Work Text:
Another day of monotonous classes passed through Welton academy. Dr. Hager’s class seemed to last forever, at least in Charlie Dalton’s mind. He was never a fan of the strict, overbearing teacher, or the education system in general if he was honest. Most days Charlie would procrastinate getting out of bed, mostly because he did not want to endure his hellish seven-thirty school day start, but it did hold the additional bonus of pissing off his Cameron. If one person in a dorm was found oversleeping both parties would be held responsible, which was an additional bonus to getting up to thirty extra minutes of sleep. The only reason he got out of bed was when Meeks dropped by his room to shake him awake, which had practically become a morning routine.
Meeks was often kind enough to bring some kind of bagel or pastry to eat on the way to their first period class. Charlie would eat and straighten out his tie as Meeks talked about the shenanigans that occured at breakfast. In all honesty, Charlie loved the routine they’d fallen into. He was never one for routine, but Meeks seemed to be the exception to the rule. Meeks was the exception to a lot of things for Charlie. Routine, how often he completed his homework (it’s none unless Meeks is there to joke with), even his interests. Romantic, that is.
Charlie had always known he was interested in girls, but he never felt that heterosexuality completely fit how he felt. Most boys didn’t try to hold other boys’ hands on the playground. They never had crushes on Iron Man or Bruce Banner. They didn’t like boys. Liking boys was weird, at least to Charlie anyway. It took him years of repression, self-loathing and internalized homophobia to even admit to himself that he was bisexual. And what, pray tell, was the final nail in the coffin? Steven Meeks.
They’d met the first day of freshman year after the initiation ceremony for the upcoming sixth graders. Somehow the administration saw Charlie as a good influence and someone that could easily welcome Meeks into the school. In a way they were right because within days Meeks and Charlie could be found attached at the hip wherever they went. Charlie’s grades were higher than they had ever been and Meeks was enjoying life and coming out of his shell. It was a win-win situation.
Except in a way it wasn’t. Although Charlie was out about being bisexual (mostly to take out the sting when classmates called him slurs, but it also made Cameron anxious) he’d never been more nervous than when he realized he was in love for the first time. With a man, no less. Worst of all, his best friend.
There was no aha moment like in the movies, it was more of a slowly dawning sort of thing. The kind of attraction that creeps up on you and lets itself be known before you can identify what it is. He only realized how he felt on some random Tuesday morning at breakfast. By some miracle Meeks had managed to drag him to the dining hall to eat. Something about the slow-rising sun illuminating Meeks from behind and making him look like an ethereal being made Charlie’s brain go haywire. The desire to hold Meeks close and kiss him until he knew he was loved became overwhelming, yet it’s something Charlie’s hidden even until today.
Today. Now stuck in Keating’s class, the most tolerable subject in Charlie’s opinion. Keating knew how to make a lesson relevant and enticing, and he always had a reason or moral behind his lesson. He was no “sit-down-and-shut-up” kind of teacher like the rest of them. Still, Charlie couldn’t help but get distracted by his infatuation, especially when Meeks was adorably engrossed in a lesson he cared about.
“To review,” Keating tapped the blackboard with his ruler, gaining Charlie’s attention. “An ode is a tribute and celebration of someone or something important to the author. Odes are most commonly written for those we love. The apple of our eye. Those we can’t imagine spending our lives without.”
Out of the corner of his eye Charlie admired Meeks, sighing under his breath. Keating caught his student staring at Meeks, raising an eyebrow but continuing to wrap up the lesson.
••••
Classes ended later than Charlie hoped they would and before he knew it they were huddled around tables in the common area studying for their Latin exam. The Dead Poets members crammed themself around a table usually meant to only fit four people, listening and repeating each verb conjugation Meeks and Knox went through.
“Okay,” Neil announces, leaning against Todd dramatically. “I’m done, I can’t learn twenty variations on the same word in one night.”
Todd patted the top of his boyfriend’s head.
“I agree,” Charlie slumped forward, turning to Neil and whispering, “So, next Poets meeting, what’re we doing?”
“Well,” Neil glanced at Todd, “it is awfully close to Valentine’s Day.”
Charlie shook his head with a scoff, “No way. That’s just gonna be an excuse for you and Todd to drool over each other.”
The thespian went to retort but Knox butted in.
“I wouldn’t mind,” he remarked. “If it means we all get to write about it.”
Neil chuckled, “I don’t know if I trust Charlie with this.”
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Except Charlie knew exactly what Neil meant. They all expected him to write some epic erotica about women because that’s who they know him to be; open about his sexuality and unafraid to test the limits. In all honesty, that was the last thing on his mind. If they were going to write about love and the people they loved Charlie wanted to do it right. He wanted it to be sweet. He wanted Meeks to like it.
He wanted Meeks to like him.
Their meeting was two nights away which, in Charlie’s opinion, was not nearly enough time to eloquently create something worthy of impressing Meeks. Even if it did he had no idea how Meeks would react. There was no way, in Charlie’s mind, that Meeks would like him back. I mean, why would he? He’s the flirtatious bisexual stereotype that’s one misstep away from being expelled. What could Meeks see in someone like that?
The group continued joking and making jabs at Charlie about his possibly sexually explicit poetry and giggling amongst themselves. Charlie made some sorry excuse about being tired and rushed to his room. How the hell was he going to do this?
••••
Charlie barely got two hours of sleep. His pencil kept scratching at the page, and by the end of the night his eraser had been rubbed down to nothing. He was at a loss. All his ideas were jumbled, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t put them together in a coherent manner. Charlie knew what he wanted to say, and knew how Meeks made him feel, he just couldn’t find the words. He was stuck grasping for words just barely out of reach.
“Charlie?” Came a soft voice from the void. “Charlie, wake up.”
He did, shaking himself from his sleep. He blinked hard, focusing on Meeks in front of him. His sleep-blinded brain scanned the room, eyebrows furrowing at the hard wooden desk in front of him.
Desk. He’d been writing last night. About Meeks.
Who’s standing right in front of him.
“Meeks!” Charlie stood, turning and leaning against his desk to hide his attempts at poetry. “Hi! Didn’t expect to see you this morning. I thought you had a meeting with Hager.”
“It got cancelled,” Meeks straightened out his glasses. “What’re you working on?”
Charlie turned, shrugging. “Oh, just something for the next Poets meeting.” He shook his head, chuckling and focusing on the floor. “Nothing good.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you say it is!” Meeks comforted, “Can I see? Maybe I can help!”
Charlie freaked, putting his hands out in defense, “No, no it’s fine, I’ll just, uh, I think I’ll ask Keating later on. Thanks, though.”
Silence settled through the dorm as Meeks studied Charlie. His collar was thrown open and askew, his tie hanging loosely from underneath. His dark hair was ruffled every which way and blue-tinted bags accentuated his deep brown eyes. Honestly, he was breathtaking in Meeks’ eyes. What he wouldn’t give to break the distance between them, to wrap his arms around Charlie and—
“So,” Charlie cleared his throat, picking up his coat and backpack. “Breakfast?”
Meeks smiled, an electric blush spreading from ear to ear. Charlie opened the door for him, bringing Meeks to his senses. Goodness, what a gentleman he was sometimes.
“Sounds good.”
••••
Keating’s class lasted much shorter than Charlie hoped it would. Before he knew it or gave himself a moment to reconsider, he was approaching Keating as the class filed out. Some snickers and comments came from the others. One particularly scathing stab came from Cameron, earning him a smack in the back of the head from Neil. Charlie scoffed when Neil turned back to him with a grin.
“Mr. Keating,” Charlie approached his teacher, notebook full of poems in-hand. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Of course, Mr. Dalton.” Keating pulled his seat close to his desk. “What do you need?”
“Well,” Charlie opened his notebook, examining his poem with a nervous expression. “You see…”
Charlie explained everything to Mr. Keating. The reinstatement of the Dead Poets Society, their meetings, and the unfortunately romantic topic of their next meeting.
“All right,” Keating concluded. “What do you need help with, Mr. Dalton?”
Charlie set his bag down, resting it against Keating’s desk. He opened his notebook to the page his poem was scrawled down and placed it in front of Keating, face flushed.
His teacher took the notebook, scanning the poem thoughtfully. Keating glanced at the title then to Charlie with a partially dropped jaw, trying to keep his professionalism about him despite the obviously romantic poem he’d read.
“Mr. Dalton,” Keating looked for the right word, “This is…”
“I know,” Charlie rests his temple in his hand, cringing at the fact he’s even showing Keating his work, “It’s weird. Stupid.”
“Fantastic.”
Charlie’s head whipped up, “Really?”
“Really,” Keating nodded, “Although I’m unsure how Mr. Meeks will feel about this.”
Charlie gaped at his teacher. “How did you—”
Keating flipped the notebook to face Charlie, pointing at the messily scrawled working title; Ode to Meeks.
“Oh,” Charlie flushed. “Right.”
The teacher straightened up in his seat, “What would you like help with, Mr. Dalton?”
Charlie pulled up a chair across from Keating. He pushed the back of the chair against the table and sat down leaning over the back in a way only Charlie could make cool and collected.
“Would you change anything?” He asked.
Keating walked Charlie through his poem, pointing out things he could change to make it better.
After about an hour of review and editing, Charlie packed his things and headed to the door. As he opened it he turned to Mr. Keating with a vulnerable, scared expression.
“Do you think he’ll like it?”
Keating sent Charlie a warm smile. “You’ll sweep him off his feet, Mr. Dalton. Good luck tomorrow.”
The student nodded, “Thank you, sir.”
Charlie left Keating to his grading.
••••
The night air nipped through the Poets’ coats on their way to the cave. They maneuvered their way past treetops that scraped the sky and over roots and previously undisturbed snow that Cameron tripped over. Charlie fiddled with the folded note in his pocket anxiously. Was he really about to do this?
Meeks appeared by his side. “You okay?”
His beanie was thrown hastily over his head, ruffling his ginger bangs and allowing them to scrape the top of his glasses.
Charlie flicked his lips into something resembling a smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
“You sure?” Meeks challenges. “It’s just-you haven’t said a thing since dinner, is all.”
Charlie’s chest swelled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, though.”
The group huddled inside the cave, Neil placing a lantern in the center of the area and motioning for the Poets to gather around. Neil settled the boisterous teenage boys into silence, reading the opening poem.
Poor Charlie couldn’t focus after the opening poem. He couldn’t help but keep fidgeting with the paper in his pocket. It also didn’t help when Neil read his own poem to Todd, proceeding to kiss him in front of the Poets. Most of them groaned lightheartedly, and Charlie managed out a halfhearted “get a room.” Unfortunately, that comment gained Neil’s attention.
“Nuwanda,” Neil called out, “Got something you want to share?”
Charlie stumbled, both while standing and over his words. “Uh, yeah-yeah, sure. I guess. Yeah. Never a better time to share…”
The frightened poet unfolded what he’d prepared. He brushed a few stray hairs from his face, taking the moment to examine Meeks out of the corner of his eye. He was leant forward, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Charlie had Meeks’ full attention, making this all the harder to do. Especially if Meeks didn’t feel the same.
“Ode...” Charlie cleared his throat anxiously. He noticed Meeks giving an encouraging thumbs up. It was enough reassurance to let him take a breath and continue. “Ode to the One I Love.”
“I used to keep my heart locked up,
In a cage that no one can find
Yet somehow this one did not have to search,
For he’d always had the key
It’s uncertain what drew me in,
Be it his constellation skin;
Or witnessing his mind at work,
Reminiscent of Galileo;
Or perhaps the way he stands his ground
In unwavering silent strength;
Even just his unruly ginger curls
And the ease to run my fingers through them
He’s a heart of sunlight
And a brain full of rain,
Yet the passionate wisdom he produces
Is something neither could tame
He’s motivation to wake with the morning,
His warm, lovely smile my rising sun,
And I hope that our relationship
Is merely at its dawn.”
The final word echoed through the cave and dissipated into the night. The Poets gawked at Charlie as if he had three heads. Charlie hung his head in embarrassment, shoving the poem messily in his pocket.
“Sorry,” Charlie mumbled, “I know that was weird.”
When he went to sit down he felt a light tug on his wrist. He turned and met Meeks’ eyes, oh God those eyes nearly made his knees buckle there and then with the affection they held. Meeks’ hand slid from his wrist to his palm, pulling him close so only Meeks was in his field of vision.
“That-that was beautiful, Charlie.” Meeks smiled. “Really, it was sweet of you.”
Charlie’s brain stopped functioning. He could hardly breathe. Hell, he could barely process what the hell Meeks was saying because he was still focused on the fact that he was holding his hand.
The ginger recognized Charlie’s vacant expression, it was something he’d grown accustomed to over the years. Whenever Meeks went on about something he was passionate about Charlie seemed to get lost in his thoughts, but also never more focused on Meeks. He knew nothing verbal would reach Charlie at this point, so desperate times called for desperate measures. Meeks held Charlie’s cheek in his hand, taking extra care to kiss the other. It was gentle, lasted a few seconds, but Meeks absolutely basked in the closeness. Charlie’s skin was as smooth as he’d imagined it to be—not that he’d imagined it, of course.
Meeks pulled mere inches away from Charlie’s cheek, giving him some time to recover. Charlie blinked a few times, his brain coming back online before quickly dragging Meeks up into a loving first kiss. In his excitement, he held Meeks by the waist and dipped him gently, reveling in the soft, smooth movement of Meeks’ lips against his own. Charlie felt a hand tenderly caress his cheek, and let out a wistful sigh of relief.
Neil yelled for Nuwanda and Meeks to get a room, interrupting and promptly ending their moment.
Charlie reluctantly pulled back from Meeks. He took a book from Cameron’s grasp and promptly threw it at Neil, Neil dodging it with ease.
“It was payback!” Neil cried. “Todd, help me!”
“No way! You got yourself into this!” Todd retorted, chuckling under his breath as his boyfriend crouched behind him.
Charlie went to retort but was held back by Meeks. The small ginger quickly spun him around, pulling Charlie in to plant a kiss on his cheek. Any retort to toss at Neil died on his tongue because holy shit Meeks just kissed him in a domestic way as if they’d been together for years and Charlie’s heart could not handle it.
He hid his reddened face in Meeks’ neck, grumbling some kind of loving annoyance. Meeks smiles, sifting Charlie’s thin, brunet locks through his fingers.
That night, nothing else mattered. The boys lighthearted taunting and snickering when they sat together holding hands didn’t mean jack because holy shit, they were holding hands!
Occasionally Charlie caught Meeks pinching himself, to which he always smiled and held on a little tighter.
Their affections were no longer something only occurring in dreams and half-baked fantasies in drawn-out classes. They were spoken, breathing and unwavering. Something they didn’t have to question any longer.
As the Poets shuffled back to campus after an enjoyable night of poetry, Meeks and Charlie fell to the back of the group, basking in the silence and privacy it held. Charlie admired the stars hand-in-hand with Meeks, and silently wished that this was truly only the dawn of their relationship.