sympathetic expression shifted into one of concern as she realized, "Oh, and you didn't even get to eat anything last night, you must be starving! Here," she passed him the bag, and the sickly sweet smell of the icing they slathered on the dry, tasteless pastries in the hospital canteen reached his nose. She watched expectantly, leaving him with no option but to open the bag and take a bite, forcing it down despite the ever-growing nausea building in his throat that had nothing to do with the taste of his breakfast; he knew it must seem strange to the couple that he'd chosen to sleep at their son's bedside, just like it seemed strange to him to wake up surrounded by what resembled the entire contents of a party store, just like he knew it was strange for such palpable contentment to exist between the married couple.
Satisfied that he was eating, Cynthia indicated the colourful displays brightening the bland room and chuckled, enthused, "I guess you've noticed the decorations. Your friend Alana did it, apparently, she's been organizing a donation drive at the school, you know? Getting the other kids to send messages of goodwill to Connor and our family, and she said there's a fundraiser going on there today for him, it's the loveliest thing - she's an incredibly sweet girl. People are really coming together for our Connor." She glanced at Larry, and Evan caught the subtle nod and gentle squeeze of a hand the man gave to his wife.
"That's... really nice of her," Evan remarked, taking in the sight. She really didn't have to go to so much effort. What does Connor matter to her anyway? She can't be his friend, or she'd be here. Maybe she feels like she owes him for not noticing how close he was to the edge - just like me. But, no, Alana's not the same kind of messed up as Connor and me, she has it together, she doesn't have a reason to notice when other people are so near to falling apart. That vein of thought only worsened the ache in his stomach, and he swiftly pushed it out of his head. "She told me she was planning to do something," he recalled aloud, "she didn't tell me what. But this, it's really cool." Remembering the missed calls from the girl responsible for this, Evan cautiously excused himself, "If you don't mind, I might actually call her. I kinda wanna talk to her, to thank her for doing this." And maybe also just take a minute to let the fact that people are doing so much to support the Murphys sink in. A week ago, nobody even knew who Connor was, and now people are donating money and flowers to him. It's weird, but so what? She's making the Murphys happy.
He got two nods of approval and slithered stiffly out of his seat, inconspicuously stretching his legs as he walked out of the private room and into the hallway. Rather than stay still, he continued to slowly wander the quiet, familiar corridors as he pulled out his phone again, scrolled disbelievingly through the log of calls and texts he'd recently received, and pulled up Alana's number. It took a moment before he dared press the green button:
He hated speaking on the phone, to anyone, even his own mother; his regular inability to judge the right way to interact with other people was massively exacerbated by not being able to see the other person's face, and the tension it ignited was always something he wished could be avoided. He never picked up unknown numbers, and even known ones would only get a response on days when he wasn't feeling too low to even consider attempting to answer. The only time he called other people was in times of genuine crisis, like when he was freaking out in a hospital bathroom about unintentionally telling the biggest lie of his life, or when he was lying with one numb arm on the ground under a tree after having fallen thirty feet. Calling someone he didn't particularly know in regards to anything other than a genuine disaster felt like an unnecessary torture. No, don't get all stupid about it. It's just Alana, who's done something really nice and who should be thanked for it.
He dialled, and Alana picked up on the first ring.
"Evan, hey! You're awake, I saw you when I came by the hospital this morning but I didn't want to disturb you - I figured it would be a nice surprise to wake up to. Did you see what we did, did you like it?" Alana's familiar enthusiasm could have bowled him over even on the phone - the hopeful grin was audible in her words.
A flicker of fondness ignited briefly in his chest, before the warmth seeped into the back of his neck, and he noted that she'd seen him, been in the room with him, when he'd been asleep. He couldn't afford to think about just how uncomfortable that made him. "Y-yeah. It looks really good, and, uh, I heard you're doing something at school today?"
"Yep, I'm just finishing setting it up right now! Hopefully we can raise some money for a charity today and do something to really help people like Connor." Her friendliness was just about sincere enough that she didn't come off as patronizing. Sometimes, Alana tended to be tactless and insensitive, and he was fairly sure she didn't intend it, but she regularly left him feeling inadequate as a human. But, so far, when it came to the topic of Connor, she was just the right amount of encouraging. "It would be great if you could pop by to support us. People are really keen to know what you're doing, Evan."
Your fan club was devastated you weren't in, Jared's searing criticism bolted across his brain, so sharp and sudden his head seemed to vibrate, except it wasn't his head at all, but the mobile his tense, sweaty palm had pressed into his ear. He glanced at the screen:
Another call from Jared. Well, if he's actually willing to talk to me... "Alana... listen, I'll think about it and see. It's really great what you've done, but, uh -"
"Remember, I really do want to help you help Connor, Evan. If there's any -"
"I'll let you know," he quickly assured, conscious that Jared's call would drop out if he took too long to answer. "I-I need to go now. Um, bye." Evan gave Alana half a second to mumble her own hasty farewell before he slid across the button to accept Jared's call. An apology, slightly sour in taste, perched on the tip of his tongue as he greeted, "Hi Jared."
"Evan. Big fucking news, bud. Alana and the student council has set up this whole charity thing for Connor. I didn't tell you 'cuz I assumed it would only be, like, two kids selling a box of krispy kremes or something, but it's actually a really huge deal - the senior drama class has put on a play, there's a raffle with actually decent prizes, and there are a bunch of kids selling Connor merch, you know, t-shirts and wristbands and buttons - I thought I'd cornered the market on those, but evidently not - I even saw cupcakes with his photo on them. Cupcakes, how crazy is that? I never thought I'd be eating Connor Murphy, but it turns out he tastes-"
"People are really doing all that, all for Connor?" Interrupting Jared, Evan's evident disbelief put an end to Jared's playful, bemused innuendos. He blinked, trying to envisage the picture of unity and togetherness Jared painted; the truth he'd lived, of years surrounded by an ignorant, uncaring tide of teenagers who seemed set on abandoning him amidst them, wasn't something he could easily reconcile with this new idea of altruistic compassion for their comatose peer.
There was a pause, in which Evan imagined a typically Jared shrug - nonchalant, careless, but nevertheless intriguing. "Come see for yourself." Clearly, Jared had resolved not to directly address their recent altercation, but there was a veiled challenge in his following words: "Seriously, Evan, if you're really in this for Connor's sake, you'll want to see this."
Hence it came to be that (after creeping back into his house, showering with the water pressure turned as low as it would go without completely ceasing to exist, and changing into the first fresh shirt he could find) Evan Hansen found himself stood outside the school gate, fingers working frantically into the coarse straps of his almost-empty backpack. He rolled back and forth on his heels, psyching himself up to cross the threshold. He knew what it would be like for him on the other side - how he'd be treated; a repetition of the last time he'd ventured onto the grounds, a million eyes boring into his soul, hungrily devouring every scrap of information he could spare. Except no, not like that this time. It wouldn't have been so bad before if I hadn't forgotten my add-ons, and I'm back to taking them now. I can handle this today, I have to handle it. For Connor.
Digesting his nerves, he forced himself to assume a neutral expression, and made his way down the path towards the building. There wasn't the usual smattering of students milling around outside that he usually saw on his way in, but perhaps that was because it was well into first period - or what would have been first period, but Jared had informed him that the timetable had been adjusted to allow everyone to spend some time in the canteen, where most of the stalls for Connor had been set up.
He made his way there quickly, hating to take his time, since his short absence from the school had made him feel even less welcome there than usual. Sending a brief message to Jared to let him know he'd arrived, Evan ventured into the cafeteria.
It was unrecognizable, and not just because it was rammed full to bursting.
Almost every table was laden with a variety of leaflets, t-shirts, baked goods, or trinkets too small to identify at a distance. Various banners advertised games or activities, while some bore messages, Pray 4 Connor, Get well soon!, #stopsuicide. His classmates, the peers he knew had always seemed so oblivious to the struggles of people like him and Connor, were wearing merchandise with blurry pictures of Connor's face on them, spending their cash and throwing their change in donation buckets, pointing out the posters which seemed to summarize the teen suicide epidemic, and not just looking but actually discussing it.
He caught a few wary, curious looks tossed in his direction, but it was too busy, everyone was too busy, to pay him much mind, and for once he was grateful for it. It made it easier for him to weave amidst the crowd, not stopping before he came to face Alana, her proud grin waiting for him as though she'd know he was coming to meet her.
She leaned conspiratorially towards him over the table, careful not to disturb the variety of flyers and articles laid out before her. It was too loud for her to be able to whisper, nevertheless it felt like he was being made part of a secret as she simply asked, "What do you think?"
"This... it's incredible." He meant it, too. "We, we need this. Everyone needs this, w-we should try - maybe we can do something to try and keep this going?" A crease appeared in Alana's brow, and Evan could understand why, since last she knew, he had no clue about how they might possibly come up with something to help with the grief and the worry that everyone was feeling. But being there, surrounded by his peers as they actually interacted with the spectral figure of mental illness, prompted wisps of thought to gather, weaving together to form one flimsy central idea of how to actually do something real for the other students at the school, the ones like Connor who so urgently needed help but maybe didn't know where to turn, and a way to prove to the Murphys that they were all trying to learn from the ignorance which had left Connor isolated like he had been. "You know what, we need to talk about this. A-and Jared, he'll h-" the word help seemed somewhat premature, considering he had yet to even ask the infamously uncooperative boy his view on Evan's plan. "He'll want to know what's going on," he decided was more apt. "I'll find him, just come outside so we can actually, uh, talk." It was too manic for him to actually explain the entirety of his budding plan right then and there, but Alana nodded her assent, then turned to accept another girl's donation to the cause.
Evan glanced at the writing on the banner stretching above the tables Alana had covered with merchandise and leaflets, The Connor Project. That name could work. I don't think Connor would particularly like it, but it could definitely work.
Ducking through the cramped crowd, Evan sought out the other assistant he hoped to enlist, and spotted him a little way back, behind another desk, though he couldn't make out what exactly Jared was offering in order to draw in the small cluster clamouring for him to take their donations. Weaving closer, the sound of Jared's loud voice became distinguishable from the hum of the masses:
"Connor Murphy commemorative buttons - come on, aren't you missing seeing this obscenely pale face around school? For a nominal fee, you can keep Connor right where he belongs," he tapped the button pinned to his own shirt, and emphatically stressed, "In your heart. Thanks, so that's two for fifteen dollars? Nice," a smug grin crossed his face as two girls passed him a selection of bills, which quickly found their way into the pouch tied around his waist. Sensing a dubious stare upon him (Evan was sure this was meant to be a fundraiser, but somehow he didn't think Jared had any intention of putting all of the fifteen dollars he'd just made into a pot for Connor) he glanced up, finding his almost-friend standing just a few metres away. "Hey, you actually came!"
Unlike Jared, Evan couldn't shout to be heard over the swarm, so he pressed closer, cramming himself against the table and leaning most of the way over it before he replied, "Yeah. You said it was all for Connor, so: here I am. I-it's pretty amazing what people are doing." Lowering his voice, he couldn't help but clarify, "But you, you're making money out of this, though? Like, you're keeping a profit for yourself?"
Jared must have heard the accidental disapproval in Evan's change of tone, since he was overly defensive as he retaliated, "Yeah, well, free trading ain't a crime in the nation of capitalism, comrade Hansen!" He gave a small, rough shove, which could have been considered friendly, if only he hadn't sounded so affronted. "Anyway, I'm not the only one. Most of us who are actually selling shit we took the time and money to make are keeping, like, half the profit at least." It wasn't a conscious effort that made Evan raise a single critical eyebrow, but it made Jared chuckle, his defensive shield slipping. "Look son, Papa's gotta get his, if you wanna win at monopoly you gotta play the game! And besides, at these prices I'm still gonna make plenty for the Connor fund. That's what this is all about."
"Did you..." Evan paused, considered whether he'd heard right, and thought about maybe questioning what he thought Jared had said before deciding he really didn't want to know the reasoning behind Jared's new self-appointed title. "...Right. Okay, so I know I'm not, uh..." he faltered, the more difficult part of what he'd actually been meaning to say sticking in his throat; I know we've argued, but it doesn't have to be a big deal. Who really wants to make a big deal out of this? He seems like he's not annoyed at me any more. It's not really asking a favour because he can say no if he wants, it's going to be fine, just ask him, Evan, just say it. Bracing himself against a possible rebuttal, he broached the subject, "I haven't been great to you, and you don't have to, but, uh, I think I have an idea and I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in helping out. It's, well, I mean I'm going to explain it properly when Alana's here and we're somewhere a little more quiet, but basically I think we want to find a way to keep supporting the school like this, to help more people to talk about all this kind of stuff. You know?" The garbled summary made Evan himself cringe, but a small mercy shone out in Jared's lack of immediate mockery.
The other boy regarded him with his bottom lip stuck out, pensive. Shoving his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, he decisively agreed, "Yeah. Okay, you got me, I'm hooked. Now what?"
Carefully making sure only to touch Jared's shirt rather than skin with his moist palm, Evan stiffly grabbed and tugged him by the shirtsleeves out from behind the table. "Uh, come with me?"
Stunned, Jared barely resisted being guided away from his stall and the precious buttons, and followed Evan out of the hall and into a corridor, where sure enough Alana stood, attentively watching for the two boys, lips pursed until she spotted them approaching, when her concern melted into a glowing smile. She beckoned for them to join her by the window, expectation rolling off of her in waves. Jared stood beside her, the two of them staring intently at Evan, one mildly intrigued, the other wildly curious and barely containing it.
It wasn't by any means a crowd, but two pairs of eyes fixed solely on him brought a tremble to his voice and a prickle of sweat to the back of his neck; regardless, Evan blinked hard and slow, like his eyelids were lead, and voiced all the parts of the flaky plan he'd concocted within the past five minutes:
"Okay, s-so I was thinking, it would be really cool to maybe try and keep up... this," he gestured vaguely, grimacing at how awkward he knew he must look. "I think what happened to Connor, uh, it really shows how u-unsupported people are feeling, and I think that's something a lot of people are struggling with, so, uh, what if we set up a project, a student-run organization, where people can just come and talk about how they feel, with, uh, with no-no judgment, no pressure, just other people who kind of know how they feel. It could be a weekly thing, and we could maybe, uh, I don't really know if it would get very far, but we could set it up online, too, a bit like your blog but bigger, and maybe with... I don't know, some way to anonymously talk about your problems and get advice? And..." another idea came to him, "Maybe we could ask the Murphys to give interviews about their experiences, to try and encourage other people to open up, you know?" He swallowed, throat uncomfortably dry. His flimsy courage dissipated the instant he finished his explanation. Lowering his voice and eyes, he shuffled his feet and muttered some unintelligible end to his pitch.
He didn't see Alana nod, then glance at Jared to gauge his reaction. Returning her attention to the bashful boy, she asked, "What do you want to call it?"
"The Connor Project." The answer came uninhibited. Jared snorted, and immediately tried to mask it with a cough, but it was enough for Evan to furiously backtrack, "I mean, I know it's maybe a bit cheesy, and it was on your banner so if you don't want me to steal the name from that then we can definitely choose something else, it's only an idea so -"
"The Connor Project," Alana repeated, her expression softening. "That's perfect; I mean, it is for your best friend, it's kind of right that you name it after him." Evan hadn't had time to close his mouth before he'd been interrupted, and still he wasn't capable of doing so, thus it remained hanging dumbly open. Whether from excitement or amusement, Alana giggled, and quickly insisted, "We have to do it! It's the best way to ensure we can support the family during their tragedy, and keep being there for Connor in the future."
Jared's brows shot up, blatantly sceptical. Even so, he shrugged, and remarked, "It could be a good chance to sell more buttons, I still have 200 in my locker. Damn it, I think I'm gonna have to set up a ."
"And keep raising money for the project, of course! So you can be our head of finances - our treasurer," Alana decided, grabbing Jared's arm as if she couldn't stand to contain the surge of energy inside her. "And you," she turned to Evan, "Of course you're the founder and president of the Connor Project, but would you -" she stopped mid sentence, suddenly acutely aware of how forward she was being. Steadying herself, she thrust her hand forward and tentatively asked, "Would you have me as your vice President?"
"V-vice Presi-"
"Okay, I guess we can be co-presidents!" She grabbed and vigorously shook his hand, binding him to their hasty agreement, and from his dumbfounded smile, she assumed he was thankful to be able to share some of the managerial responsibility. She was more than a little relieved herself.
"Okay, if you two are like, co-presidents or whatever," Jared rolled his eyes, making air quotes with his fingers, "I want to be in charge of designing the website. I mean buttons are cool and all, but I want to actually be involved with the planning and stuff, okay?" His request was directed at Alana, since she'd seemed to have hijacked the entire project.
Nodding eagerly, she seemed about to add something to the already-extravagant plan, but before she could speak, Evan found himself interrupting, bewildered: "You actually want to do this, the both of you? You don't think it's a stupid idea?"
"Well, I think it's very you," Jared responded dryly, intentionally not denying the stupidity of the endeavour. Humour lurked around his lips, silently mocking, but Evan thought he could spot something more real, more genuine, hiding behind his glasses. That's good enough. At least he wants to be involved, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't even try to humour me if he knew it was going to be a total disaster.
"It's the perfect idea, Evan," Alana gently insisted, placing her hand lightly on Evan's cast for a customarily acceptable few seconds. Her voice was slow and calm, more than he'd ever known it to be; beneath her anxious energy, Alana at least was sturdy in her conviction that his proposition was a worthwhile one. "Really. We have to do this."
Relief and surprise came flooding in around him so fast that it made Evan's head swim; he blinked, trying to clear the hum of exhaustion and anticipation in his ears and eyes, and he would have been too preoccupied to pay any attention to the sound of footsteps passing behind him had he not noticed both pairs of eyes tracking the passing figure. Just as he risked peeking over his shoulder, Alana called out, "Zoe! Wait Zoe, Evan has something..." her call faded awkwardly, as if she hadn't anticipated the girl stopping with so little effort of persuasion. Zoe Murphy, however, didn't have eyes for either the girl who had called out to her or the boy who was tugging Alana back a step, in doing so allowing the illusion of privacy to settle around her and Evan.
"H-hi," Evan half-raised a hand in a wave, before mentally cursing when he remembered how lame that was. He turned to fully face her, his cheeks steadily growing darker as he struggled to shove out the reluctant words, "I'm sorry... about last night." About the weird kiss thing and then going to the hospital when she probably wanted to be alone and about listening to all of her completely private personal family memories that I had no right to hear and about falling asleep with her - oh my God, did I fall asleep on her? That's so terrible, oh my God oh my God, okay obviously I can't apologise explicitly for that right now without Jared and Alana demanding a full explanation. Or is ambiguous even worse? What if Jared starts wondering what I'm sorry for and comes up with something terrible? Say something, Zoe, please say something...
"It's okay," she shrugged, eyes averted, and for a moment she seemed just as shy and insecure as he felt. "It was good, talking." She offered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and brought herself to hold Evan's gaze for a couple of seconds, before returning her attention to his shoes. "What were you saying?"
Shuffling incrementally backwards to align himself closer to his new colleagues, the boy began, "I came up with something. I - we - want to try and make sure people like Connor are supported, and that they know they're not alone. I think we've got an idea of how, and it really might be kinda great."
"Oh." The fragile smile fled, replaced by that shield of self-preservation that so often sprang up around the tormented girl. Her true opinion was impossible to discern for those on the other side of her barricade, and she was impassive as she remarked, "I'm sure my parents will be really interested. You should tell them."
He couldn't be sure, but Evan thought he might have caught subtle hints of disapproval and worse, disappointment, in her response. Doesn't she want us to try and help her brother? Was she hoping for something else from me? No matter how sweet and sunny she had always appeared from a distance, he'd long-since come to terms with how much of a paradox Zoe truly was up close.
He opened his mouth, still not quite decided if he was brave enough to question her, but she was turning away before the first uncertain syllable could be spluttered out, saying over her shoulder, "I've got to go, I've got a thing. I'll see you around."
"Zo - " Evan took a step towards her, but two different hands on his arms stopped him. Turning around to face his unlikely companions, he mumbled, "That was weird."
"Sure." Jared shrugged, unfazed. "Her brother's in a coma, bro, what do you expect?"
But you don't know her like I do, you don't know she's not normally like that, so dismissive, not with me, not these past few days, he ached to argue. Something's off, she must not like the sound of what we're doing, but she doesn't even know exactly what we're doing - maybe it's just the concept she doesn't like, maybe we shouldn't do this. But Alana was there, and enthusiasm for their mission was beaming out of her like the rays from the sun, so he didn't say a thing.
"Don't worry, Evan," she implored, dismissing Zoe's behaviour with a flick of her hand. Her dark eyes were wide and sombre as she reminded him, "You have some more important people to tell."
"We're calling it the Connor Project," Evan explained an hour later, sat opposite Mr and Mrs Murphy in the hospital hallway. "We still need to figure out exactly how it will work, but me and Jared and Alana really think it will be something worthwhile, uh, and it will help a lot of people, a-and you know, bring something good out of everything that's happened."
Larry couldn't bring himself to speak; he was afraid his voice wouldn't hold up if he were to say out loud how touched he was that the teenager was so keen to make sure that people learned from Connor's suffering and his shortcomings as a parent, that there could be a little bit of light, and something real for his son to hold on to, once he woke up. But that was okay: the mist over his eyes said enough.
Cynthia was as emotional as Larry was silent, tears readily spilling down her cheeks. Her hands were trembling as she reached out to hold the boy's tense shoulders, glowing with gratitude, "It sounds wonderful, Evan, thank you for caring so much. I just, I don't even know what to say! I know it's going to be perfect. Thank you, Evan thank you."
After a few moments, her husband placed a hand on her shoulder, and she released Evan in favour of leaning into him, at home in his company at last. He subtly tapped his watch and offered her a packet of tissues, and she managed to compose herself, wiping away her tears before she turned back to Evan.
"You know, we've got an appointment to talk to Connor's doctor in a few minutes. He had another CT scan this morning, and she wanted to explain what she saw in the results - it sounded like good news, we shouldn't keep her waiting." She looked ready to overflow with hope. Evan nodded his agreement, and Cynthia added, "Perhaps you'd like to take the chance of privacy to explain your plan to him? I'm sure he'll be excited, and I really think the news should come from you. Don't you think?"
"Oh uh, w-well yeah, sure, okay. I can, I'll just, uh, y-yeah, yeah." Evan nodded. It took him a few seconds to remember that he wasn't actually so afraid of being in there alone with Connor any more. "Good luck," he said, and stood waiting in the hallway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other until the couple had turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
Now came the trickier part. He hadn't anticipated this, but it seemed reasonable enough, really, that he should at least inform Connor of the sham of a group he was setting up in his name. Bracing himself, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
It was gonna be easy, right? He'd come by plenty of times before, spent hours on end alone in Connor's company simply out of guilty obligation. Hell, he'd found it beyond simple to speak to Connor the previous evening, pouring his heart out to alleviate a fraction of his torment, but now that it came to telling Connor how he was using his name to promote everything the other boy had clearly never found, it seemed the cruel irony turned his tongue to metal, heavy and dry. Sure, it would be easy - as easy as speaking when your mouth has totally forgotten how to work.
"Hey," it was more of a choke than a word, but at least it was a start. Agitated, he hurried over to sit in the seat he always chose, near the foot of Connor's bed, the one closest to the door, and clung to it with both hands. He retracted them to his lap almost instantly, cringing away from the unmistakable sensation of having touched old gum stuck to the bottom of the chair with his left hand. "Shit, shit," he mumbled, anxiety leaving him momentarily as he wiped both hands, even the untainted one, on his jeans, before digging them into his pockets - he didn't want to run the risk of accidentally forgetting about it and touching his face with the gum-cursed hand.
As he did so, however, his fingertips brushed against something small in his pocket, the one where he didn't keep his mobile phone, where he only ever put things he hadn't been expecting to take. His fingers closed around the warm, smooth bottle, and he remembered his pledge to Zoe:
He was nervous, and he could use some kind of distraction while he broke the news to Connor - and he was going to tell him, he was determined. Midnight Sky, let's see how close to black you really are. Evan unscrewed the lid from the nail polish, surprised at the gloopiness of it. His Mom never really bothered with painting her nails, and he'd never had much of an interest in having his own being anything other than plain, so it was actually the first time he'd come into contact with it in real life. Still, the commercials always made it look easy enough, so the trepidation didn't hit him until he dollopped it onto Connor's nail, only for the excess to roll down the side of his finger and onto the white hospital bedsheet.
"Oh..." brow creasing, he wiped at the droplet of navy, turning it into a small, sticky smudge, and grabbed Connor's hand and a tissue to scrape away that first pitiful attempt; clearly, this was not, in fact, a Maybelline commercial, and he was going to have to be a little more hands-on if he actually wanted to do it right.
Picking up Connor's hand, (and silently thankful that the other boy wasn't able to sense how damp his palms were now) he balanced the bottle between his knees and re-dipped the brush, scraping off the excess this time. His second attempt to paint a nail was considerably more successful than the first - though admittedly, he had given himself a very low starting point, and any seasoned nail-painter would surely scorn the way the polish slightly overlapped onto the finger itself. I guess it's not completely terrible... I've started it now, I have to get this done.
The majority of his concentration was channelled into making sure he didn't spill the bottle, and that as much of the paint as possible went onto the nails themselves rather than the fingers, so despite the uncomfortable shuddering within his stomach, he couldn't really afford to think about his nerves. So he painted, trying not to even hear the words as he cautiously explained, "Connor. I went to school today, a-and it was really amazing. Everyone was talking about you, about what you're going through - I-I mean not just the coma but also all about how you were feeling, you know, before. Like, how... alone you were? I think, if-if people had known, they would have wanted to help." He thought of Alana and her blog, of Jared and his sales pitch that just might have been genuine, and of himself, "We want to help. Ha, that sounds dumb, uh, okay. You, a-and people like you, there isn't much in place for you right now..." He knew that for himself; one of his Mom's contacts at the nursing home knew someone who knew someone who knew a therapist who worked with teenagers and had a space just opened up at just the right time, that was how he'd managed to skip past the waiting lists and get some help, but he knew a lot of people weren't so lucky. And before he'd booked his regular appointments with Dr Sherman, there had been literally nothing. He took a breath for the big announcement, "We want to change that, somehow - even if it's not much, we're going to try."
The first hand was finished, so he moved to sit on the other side of the bed to finish the job. "Me, Jared and Alana are starting a discussion group in school, for people to come to, to talk about their feelings, their experiences and stuff, and maybe just, you know, find other people who feel... t-the same, and m-maybe then they won't feel so, just so alone? And like, I don't know if it's your kind of thing, obviously you don't have to come, but if you want to one day then, you'll be welcome - everyone will be - or if not I think we're gonna have like a website or something, a-and I guess we're hoping it might help some people who are struggling, or whatever, and... yeah." He shrugged, unceremoniously finishing with the painting and the explanation. "Oh," he remembered just before he was ready to push his chair away from the bed, anxious not to leave out the one detail that he was more uncertain about than anything else before he retreated. "And I hope you don't mind, we're calling it The Connor Project."
He released Connor's hand, and replaced the lid on the nail varnish, fumbling a little. For a first attempt to paint someone else's nails, he decided he hadn't done a bad job. Even if it was clumsy, the return of some colour to the teenager's pale hands was a definite improvement, in any case. It had come out more shimmery than it looked in the bottle, and with just a hint of blue, much like the sky just before midnight. As the name implies, Evan wryly noted.
A small smile at his private amusement was just beginning to lift one corner of his lips when he thought it happened (though in all honesty he really couldn't be certain of what he saw): he'd only just let go of Connor's hand, so maybe it was just gravity acting on him as his body settled into the resting position. Nevertheless, whatever the cause, he was at least half sure that, for a split second, he saw Connor's middle finger move.
A/N: We're getting there, my loves, we're getting there! I spent all of last night writing the chapter where Connor *spoiler alert* wakes up, it's coming soon...
I think maybe this is a bit of a filler, but it all comes into the big picture soon enough. Thanks so much for being patient, I know I take things slow pace-wise but I hope that's not too discouraging for you!
And thanks people who checked out the Spotify playlist for this! (Although when I listen to it, Spotify does start recommending the life sucks and sad songs playlists, but I don't really think it's *that* depressing...)
Basically, you're amazing, thanks so much for reading, and I'll try to update soon!