Chapter 18: You Still Matter

Evan twisted and turned under his blankets. It was late that night, so late that Alex had returned from his escapades and fell asleep as though he'd been hit with a sack of rocks. It was so late that it was going to be morning in a few hours, so was it late, or was it early?

While Alex seemed quite content, Evan simply could not get comfortable in his bed, no matter which way he lay. His broken arm felt awful, refusing to cooperate with the rest of him.

The boy flipped his pillow around for what felt like the millionth time. Even that task was difficult now, considering that he was forced to do it with his weaker hand and an unmoving limb. Why? Why did things have to be so difficult?

He rolled over and suddenly felt his heart jolt into his throat upon seeing a tall, dark figure standing over his bed.

"Evan. We need to talk."

Connor. That was Connor's voice. Connor was speaking to him.

"W… what? What is it?"

"What do you think it is? People are forgetting about me."

If they ever even cared in the first place. Sure, Evan didn't know Connor, but he at least pretended like he cared. Not one single other person seemed to be able to muster up the effort to accomplish that.

"Why should I care?" Evan mumbled, turning away.

"Evan." Connor's voice had a sense of urgency to it that Evan had never heard in real life. "Think, man. C'mon. This is your shot."

"My shot at what?"

"At everything you've ever wanted. To be noticed. To be present. To matter." Connor was pacing the room now, seemingly in agitation.

He received no response, so he continued to talk and pace and be agitated.

"Look. Don't think about it as helping yourself. Think about it as helping me. I… I don't want to be forgotten."

"You're not even real. You're dead. I must be dreaming or something," Evan murmured.

"And so what if you are? Am I wrong?" Connor went over, physically grabbed Evan, and turned him so that they were facing each other.

This, certainly, was strange. Evan had never recalled being physically touched in a dream, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible. Such was the thought process in the boy's addled, tired brain.

"No… I guess not," Evan agreed.

"Nobody cares about people like us." Ah. Dream-Connor was apparently extremely angsty, for whatever reason. The man's emotions flip-flopped on a dime.

"No one deserves to be forgotten." Connor let go of Evan and turned away, saying the words to nothing. An imaginary boy speaking to an imaginary crowd. "No one deserves to fade away."

"Why are you singing?" Connor's voice seemed to be pitching upwards.

"Think of everyone who needs to know. Please," Connor begged.

Evan awoke with a start in a puddle of sweat. The only noise he could hear was the sound of Alex's breathing and the light breeze outside, beyond the window. Connor was nowhere to be found.

He took a deep breath. Then another, then another. It had all just been a dream. A very realistic, very odd dream, but a dream nonetheless. There was nothing to be afraid of.

The exact details of what transpired were slipping away, but the essentially parts of it were still there. Connor, asking him to keep his memory alive. How ridiculous. Him? Evan Hansen? Who gave a shit about what he said?

Evan closed his eyes, then opened them. Was that imaginary Connor wrong, though? Somebody had to keep his memory alive, and if it was Evan who had to do it, then shouldn't he do it? Didn't he have an obligation to do so?

He rolled over to look at his clock. Five-thirty in the morning. His first class was at nine. It wasn't worth trying to go back to sleep, and it wasn't like he'd be able to succeed, anyway.

The boy groaned a bit, got out of bed, and opened his laptop. He pulled up a new document and started typing, just as he'd seen Alex frantically do so many times before, working until the sun came up.

Alex and Evan both ended up trotting to Washington's history class together, right next to each other physically but a million worlds apart mentally.

When they arrived, Evan slowly made his way towards the back of the room. How wonderfully convenient for him, that Jared was actually attending class today, and that he and Alana sat in close vicinity to one another.

He felt moisture begin to pool in the hand that held the pamphlet he'd made just that morning. No. He wasn't turning around. Not this time.

"We're calling it the Connor Project."

With hindsight, he would come to realize that this was a terrible idea. If he'd just quieted the voice in his head, if he'd just let things drop, he would have lived a much better life. Heck, at the very least, he'd have lived.

Apologies for the short(er) chapter this time. I've had a bit of a block. Hopefully, I can get out of it and continue to write for you guys. Thanks for reading. Or, well, continuing to read.