Chapter Text
Todd sighs, and shifts his position on the bed, burrowing deeper into the covers. He buries his face in his pillow, sliding his hands underneath it.
He sighs, again, this time in defeat.
He can’t sleep without Neil here.
Giving up, Todd lifts his body from the mattress and leans back against the cool wall instead - facing Neil’s empty bed. The sheets are still artfully rumpled from that morning, when Neil had shot out of them to shake Todd awake from his dead sleep.
Todd? Todd? Wake up. Will you help me run my lines again? Just one more time I promise there’s just this one scene I don’t think I have yet-
Despite the fact that it had been half-past six in the morning, and the two had already run lines together late into the night - which was why Todd was so tired in the first place - he hadn’t had it in him to refuse.
And that’s Todd’s big problem at the end of the day, isn’t it? It’s what keeps him awake at night even when Neil is in the room - the thought of just how much he’d be willing to do, and how far he’d be willing to go, all for Neil Perry.
Even if he did have the power to say no to Neil, why would he want to?
So they had sat together on Neil’s bed, cross-legged and facing each other - oh so close in a way Todd tried very hard not to take note of at the time. Instead, Todd focused on thumbing gently at the worn edges of the script-pages, and sleepily read Neil’s cues, trying his best to decipher the real lines amidst Neil’s messy handwritten notes in the margins.
And every accidental brush of Neil’s foot against his shin, every shared grin when they got through a scene smoothly, every hint he got of Neil’s familiar scent when the other boy drifted a little too close - if Todd hadn’t already been in love with Neil, yesterday morning would have surely pushed him over the edge.
The simple fact of his love for Neil has to be formatted into his DNA by now, tucked right in between what makes his eyes blue and his hair dark blonde. He knows the feeling as well as he knows all the lines in A Midsummer Night’s Dream - well, at least the lines from the scenes with Puck in them.
God, Neil as Puck. After spending nearly all of his Autumn and Winter watching Neil’s talent and passion for acting grow, how could he not be proud? The curtains closed almost three hours ago, and dumbstruck awe is still there, swirling around in Todd’s chest, lightening him up like creamer in coffee.
A particular class with Mr. Keating comes to mind, from the tail-end of the Fall. The entire class focused on the subject of ‘creative writing clichés’, and how to avoid them.
These are cop-outs, gentlemen! Written so many times, over and over again, because the author can’t be bothered to think outside the box to describe something.
Then Mr. Keating had turned to scribble ‘outside the box’ on the board with a flourish, causing the class to titter.
Can anyone else think of some examples? Phrases that if you enrich your mind with books at all, you’ve likely read one too many times.
One too many times, Charlie had drawled.
Mr. Dalton, Keating had grinned, writing down his example, keeping me on my toes as ever.
Several hands shot up.
Oh, you all think you’re so clever, don’t you? Mr. Keating rolled his eyes and put down ‘keeping me on my toes’ as well.
Next, they’d all taken turns shouting out answers.
As brave as a lion.
Nerves of steel.
Frightened to death.
As old as time.
Tail tucked between his legs.
Bad to the bone.
They’d left the room that day with an assignment to write a poem that inverted and played with as many clichés as possible. When Todd got his piece back from Mr. Keating - passed to him with a sly smile and a twinkling eye - there had been an A+ letter grade, and a few scrawling lines of praise at the bottom of the page.
Excellent poem Mr. Anderson, and an excellent point. While one should always avoid clichés if possible, clichés are clichés for a reason, and sometimes, these phrases are truly the only ones that ‘do the trick’.
Tonight, restless and awake in his room, Todd is trying to think of a way to pin down how watching Neil perform made him feel, and one simple cliche is all he’s left with.
Tonight, Neil had taken Todd’s breath away.
Why? Because he had been silly, and ridiculous, and carefree, and funny, and enchanting, and mystifying - and he had been Robin Goodfellow, yes, but he had also been Neil Perry.
Neil, simply happy to be up there on stage.
And that’s the thing about Neil. He’s infectious. When he’s joyful, you’re joyful, when he’s righteously angry, so are you. When he’s inspired, you’re inspired.
When he stares at you - blank, mournful, defeated - through all the snowflakes and the people and the glass window of his father’s car… you -
You -
God .
You repeat the sight over and over again in your mind, apparently - the image of the Perry’s car rolling away into the dark. Neil had disappeared with his father, leaving Todd with nothing but tire tracks in the snow, and a voice screaming wrong, wrong, wrong in his head.
And that voice would not shut up, even now, even hours later.
Todd leans over from the bed to pluck the clock he and Neil share from his desk, eyeing the time. Seven minutes past midnight. Chewing at his lip, Todd lets his hands and the clock all flop into his lap. He stares straight ahead, again, at Neil’s empty bed.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Todd rubs at one of his eyes, trying to - what? Rub sleep into it? He doesn’t know. He just knows he’s never felt more awake, more on edge.
Neil must be staying the night at his parents, Todd tells himself, he’ll be back in the morning. While he repeats this mantra, he also focuses on regulating his breathing, which for some reason is starting to go shallow.
He’ll be back in the morning, he’ll be back in the morning, he’ll be back in the morning.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Embarrassingly, a small distressed sound escapes Todd. He swallows stiffly against it, but it escapes nonetheless. His heart is pounding against his ribs - getting faster, why is his heartbeat getting faster? All of a sudden sitting on the bed feels impossible. Todd launches up to stand, and starts to pace in the middle of the room. The clock that had still been laying in his lap clatters to the floor and goes - somewhere.
His eyes can’t focus on any particular object or space. Instead, everything blurs in and out of focus around him, indistinct and piece-y like an impressionistic painting. And where are his arms, why can’t he feel his arms? Are they tingling now? Even though he had just wanted to be moving a moment ago, now he feels as though he needs to make himself as small as possible. Folding down into a heap, Todd presses his forehead to the wood floor, clenching his fists beside his ears. He rocks slightly, because maybe that will eek this energy out of him.
He knows what this is. He doesn’t have a name for it, but he knows what this is.
Just two and half weeks ago, Todd had woken up in the middle of the night to find Neil in a state just like the one he’s in now.
Neil? What’s going on?
Neil had been curled up against the side of his desk, arms resting on his knees with his head buried in them. Without looking up, he’d tried to urge Todd back to sleep.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s nothing, they happen from time to time. Attacks. Please, please, just ignore me please, I’m sorry.
Uncertainly, Todd had watched Neil from the opposite corner of the room, and had been caught by the way the other boy was carding his fingers through his hair - over and over again - tugging at it in a way that looked painful.
“What can I do?” Todd had asked, because the idea of going back to sleep when he knew Neil was suffering was laughable.
Neil’s deep, shuddering breaths had been the only sound in the room. In fact, he had taken so long to reply Todd thought Neil must be trying to ignore him. Then, with his head still tucked down into the cradle of his arms, Neil spoke, muffled, scared, and hesitant.
Maybe come sit, for a while, please.
So Todd had gotten up, and he had sat next to Neil on the floor. At first, he just stared down at his hands so that Neil wouldn’t feel watched. After time passed and Neil’s distress didn’t seem to be going anywhere, though, Todd had found he couldn’t bear it anymore. He reached out, hand wavering mid-air, and then moved to settle it on Neil’s back.
Neil tensed. Todd tensed. But resolutely, he did not try to take it back. He started to move his hand in gentle circles.
He hadn’t thought it was helping, for a time. Neil was holding himself so stiff Todd could only assume he was just making things worse. But just as he was about to apologize and take his touch away, one of Neil’s hands moved slowly towards Todd’s unoccupied one, and he laced their fingers together.
Wrist pressed to wrist, Todd had been able to feel Neil’s heartbeat. It was thrumming with the panic. Todd’s own heart was fluttering too, for an entirely different reason.
And so they had sat together right there on the floor, hands linked, and with Todd rubbing circles into Neil’s back. They shared friends, they shared classes, they shared a room, and now they were sharing this moment - this vulnerable moment. Neil was clinging to Todd as a lifeline of calm during his inescapable fear - over exactly what, that night, Todd had never asked and never been told afterward - but what Neil didn’t know was that Todd was relying on Neil’s touch too.
He had tried not to revel in it too much - in a touch and a moment he knew meant more to him than it ever would to Neil - but how could he not close his eyes in bliss, for just a second? Because here, here was proof that against all odds, Todd Anderson was wanted - no, not just wanted. Needed , in some way.
And not needed by just anyone, but needed by Neil Perry.
Flash forward to this moment, and here Todd is, losing control of his senses just like Neil was that night. Now it’s him that needs Neil, that wants Neil, but he isn’t here, is he?
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Why, why is he feeling this way? Why is he panicking? What, is he so besotted he can’t stand to be apart from Neil for one night? God, he’s pathetic, Neil would be back in the morning.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
His skin is crawling. His throat feels like it’s closing up, breaths coming more like wheezes. He’s hyper-aware of every minute reaction of his body, and at the same time he’s registering the chill draft creeping up his spine, he’s replaying over and over again his last glimpse of Neil from earlier tonight, before the car had pulled away.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
He didn’t like to ask anything of Neil, ever, he didn’t like to expect anything from the other boy, but god, if he could just see Neil right now.
But that’s impossible, because Neil’s not here.
If he could just know that Neil’s all right.
But that’s impossible, because Neil’s not here.
If he could just hear his voice.
But that’s-
Wait.
Todd’s breath hitches.
That’s not impossible, technically.
Todd’s panicked and frantic mind affixes itself to that idea, and he pictures himself acting out all the steps that would need to be taken in order to hear Neil’s voice right now.
He’d have to leave his room. Then he’d have to creep through the darkened hallways of Welton, making as little noise as possible. It would be just like when he and the others snuck out at night for Society meetings.
Except for this time, his destination wouldn’t be the cave. It would be Welton’s main academic building, where the common phone lives beside the teacher’s lockboxes and the year-in-review bulletin board. Where Knox had called Chris. Where Neil had leaned against Todd, arm on his shoulder, grin so bright and so close that Todd made sure not to turn and look at it straight on, to only look out of the corner of his eye because it was like looking at the sun and -
He’d have to get to the phone. Then he’d have to dial Neil’s home phone number which… he doesn’t know.
Todd unfolds from his position on the floor. Focusing on the crazy plan of calling Neil had been distracting enough that his body no longer feels like it’s attacking itself.
Neil has an address book that his father gave to him for Christmas last year, apparently.
That’s almost as good as a desk-set, Todd had joked while he watched Neil write his stage manager’s phone number in it.
Oh, almost, but not quite, Neil had grinned.
Neil keeps it in his desk drawer, the desk drawer that Todd is now crawling towards, without really thinking about it. He pulls it open, pushing aside stray papers, Neil’s pipe, a few spare pencils - until his hand closes around a thin leather spine. Todd grabs at the book and opens it immediately. He blinks at the random page he’s opened it to, unable to make out anything in the inky darkness. He fumbles his way over to the patch of moonlight that’s pooled on the floor beside the beds.
Once the book is awash with light, Todd’s heart sinks. In the section that’s allotted for the owner’s information, Neil has scribbled down Welton’s address and phone number instead of his parents.
Neil Howard Perry
Welton Academy
1795 Bown Lane, Charlotte, VT
802-394-1821
He’s about to toss the book away, but then he stops himself. He flicks to the ‘P’ surname section. There are two entries - one is Pittsie’s - and sure enough, the other -
Thomas and Nora Perry
Right under their names, a phone number.
So, now Todd has a decision to make.
Does he really do this? Call Neil in the middle of the night, and for what? So he can sleep, so he can feel better, so he can get rid of this churning in his stomach? Sure, he could call Neil, but he has no guarantee that Neil will even be the one to answer. In fact, all this will likely accomplish is he’ll wake the entire Perry household up from sleep, piss off Neil’s father, and make whatever situation Neil’s in after the play even worse.
You’re being selfish, Todd thinks to himself in disgust. You’re being weak. You’ve had a bad night, you’re spiraling, and now you want to put that on Neil? You may think you need him, but right now, he sure as hell doesn’t need you.
Todd closes his eyes, sees Mr. Perry cutting a vicious path through the crowd in the theatre lobby, Neil following meekly behind.
I - I can’t guys, he had said.
He doesn’t need you.
He sees Keating grabbing Neil’s elbow, singing his praises. And then -
Stay away from my son, Keating.
He doesn’t need you. Neil doesn’t need you, Todd.
Mr. Keating had said it himself to Charlie, when he had called after Neil and tried to intervene.
Don’t make it worse than it already is.
And yet again, for the hundredth time that night, Todd sees Neil in the front seat of his father’s car. Normally, Neil’s eyes glowed as bright as the theatre lights that were reflected in the passenger side window. Neil’s eyes were always saying something, it seemed. Follow me, trust me, have faith in me. But not tonight. Tonight, over the din of chatter around Todd and Mr. Keating, Neil’s eyes had spoken the loudest, and they had almost seemed to be saying -
I’m sorry.
Todd opens his own eyes, and looks out at the window in front of him. It’s still snowing - a veritable blizzard. Sometimes, Neil could sit on that window ledge for hours. Todd can almost see him there now, a blanket around his shoulders and script in hand, smiling. Smiling the way Neil always smiled when he was at his happiest - soft, warm, and alive.
He doesn’t need you.
But what if he does?
Todd gets up from the floor. He’s gripping the address book so hard he thinks his knuckles must be white.
Sneaking out of his room, sneaking around Welton, that’s all old-hat to Todd by this point. After all, he does it all the time - with Meeks, with Pitts, with Cameron, with Knox, with Charlie, with Neil.
He sneaks out with Neil all the time.
So, this time, sneaking out for Neil?
Todd feels he’s learned a lot about himself these past few months at Welton, and amidst all of these discoveries, there is one thing that sticks out, one fact about Todd Anderson that, god help him, will either be his salvation, or the ruin of him.
And it’s that really, no matter what - in the face of his own fear, embarrassment, or expulsion, consequences be damned -
He’ll do anything for Neil Perry.