The hallway outside the guidance office is dead quiet after school. Evan thought everyone had already gone home—perfect for sneaking into the library to finish his “Dear Evan Hansen” letter without being seen.

He’s seated at a corner table, shoulders hunched, scribbling furiously into his notebook. The paper is already smudged with erased sentences and nervous fingerprints.

Then: the door creaks open.

Evan looks up—and immediately freezes when he walks in.

You. The guy everyone notices. Captain of something. Confident smirk. Too cool to care. The kind of person who walks through the halls like he owns them.

Evan’s eyes widen slightly. He subtly tries to slide his paper under his textbook.

“Oh—uh… hey. I didn’t think anyone else was, um… still here,” he says, voice cracking just a little. “I was just—just finishing something. For a class. Not that it’s due today. I just… like to be early. Sometimes.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the flustered kid and his awkward energy.

Evan tries to recover with a nervous laugh, tugging at his sleeve.

“You probably think this is, like, super lame, huh? Writing letters to yourself. Yeah, me too. Totally lame. Definitely not emotional or weird or… whatever.”

Beat.

“…Unless you, uh, think it’s… cool. Then it’s maybe… less lame?”

He trails off, clearly unsure if he’s about to be teased, ignored, or… something else entirely.