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Save Me From Myself

Chapter 14

Summary:

Evan is an idiot, and this was a bad idea. 

Notes:

Hello buddies, pals and chums! We're back!!!

Hope you enjoy this chapter - it's been a while since I've worked on this collab and I've missed it! So I had a lot of fun writing this part :))
As always, comments give us LIFE. You can also drop us a line on Tumblr! @theyellowestmustard and @c-e-c-r-o-p-i-a

<3 Mustard xox

(No TW that I can think of! You should be safe to proceed!)

Chapter Text


 

 

This was a bad idea.

 

Evan is an idiot, and this was a bad idea. 

 

Evan should have anticipated this, honestly. Most of Evan's ideas are bad ones. But usually when Evan has a bad idea that he puts into action, it's like. At the expense of his own dignity. Not somebody else's.

 

He should've had the book waiting and ready by the door. So he could just jump out of Connor's car, dart inside, throw it in Connor's general direction and go back to being a shut-in like he's good at.

 

He should've just brought the goddamn book to school in the first place, Jesus fuck what the fuck is wrong with him?

 

'You want the full laundry list?' spits a vicious little voice from the furthest recess of Evan's brain. 'Because we'll be here a while.'

 

 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

 

 

"Forgetting" the book.

 

 

In some fucking cheesy, syrupy fantasy conjured up god-knows where, Connor would show up at Evan's, completely forget about the book because Evan is Such Excellent Company, make himself at home on the couch while they watch movies and play video games, stay for dinner with Evan and his mom, then hang around with Evan until two in the morning while they express their deepest darkest secrets to each other.

 

Because apparently Evan's gotten his definition of friendship from the fucking Disney Channel.

 

 

Evan's realization that This Was A Bad Idea first started to kick in when he got into Connor's car.

 

The uneasy silence was Evan's fault. He's sure of it. He could've said something, should've said something, even just a "what's up?" or a "thanks for the ride" or just... something

 

Not just a pathetic little squeak of "hi" and then nothing else. 

 

Connor watched him. He watched him the entire trip, Evan's almost positive; he kept feeling the distinct crawl of eyes over his skin like spider-legs. Creeping from his hairline down his neck and back again, furtive and sneaky, straining from the corners of Connor's peripherals.

 

Evan had stared straight ahead and done his best to ignore it.

 

And hoped he didn't have, like. Food on his face or visible sweat on his upper lip.

 

He'd heard Connor's mouth open a few times; the soft click of a tongue and a shallow intake of breath like he was about to say something.

 

But he never did.

 

Not until they were just about at Evan's driveway.

 

"This one?" Connor had asked softly.

 

Evan only just managed to choke out a "yeah-this-is-it" before his voice cracked.

 

Which was the second indicator that This Was A Bad Idea.

 

God, what the fuck is wrong with him?

 

Things had been going smoothly. Better than smoothly; they were going well. Evan had a friend, and things were going well, and now things are no longer going well because Evan expects way too much from people, obviously. Couldn’t he have just...been satisfied with texting? Like, Evan sucks at eye contact and natural hand gestures and breathing at the right points in long sentences anyway. Why the fuck did he want a face-to-face thing to even happen?

 

He vaguely wonders if it’s some sort of self-sabotage.

 

He wouldn’t put it past himself.

 

 

Connor pulls into Evan’s driveway. He drives way more slowly and carefully than Evan would’ve expected from him, and he can’t help but wonder if Connor handles a car differently when he’s alone. The tires scatter the broken-up asphalt, and Evan uses the sound to mask an awkward clearing of the throat.

 

And then it’s quiet.

 

Fuck.

 

 

“Um--” says Evan, too loud, right as Connor goes “So--”, too softly. It almost gets swept away under Evan’s stupid voice, but Evan’s too hyper-aware not to catch it and he snaps his mouth shut and stupidly gestures for Connor to talk first.

 

The corner of Connor’s mouth twitches up in amusement. 

 

Evan’s sweating.

 

 

“So,” Connor says again, pitched up in a way that’s almost casual but a little too tightly-wound to be convincing. “The, uh. The book?”

 

"Yeahrightokay," says Evan, which makes Connor's mouth twitch even more. He presses his lips together into this thin white line, like he's trying to hold back laughter, and it makes his eyes brighten and his chin go all dimply.

 

 

And.

 

 

And Evan is looking way too closely at Connor's face why is he doing that he should probably stop that it's getting weird it's getting really weird--

 

" D-do you wanna come? In?" says Evan, and immediately feels his entire head turn red-hot when he realizes where his dumbass brain has decided to pause.

 

 

Jesus Christ .

 

 

“Uh,” says Connor, and his voice is openly wobbling with laughter now, the swallowed-back giggles cutting through the tension in the car like a hot knife through butter. "Uh, sure, but. Uh. Only if you don't mind me leaving a mess...age for my parents first?"

 

 

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Connor's filthy fucking joke to sink in.

 

Like. Way too long. Evan just sits there in expressionless silence, his brain ticking like a goddamn grandfather clock until his internal monologue finally goes ...oh my god.

 

Connor waits in silence too. His lips are still pursed to hold back a giggle, but there’s a little hesitance around his eyes. Like he's not sure if he's gone too far.

 

 

And then, in a moment completely beyond Evan's control, Evan goes "PFFTTT--"

 

 

It's almost a raspberry, the way the air is pushed past Evan's lips, abruptly loud and messy, and then Evan is giggling wildly with burning cheeks and hot, watery eyes, and Connor is laughing right along with him; these uncontrollable giggles that bubble out like Connor's spent years trying to hold them back. Evan gasps out an "Oh my god," and Connor goes "Sorry, that was terrible," through his own enormous grin, and Evan just shakes his head, pressing his palms against the edges of his smile like he's trying to push it back into submission. 

 

It takes them a few minutes to calm down. They breathe, little giggly breaths, and they don't look at each other, because this whole thing is still, like. Awkward as fuck. Because they're only kind-of friends, kind-of hanging out for the first time, kind-of, and Evan's got no idea whether Connor also feels like they've known each other all their lives or if that's just a weird vibe that's completely one-sided. 

 

 

And also Connor just made an orgasm joke. 

 

 

But the worst of the tension has dissipated. Which is a start.

 

 

Connor collects himself first, turning to Evan and finally looking him in the eye, which immediately makes Evan feel squirmy because, like. Eye contact. 

 

"Okay but in actual answer to your question though, yeah? I'd be down to come in for a bit?" 

 

"Okay," Evan breathes, and Connor goes "Cool," and then they're slamming car doors and walking up Evan's driveway and heading into Evan's house.

 

 

And it's only then, only once they're inside and the door is closed behind them, once they've kicked off their shoes and Connor's gazing curiously around Evan's living room like he's taking it all in, that the silence returns. Like they've turned to a new page in a book, a blank one, and it feels like they're right back to square one and Evan has no idea what to say. Like...should he offer to give Connor a tour? Should he sit on the couch and hope that Connor sits too? Maybe he should offer Connor something to drink, or invite him up to his room - only Evan's not sure how to phrase that without it sounding like…like something else.

 

It's weird having a kind-of friend.

 

The book. Maybe Evan ought to just...focus on the book. That's the reason Connor came, after all. 

 

Maybe it would be best if he just gave him the book and got him the hell out of here before Evan gets the chance to fuck everything up.

 

 

"The book," Evan says, numbly, because he's suddenly just desperate to fill the silence. "The book's in my room. I'll just…"

 

 

And without even bothering to finish the thought Evan scurries out of the room, head down and palms sweating, and takes the stairs two at a time. 

 

 

Get the book.

 

Get him out.

 

End this before you make it any worse.

 

 

The good thing is that Evan knows exactly where the book is. It's in easy access, right on his nightstand, which is close to the bedroom door. He could probably grab it and be back downstairs within thirty seconds, tops.

 

 

The bad news is that Evan hadn't counted on being followed.

 

 

He feels his breathing quicken and his shoulders stiffen the moment he hears Connor's boots climbing up the stairs right behind him, and he forces himself to keep going and feign nonchalance even though he's suddenly hit with an electric burst of nerves. 

 

 

Fuck, what if his meds are in full view on his nightstand? What if he's left his pajamas on his bed? What if he's forgotten to close his underwear drawer?

 

 

Evan shuffles into his bedroom and gives the space a frantic once-over. 

 

Thankfully, he doesn't spot a single one of his 'what ifs'. 

 

He grabs the book, and is just about to shove it blindly in Connor's direction, when Connor kind of...steps right past him, moving cautiously into Evan's space and glancing around with a kind of hesitant interest. 

 

Evan, rather robotically, takes a step back and lets him. 

 

Waits for the verdict. 

 

Waits for Connor to find something weird or embarrassing or…

 

"Wow, that's--" murmurs Connor, in low bemusement. "That's a lot of blankets." 

 

Evan's eyes fly to his bed, even though he already knows what it looks like. Connor's right; there's a sheet and a quilt and a zipped-open sleeping bag and also like five fucking blankets all piled up on Evan's bed, and Evan hadn't stopped to consider that yeah, that's probably not a thing that normal people do. 

 

"Um," says Evan.

 

"Do you just get, like, super cold at night, or…?"

 

Connor's looking at him curiously, his face open and honest without a hint of judgement, or the snide little jabs he's used to seeing form on Jared's face before he voices them, and Evan's not sure why but he opens his mouth and just--

 

"It's more a, uh-- a weight thing? It's, uh. I have trouble sleeping sometimes. Y’know...the, uh--the duck with insomnia? And it's--it's one of the only things that helps."

 

Ordinarily, Evan supposes this would be one of those moments where he'd immediately regret saying anything, because who the fuck opens up about their anxiety-induced insomnia with someone who's just barely a casual acquaintance? But the thing is Connor doesn't give him a chance to regret it, because his expression doesn't falter, not even a little bit, and he nods and softly goes, "Yeah, that's...yeah. I, uh. Tried a weighted blanket once but wasn't really into it? But, uh. I do get. What that's like, y'know?" 

 

And Evan is so taken aback by this, by Connor's quiet, shaky honesty, that he doesn't know what to say, he just... stands there like the useless idiot he is, and the silence swells and thickens and bloats and it's awful and then Connor blurts out, "Sorry, by the way."

 

And Evan's not sure which is more surprising; Connor's apology or the fact that it's Connor who’s tried to fill the uncomfortable silence.

 

"W-why, though, what do you mean?"

 

"Just," says Connor, on a frustrated sigh. "I didn't mean to make it about me. I'm...a dick like that. And also, just...sorry that you can't sleep? That's...that really sucks."

 

"Oh," says Evan. "I didn't, um. Didn't think that's what you were doing? It's... sometimes it's nice to, like. Commiserate with someone? Not that I want you to never sleep or anything, that's not-- I just mean--"

 

"I get it," Connor says.

 

 

And for whatever reason, Evan doesn't feel like he's saying it just to shut Evan up.

 

 

Connor wanders around Evan's room in silence, walking an aimless, teetering lap. It should feel invasive, but it doesn't - though admittedly Evan's still afraid of Connor finding something about Evan he hates, some little detail revealed through his knickknacks and books and piles of clothes. Evan stands, still clutching the book in one sweaty hand, waiting for Connor to take the lead; desperately hoping Connor knows more about normal human interaction than he does.

 

 

"Hey, you've been holding out on me," Connor pipes up from where he's hovering over Evan's desk, and Evan almost trips in his hurry to see what Connor's talking about.

 

He's peering down at a few scattered pieces of paper; not touching anything, just looking at what's on the surface. Drawings, all of them; ones Evan had done when Connor had been Book-keeper. It's Evan's usual; nature bullshit, only on one particular sketch he'd gone for way more detail than normal. It's a cluster of hyacinths in all different colors, sketched in bright Crayola pencils, with every last petal fleshed out. Evan had been playing around with using reference photos, and had done his best to capture the image exactly right. He's actually pretty proud of it. It's one of the best he's ever done.

 

"Oh, that," Evan stammers. "It's--it's not even that good, really."

 

"Shut up," says Connor plainly. "Don't do that. It's good. Own it."

 

"I... I guess it's...not bad?" 

 

 

Connor rolls his eyes.

 

Evan's stomach drops.

 

 

"There's a difference between being humble and being blind. You don't have to, like. Do that, you know?"

 

 

Evan knows. 

 

He gets it.

 

But he just. Can't.

 

 

"Well, um. Thank you? I, uh. Appreciate that you think it's good because you're like, a really good artist and you could probably do way better than this and--"

 

"You think I could do better? " Connor says, sounding baffled, almost annoyed . "Nothing of mine even comes close to this, are you kidding?"

 

"That's--that's not true at all--"

 

"Oh yeah? Gimme a pencil."

 

 

It doesn’t strike Evan as odd, at the time, that Connor is challenging him as to who is the worst artist. He simply does as he’s told, fumbling around at his desk and passing Connor a pencil and a sheet of paper, and Connor sinks into Evan’s desk chair and silently begins to sketch.

 

 

“You should draw something too,” Connor mumbles, deep in concentration. “Don’t just stand there watching me, you’ll make me fuck it up.”

 

“Right,” Evan gasps. “Right, sorry…”

 

 

Evan sits on the edge of his bed, opens the book that’s still clenched tightly in his hand, and starts mindlessly re-drawing his hyacinth picture from memory, too wound-up to find the inspiration to draw anything else.

 

 

It’s quiet, and a little tense. Evan hears every drag of pencil on paper, every shift of Connor’s weight in the chair, practically hears each bead of sweat as it collects in the back of his neck. And yeah, he also hears, in his head, all the ways this afternoon has gone completely wrong; ‘don’t just stand there watching me’, and ‘do you wanna come’ and long, dragging pauses; endless and unpleasant.

 

 

But Connor is sitting at Evan’s desk. And they’re drawing together.

 

Kind-of.

 

And it doesn’t seem like Connor completely hates him just yet.

 

Connor is still Evan’s kind-of friend.

 

 

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.