Chapter Text
Todd fidgeted with the edge of his notebook, crinkling and smoothing out the page in his hand, focusing on anything but Neil sitting in front of him. The gentle sounds of the crunching paper, of the radiator humming under Neil’s legs, of the dead limbs of a tree tapping against their window, imploring to be let in, filled the crushing silence left by his and Neil’s argument. Todd settled back into his bed and pulled the words against his chest, tried to let them fill his heart.
They felt a little silly, all of the sudden, ramblings about dreams and new beginnings, things neither of them could grab. Things-
“You’re coming to the meeting this afternoon?”
“I don’t know, maybe.” Todd shook his head as he spoke, shrugging off the question as if it didn’t matter. It did, of course. Nearly everything Neil said did, that’s why people listened to him, why they followed him, why they sat around failed fires in caves and… and let poetry drip from their tongues like honey. That’s why Todd did, at least.
“Nothing Mr. Keating has to say means shit to you, does it Todd?”
Todd looked up, taken aback by Neil’s outburst, by the way he was suddenly leaning forwards, too fucking invested. “What is that supposed to-”
“You’re in the club! Being in the club means being stirred up by things!” Neil stood up and pointed his script at Todd. “You look about as stirred up as a cesspool!”
“So, what, you want me out?”
“No, I want you in .” Neil stepped forwards until his knees bumped up against Todd’s mattress, until he was leaning up against the overhang. “But being in means you got to do something, not just say you’re in.”
“Listen, Neil. I- I appreciate this concern but I’m not like you, alright?” Todd had sort of figured Neil already knew that. Already knew he just couldn’t be the kind of person people sat around failed fires in caves for, never could be even if he tried. He thought Neil had accepted it, when he got Todd in the club without having to say a single word. “I… You say things and people listen. I'm… I’m not like that.”
“Don’t you think you could be?”
“No!” The answer was so obvious Todd threw it out on instinct, like if he tossed it out fast enough both of them would have no choice but to catch it, but to accept it. Yet the moment it left his lips, it felt wrong. “I- I don’t know.” Maybe he could be. Maybe the boy who wrote poetry in front of his entire English class and who snuck out at night to sit in caves could be and who had friends like Neil could be but- “That’s not the point. The- the point is there’s nothing you can do about it. So you can just butt out. I can take care of myself just fine.”
Neil stared at him. All soft brown eyes and furrowed brows and gentle concern and fuck could he stop it already?
“Alright?” Todd asked.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
Neil grinned, loose and mischievous, spelling out the kind of trouble Todd wasn’t sure he wanted to say no to. “No.”
In a flash, he tossed the play’s poster aside, snatching up Todd’s notebook instead and racing to jump up onto his bed. Todd scrambled after him in an instant.
“Gimme that- Neil!” he protested, pencil abandoned by crumpled pages, socked feet trying to find purchase as he jumped up onto Neil’s bed. “Give that back!”
“We are dreaming of a-” Neil began to read, cut off as he leapt from one bed to the next. “What is this… poetry!” Todd crashed into him after the jump, slipping on their tangled sheets, papers crunching underfoot like fallen leaves. He scrambled for the notebook, but Neil twisted it away from him with a delighted shriek, clutching the stolen goods to his chest. “I’m being chased by Walt Whitman!”
Neil crashed into the wall, laughing the entire time, and Todd stopped fighting to keep the smile off of his face. He jumped after Neil, and they collided again. Neil stumbled, or Todd did, or both of them did, probably, and then they were tumbling down to the bed together, a mess of tangled limbs and grabbing sheets and uncontrollable giggles.
“Okay! Okay!” Neil managed between breathless laughter, holding the notebook up in the air. “I surrender! You can have it. You can- you win!”
Todd took it from his grasp, pressing the pages shut the moment it was in his grasp. “Uh thanks,” he managed, suddenly a little too aware of how he could feel the warmth of Neil’s skin pressed up against his legs, how seconds ago his head was pressed against his chest. He could move, try to detangle them a little, but he wasn’t sure he could handle the embarrassment of awkwardly trying to push away from Neil.
He stayed put.
“You know, stealing my poetry and running around the room with it doesn’t make me any more stirred up,” Todd said, one of his hands that was holding him up firmly pressing the notebook shut.
“Really?” Neil asked. “ I’m stirred up, I know that much. You seemed pretty stirred up too y’know, when you were chasing me like a madman. A sweaty-toothed one, even.” His face split into an even wider grin, somehow, endlessly pleased by his own reference.
Todd swatted him in the arm, and Neil swatted back playfully, laughing quietly. It was a hard sound not to mimic, a hard thing to ignore. “Hey, hey!” Neil protested, blocking an incoming smack. “I liked that poem. You were good Todd, you were really good.”
Todd eyed him doubtfully, silently making sure he was being genuine. It felt unlikely, that anyone had enjoyed the stuttering result of Keating’s mad urging towards the world of improv poetry, except maybe Keating himself. Even Todd, who stood slightly breathless and elated at the end of the whole thing, found it hard to ignore the wave of anxiety he had to endure to get there. “It wasn’t- it wasn’t that good.” He laughed slightly, a bit awkwardly. “It was a mess.”
“It was a great mess, then,” Neil insisted. “Really Todd, I loved it. I’d listen to you read poetry anytime, everyone else would too. They’d lose their shit if you stepped up during a poets meeting, I mean it.”
Todd looked at him, all soft smiles and rumpled clothes and hopeful grins, and believed he meant it. That was the worst thing of all, he really believed he meant it. Todd swallowed thickly. “I mean I- I appreciate that Neil but I’m not… in the cave, in front of all those people… it’s not the same.”
Neil frowned slightly, clearly considering this. Then he brightened, so clearly Todd could practically see the light bulb flash over his head, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “I know what we can do!” Neil announced, sitting up so suddenly that his forehead nearly crashed into Todd’s, that he gave them no choice but to try and detangle themselves.
It was indeed an awkward endeavor, punctuated with a lot of hissed curse words and half failed instructions to “Move your arm ,” and “I can’t move my arm until you move your arm!” and “No not like- fuck!” but they managed it. Todd knew he was bright red by the end of it, but Neil’s neck was flushed as well, and that made him feel a little less bad.
“So, um, you had an idea?” Todd prompted hesitantly, once they were both sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Yes!” Neil agreed, standing up so he could face Todd. “We should have our own Dead Poets Society,” he proclaimed. Todd opened his mouth, moved to protest, but Neil waved him away to continue. “It’ll be just the two of us. We’ll meet whenever the others don’t, down to the cave just like always, but you won’t have to worry about everyone else. It’ll be like- it’ll be like rehearsals! You can practice with me to get over the stage fright before you move onto the big show.”
“I- I don’t know Neil. I mean, what if, what if it’s just as bad and I freeze up or it doesn’t work…” Todd trailed off, not sure how else to voice his protests, trying to give words to the anxieties that rolled around in his stomach.
“Well that’s just the thing,” Neil insisted. “It doesn’t matter how you do, cuz it’ll just be you and me. And I won’t care.”
Todd swallowed thickly, held eye contact with Neil for two many sticky slow seconds before he had to look away. “I’m just not sure is all, okay? I mean, aren’t we- we risking enough with the regular meetings? Are you sure this is a good idea, Neil?” He chanced a glance up, saw that Neil was ready to talk again, was ready to launch into another persuasive tirade, and Todd felt the strong urge to cut him off before he said something charmingly stupid and soul-stirring enough to work. “I- I don’t even know what I’d read,” he blurted out.
Neil laughed, short and breathless. “Oh come on! That’s the easy bit, you can read anything. Do something Whitman, you like his stuff, right?”
Todd shrugged, looked out the window. “I don’t know Neil… maybe. I’ll- I’ll have to think about it.”
“Oh bullshit,” Neil said. He stepped forward until he was toe-to-toe with Todd, dropped into a crouch right in front of him, one hand on his knee. “Bullshit,” he said again. Todd looked down at him, tried to keep his breaths nice and even. “You’re not gonna think about it at all.” What a lie; Todd was going to be thinking about this conversation until he graduated, until he died. “Come on, right now. Yes or no? Don’t think about it, just go with your gut. Carpe diem!" He drummed his fingers on Todd's knee with those last words, as if that could drum up some moxie from deep inside of him.
And maybe it could, because Todd found himself pausing before he answered, giving the idea thought instead of immediate denial. What if he did? Why not? It was just Neil. Not Cameron or Pitts or Meeks or any of the other poets. Maybe that could make all the difference, in some way. Todd found himself nodding. “Alright, alright, I mean…” he trailed off, looked down at Neil, who was grinning so wide Todd was worried his face would split. “Carpe diem?”
“Yes, yes!” Neil exclaimed, slapping his hand down on Todd’s thigh as he stood up, spinning in place to turn and face Todd. “This is great, this is great. ” He walked over to the window, seemingly unable to stay still, and drumming his fingers against the radiator with little metallic clangs. “We’ll go tonight.”
Todd blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait wh- tonight?”
“Well sure.” Neil turned back to him, all loose smiles and unabashed pride, the kind of confidence he was trying to rub off on Todd. “Why should we wait any longer?”
“I- I don’t even know what to read yet. Shouldn’t we take some time to- to prepare?” Todd stuttered out his excuse, grasping for whatever words might buy him a little more time.
“Whitman, like I said! Look, if you really don’t know, you can ask Keating. I’m sure he’d love to give you some poetry recommendations. Just don’t tell him what for.”
Todd sighed, leaned against the wall behind his bed in some form of resignation. He wanted to go with Neil, he really did. He wanted to… to live fully and suck the marrow out of life or whatever the hell it was. He wanted to stand on the burnt embers of a failed fire so he got ash on his shoes and smoke in his lungs and he wanted… he wanted to say words people would listen to. “Alright,” Todd agreed. “We can go tonight.”
And Neil’s face split into one of those grins that was contagious, that could have Todd smiling even if he didn’t know why. And just that made everything a little worth it.