Chapter Text
Neil looks up at the monumental building towering over him and feels his stomach twist sharply with nerves. It’s all ivory brick and large, glass windows; even the architecture gives off a cold, intimidating air, and he hasn’t even stepped inside yet.
What the fuck is he doing here?
He should be at home, curled up on his bed and nursing his newest script as he recites the highlighted lines once more in preparation for his next show. Instead, he carries four different medical textbooks, all pristine and untouched. Hell, if it weren’t for his father, they would have remained that way. But Neil has no doubt that in the next few months they’ll be covered in post-its and illegible ink scrawls if he even wants to think about passing his classes.
It’s not that Neil thinks he’s unfit for college. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. The concept of freedom, of pursuing something he loves, is more than anything Neil could wish for. Unfortunately, that is all it’ll ever be for him - a mere concept.
Of course, Thomas Perry would never allow a son of his to pursue a career in the arts. He claimed it was too fickle an industry and, although he never said it explicitly, Neil knows it will never be ‘masculine’ enough in his father’s eyes. No, Neil should have higher aspirations, to want to support himself financially with a ‘proper’ job. A ‘man’s’ job.
The words burn beneath his skin, each insult hurled towards his true passion laying claim to another scar etched into his heart.
His knuckles tighten around the handle of one of his suitcases, turning white with the strength of his grip. Before he can protest, his father strides ahead, throwing a cold ‘keep up’ over his shoulder. Neil takes a shaky breath, ignoring the bile rising in his throat and follows after his father. His leather shoes are uncomfortable and don’t quite fit right, only adding insult to his injuries.
Though he doesn’t even understand why he’s dressed so formally, anyways. He’s a college student now, no longer cooped up in private school classrooms, but he has no desire to argue with his parents. Making a good first impression had been drilled into Neil since he was seven, and wearing the proper attire was, apparently, the first step. The thought of his knitted sweaters and comfy trousers folded up in his suitcase provides a slight comfort.
The shoes were only bought a few weeks ago, so they squeak with every step, and Neil already begins to miss the comfort of his beaten up Converse. Although the hall is filled with far too much chatter for anyone to possibly hear the shrieking of his shoes, he feels foolish anyways. It serves as a reminder that he doesn’t belong here. That he’s lying to everyone, dressing himself up in a costume of smart clothes and fancy shoes, parading himself around as a put together medical student.
He knows it’s a facade, and, likely, so does everyone else.
Whilst his father busies himself scanning the dorm numbers, Neil rips himself from his spiral of doubt and allows himself to become distracted in the inner workings of the building. He wonders where certain corridors branch off to, or what could be hidden behind the many heavy, wooden doors he passes by. A promise of learning every secret the building has to hold is one, lonesome star in the bleak sky of his future.
They brush past a blonder boy who Neil presumes is in a similar position as him: he stares pointedly at the ceiling as his father lectures him, only answering with short hums and nods every now and again. Their eyes meet, and Neil offers a crooked smile before quickly looking away, face heating up slightly at being caught staring.
After a minute, his father stops abruptly, and Neil narrowly avoids slamming into his back. His dorm, he assumes. The look on his father’s face is grave as he turns on his heel, and he lifts a finger to jab at the air in front of Neil’s chest.
“You are here to study , Neil. Remember that. You are going to put your head down, pull your socks up, and become a doctor. I don’t want to hear tales of you messing around and making a fool of yourself. Do I make myself clear?”
There's a beat.
“Yes, father, I understand.”
His answer comes as though pulling a string on a child’s toy. He’s used to their little routine by now: him, standing like a mannequin as his father lectures him, letting the words spill past his lips thoughtlessly. Yes father. No father. I understand, father.
It’s fascinating how quickly Neil feels small.
Suddenly, he’s nine again, transported back to his dad’s office as he stands in front of a broken vase with his father towering over him. It’s not a pleasant feeling, and he’s desperate to crawl out of his skin for a moment.
To make matters worse, he hears a chuckle from inside of his dorm. Perfect, he thinks. Now his new roommate likely thinks he’s a spineless pussy who still listens to his father’s orders at eighteen,.
Despite being an atheist, Neil prays to any and every god there is that his father won’t stop and help him unpack his things. Luckily, some divine angel decides to spare him as, after an awkward goodbye, Neil can finally breathe again. The vice around his lungs has loosened, and he takes a gulp of fresh air before bracing himself.
He composes himself, balancing his backpack over his shoulder as he grabs the two suitcases with a soft grunt. As he enters the room, he notices his roommate has already unpacked.
There’s a few miscellaneous posters of bands Neil doesn’t recognise tacked to the right side of the wall, along with a wooden desk that looks like chaos personified: in comparison to Neil’s empty one, this one is covered in stacks of papers, terribly worn books, loose pens and multiple lighters. Already, the place looks well lived in, and Neil wonders what it must be like to feel comfortable anywhere you please.
Though, his roommate takes no offence to his obvious staring, instead offering his hand with a lazy smirk.
“Ah, you must be my roommate! Charlie Dalton.”
Neil shakes it, attempting to appear somewhat casual as he looks over the boy.
He’s wearing an off white sweater with a pair of jeans, chestnut hair falling lazily into his eyes, and if Neil didn’t feel ridiculous in his white shirt and trousers before, he definitely does now. The urge to defend his outfit choices rises in his throat - though, they weren’t even his in the first place - but, he settles for simply introducing himself.
“Neil Perry.”
“Nice to meet you man.” Charlie chuckles, turning to rummage through the piles of clutter on his desk as he tucks a loose cigarette behind his ear.
“Is something funny?” Neil sighs.
“Nothing, nothing!” He replies, holding his hands up in defense as a grin spreads across his lips. “Just, calling your dad ‘father’ seems like a pretty quick way to say ‘ Hey, my dad’s a dick and I hate him! ”
Neil laughs at this, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he sprawls out on his bed. A dull ache begins to form in his temples, and he quite simply can’t be bothered to unpack right now, so he doesn’t. Already, the little piece of freedom grants him a rush of adrenaline.
“Glad I managed to get the message across effectively.”
There’s a moment of silence, and Neil places an arm under his head as he looks up at the uneven ceiling. Deep, grey cracks litter the paint, and Neil busies himself counting them. He gets to seven before his roommate - Charlie, he reminds himself - speaks once more.
“So, what’s your major?”
“Medicine.” Anticipating the look on Charlie’s face, he’s quick to clarify, “I’m taking a few classes in creative writing, though.”
Neil hates how Charlie’s smirk grows at this proclamation and quickly turns the attention away from him. He extends a finger to the brass saxophone shoved into the corner of their room, a black beret hanging limply from the mouth piece.
“Let me guess, you’re a music student? Or some sort of Beatnik?”
“No.” Charlie grins, raising an amused eyebrow as he gestures towards himself in a sweeping motion. “You’re looking at a future banker.”
Neil snorts and Charlie can’t help but laugh at himself. “Hey, family business, man. Wasn’t really my big dream, but my folks would have a heart attack if I even thought about anything else.”
“So, the saxophone?” Neil asks.
Charlie glances over to it for a moment, then shoots Neil a sly wink as he places the cigarette between his lips. He cracks open a window and leans out, lighting the cigarette before taking a quick drag.
“I’m a musical prodigy after a few beers. I turn into fucking Charlie Parker, just you wait.”
“Looking forward to it.” Neil says.
Before he can notice it, a small smile creeps onto his face.
-
Oh fuck. It’s his first day, and he’s already running late.
Well, late by his standards. There’s still twenty minutes before his class starts, but Neil would prefer to get there early so he doesn’t have to sprint across campus and take one of the last available seats. He’d planned to grab a coffee and hang around outside of the lecture theatre for five minutes before choosing a seat in the back corner, somewhere unassuming and quiet. But, no. Someone had it out for him, and he just had to sleep through his alarm.
It was likely due to leaving his unpacking until late into the night, creeping around a sleeping Charlie as he slid textbooks under his bed and hung clothes in his closet. When he finally slipped under the thin material that could hardly be called a blanket, it seemed like only minutes of sleep had been allotted to him before his alarm brought him back to consciousness.
Now, he’s rushing through the hallways, desperately searching for where his class is supposed to be. It’s at this moment that he stumbles into someone, narrowly avoiding knocking their bag from their shoulder. Neil goes to apologise, but before he can rush the words out, the victim is gone in a flash of blonde hair as they turn the corner.
Still, he calls out a ‘sorry’ to the empty hall, not wanting to make enemies on his first week. A flair for the dramatics has always followed Neil, but he deems manners important anyways. First impressions, and all that.
Campus is quiet this morning, with only a few tired students quietly moving under the dull, rising sun. A few birds chirp, providing a soundtrack for Neil’s slow walk towards the Old Annex Building. Though he’s power walking, he still takes the time to look at his surroundings, eyes surveying the towering oak trees and few birds that peck at the ground, searching desperately for some seeds or berries.
Neil smiles softly at the sight of them, mentally wishing them luck on their quests. He loses himself in his daydreams for a moment, hardly even registering when he arrives at the heavy door of his lecture hall.
The luxury of choice has seemingly been ripped from him today, as students are already filtering into the theatre as Neil approaches the door. He bites back a sigh and joins the crowd, taking the first seat he stumbles across. He steals a look towards the boy next to him, who is already frantically organising notes and various loose sheets of paper.
Neil pales at the amount of preparation, before forcing a grin onto his face.
“Hey, I’m Neil. Hope it’s okay I’m sitting here.”
“Richard Cameron.” The boy offers, still flipping through his pile of highlighted papers in pursuit of something.
“You sure are prepared.” Neil jokes, nervously twirling his pen as he eyes his own blank notepad.
Richard only hums, seemingly finding what he was looking for and letting out a sigh.
“Nothing worse than being behind on your first day.”
“Yeah,” Neil comments, the empty lines of his notepad now seeming more like an omen of his impending failure. He hasn’t even bothered to look at the syllabus, and the familiar ringing of panic begins to build in his head.
As the lecturer begins speaking, Neil takes a deep breath and zones out.
-
Exhaustion is all Neil feels as he makes the journey back to his dorm.
Pathetic, is what he imagines his father would call him, tired after only one two-hour lecture on the course’s syllabus, and Neil can’t find it in himself to disagree.
Obviously, he knows college is supposed to be somewhat challenging. It’s not a surprising concept that people have to work hard to become doctors, lawyers, bankers, or whatever else they choose to be their life’s path. But he wasn’t expecting it to take such a toll on him after just one day.
Acting had never felt like this, like a chore or a burden.
Neil could study the same script for hours on end and still experience the same thrill he felt upon reading it for the first time. Each reread brought a new layer, a new perspective to his character and their motivations, their emotions, their life . Neil sometimes wishes he could understand himself with the same intensity as he does his roles. It would make his life easier, that’s for certain.
Whilst his mind should be spinning with the content of the day’s lecture - important dates for exams, their readings for the next lecture, the basic run down of the syllabus - all he can think about is throwing down his bag and laying in bed doing nothing. School is draining in the best of times, but when you’re studying a subject you never wished to pursue in the first place? Neil thinks it should be akin to psychological torture.
Despite what his father thinks, Neil was born with theatre in his blood, enough personality and charisma to live the lives of thousands. He knows he wasn’t made for clinical hospital rooms and vital surgeries. He just wishes his father did too.
Lost in his own thoughts, Neil narrowly avoids walking into someone. The boy seems just as dazed as he is, head bent over a sheet of loose paper covered in scribblings, a pencil in his left hand and a furrow in his brows. Blue eyes wide, he meets Neil’s gaze and mumbles an apology, moving aside to let him pass without further obstruction.
Neil smiles softly and thanks him, assuring him it’s okay before he continues the unbelievably long walk back to his dorm room with a warmth in his heart. It’s weird, he thinks, how a such simple interaction could provide a moment of light amidst the chaos.
That night, he dreams of blue eyes.
-
He’s pouring over an anatomy textbook in the library, latin terms and medical descriptions blurring together to make one fat lump of ink, when he hears a soft voice.
“Excuse me?”
He looks up to see a familiar face, and a grin is quick to creep across his features.
“It’s you!”
A flash of panic crosses the boy’s face as he works to decode the meaning of Neil's statement.
“Me?”
“Shit, that sounds creepy, doesn’t it?” Neil groans. “It’s just, I’ve just seen you around a lot, y'know? I nearly ran you down in a hallway the other day, actually.” Realising he’s rambling, Neil squeezes his eyes shut briefly before speaking again. “Okay, forget I said that, uh, I’m Neil.”
The boy seems hesitant - rightfully so, Neil thinks - but offers a shy and crooked smile anyways.
“Todd.” He takes a breath, eyes pointed towards the floor, before he continues. “Could I uh, could I sit here? The library is… it’s pretty full and there aren't any spare tables.”
Neil’s answer is out of his mouth before his brain can even register it.
“Sure. Sit.”