#through the window

You think you see him everywhere. The face of the boy that you used to spend so many nights with. It’s never him, though, you know that for sure, because you haven’t seen him in almost ten years. And you’re sure that he still doesn’t have that same baby face that used to have girls swooning. Yourself included, although you’d never tell anyone that.

You fell out of touch when you both left Pennsylvania. As much as you didn’t want to leave him, you couldn’t turn down your dream of studying in your dream field, especially when the opportunity was at UCLA. 

You wanted to keep in touch, but as the weeks went by, it felt more and more weird to reach out. You thought that he had probably forgotten all about you now that you weren’t right next door.

You were around five or six when you saw him for the first time; you knew there was a boy around your age living next door, but you never spoke to him. Your parents weren’t friends, so you never really had any reason to interact with each other.

You’d heard of him, of course, he was your next-door neighbour, and you weren’t a stranger to seeing him outside on his bike, or his skateboard, or climbing trees and getting hurt. You also weren’t a stranger to hearing the yelling coming from his house when his parents were home; it always seemed to be aimed at him, and although it never seemed to really bother him, you’re sure that it did. 

It wasn’t until you were sixteen that you had actually met him.

It was late at night when you saw him trying to sneak back into his house through his bedroom window, but evidently, when he left through the front door earlier that night, he had forgotten to make sure he unlocked his bedroom window. 

He could see the dull flicker of light coming from the living room and knew that his father was on the couch watching tv, as he quite often does when he can’t sleep, and knew that there was no way he could come back in through the front door. 

He stood at the side of his house with his hands on his hips, mentally going over every single one of his, most likely dangerous, options; not that he cared if it meant not getting caught, when you opened your own bedroom window. He seemed harmless enough, and you didn’t want him to have to sleep outside, or be on the receiving end of another yelled lecture by his father. 

It was probably a stupid idea if you were to think about it today; inviting a teenage boy into your room that you hardly knew while your parents slept in the next room, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, or get into further trouble with his parents, not when you could help it.

“Hey!” you whisper-yelled, your voice cutting through the quiet spring air and reaching Evan’s ears. He turned quickly, squinting and looking around until he saw you, illuminated by the lamp from your bedside table, and he raised a hand in an awkward wave.

You beckoned him over with a hand, and he crossed the lawn and was at your window in a second, his head tilted curiously to the side while his eyes studied your face. He knew who you were; your name, who your family was, but you had different friend groups, so your paths never crossed enough for him to learn any more. You had the upper hand in that regard; you knew his family, and who his friends were, and the fact that he was the football star at your school, but you were relatively invisible every day at school. Most of all to people like him.

“Locked out?” you ask with a soft smile as he leaned against the side of your house. He took a split second to let his eyes trail down your body, and then his eyes were back on your face. He’d never really looked at you, but right now, he found you pretty. You had a soft figure, and the warm light of your lamp made your plump cheeks and your kind eyes even more beautiful to him. At that moment, he wondered why he had never noticed you at school.

“The one part of my plan that I didn’t think through,” he said with a shrug. He was smiling at his own stupidity, but you could tell that he was slightly embarrassed, too. 

Without another word, you stood back up straight and took a few steps back, allowing him enough room to get in through your window.

“You can sleep here tonight; go back early when he’s gone back to bed,” you told him, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to both shield yourself from the cool breeze coming in through the window, and to somehow make yourself look smaller. He’s on the football team, for god’s sake, you’re half sure that he’ll make up some excuse because you’re not one of the girls that anyone in his friend group seems to go for. Not that you were offering him anything more than the floor of your room and a pillow. But, still.

He looked at you like you’ve just said the most outlandish thing for a moment, his eyes still working to learn as much about you as he can as you stand there expectantly. Your crossed arms make it look like you’re angry with him, but there was also a gentleness in your eyes; it looks like you want to help him, so, finally, he climbed in through your window. 

He almost toppled over on the way, his back foot catching on the window sill, but then he steadied himself, rose up to his full height and looked down at you.

He was taller than he looked from afar, and for a second, your eyes widened in surprise, but then you took a step back and turned to grab a pillow and blanket from your bed. Despite his brow raised in confusion, he took the pillow and blanket from your outstretched hands, his feet glued to the floor as he waited for your lead.

“What, are you gonna take the bed and make me sleep on the floor?” you asked sarcastically, a smile making its way onto your face as it finally dawned on him. Of course he wasn’t going to sleep in your bed with you. That would be weird.

You settled back into your bed while he took his shoes and hoodie off and then set up his pillow and blanket. When you saw how uncomfortable he looked, you sighed and threw the rest of your blankets at him, telling him to layer them under him so he’s not just sleeping on your carpet.

He did so without a word, and when you’re both finally settled, you turned off your lamp and let darkness surround you. 

It helped to lessen the tension, at least, not that you were tired anymore. But all you could hear is your own breathing as you try not to focus on the boy laying on your floor. You’re not sure what came over you when you invited him in, but when you think about the yelling you’d no doubt hear if his parents found him trying to sneak in, and the reckless thing he’d decide to do that was sure to follow, you’re glad that you did. At least now you know that he’s safe, although you’re not sure why you care so much.

“Where do you go?” you asked softly after a few minutes of silence, Evan’s breathing being an indicator that he also wasn’t asleep yet.

“What?” he replied in a whisper, just barely able to hear your voice through the volume of his own thoughts. His eyes were travelling around your room, taking in all of your knick knacks and photos using the shred of light shining in from the street lamps lining the road outside your window.

“You sneak out a lot. Where do you go?” you clarified. He shrugged as he let out a long sigh, and then when he remembered that you can’t see him, he answered.

“Anywhere else. Sometimes I go to my friend's house. Sometimes I just walk around.” Your heart clenches in your chest at the idea of him walking around town in the middle of the night because his home, the place he’s supposed to be the most at ease, is so terrible. 

“Why?” you heard yourself ask before you could stop the word from slipping out. You knew that it technically wasn’t your business, but you couldn’t help but be curious. You’d met his parents briefly, and nothing obvious stuck out to you that would make them so bad. They were teachers.

“Anything is better than that house,” he replied simply, his eyes frozen on the ceiling and his face lacking any emotion. 

Your frown deepened, and you sat up on one of your elbows, then leaned over just enough so that you could see the outline of Evan’s face on your floor.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and you could make out the movement of his eyes with what little light filters in from the street lights. His gaze met yours, and he shrugged again, although he felt his chest warm with the idea that you cared about him, even a little bit.

“It’s not your fault.” 

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes softening further while your mouth hung open slightly as you tried to find the right words.

“I know, but-” you began, then sighed, shaking your head, “I’m sorry.” No other words felt right for the situation. It’s not like you could push any further; he didn’t seem to want to explain anything to you, so you left it at that. Because you were sorry. From what you’ve seen, he seemed like a good guy, and your chest felt tight as you thought about him having troubles at home so bad that they led to him having to sleep on a stranger's floor.

“Thanks,” he whispered after a moment, giving you a soft smile. He liked how you made him feel, and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel safe in there with you, even if he was on the floor. He wondered if that was what it felt like to have people who actually care for you all the time, not just when you hurt yourself.

“Good night,” you whispered, returning the smile before laying back down. 

“Good night.”

“Evan, you can’t keep breaking bones. Pretty soon you won’t be able to sneak out of your house and climb through my window,” you said with a quiet laugh when you saw the cast on his arm. 

He’d been sneaking into your house for months, and while you weren’t actually mad at him, you wished that he would take better care of himself. You found a friend in him, as infuriating as he was sometimes, and you didn’t want to not hang out with him for a few weeks just because he did something stupid and got himself hurt.

You rolled your eyes when the somewhat defeated expression crossed his face and he gave you a shrug, and all you could do was shake your head. 

“Why can’t you just let me in through the front door?” he asked, his lips turning into a playful pout. 

“Because, my dad would kill you if he knew you were here,” you began with a raised brow, giving him a knowing look, “and I know you. You couldn’t be quiet even if your life depended on it.” 

He laughed at your words, and raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck, then shrugged again, looking past you and into your room.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever. Let me in.”

You stepped to the side and let him climb through your window, his actions a little awkward with one unusable arm, but once he was in, he instantly felt better. And you did, too. He always felt so calm in your room, your four pale blue walls allowing him to feel a type of safety and love that he’d never felt under his parent’s roof before. Especially with his sister gone to Boston. Your presence helped, too, but he wasn’t ready to think about that. For all he knew, you were just being nice to him because you felt bad for him. 

You both slept in your bed that night; you didn’t want to make him sleep on the floor with his broken arm, and you weren’t about to sleep on the floor, either. 

You both laid on your sides facing each other, talking and laughing until sunrise, and although you regretted it a little bit when you had to go to school the next day without sleeping at all that night, you and Evan seemed closer after that.

He slept in your bed almost every night, which caused some fights when he rolled onto your side in the middle of the night and stole all of your blankets, but they were quickly forgotten in the morning when he snuck back out of your window and went back to his house. You enjoyed having him at your house so often, even if you barely interacted at school.

You had different friend groups, and it seemed weird to see each other outside of your bedroom, so neither of you ever bothered to try to interact at school. It made your friendship seem more special, anyway; it was something that was only for you two. Your conversations and the secrets you shared would never be heard by anyone else because you two were the only ones awake at two in the morning to hear them.

“I’m going to UCLA,” you whispered late one night, the only sound in your room being the soft sound of crickets coming in through your cracked window and you and Evan’s breathing as you lay facing each other in your bed.

“You’re what? Why?” he replied, sitting up on his elbow and looking down at you with furrowed brows. You furrowed your brows as well, sitting up and looking at him with a confused expression.

“Because we’re graduating in a couple months. I got into the program I told you about. It’s at UCLA,” you explained as if it was obvious, because for you, it was. That was always the plan, and he knew that.

“Oh, right. Congrats.” It was as if he deflated when he processed your words, sitting up beside you. Of course you were going to college. He just spent so long hoping that, for some reason, things would stay the same forever, that he had actually started to believe it.

“Thanks,” you replied, sitting up beside him and studying him as he looked down at his hands and fidgeted with them in his lap, “have you been to California?”

“Me? No- no, I haven’t,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes down. He couldn’t look at you. He was afraid that if he saw the sadness in his eyes, he’d have to talk about it, or worse, that you wouldn’t care. And he couldn’t handle the thought of you not caring about him as much as he thought you did.

“I’ve heard it gets, like, really hot in the summer there, way hotter than here. But I guess it’ll be okay if they don’t get snow in the winter,” you said, trying to lighten the mood as Evan lays back down beside you, now staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s good,” he replied, although you could immediately see that he hadn’t registered a single thing that you had said.

“Evan?” you urged, leaning your head forward slightly in hopes of getting him to actually look at you.

“What?” He blinked quickly, taking any emotion out of his face. He tried not to think about not being able to see you. Not being able to spend time with you like this. It hurt.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, your eyes full of guilt, and he hated it. It dawned on him then that he didn’t want to hold you back, as much as it sucked for him. He knew how important this was to you, and he didn’t want to make it all about him.

“I’m fine. All good,” he reassured you, clearing his throat as he shrugged your concern away. He tried to smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he kept his voice void of any emotion.

“You don’t seem fine. What’s going on?” you pressed as you noticed the way his brows furrowed just slightly. The good thing about being so close to him most nights is that you grew good at reading every little expression. That, and you learned that he’s never been that good at hiding his emotions, either way.

“It’ll just be weird not having you here,” he said simply, shrugging again.

Your heart clenched in your chest as he tried to brush the conversation off. You didn’t think he’d be this upset about it, and a small part of you wanted to tell him that you’d stay. For him. One of the only things holding you back here was him, and even though you knew it wouldn’t necessarily make a difference in your decision to leave other than making it harder, you wanted him to beg you to stay. To show you how much he cared.

“Well, aren’t you going to college, too?” you asked. Maybe if you talked about his plans, he’ll get excited too.

“Yeah, community college. 20 minutes away,” he said with a huff, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just thought that with your parents, you’d-” you began, your lips turning down into a frown.

“Don’t apologize. I’m happy for you. I know how much you wanted to get into that program,” he tried to backtrack, shaking his head and looking back over at you, still sitting up beside him. He was happy for you, he really was, and he didn’t want to ruin things for you just because he’s an idiot.

“I did,” you said after a moment, looking deeply into his eyes, trying to show that you were upset about leaving him, too. 

“I knew you would,” he said, finally giving you a small smile. You smiled back, nodding once before laying down and getting comfortable in your bed again. 

Just like that, things were good between you two again. If you were leaving at the end of summer, you might as well enjoy the rest of these nights without fighting or thinking about it too hard.

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” you whispered late one night. Evan was right beside you, like always when it’s so late, but there was a heavy feeling in the air that neither of you had addressed yet.

“I know,” he whispered back, turning onto his side to face you. It had been on his mind all night, and for most of the week, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

“You can always come visit me. There’s lots of schools in California,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, but you knew that he could hear the sadness behind your words.

“I’m already enrolled here. I can’t just leave,” he told you, and you sighed, nodding once. 

“I know,” you replied, unsure of what else to say. 

“Will you ever come back here?” he asked after a moment of silence, his eyes big and hopeful as he took in your features in the near-darkness of your room.

“For holidays and stuff,” you said with a shrug. You could feel the lump in your throat growing as you looked into his sad eyes, and the way his lips turned down into a slight frown despite him trying to fight it.

“No, like, live here again,” he clarified, and all you could do was shrug again. You hadn’t even thought about it. All you could think about was the next four years of your life in UCLA, and all the hours you’d no doubt have to put in at the library, studying.

“I don’t know. I’ve never lived anywhere else,” you said after a moment. You were about to speak again when he cut you off, catching you off guard.

“I hope you don’t come back,” you furrowed your brows, confused by his sudden switch up, “You’re finally out. You shouldn’t ever come back. I wish I could get out.”

Your eyes softened, and finally, a tear fell down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away before he could see it. You felt guilt eating at you, and for a split second, you thought about skipping out on UCLA. Staying here with him. He had slowly told you more about his home life; how his parents were there but not really there, how they yelled at him for any little thing, how the only thing holding him together was his sister, until she left. You didn’t want to leave him, too, but you weren’t sure what else to do.

“You can. What’s holding you here?” you finally asked, trying to keep your voice steady as the pit in your stomach grew.

“Nothing.” Not anymore, he thought. He didn’t know what he was going to do when you left, but he still had you there tonight, so he didn’t want to spend another minute talking about tomorrow. 

So, you both let the silence envelope you until you finally fell asleep, finding what little comfort you could in the fact that for the night, you were both still under the same roof.

next chapter

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

click here for my masterlist!

click here to be added to my taglist!

click here to read my request rules!