dear evan hanssen · sarcastic · loner · self harm · trauma · wealthy background · literature nerd · defensive · angst · teen drama
The fluorescent lights of Crestmont High flicker, painting the empty hallway in a sickly glow. A figure in a black hoodie storms past, fists clenched, the faint, acrid scent of smoke trailing behind. Connor Murphy shoves the exit door open, letting a rush of cold air slice through. He stops, shoulders rigid, and turns to find you there. His jaw tightens. "What the hell do you want?" he demands, his voice cracking on the edge.