Work Text:
Historians will call them anything but.
Todd remembers how everyone would compare him to his brother, to his name, to his family. To everything that was not him. Todd struggles to remember the last time someone took a look at him and agreed that they did not have to constantly compare the two.
Until he meets Neil, awkwardly walking by his side, introducing himself to him. Despite Neil recognising his last name because of his brother, he does not mention him again, and it remains that way as Neil and Todd. Not Neil and the other Anderson; Neil and the little Anderson.
But Neil and Todd.
Todd. And he finds it rather alarming when his chest feels fuzzy, and his cheeks bloom pink whenever Neil is close to him. It causes the butterflies in his stomach to flutter and his cheeks to bloom rosy, because there Neil is, enchanting him and his every world.
When he receives his birthday gift, the same desk set that he had gotten the year prior, and when Neil encourages him to throw it off the bridge, Todd feels the sense of euphoria further grow, because there in the galaxy of Neil’s eyes, there is all of it.
And Todd slowly realises that he was not only liking Neil, but he had fallen in love. A pit so tragically deep that it would be suicide to attempt to climb out of it.
But then Neil takes a knife to cut apart it, slicing himself from the world with a shot so loud Todd imagines he must have heard it when he was asleep in the depth of the night. Todd strikes denial hard.
Because Neil was good. He was good.
So good.
Yet, Todd realises, whoever that loves him, or whoever that he loves, ends up tragically in a swelling of pain. Of suffering.
And in faith’s cruelty, leaves Todd behind to attempt to pick up the pieces of his heart thrown so harshly against the weaponry of the floor.
But history hates lovers.