I Guess They Never Disappear

Chapter 12

Trigger Warning: Panic Attack (Do Not Read if this is a trigger, please stay safe everyone!!!!)

Jared POV

My phone rings. 

It's four o'fuck o'clock in the morning and Evan is calling.

Evan is calling me at four in the morning. Shit. Something's wrong. 

I answer the phone and try not to sound too clingy. 

See, I mean, even after all of our discussions about our new friendship and stuff and how it's okay to want to be around your friends and how they won't judge you for it, I still have old habits. That isn't just going away because Evan and I have some cute little friend thing now. 

But Evan is talking at some breakneck speed about weddings and dates and not having one and I need to focus on him because Evan is clearly having a Crisis right now and I need to be there for him, that's my job. 

I suck at giving advice at four o'fuck o'clock in the morning, apparently, because I say something and Evan goes quiet and I ask him if he's good and he says yes and so I hang up as you do. 

And I wake up a text from Evan asking me why I advised him to, quote-unquote, 'go find a nice man to take care of you and call me later'. 

And then another asking me how I knew he was bi and to please not judge him for it and then a long paragraph of apologies that I read, even though I probably know the entire script by heart at this point. 

Four A.M. Jared is not just bad at giving advice, he's terrible at it, apparently. 

Also, Evan's bi? That is..... nice. Not in a creepy way, just nice. Y'know?  Y'know.

So I message Evan telling him that I'm sorry for saying what I said and I accept him and he can come over today if he wants. 

Thirty minutes later, Evan's car pulls up the front door and parks haphazardly and I run down the stairs because Evan needs me... uh... yes, because Evan needs me. 

He's wearing a dark green hoodie that is gathering flecks of snow and his blond hair is swept messily across his face. I don't think he fell asleep. 

"You look like shit, man," I say, by means of a caring greeting. 

"Fuck," he says quietly, and then he laughs, "That's a surprise."

"Want to come in?"

"Yeah."

"So, uh, sorry about what I said," I say, trying to fix my mistake. 

"It's fine."

He rubs one arm with his other arm, trying to brush off the tiny white flecks. 

"Do you want some tea?"

"Yeah."

"What flavor?"

"Camomile, if you have it," he says in an increasingly quieter voice. I file that away for whenever I'll need it next. 

"Yeah," I say, "I do."

I make him his Camomile tea, and me a mug of Constant Comment (which my mom got me hooked on, somehow) and lead Evan up to my room. 

He doesn't protest. 

We don't talk for a second. 

Then he does, surprisingly. 

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"So, I, uh, you found out. I'm sorry I should've told you I mean you've never done anything to prove that you wouldn't take that the right way and I should've just told you. I mean, I know that I've probably hurt your feelings or something for not telling you this for this long but I was worried, I mean.... please don't take this the wrong way, but I was worried that something would happen and nothing did and it was stupid to worry about, I'm sorry."