#connormurphy

you still don’t know how it happened, how a forum conversation at 2 am turned into every night, how strangers became something closer than friends. sometimes you talk until dawn, about everything and nothing. sometimes you fall asleep to the sound of him breathing, soft and steady in your ear. you don’t ask for names. or photos. that’s the rule. it’s vague, and possibly strange, but it’s safe. you don’t say it out loud, of course. because this thing, this almost relationship, this secret corner of your life, doesn’t have room for a label like that. and what would it even mean, if you don’t know his face, can’t reach for his hand in the hallway, can’t find him in a crowd? but it still happens. you feel it when he laughs at something you say, when his voice drops quiet at night, like he’s telling you secrets. when he says, “i’m glad you exist,” with the kind of honesty that only accompanies sleep deprivation.

you meet connor murphy on a tuesday. not on purpose, not in a fairytale sort of way. he just gets transferred into your chemistry lab after a scheduling change. your TA calls out his name and he mumbles a response, taking the empty seat next to you with a quiet apology. he’s all messy hair and black hoodie and biting sarcasm. closed off, careful. doesn’t make much eye contact. the kind of guy you might’ve avoided in high school out of pure self preservation. but he’s smart - unexpectedly so. he mutters funny commentary under his breath and corrects the TA when she mislabels the compound. you don’t mean to like him, not really, but you do. and the worst part is, he reminds you of him, your voice on the phone. they have the same dry wit, same kind of sadness, quiet and bitter like old coffee. same soft moments that slip through the cracks when he thinks no one’s looking. you find yourself smiling when he texts you for lab notes, flushing when he leans over to explain something. wanting to know more. and then, at night, you still talk to him. your mystery boy, the one you can’t see but somehow know more intimately than anyone else. it splits something in you, honestly, festers into this growing, aching guilt.

one day, during lab, he laughs. really laughs, dry and sudden and kind of breathless, and it clicks. your blood turns to static, cold and strange in your veins, because you’ve heard that laugh before. at 3 am when you told him about your roommate sleepwalking, because he laughed just like that. like he forgot to be guarded. he’s explaining something to the girl next to him, hands moving like he’s trying to sketch the thought into the air, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, rings on three fingers. he says something, half sarcastic, half sincere, and it hits you all at once. it’s him. your mystery voice, your 2 am comfort, the boy you told your darkest thoughts to. the boy who doesn’t know what you look like. your heart races, constricts, and before you can process your own actions, you shove your notebook into your bag and stand up, fast enough to knock your chair sideways. “you okay?” he asks, brows furrowed. "forestfire," his forum username leaves your lips like a curse. "shit. wait-" you don’t answer, just speed walk out of there, straight back to your dorm. you hear him call your name, but it sounds all wrong coming from his mouth.

you miss his first call, then his second. then, the texts come. 'i'm sorry.' then, 'i swear i didn't know. please talk to me.' you turn your phone facedown and lie there staring at the ceiling like maybe it’ll collapse and bury the part of you that thought this would never happen. you liked him. well, both versions of him. now that the two worlds have collided, you don’t know how to feel about it. you skip class the next day. it was cowardly, you knew, and probably immature, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. he leaves you a voicemail at 9pm, his voice slightly shaky, "i don't know what to say. i don't want to make this worse. i just miss you, and i'm sorry, and i need you to believe that i had no idea. uhm, i guess that's it. call me back, please. okay, bye," your thumb hovers over the delete button, but you can't bring yourself to press it. finally, after hours of scrolling through old messages, you text him. 'i'm sorry i left. i just panicked, i guess. i liked not knowing, and i freaked out when that got taken away. i don't want to pretend it didn't happen.' he replies moments later, 'i get it. i'm scared too. can i see you?' 'yeah, sure. where?' 'that cafe off campus? i'm free after my 9am.' you hesitate, but picturing the look on his face when you left the room is all you need. 'see you then.'

he’s already there when you arrive, seated in a corner booth, dressed in a black hoodie with a to go cup in his hands. he looks up when you walk in, and his shoulders go still. you sit across from him, smile sheepishly. "hi," you murmur. "hi," he says back, quiet and gentle. you break the calm silence first, "i wasn’t supposed to know what you looked like," "i know," he nods, looking down at the table. "you weren't supposed to know what i looked like," "i know," he says again, glancing up at you, "does it ruin it for you?" he looks uncertain in a way that makes your chest ache. "no," you shake your head, "i guess that's part of the problem," his lips twitch into a tired half smile. "i liked you," you admit, "on the phone, in class. and now i don't know how to combine them," "yeah, me neither," he nods, biting at the inside of his cheek, "i didn't expect it to be you, but it makes sense, in a way. i felt like i knew you, even when i sat beside you that first day," he looks at you for a long time after that, soft and contemplative.

"i fell for your voice first," you say after a moment, "your words, the way i related to you. your face makes it so much worse," he laughs, breathy and loose, "why?" "you're just so much better up close," you say softly, "in real life. i don't know what to do with all these feelings," his eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes, tentative and slow before he leans in, "can i-" you don't let him finish, just close the space between you, pressing your lips to his. it's achingly familiar, like remembering a dream days after it passed. when you pull away, he’s breathless. "hi," he grins, voice quiet. "hi," you laugh softly, breath fanning against his face, "you're good at that," you walk side by side after the cafe, not saying much. your heart still races every time your shoulder brushes his, and his fingers keep twitching like he’s debating whether or not to reach for your hand. you don’t speak until you’re halfway across campus. he clears his throat softly, "do you want to come back to my dorm?" you glance at him, partially surprised, "yeah, okay," he lets out a breath he’d clearly been holding.

his dorm is quiet. small, dim, a little messy but not in a bad way. there's clothes on the floor, half full mugs. stacks of notebooks with drawings on the corners. it looks lived in, real, like him. he kicks off his shoes, then hovers awkwardly near the edge of his bed. you stay by the door for a second, unsure. "you can sit," he says, "or lay down, or leave. whatever you want," you give him a look, "i'm not leaving, connor," he gives a small, shy smile, then drops onto the bed with a heavy sigh. you follow, curling up beside him, not quite touching, but close. you both stare at the ceiling."you were always on the other side of a phone," you say quietly, "now you’re right here," he turns his head toward you, "it's weird, right?" "yeah," there's a slight pause. "good weird?" you smile slightly, "yeah. good weird," the silence settles again, softer this time. "you ever think," he says, voice low, "how strange it is that you can know someone better through a phone than you ever could in person? like, i told you the stuff i never even told my therapist, or my sister, anybody. and you didn't even know my name,"

he thought you were so gorgeous, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be outgoing, welcoming. he'd stumbled right back into old habits, all shy remarks and avoiding eye contact. but he forced himself back out of his shell, clearing his throat and welcoming you, making conversation like it was second nature.

"so how are you liking it so far?" he asked as he led you around the campus, pointing out all the important buildings, smiling to himself as you circled them on the brochure carefully. "oh, i'm from down south, actually. i just moved here a couple weeks ago and got settled," "yeah? that's cool," he nodded, listening intently, ever eager to learn more about you, "d'you like it so far?" you shrugged but smiled anyway, "i like it, it's just a bit different, yknow? but it's nice,"

as you walked, you learned all sorts of new things about each other; connor's major (cybersecurity), your hometown, his favorite classes, your favorite bands. eventually you'd run out of buildings to see, and hesitant as he was, he knew he had to let you go. "so i'll see you around then, yeah?" he smiled, hoping it would be sooner rather than later.

"yeah, i hope so," you nodded, smiling up at him, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, "thank you for showing me around, by the way. it was great to meet you, connor," you waved with two fingers and turned on your heel, and he knew then that he couldn't just 'see you around'.

"hey! uhm, if this isn't totally weird, could i get your number maybe? we could have dinner once you get comfortable," it came out all in a hurry, but he didn't even have time to be embarrassed before you were grinning over at him, passing him a small piece of paper with ten digits scrawled across it. "i wrote it earlier, i was hoping you'd ask," his smile widened at that, and he carefully tucked the note into his pocket, letting his fingers linger on the paper, "i'll call you, then,"

he spent more time at your house than his own, of course, always climbing through your bedroom window in a blur of long legs and his black hoodie.

he was short with nearly everyone else, bordering on mean, but he always had a soft spot for you. you were the only one he let truly know him, the only person he trusted enough to open up to about all the things that bothered him; his parents expectations, his struggles with his coursework, his inability to make friends.

the two of you spent all your time together, sneaking cigarettes on your walks home from school, staying up far too late talking about nothing. your parents practically took him in after a while, giving him a standing invitation to dinners with your family, but his knack for sneaking in never seemed to disappear.

he lived for the smile on your face as he looked up at you from the floor, the way you’d scold him with a laugh as he clambered inside your room, the way you’d help him up and dust off his clothes with more tenderness than anyone else ever allowed him.

he loved everything about your private little bubble, loved the way you shared headphones and clothes and snacks and really anything that could be shared. he loved how you annotated books for him to read after you, loved how you burned cds with songs you thought he’d like.

he started to think maybe he loved you a bit too much to just be your friend towards the end of high school. you’d started applying to colleges, and the thought of you leaving made him sick. he knew, realistically, that eventually you’d go on and do your own thing, but god, he so desperately wanted to be apart of whatever you decided to do with your life.

he wanted to share it with you, whatever it may be. he wanted to follow you to college, to walk around campus with you just like he did back home, to hold your hand during lectures and buy you coffee every morning.