Chapter Text
He felt absolutely pathetic, surveying himself in Evan’s dumb sweatshirt. Given Jared's shorter… curvier stature, the sweatshirt clung to his figure awkwardly and extended past his hips and fingertips. He anxiously rolled the sleeves mid-forearm and tugged the worn fabric up his thighs and settled it onto his hips, or, more accurately, his (for lack of a better term) muffin top.
Jared scowled at his reflection; at the way the fabric stretched itself across his shoulders and chest and bunched uncomfortably around his hips. He felt like a geeky, chubby toddler, and he certainly looked it from his cargo shorts to his ruddy cheeks. When Evan used to wear this sweater, he'd looked effortlessly cute-- handsome, even-- despite the inherent awkwardness that seemed to loom over him.
Jared clenched his jaw and turned away, pushing down the frustrated, self-conscious ickiness he felt rising in his stomach. Luckily, it was a Sunday, meaning he was completely free of his usual summertime obligations, such as his part-time job making snow cones in a hot-as-fuck shack perched beside the community pool, which meant he could feel as icky as he wanted all day long. As per usual, he found himself dicking around in his room-- trying on old clothes (Evan’s old clothes), mindlessly scrolling through twitter, programing shitty little websites he’d no doubt abandon, and, above all, staring at his ceiling and forcing white noise to flood his thoughts in place of the overwhelming homoerotic things his stupid, faggy mind was insistently spitting out.
Such as how tall and narrow Evan was in comparison to himself. The ill-fitting sweatshirt was only a reminder of the fact. Evan was built like a tree while Jared was like… an acorn.
I’d sure climb him like a tree, he thought. He took his glasses off and violently shoved the heels of his hands into his skull as though he could physically push the thought into the back of his mind. Once he felt properly tortured, he settled his glasses atop his face to glance up at the analog clock resting beside his bed. 4:37.
Jared quite literally rolled out of his twin bed and crawled across the floor (though the tight sleeves of the sweater restricted his movement to some degree) towards his window. Evan should be walking home from his apprenticeship tending to trees or whatever by now.
Jared liked watching him walk home. And, no, it wasn’t gay. There was nothing gay about… the affection one man might feel for another. It was just a family friend thing.
Sure enough, Evan soon rounded the corner and turned into his house, a humble little blue thing perched on the corner of their street, right beside Jared’s.
Jared watched him through the gap at the bottom of his window blinds. Evan tugged his backpack (what did he have to bring into work? A watering can? Weird.) and fumbled with his varied keychain. Jared knew what was in the bundle; firstly, the plastic cactus with a sparkly pink heart attached to it that read “BFF” in chipped white lettering. Jared had the hot pepper one pinned to his cork board.
The keychain also held a Mission Burrito membership card, an HEB card (he went grocery shopping for Heidi often), a key to Heidi’s car (which was seldom there), and an ugly, vinyl Lorax that Jared had bought him two years earlier. It wasn’t weird for Jared to know these things, of course. They were family friends.
What tied the keychain together, though, was a bright purple carabiner. Jared knew this feature well, as he’d often found himself staring at it as Evan nervously opened and closed the clasp in any social situation where he didn't have another distraction.
By the time Jared had finished taking a mental inventory of Evan’s niche keychains, the latter boy had appeared in his bedroom window, which was across from Jared’s. He was hanging his bag on the back of his door, which gave Jared enough time to stealthily maneuver himself against his wall, making it impossible on Evan’s end to catch him.
Why he did this, Jared didn’t know. Well. He kind of knew. It was the same reason he bought him a Lorax keychain in the first place and sometimes wore his old clothes. But it really didn’t matter.
Jared usually pried himself from the window once Evan had gotten into his room. He usually shut the blinds pretty quickly, anyways, but this time around, Evan hadn’t. And Jared hadn’t left.
And now Evan was peeling off his signature polo shirt. He was hot. Well— his skin was hot— like, sweaty hot. It was mid-June in fucking Texas and Evan refused to wear shorts when he tended to a literal forest— he obviously had to be hot. Of course. Jared wasn’t an idiot. He was just stating the facts— facts like Evan Hansen was hot, in the very literal sense of things.
Next came his socks which had little trees all over them. Seriously. Tree socks. Jared couldn’t make this up. And then the khakis. The stupid fucking khakis were coming off and—
Jared could literally not take it any longer. He took one glance at Evan’s plaid boxer shorts and felt his face turned bright red. He fell backward and scrambled towards his bed, feeling guilty. Dirty, even.
It’s not like it was on purpose. Or like he’d sat there and, God forbid, jacked off to him. It was just… embarrassing. It was embarrassing to see your best family friend take off his sweaty clothes and to find yourself frozen, just staring like an idiot. Why hadn’t he moved? Why was he still wearing his old, tight sweatshirt that was definitely sweaty now?
And so it hit him— that horrible realization finally dawned upon Jared— he liked it. All of it. All of him. This wasn’t exactly a new development, of course. He was a growing boy and after the second dream he’d understood there was definitely something a little not straight about how he thought of that Hansen, but now it wasn't just some physical thing.
Jared wasn’t just a horny teenager anymore. Oh, no— if if it was just that, he’d still be at his window right now watching his annoyingly attractive pale neighbor undress, but the painful truth was that Jared actually respected his privacy… How disgusting was that? Yeah. His fucking privacy.
For maybe the first time in his life, Jared was forced to accept that he wasn't just a horny teenager-- on the contrary, he was a lovesick teenager.
Sick was certainly the right word for how he was feeling.
The following day, Jared found himself Evan’s doing Spanish 3 homework. Jared definitely did not pretend to be bad at Spanish so he could go to Evan’s house to work on Monday’s and Wednesday’s. Absolutely not.
Jared loathed the way Evan leaned against him to point at the flaws in Jared’s terrible translation. From their shoulders to their elbows, they were skin-on-skin. Jared wondered if Evan could feel the embarrassingly prominent goosebumps along his sun-burnt arm.
“This is stupid. I’m never even gonna speak Spanish.” Jared mumbled.
“Well, you didn’t have to take it with me, you know,” Evan replied in a weak attempt to be snarky. This was true. Only two years of foreign language were required at their high school, thus Spanish 3 was an extra, online course that the two had decided to complete over summer. Evan’s dream botany college required three years, and, well, Jared never passed up the opportunity for some Evan time (Not that he’d admit it).
“My mom practically held me at gunpoint when she found out I could take another year. I don’t exactly count that as my choice.”
“O-oh. Sorry.” Jared snorted.
“For what?” Evan shrugged against him.
“I don’t know. Sorry that you have to do it with me, I guess.” Evan said, pitifully slouching his shoulders as though he could fold himself up.
If Jared wasn’t a pussy, this is what he would’ve done;
Jared turned to Evan, seizing his hands (which were large and calloused) in his own soft, considerably smaller ones.
“Evan,” he said, gazing into Evan's strikingly blue eyes, “you never have to apologize for spending time with me. Hell, you never have to apologize at all! If you spat on me, I’d probably like it. But like, no homo. Also I think I might love you.” Jared then leaned forward and tongued the fuck out of Evan Hansen as the latter gently held him in his comforting arms.
“Whatever. You’re lucky your mom’s paying my car insurance, Hansen.” Jared actually said. Evan furrowed his brow.
“But… I’m helping you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re arguing with me.”
“Oh… are we, are we arguing right now?” Evan nervously stammered back. Ever since the whole Conner Project incident, Evan tended to freak when he thought Jared might be upset with him. His fragile heart really couldn’t handle another “fuck you, Evan” without crumbling to pieces.
Jared spared him with a mere eye roll. “Just help me finish this clause, dude.”
“Sure, sure, yeah.” Evan responded, the relief evident in his tone. He leaned back into the shorter boy to explain his error (his completely real and not intentional error). Wow, his bicep felt kinda firm. Jared stared at it.
God, he was getting kind of strong. Stupid fucking tree apprenticeship. He looked more muscular than the previous night. Was that even possible? Can you get buff overnight?
“Jared, a-are you even listening right now?” Evan said, nudging him with his (toned) arm. Jared spluttered.
“No, yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Evan screwed his face up.
“You look warm,” he said, his voice softer and filled with a genuine worry.
“No shit, it’s hot.” Evan put on a pouty face. God damn it.
“What, do you wanna take my temperature, mom?” Evan practically slapped the back of his hand against Jared’s still-red face.
“Y-you’re kinda sweaty, but you’re also always sweaty, so.” Jared swatted his hand away, brushing his own hand against Evan’s bicep in the process (on accident with no ulterior motive). Wow, did he bench press trees or something, because what the fuck?
“God, shut up. It was probably just your sweaty hands that made my face seem sweaty, so, there.”
“I, I don’t think so. Look.” Evan swiped his palm up his neck, which made Jared jump.
“Jesus, what was that for—“ Evan shoved his hand in Jared’s face.
“Look. Sweaty.” Jared just stared at his palm, at a complete loss of what he was supposed to do now. Touch Evan's palm? Is that what he wanted?
“O-kay. Can we move on please?” Jared really wanted this whole Evan-touching-his-sweaty-body thing to be over, and immediately.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Clause 2, right?"
"Uh, yeah. Clause 2." God, Jared thought. Spanish 3 might just kill him.
After a few months of the same routine, a singular day stood out from the rest. The second Jared stepped through the threshold of Evan’s bedroom, Evan bounded to his feet. His socks were mismatched. He never mismatched his socks.
“Jare!” He cried. Right off the bat, he sounded terribly congested and… delirious, maybe? Evan hadn't called him “Jare” since maybe the third grade.
And then he hugged Jared. Even though he was kind of… sticky, Jared’s chest swelled with warmth. He despised his affectionate knee-jerk reaction to Evan’s touch (though it was certainly the preferred reaction over a boner or whatever).
“Ooo-kay, bud. Let’s just, uh, sit, ‘kay?” Jared said, pulling away from Evan, who was still grinning like a maniac.
“Sure, Jare. Lead the way.” For a moment, Jared just stood there staring at his (obviously insane) friend. Lead the way? His bed was, like, a foot away. Nonetheless, Jared took him by his clammy wrist and sat him down.
“Are you sick?” Evan giggled at Jared’s question. (Literally GIGGLED. Like a flirtatious teenage girl.)
“You’re observant.”
“It’s… really not hard to tell, Evan.” Evan pouted.
“Are you saying I look bad?” Under regular circumstance, Jared would’ve just teased Evan’s insecurity in response to his stupid comment, but Jared knew he was terribly out of it and would probably break down in a moment’s notice. Sick Evan tended to do that.
“‘Course not. You look, uh, handsome.” He tried to keep his tone light, but his throat seemed to constrict on the last syllable. Thank God Evan probably wouldn’t remember most of this.
To follow that uncomfortable statement, Evan giggled (AGAIN) and placed a cold, clammy hand on the inside of Jared’s elbow.
“You can be so sweet sometimes, Jare.” Jared was, to say the least, gobsmacked. He simply nodded, eyes wide.
“But, yeah, I AM sick, but I didn’t wanna cancel on you!”
So maybe Evan was a little touchy. And sniffly. And pale. Jared would still be able to function, of course. Then Evan snuggled into his side.
Jared bristled. Was this some kind of a joke? Was Evan actually making fun of him?
“Evan. What are you doing?” Evan smiled up at him.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re cute Jare?” There was no fucking way this wasn’t a joke. Jared suddenly prickled, shaking the feverish blond off his chest. Evan frowned.
“Did I say something wrong…?” His voice was laced with guilt, but Jared hardly cared now. He scrambled to throw his backpack back over his shoulders as he sat up, heading for the door.
“It’s-- it doesn’t matter. I’m calling your mom. You’re sick.” Jared’s mind was reeling a mile a minute. How had he been found out? He was so careful-- he hadn’t even called them friends! How could he have been any more careful than that?
True to his word, Jared had marched home and called Heidi.
"Jared?"
"Hi. Evan is like, uh, super sick." Heidi cursed on the other end.
"I can't come back for another...5 hours. Damn it. Do you think he'll be fine for that long?" Evan would probably accidentally kill himself given two hours alone in his current state. Jared sighed because he knew what he was doing to say.
"I can... I'll go watch him for you. I'm sure he'll be okay with me for a while." Heidi let out a sigh of relief.
"Oh, Jared, you're a saint. Thank you so, so, much, um-- I'll be back as soon as I can, alright? Call if you need anything! Tell him I love him, okay?" Jared was absolutely not going to do that.
"Uh, yeah, sure thing. I'll see you in... 5 hours?"
"Yes! Again, thank you so much, Jared, I'm so glad Evan's got someone like you... Um, I'll try to call again before I come home. The medicine is in the kitchen cabinet. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"Sure, uh, no prob--" Heidi hung up.
So. He was stuck for 5 hours with a feverish, affectionate Evan Hansen. What could go wrong?
Jared buried his face in his hands. He was so fucked.