Connor's hair is up. This should not be as shocking as it feels to Evan because he's seen Connor with his hair up before.

But it is. His chocolate brown hair is looped into a messy bun on the back of his head and Evan can see his neck. And for some reason, even though he's seen it dozens of times, he's just in awe of the dainty bones under his pale skin and the muscles that work around his prominent Adam's apple. It takes Evan a second, or rather several, to realize that Connor's talking to him and pull his eyes away from the delicate tendons.

"Um, yes?" he asks a little stupidly (a lot stupidly) and Connor's mouth twitches up into a smile.

"You gonna get in the car or…?"

"Oh, right, course!"

He thinks it'll get better, now that he's in the car with Connor and the sunlight isn't making his silky brown hair glow a soft amber. Now he'll be able to concentrate on Connor's words rather than his pretty pink lips and the way they wrap the words and how nice it looks when they stretch out to make the 'Ehh' of Evan.

He's saying 'Evan' a lot.

Which is the exact moment that Evan realizes that Connor's not just saying his name for the hell of it but is actually trying to get Evan's attention.

Because they are currently parked in the Murphys' driveway.

"You okay?" Connor asks softly. "You seem kinda, like, spacey."

"Oh, yeah, no, I-I'm fine, of course! I'm like completely fine and I just, I didn't get a lot of sleep! You know and, um, I'm ready to go and… camp."

"You didn't sleep?" Connor says, and he pulls out his phone to check the time. "You coulda told me, dude, we could have, like, put this off. Do you want me to take you home?"

Instantly, he jolts up in his seat. "No, no, I want to do this! I wanna spend the night, I feel fine, honestly!"

"Are you saying that because it's true or because it's what you think I wanna hear?"

Early in their relationship, this statement might have been bitter and accusatory, like Connor couldn't trust anything Evan said. But when Evan looks over to him, he's resting his chin on his hand, his elbow propped up against the window and he's smirking .

In that self-righteous I-Know-Evan-Is-Lying kinda way.

In the same way he smirked at him last time he had dinner at the Murphys and Evan told his mother Cynthia, that yes, horses were also one of his favourites animals and Connor knew fully well that Evan is terrified of horses and would faint if he saw one.

Because Connor knows Evan lies but only about inconsequential things, like loving horses or telling Jared his new shoes weren't the gaudiest goddamned things he's ever seen or even that he's feeling fine when he's not.

And he isn't.

He is absolutely Not Fine right now but it's not exactly a bad thing either.

"Okay," he finally concedes. "I-I'm like… jumpy, I guess but I want to do it."

His face flushes red as he realizes the double entendre.

"Oh-oh, um, do it like camping. Do camping. I love camping."

Evan's only been camping once and he cried until his mother came and got him.

"Alright then," Connor says, his smirk turning unbearably smug and Evan wants to kiss it right off his face.

The first hitch of the night comes quickly when Evan gets to the Murphys' moderately sized kitchen and realizes there is no way in hell that they are starting a fire. Connor offers to pull over the firepit and set it up but Evan knows that he won't be able to relax knowing there's a possibility of them burning the house down.

But Connor, in all his wisdom, produces several lighters before they head out to the backyard.

And Evan's breath is taken away.

Under the medium sized Shumard Red Oak tree, sits a large, red tent and delicately draped from the oak tree's branches are two fairy-light strings, glowing a soft yellow.

He looks around and barely spots the wires connected to the outside outlet, hidden in the grass. In front of the tent sits a bench covered in tupperware containers filled with sandwiches, too many for even two teenage boys to handle on their own.

Two sleeping bags are rolled up next to the bench and from what little Evan can see inside, he notices a mound of fluffy blankets.

Instinctively, his hand goes to his throat, as if holding his vocal chords will keep him from spilling the confession out at that very moment and Connor rocks back and forth on his heels. Evan blinks a few times, not even a little ashamed when he realizes he's tearing up a bit and looks to Connor, who is attempting a calm look of disinterest.

It's not working. Evan can see his nails picking at his sweatpants.

He clears his throat and concentrates, forcing the confession back down to his stomach. "Connor… this is amazing."

The taller boy stops rocking and his fingers grip tightly at his sweatpants before letting go. When he looks at Evan, he has a soft look in his eyes and he's pursing his lips together. After a second of consideration, his right hand goes to the back of his neck, an embarrassed tick that Evan just adores, and the tiniest smile pulls at his lips.

"It's, like, not much…"

"It's great! It's really perfect! It-it's like one of those pictures you see online but like, real!"

Each compliment makes Connor smile wider and Evan almost wants to keep going, to see how wide he can make him grin but Connor grabs his hand and tugs him toward the tent.

"Did you set this all up yourself?" Evan asks, kneeling on the soft pile of blankets inside the tent to examine the sandwiches. Connor plops down next to him. "Y-You could have waited for me, Connor, I was going to help you."

The hand goes back to Connor's neck and his long hair falls to cover half his face.

"...Zoe helped a little. She saw me, like, moving the tent and said she would help me. The fairy lights are from her room."

Evan tries to hide how widely he's smiling. Connor's relationship with his sister is still so fragile and tenuous, like a worn thread that might be snapped at any moment but it's getting better.

Evan remembers a time when Zoe and Connor couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other so the news that Zoe even offered to help is big.

But Evan knows well enough that if he acts like the big deal that is, then Connor will clam up. "Oh, well, that was nice of her."

"Um, yeah, I guess." The hand on his neck begins scratching at his skin and without thinking, Evan reaches over and grabs it, pulling toward himself. He threads his fingers between Connor's, still amazed that he's allowed to do this, that he's allowed to touch and hold anyone's hand, let alone Connor's.

On the back of his hand, there's a group of light freckles starting just below his thumb, five little dots that Evan knows well. His fingers trace around them, a smile on his face when Connor's fingers squeeze down.

"You have really long fingers," Evan says, like Connor doesn't already know that. His own fingers caress little circles on his knuckles. Next to Connor's, his own fingers look stubby and fat and-

Evan stops himself. Doctor Sherman has told him a thousand and one times that he cannot compare himself to other people, that he can't compare himself to Connor. (Like he could ever win against- he's doing it again.)

It's not like he wants to tear himself down. In fact, Evan wants to like himself. It's just difficult with years of self-hatred and pessimism pressing down on him. It's second nature at this point, like the insults are tied to the words and Evan doesn't even notice it anymore.

His (stubby) fingers.

His (hairy) arms.

His (fat) face.

Even if he doesn't think it out right, his subconscious tacks it on.

But he can't do that, but Doctor Sherman says putting himself down so much isn't good for his mental health.

So instead, he looks at their hands together, Connor's laying horizontally against his so he can feel his long, long fingers pressing against the back of his hand and thinks… that it's nice.

It looks nice. Connor's pale, another one of the million reasons Evan loves staring at him, and Evan's got a tan. So the slight contrast of their skin together looks good.

He carefully turns Connor's wrist and displays his palm, still cradled in his own hand. Carefully, he traces the creases in the palm before lacing their fingers together.

It's good, he decides, that their fingers are different lengths. Because that's the way it's supposed to be, right?

They're different people and Connor doesn't care about all the things Evan thinks are ugly about himself.

No, he likes them.

He likes Evan's face and Evan's hands and Evan's arms and everything else. So maybe Evan can learn to like them too.

He squeezes Connor's hand and finally looks up to him, for the first time in what seems like hours.

The other boy is boring holes into the Tupperware stack of sandwiches like he's trying to knock it over with sheer force of will. In the dimming light, Evan notices his cheeks are slightly flushed.

And Evan really likes it when Connor blushes, the apples of his cheeks turning bright red so he says, "You have really pretty hands. Like, super model pretty."

And then the redness crawls up Connor's long, delicate neck to his face and then to his sticking-out ears.

Evan wants to see how dark the blush can go and not-so-innocently thinks how alluring he looks with his skin turning soft pinks and reds.

"I-I like how our hands look together," he admits. "Your skin is so pale and so… so soft. Especially, like, on your palm. And your neck. Your neck is like, so nice, yanno? Everything about you is-is so nice and pretty."

Connor's eyes close and Evan can see him sucking his bottom lip into his mouth so his teeth can worry on it as the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. When he speaks, his voice is a little shaky but still lined with sarcasm. "S-So I'm just a pretty face to you?"

Evan reaches with his other hand to pinch Connor's wrist. "You know that's not true."

"I dunno," Connor hedges, turning away but Evan catches the smile that's forming on his face. "You haven't said anything about how amazingly intelligent I am or how wonderfully kind I am."

"Not to mention humble," Evan adds.

"Oh, yes," Connor says, finally turning back toward Evan so he can see his smile. His face is less red but still flushed and his wide lips are stretched into a beautiful grin. "I am so very humble. You haven't even told me how modest I am yet."

"Okay, okay!" Evan relents. "You're smart, smarter than anyone I've ever known, you're kind and sweet and yes, you are just so wonderfully and amazingly humble."

"Good kisser. I'm a good kisser too."

Evan grimaces playfully, holding out his hand to shake it in a so-so manner.

And it happens quickly. He barely has time to register Connor's scandalized expression before Evan's thrown onto his back and the softest, warmest lips are pressed to his. Their noses bump awkwardly and Evan makes a weird croaking noise that's somewhere between a gasp and a laugh but he doesn't give himself the chance to be self-conscious over it.

Because who can worry about stupid stuff like that when your amazingly pretty and kind and smart boyfriend is draping himself over you like a blanket and kissing like it's the last time he'll ever get to?

And then it's over, just like that and Connor's positioning his elbows on either side of Evan's head and grinning down at him. A few more strands fall out of his bun and hang down, ghosting gently on his cheeks.

"So? Pretty good, huh?" Connor whispers and Evan feels every word breathed across his skin.

"Um, well, that was like, barely anything."

"Barely anything?"

"Yup! Yup, didn't even like- did you just kiss me? Like I don't know. B-Barely felt a thing."

"Barely felt a thing," Connor repeats, slowly leaning down until their lips are just barely touching.

"Yeah…"

"Okay then, how's this?"

And then Connor presses back down, slowly planting firm kisses on his lips as his right hand moves to weave into Evan's hair.

His fingers scratch at his scalp as Connor seals their lips together. Evan opens his mouth and gives Connor's lips tiny kitten licks, letting his hands come up to wrap around Connor's shoulders.

It's over too soon again.

Or maybe it's always too soon because Evan's greedy and he wants to spend every single second of his life locking lips with Connor. (It'd probably be difficult to eat and drink though…)

But all the same, Connor pulls back even when Evan tries his hardest to keep their lips together and gives him his best cocky smirk.

"So? What do you say now?"

And Evan isn't thinking because kissing Connor is drugging, even just a few seconds of contact make him dizzy and floaty. So he blurts out, "I'm in love with you."

He doesn't realize what he's said for a good minute, still remembering the feeling of Connor's lips on his and how unbelievably soft they were. But then the realization hits him in the chest and now he and Connor are just staring at each other and Evan remembers at that exact moment that people usually give love confession speeches, right?

That's something people do, right?

They don't just go in blind, blurt out whatever first comes to their head and hope for the best.

But apparently, that's what Evan does because his goddamned mouth is already moving.

"I know you said it-it's okay that I couldn't say it before but I don't think it is. I-I wanted to say it, so so bad but-but I was, like, scared. Scared, that, you know, I'd do the wrong thing and say the wrong thing and that I didn't even know what I was feeling because I usually don't. Like h-how could I know I was in love and what if I said it but didn't mean it and you got hurt?! I can't hurt you, Connor, so I-I just kept it all inside!"

Connor hasn't moved. Strands of dark hair sway over Evan's face.

"And now, like, I think I know. No, I know that… that I know. I-I'm in love with you. You're just, you're just amazing and I-I can't imagine, like, not being with you. Like, I try to remember what it was like before I met you and it's difficult because it feels like I've known you for forever and you've been in my life for forever. And it's basically impossible for me to imagine the future without thinking, oh, well, I have to factor in what Connor wants to do too. I spent, like, a while thinking about our apartment and what we would have and-and I just… I want that."

Evan tries to scoot up, to give himself leverage so he can reach Connor's face but his hips are still pinned under Connor's legs.

It doesn't matter because Connor all-but collapses onto him, resting his forehead against Evan's neck and he can feel Connor's heavy, relieved sigh. "...I love you too."

"You do?"

"Of course, you idiot," Connor says, his lips ghosting against the skin of his neck. "I've already told you that."

Evan giggles as the breathy words tickle his neck. "I-I know. Just checking."

"And you love me."

Evan threads his fingers through Connor's silky hair, ruining the bun at the back of his head, and smiles. When he speaks, it's with a mocking lilt to his voice. " Of course, you idiot ."

A light pain sparks on his leg as Connor's lips stretch into a smile against his skin. He yelps and shoves at his shoulders. "You asshole, did you just pinch me?!"

Connor finally pulls back, his hair falling over his face and for the first time, Evan sees that his eyes are red and wet. The taller boy sniffs, wiping roughly at his face. "Yeah, I did."

"And you're crying."

"No shit, really?"

As revenge, Evan reaches up and tugs one of the thick strands hanging over his face. Connor huffs and tries to bat his hand away but Evan doesn't let him. He twirls it around his fingers a couple times, letting the silky strands flow like water around his knuckles.

"What-What's our apartment like?" Connor asks, sniffling slightly.

"Big. Like, really big," Evan smiles and feels that hot prickly feeling coming to his eyes. "With lots of bookcases and plants and a cat."

"And it's on the 70th floor."

The hair strand drops from Evan's hand as a flash of fear runs up his spine. "Absolutely not!"

"What? Don't you wanna live in the Penthouse like rich people?"

"Oh, yeah, sure and I also wanna die in an elevator crash ."

"You're so dramatic." Connor smirks and tweaks Evan's nose.

"Elevators fail all the time-!"

"And you'll probably have more of a chance of dying in an airplane crash! "

"Which is why I also don't go on airplanes!"

"What, you're never going to go on an airplane?"

"Nope," Evan says, smiling in a self-satisfied way. "Never."

"What if I go on one? For, like a trip? You're not coming with me?"

"Actually, you're not allowed on airplanes now. It's, like, rules of dating me."

"What rules?! I didn't agree to anything."

"Uh, yeah, you did. You said you love me," Evan says gleefully, testing the words out. It feels so good to say out loud. In fact, it might be Evan's new favourite sentence to say. Just for good measure, he says it again. " You're in love with me. So that means you agreed to the rules."

Connor's laugh sounds more like bark, his teeth gleaming as his lips stretch back to show them off. In the soft orange light, with his hair frizzy and wild, and his eyes squeezed shut from the force of the laugh, Evan thinks that he's never looked more beautiful.

"What other rules are there?" Connor says as he (disappointingly) pulls back to sit on his heels. He helps Evan up too, so he can sit cross legged in front of him.

"Okay so," Evan flicks out a finger, holding it between them. "Number one, no airplanes."

He holds up another finger for each point. "Two, no elevators. Three, no going over the speed limit. Like ever. In fact, you have to go ten miles under."

"Ten miles-?!"

"Four! " Evan cuts him off before he can continue. "Fourth, no mustard on-!"

"Oh my god ," Connor sighs, putting his face into his hands as he stretches the last word into a weary 'gaaahhhwwd '. His next words are muffled and carry only a slight annoyance. "It's not illegal to put mustard on a bagel!"

"It should be!" Evan yells, grabbing Connor's thin wrists and prying his hands away from his face. His pretty grey eyes are still red and his lips are stretched into a somewhat unwilling smile.

Evan remembers one of the first times he slept over. Connor graciously let him sleep in his bed with him and when Evan woke up, he was gone.

Well, to be more exact, he had disappeared off to the kitchen. He remembered watching him, still in awe that he was allowed to be there, to be around Connor, that he almost missed Connor taking a sickeningly heavy heap of yellow mustard and smearing it all over a freshly toasted cinnamon bagel.

For a real honest moment, Evan believed that he should call for help because there was no way in hell Connor was thinking straight.

But he was.

It had been and apparently would continue to be a source of contention in their relationship.

Connor opens his mouth, no doubt to lie and say that mustard on bagels taste good when his face crumbles all of the sudden.

Tears gather in his eyes and Evan's quick to slide his hands up his cheeks and massage his temples, the way he knows Connor likes.

Before Evan can even apologize or ask why he's started crying out of nowhere, he's wrapped in a giant hug with Connor's long arms looped around his back.

Connor hiccups once, burrowing his face into Evan's neck and he can feel Connor's lips moving against his skin.

Gently, Evan places his hands on Connor's neck and rubs small circles, like Connor usually does to himself when he's nervous. However, unlike Connor, he's careful not to be too rough and avoids using his short fingernails.

Eventually, Connor presses a soft kiss to his neck before peeling back. His grey eyes are watery and the skin across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes is puffy and red. He sniffs once, clears his throat and then says the most amazing thing Evan's ever heard.

He says, his voice soft and wavering, "I don't wanna make this mushy or awkward or anything but… Fucking hell, Ev, you-you make me so happy. I'm just so fucking happy, sitting here and talking about dumb, unimportant shit with you. I-I'm glad I'm here."

It's not so much the words as it is the underlying statement hiding in them. Evan knows that Connor usually doesn't like to talk about his attempts. It's a strange thing when assertive and straightforward Connor likes to hide between analogies and double meanings.

It's one of the things Connor's trying his best to work on and Evan doesn't want to push him too hard. Lately, he's been trying to open up and just the fact that he would bring it up himself, unprompted, is rather important.

Evan's mind chugs. The million voices in his head that usually clamor and scream over each other at every waking moment in his life have suddenly gone silent. The only thing he can hear is the echo of Connor's last statement, reverberating off the inside of his skull.

I'm glad to be here, I'm glad to be here, I'm glad to be here.

Then it stops and the words shift into their true meaning.

I'm glad to be alive.

Evan doesn't care when he starts crying or that Connor gives a startled laugh when Evan grabs his face and yanks him in because, really , who cares when he can put all his attention into kissing this boy he loves so much?

Connor's mouth opens when Evan licks tentatively at his bottom lip but he just continues to lavish little kitten licks and bites to his lower lip as his hand moves up to grip the back of Connor's head and push him more into the kiss.

Their tongues meet and Evan takes special care to pet Connor's tongue lovingly before moving further in to explore the inside of his mouth.

Usually Connor leads this kind of stuff while Evan just sits back and enjoys it. He tries copying the moves that Connor does that he likes, licking his lips with the flat of his tongue, chewing on the bottom of his lip or rubbing their tongues together and he thinks he's doing a pretty good job.

Of course, there's still that little voice in the back of his head, the one that's telling him that He's Doing It Wrong and that he's currently flopping his tongue around Connor's mouth like a dying fish but then Connor puts his hands on his shoulder and fucking melts into the kiss.

Then the voice is pretty quiet.

Which is just fine for Evan because now he can spend all of his brain's power recording the soft sighs and gasps Connor is making.

He especially likes the one when he bites just right on his lower lip and Connor goes 'mmgh '. That one's probably his favourite.

But they're interrupted by the not-so-pleasant-actually-kinda-embarrasing noise of Evan's stomach grumbling.

When they regrettably separate, Connor's eyes aren't so red anymore.

"Sorry," Evan says even though Connor doesn't seem the least bit disgusted or annoyed, because that's just what Evan does. "I didn't eat before I came over."

"Because you wanted room for s'mores or because you were nervous?"

"Mix of both," he admits.

"I still can't believe you've never had s'mores before."

"There's pork in the regular ones."

"Ew," Connor says succinctly before reaching over to the bags Evan brought. "Let's do s'mores first and then sandwiches."

"Isn't that kinda backwards?" Evan asks as he pulls out the pink bag, rereading the nutritional facts.

"Yeah," Connor says, pulling a skewer and lighter from next to Tupperware tower. "But it's also way more fun."

An hour later, after Evan has an unreasonable amount of melted marshmallows and chocolate (and a few bites of a sandwich, just because Evan doesn't want to be rude and let Connor's hard work go to waste), he finally lays back on the plush blanket mound.

"So?" Connor asks quietly as he pulls off his hoodie and lays down next to Evan. "What's the final verdict?"

"I never wanna eat anything else for the rest of my life."

Connor snorts and rolls over, reaching out a hand to pat Evan's stomach. "You're going to get a horrible stomach ache."

He stops patting and slowly trails his hand down Evan's stomach. Goosebumps break on the skin of his arms and it takes a physical effort not to react when the hand reaches his sweatpants waist. But thankfully (or unfortunately), the hand deftly slides under his sweater and sits on his bare stomach.

Connor starts softly rubbing every inch of skin he can reach and Evan hums contently as Connor drags his fingernails up the side of his body, creating more goosebumps in his wake.

"W-Worth it."

"Yeah, sure, we'll see what you say when it's happening. Anyway, how do you like them best? Burnt is best, right?"

"It's good but I like when it's, like, just barely melted. So good."

Connor scoffs, retracting his hand from under Evan's shirt. "Alright yeah, sure and I'm the one who doesn't have taste?"

"Connor, if you honestly start talking about mustard right now, I'll throw up everywhere. Not joking."

It seems his threat is taken seriously because Connor promptly shuts up and scoots closer to throw his leg over Evan's.

Evan sighs, letting his left hand rest on his thigh as Connor tucks his arms around his own stomach, holding himself tightly as he curls into a ball on Evan's side. He sighs, twisting and stretching his back and wincing slightly when his spine cracks before resting his head on Evan's shoulder.

Evan knows this position well. It's a cute little habit that reminds Evan strongly of sleepy kittens, stretching their little paws before curling up.

Connor's falling asleep. His own eyes begin to feel heavy when he realizes that.

He knows that they shouldn't go to sleep yet. There's still about a dozen things they need to do before they go to bed. He hasn't even brushed his teeth and they really should move that tied up bag of trash inside before the bugs or, god forbid, a raccoon gets wind of it.

But then Connor hums, nuzzling so the top of his head is pressed against the underside of his chin and it's just so warm that Evan doesn't really care that they left the tent flap open or that the sandwiches should be put into a refrigerator before they go all soggy.

The only thing he cares about is the gorgeous boy with long fingers and terrible taste who's wound himself into a tight little ball next to him.

His mouth quirks into a small smile as he drifts.

One last thought occurs to him, something he hasn't said but he's too far gone. That's okay, he tells himself. He'll tell Connor in the morning, as soon as they wake up.

'Me too. I'm glad to be here, to be alive, with you.'