i hate the way i ended this story when i wrote it before. so, on that note... here's a fix-it chapter!

(just like what y'all reddie shippers are doing with It chapter two. i see you.)

slight trigger warning ⚠️

***

"Jared?"

His eyes shot open the moment he felt those cold finger touch his sides. Like canons, the relief was shot into his stomach, filling it back up with the serotonin he was missing out on before.

Evan Hansen was looking into his eyes with a concerned, yet tired expression. Jared sat straight up, feeling weak, yet more alive than ever before. the tears didn't cease movement, rather they sped up, dry sobs escaping his lips as he pulled his boyfriend into a bone-crushing hug.

The other did not reciprocate right away, but brought himself to slide his lanky arms around Jared's waist after a few seconds of stunned silence. His binder was off and his breasts were pressed against Evan's small figure, but that was out of mind. Evan couldn't help but become more scared than concerned now, and attempted to calm his boyfriend down by pressing light kisses into the crook of his neck.

Eventually, the sobbing stopped, and instead were replaced with small sniffles. "What time is it?" Jared croaked out, his voice straining against his throat. Evan brought his face away from Jared's neck to scan his eyes around the room, landing on a clock.

"Four am," He responded quietly, while his boyfriend slowly slid away from Evan's arms. Jared's eyes, the fucking beautiful brown eyes that Evan fell in love with, were sparkling with tears and silent apologies.

(i'm thinking too much again.)

"I didn't mean to wake you," Jared said, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his hoodie. "It was just a nightmare."

Jared did have nightmares often, but never anything this dark. He'd fall asleep with the thought of something scary in mind and end up with a dream about something terrifying. It was a flaw he's always had, even as a child.

He remembers waking up in a cold sweat after a nightmare and walking his short legs over to his parents room. Five year old Jared wouldn't knock, instead just opening the door slowly and hearing the satisfying creaking that emitted from it. He would slowly crawl into his parent's bed, right beside his mother, and curl up into her side. She would wake and look down at her son (daughter, at the time), but wouldn't move a muscle.

He was too young to understand it, anyways. It would be a repeat cycle, every night, until he got old enough to stay in his bed. Then, his relationship with his dad got worse, and he'd have nightmares about him instead of the creepy clowns or the zombie-like lepers. A belt, sometimes, would be the villian's weapon. other times it would be something more trivial, like an axe or a hammer.

Maybe it was because of the vintage horror movies he'd watch with his father, the ones with the man chasing his wife around with an axe or the ones with creepy old women using a hammer to break a human's ankles. Or maybe it was the fear that something alike would happen to himself, and as soon as that theory emerged as a belief, was when the nightmares got worse.

"I don't want to go back to sleep." Jared said quietly, after a few seconds of thought. Evan nodded respectfully, and the wish to keep what the contents of the nightmare were was a mutual thought. Maybe Evan wanted to hear what happened, but there's also the possibility that Jared wasn't ready to speak.

(how my life will end.)

So, they took a break. Listened to the front door as it creaked open, and then finally stepped outside. Maybe, that's the beauty of unspoken words. The cold wind that nips at your skin as you walk around in the nighttime atmosphere, the sound of dried grass and leaves crunching under your bare foot, they're so beautiful alone, but the fact that nobody cares to bring it up in conversations is even more beautiful- because we all come to the same conclusion.

The conclusion that some things are better left unsaid, and will be said when the speaker is ready. Like a storybook, the words on the page are there, but they're never spoken about until the book is closed and sent in to be published. That's how it felt, as Jared waited for his mind to carefully process what happened in the dream, his favourite boy by his side.

Connor was at home as well, either awake and smoking on top his roof or asleep under his covers- both ways mean the same thing, and that is that he is safe, protected, and away from harm.

Fuck thoughts. Too complicated to express, yet too loud to keep hidden. The whispers we wish we could silence are always the ones that have to be acted on.

Jared has never had a nightmare worse than the one about his boyfriend taking a bullet, and the one where he selfishly left his only other friend in the dark.

But the loneliness has now ceased.

i have to live tomorrow.

I don't wanna live tomorrow.

905 words.

the official end of this old book is now. March of 2019 - March of 2020.

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