Chapter Text
8 hours earlier
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never even asked a guy out,” Charlie scoffs, wearing a disbelieving expression.
“It’s just not been a priority,” Neil insists.
“You’ve never asked someone on a date and you’re the gayest person here?” Charlie probes with suspicion. Meeks opens his mouth to protest, but Charlie begins to make shushing noises. “You know it’s true- it doesn’t get gayer than theater.” He then points at each of the group individually. “Knox- so straight he might actually be a bit gay. Meeks- pretty sure he and Pitts are only gay for each other. Cameron- the stick already up his ass makes homosexuality logistically difficult. Me-”
“Alright, alright, I get your point,” Neil cuts him off as Cameron’s cheeks flare red with either anger or embarrassment.
The wind on the station platform threatens to snatch Neil’s scarf and Charlie's beret as the train comes to a stop.
“Next time you like a guy, if you don’t tell him, one of us will,” he decides, looking to the rest of the group for approval, before the 6 of them climb into a fairly empty carriage. Neil is last on board, immediately stopping in his tracks as the doors close behind him.
He wears a teal sweater, several shades darker than the sky blue in his eyes, and a multicolored scarf. He reads a book, concentrating so hard that his nose is a little scrunched and his eyebrows are slightly knitted. His hair is a dirty blond and somewhat messy and, god, Neil wants to run his hands through it.
The stranger sits in a corner, and Neil’s friends, much to his chagrin, take the seats on the other side of the carriage.
“What’s wrong?” Knox asks, everyone else oblivious to Neil’s stupor.
He coughs, mumbling that it’s nothing, and takes one of the empty seats.
The boys strike up a conversation about the play, and Neil halfheartedly participates, letting his gaze drift back to the stranger once in a while.
They’ve been stationary for almost an hour, playing I spy and would you rather, by the time Charlie notices.
“Okay, something is bothering you,” he says, refusing to answer whether he would rather kiss Cameron or never kiss a woman again.
“Honestly-”
“He keeps looking over there,” Meeks interjects, pointing at the other end of the carriage.
There are several other people on board, so Neil’s bizarre fixation on the rest of the train isn’t easily traceable back to the blond boy. At least, he hopes.
“Looking at someone in particular, are we?” Charlie goads, elbowing him in the side.
“I bet it’s that guy. Definitely Neil’s type.”
“I think you figured it out, Pitts. He’s gone bright red.”
The boys begin to giggle and Knox even playfully ruffles his hair. Neil wishes the train were in imminent danger of exploding, taking him and his shame with it.
“He's reading. He probably doesn't want to talk to anyone. And he’s a complete stranger.,” Neil objects when they start offering advice on how to approach him.
“Go and strike up a conversation! Then he won't be a stranger. Ask him what his name is.”
“Or where he’s headed.”
“Or what book he’s reading.”
No one knows who starts it, but within moments they’re all chanting ‘Do it, do it!’ and hoisting Neil out of his seat by his arms. People glare at them for the raucous, but they all seem utterly unfazed with a prospective romantic encounter for Neil hanging in the balance.
So, despite his better judgment and crippling fear of rejection, he bites the bullet and sits in the adjoining seat to the boy.
Neil’s palms are still sweating as he re-joins his friends. He wipes them on his trousers, desperately trying to block the feeling of Todd’s hands on his from his memory. Were he any more nervous, he'd collapse.
“So?” is all Charlie asks as they huddle around on the station platform.
A sense of unease over the whole situation mixes with pure elation to create a nauseous combination. “His name is Todd.”
“Did you get his number?”
“No-”
“You talked for like half an hour and didn’t get his number?!” Cameron asks in angered bewilderment, and Neil shakes his head in frustration.
“I didn’t get his number because I didn’t need to. He’s going to the show tonight.”
The boys grin like maniacs.
Neil throws open the stage door and shuffles backstage as discreetly as possible. He is fully aware that, should the director find him, he will be screamed at for his punctuality, or lack thereof. Neil has decided that, to get himself into the headspace of an egotistical asshole like Claudio, he needs his self-esteem intact, and while the train’s delay is not technically his fault, he’ll be sure to receive a monologue about proper time management and 'taking this job seriously'.
So, instead, he discreetly slips into his dressing room and changes into his costume, joining his castmates in warm-up exercises.
Ginny Danburry, playing the part of his Hero, gives him a smile and a raised eyebrow.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Train got delayed,” he mumbles.
“Hmm…”
Their final rehearsal time is eaten before he can blink and soon enough he’s stepping out in front of a crowd of almost 2,000, saying words that, by now, should be second nature but they still feel penned by someone else.
As the rest of the cast read their lines, drawing roaring laughter from the audience at Benedick and Beatrice’s verbal sparring, he scans the crowd.
Except he can’t find Todd, and then it’s just him and Benedick on stage, and he can’t be distracted searching the audience when he makes up half the scene.
It’s only when he professes his opinion of Hero that he’s able to look out over the crowd again, eyes falling on a head of dirty blond hair. He smiles broadly and swears he sees a tinge of pink on Todd’s cheeks, even from the stage.
Over the hour, he lets Claudio’s emotions overrule his own, experiencing his rollercoaster of excitement and dejection, turned to giddiness, then anger, and the curtains close on his promise to shame his bride.
The moment the audience is hidden from view, Neil bounds offstage, practically vibrating with anticipation and shaking the shoulders of the first assistant he can find.
“Can you get me a piece of paper?”
She nods, disappearing and returning a moment later with a small square and a fountain pen. He scribbles a quick note and parts a small gap in the curtain, beckoning the assistant to look through it.
“First row of the mezzanine, eight seats from the left, the boy with the blond hair. Give this to him.”
The play draws to its merry conclusion, with Neil forced to kiss a woman, several rounds of bowing to an enthusiastic audience and the curtains closing as quickly as they rose. As Neil scurries offstage, his arm is caught by Lizzie, playing Margaret.
“Hey Neil, are you still coming with us to get drinks?”
Shit. The fact that it has just been his final stint as Claudio has completely slipped his mind. The cast planned on drinks after to celebrate.
“Is that tonight? I’m sorry, I can’t. I said I’d meet someone.”
James, their Benedick, overhears his excuse and grabs the attention of the rest of the team. “Who’re you meeting?” he inquires.
“A friend. I’m really sorry, I completely-”
“Which friend? Come on, I wanna know who we’re being thrown over for!” he continues.
“You could always bring them with you.”
“Another time, guys. I promise,” Neil says, retreating away from the group, who are now loudly discussing the possibilities of his ‘friend’s’ identity.
But, as he thinks he’s getting away with it, he feels Lizzie grab his arm again and prepares himself for her to plead that he joins them. But she’s wearing a serious expression.
“Neil. Can I talk to you?”
Five minutes later, they’re sitting in her dressing room, uncomfortable silence settling between them.
“Oh, uhm. I’m flattered, really. But I’m-”
“Taken? Not interested?” she offers.
“Gay.”
She looks as though she’s been slapped in the face, and swallows thickly.
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Neil repeats, then hurries to elaborate. “But you’re a really great friend. Any straight guy would be lucky to have you.”
He wonders if Todd will still be out there. Perhaps Neil is taking too long, and he’s given up and gone home. Or he didn’t understand the note and went home without knowing. Or it was given to the wrong person. His heart hammers against his ribcage and he needs to know or he’ll keel over with a heart arrhythmia.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve really gotta go,” he babbles, leaving a stunned and somewhat heartbroken friend all alone. The guilt eats at him, but less so than the guilt over making Todd wait.
He mentally calculates that he can change and be out there in another 5 minutes, but is caught on the way back to his own room by the director, who, no longer seething with rage but bursting with pride, has a few words of affirmation for him. Her praise lasts no longer than a couple of minutes, and he responds in a nature that he feels appropriately conveys that he’s in somewhat of a hurry.
So by the time he’s wormed out of his Claudio costume and hastily shoved back on his shirt and sweater, only to realize it’s on backwards and put it on again, before almost tripping over -in separate incidents- a chair, his clothes, his bag and a fake plant (placed there for God-knows-why), he makes it out the door alive. Then, only two flights of stairs and a crowd of people slapping him on the back and telling him he did a great job stand in the way of seeing Todd.
He fights through the sea of theater goers in the lobby and squeezes himself past a group drunkenly slurring the play’s rendition of ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’, up the stairs to the mezzanine. He doesn’t realize he’s been running until he’s stopped, doubled over and panting.
He can’t see Todd like this.
He gives himself a minute to calm down, by which time he can hear a voice he presumes is Todd’s, begging the theater staff to let him stay just another 5 minutes because Neil is coming he promises and then they’ll be out of their hair.
Neil throws open the door, breathing still somewhat labored, to find a bewildered and exceedingly distressed Todd.
“Hi,” Neil manages to breathe. The staff file through the door, leaving he and Todd completely alone.
“I was, uhh, worried you weren’t gonna show up,” Todd almost whispered, eyes trailing to the ground.
“I’m so sorry. I got caught up. Literally. Tripped over a bag strap.”
Todd lets out a chuckle and Neil thinks his arteries might burst.
“You’re a-a Broadway actor,” Todd states, shoving his hands in his pockets, and Neil takes a step towards him.
“That a problem?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No, it’s just… It suits you.”
Neil grins again, parting perfect lips to give way to perfect teeth and dear god Todd is in trouble.
“What does the P stand for?” Todd asks, pulling out the note.
“Perry. You?”
“Anderson.”
“Well, Anderson, do you wanna go get something to eat?” Neil proposes, and, seeing Todd’s hesitant expression, clarifies. “With me. Not just you on your own.” He’s rambling.
Todd opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. Neil feels his stomach plummet.
“Oh god, have I misread this? Are you actually just a straight guy who really likes Shakespeare?”
Todd’s expression lights up with a brief smile, before returning to its perpetual anxiety.
“It’s not that. It’s-” he stops, considering his next words. “I’ve… I’ve never been on a date before.”
Yet Neil is unfazed. “So? Let me take you on your first!” he suggests, plucking the note from Todd’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “This may not be my first date but it’s my first time asking someone else out. How about if you don’t let me fail at this, I’ll try my hardest to make sure your first date doesn’t suck?”
“Okay,” Todd says, weight lifted off his chest, and Neil’s hand slips away from his to rest on his cheek.
Before his brain can catch up, Neil’s lips are against his and they’re warm and soft and his mortifying daydreams throughout the afternoon over how this would feel pale in comparison to the real thing. Their lips part and meet over and over again and Todd needs to pull him closer, to just have every inch of Neil and drink him in like a remedy.
They break apart to catch their breath and Neil is quickly giggling into his shoulder, and Todd follows suit.
“Nice to meet you, Todd Anderson.”