"We can only keep our emotions bottled up for so long. Some day that bottle's gonna crack, and when it does.. all hell can break loose. Crying, screaming, god forbid - self-harm. You have to let your emotions out sooner or later."

Your mom chided that to you. You were certain it was a dumb phrase, as it never had much of an effect on you.

Bottling up emotions was how you stayed strong. It made you powerful. It made you feel like you were something. Something other than the broken parts you knew yourself to be.

Of course, you, even so, needed an outlet. A way to wordlessly let your emotions out. And this outlet not in the least failed you. Said outlet was the most relaxing thing you ever used.

Weed.

You didn't smoke it on a normal basis, like Connor. You instead got stoned (in your basement) when you felt particularly stressed. Or some other emotion. Because emotions suck.

The first time you smoked it, you felt as if you were watching yourself be high from up above. And it felt great.

(A/N: I DON'T CONDONE SMOKING WEED FOR ANYTHING OTHER THEN MEDICAL PURPOSES. PLEASE DON'T THINK I SMOKED WEED, I'M LOOKING UP WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE HIGH SO I CAN WRITE THIS CHAPTER. DON'T GET STONED PLEASE.)

You were still stressed from the day you had yesterday. I mean, who wouldn't feel stressed after getting sent to the guidance office? Truth be told, it didn't matter to you if the guidance counselor was nice as fuck. It was still nerve wracking!

You decided to get high. But for that, you'd need Connor. He had the weed, you had the blunts. Smoking weed was a type of two player game for you two.

_____

Connor was wholly lounging around at home. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and he didn't have any plans. He considered rubbing his nipples but decided that would be too odd of him for a Tuesday.

So there he was, lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had nothing to do and felt bored out of his freaking mind.

This was all before his phone started blasting 'its everyday bro.'

A smirk climbed onto his face. That was your ringtone, and he always kept you entertained.

"Greetings and salutations, (Y/N). How may I assist you on this fine afternoon?" Connor said into the phone.

"Cut the crap, Connor." You replied, playfulness in your tone.

"What do you want? I'm kinda busy here." Connor lied. He didn't know why, but it kinda happened.

"First of all, you're not busy. I legit see you in your window, right now."

The hairs on the back of Connor's neck stood up. Were you stalking him?

He peeked out his window and immediately noticed you standing on his lawn, looking up at him.

He smirked, then proceeded to answer you.

"Ah, so it appears. I'll be over soon."

"Farewell until then, asshole."

"See you soon, shithead."

Connor hung up the phone, and he grabbed the shopping bag he kept under his bed. The shopping bag full of weed.

Why else would you come to his house?

___

"Do you think that sand's called sand because it's between sea and land?"

"I dunno, Con. If money is the root of all evil, why do they ask for it at church?"

You were both high off your asses, in your basement, asking 'stoner questions.'

You felt a sense of euphoria and kept spacing in and out again.

The best possible turnout for a Tuesday afternoon! At least, for you.

Now you wouldn't have to bottle up emotions that had been created up to that day. Think of it like emptying a trash bin, or cleaning out a hard drive.

Meanwhile, Evan was sitting at home, writing his letter for the day. Sure, he had promised his mom he would do it at school, but things hadn't turned out the best that day.

He began writing.

Dear Evan Hansen,

Okay, I guess I won't lie to you. You already know everything about me.

Either way, today could have gone much better.

During biology, the teacher asked me to read a sentence on reproduction. That was bad enough as it is, but Kurt Kelly had to make it worse! He yelled out the worst thing. "If reproduction needs sex, what would that dweeb know about reproduction?" And everyone laughed. It was mortifying, I had to ask to be excused. I cried in the bathroom stall until lunch.

Lunch was a little bit better. Today (Y/N) sat next to me, and our hands brushed. I hope they didn't notice my face turning carnelian red. I have a hunch Jared did, though, since he asked me about it after lunch. I lied and said I had a fever. I know he most likely didn't believe me, but he ended up shrugging and walking away. I'm sure he'd tell (Y/N) I like them. Then id be completely ruined. Maybe then I would have to change my name and ride up to Seattle.

Evan smiled delicately at what he had written. When you two were kids, you would talk about where you would live when you got big. You always said Seattle. He never knew why, though.

You, of course, knew.

You wanted to go to Seattle because it's where your mom said your dad was. He was likely to be some deadbeat, but you didn't care. You only wanted to meet him, perhaps get some answers. But that wasn't important anymore.

Evan went back to his letter.

I still wonder why (Y/N) always wanted to go to Seattle when we were younger. Not as much as I'd like to know why they changed their mind to Florida a few years ago. Did something happen in Seattle? I've asked them about it, but they always said it was unimportant. I guess I'll ask Connor. He most likely knows something. I bet he knows lots of things about them.

Evan could feel himself start to feel jealous as he wrote about Connor. Why would he be jealous? Connor doesn't even like you!

Evan decided to close off his letter and settle down to make some food.

Well, I guess this concludes this letter.

Sincerely,

Your dearest and closest friend,

Me.

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