Work Text:
The echoes of the world resonate around the room.
It's a night of late February; March being just a few days away. The snow has started to melt and disappear, leaving no trace behind. It's almost like it wasn't there in the first place.
The air is cold, but keeping warm has become easier and easier as Winter eases herself into a gentle slumber; Spring still caresses her temples.
She's awaiting the moment of her rest to let her influence shine through the blossoming flowers and green leaves of emerald, high up in the willows and sycamore trees that line up Welton's campus.
And it's weird to think about it like this, maybe. Perhaps.
Maybe it's weird that Todd lays down on his bed, and wraps himself around his words more so than his scratchy, uncomfortable sheets.
He’s always been told he’s a sensitive soul, ever since he can remember. It was endearing when he was a child. It would earn him and his parents little awws coated in awe, and softened eyes when he’d shrink into himself, with a gulp and a pair of hunched shoulders to match his bitten nails.
Before he knew it, he was nine years old.
And trying to disappear among the bushes littering the garden with your feelings clutched under your sleeve, isn’t the type of thing an Anderson man is to do. At least, according to his father.
Suddenly, being a sensitive soul doesn’t mean being a nice boy anymore. It means being different. Being reprobate. Being too soft.
So, he tries his very best to rid himself of his soul. If he could have plucked it right from his chest like a flower, and rid it of a few petals, he would have done it without a second thought.
Anything to get it to stop. Screaming. So. Loudly.
Anything for the words to stop overflowing his brain, begging to be written down; begging for him to take his prose, and scream bloody murder. Litter the walls of his white room with the blood drawn from his treacherous heart, to transform his honest, honeyed and battered grief into anything that could be, even remotely, considered beautiful. Worthwhile.
And it works for a millisecond; abiding virtue almost intact. He sets out to bury all his words in mass graves, and mourn silently the loss of his art.
It works enough years to somehow fool everyone around him into thinking the tortured artist deep within him, has packed his bags and left his body behind. All at the ripe age of ten.
He got so good at it, he even fooled himself into thinking the little corner of his brain that pumped out pretty words about Autumn and falling snow had been smothered to death by his own guilty hand.
Turns out, all it takes is a single English class taught by a free, burdenless, wonderful man, before the dam keeping his pen at bay comes crashing into pieces.
Who would’ve guessed a few months of illicit meetings in a cave in the woods could turn into illicit love poems blaring loudly inside Todd’s head twenty-four seven?
Very illicit love poems, about another boy.
Before the play, it was hard.
Falling into a small crush; he could survive that.
Every morning he’d wake hoping, praying -To any deity that might see him as worthy enough of being heard, let alone helping him.- that he’d find the swarm of butterflies inside his tummy, and the inexplicable need to grin every time Neil happens to be in the same room as him, gone.
He’d tumble his way into pages, upon pages, upon pages of his notebooks being filled with pretty sentences, pretty words, pretty prose; pretty, pretty, pretty.
Every flick of a wrist while writing during class, every glance. Every word directed towards him, any smile he was lucky enough to catch. Everything would get a stanza written about it. Thousands and thousands of words, all from the flowing river that was Todd’s helplessly mesmerised subconscious. And most importantly, all about Neil. Always about Neil.
It feels violent, almost. The strength of the yearning, filling his every motive.
Like being pushed headfirst into a bottomless pool of freezing-cold water. Like being told to swim, with your hands bound behind your back. Like being told to stay down after a punch. Like a tragedy, wrapped inside his chest, just waiting to be unwravelled. Ripped apart. Dissected.
The moment of quiet before the waves crash against the shore, roaring; deeply Unapologetic. Deeply, deeply deadly.
Until it doesn’t.
If his little crush felt so intense before the play, then after that night, it only got worse.
A crush turns into a flicker, fuelled by something he didn't know was within him. Something he didn't even think he had in himself anymore.
The sensitivity he had once thought lost among the hills when he was a kid, exchanged by visceral, vicious rushes of frenzy, had returned to him in the shade of a celestial secret, one night as he slept peacefully.
He wasn’t aware he could carry such a gentleness.
Violent rushes of pining turn into a tidal wave of longing. A steady smoke among a storm, guiding him home. He never before thought he was worthy of one. The flicker turns into a fire.
The meaning of my humanity has changed forever;
You are within my quiet evenings of docile daydreams,
He writes one day alone in their dorm, under the pretence of studying for an upcoming Trig quiz.
And it reflects everything.
Todd goes from writing prose about Neil, to positively blessing every blade of grass he walks upon, all by whispering his name to the stars that love the green reflections of light.
The syllables placed upon his lips so carefully and deliberately almost make him feel like he’s kissing his name. Kiss upon kiss, with reverence, and oh so much adoration.
He goes from internally writing poems about the golden light that reflects on his skin, and drips like honey, to barely keeping in an I love you, at any given circumstance.
Any action Neil Perry does, Todd Anderson loves intensely, and irrevocably. It's quite inconvenient.
And yet, it comes naturally. With the passing of a chemistry book during study groups, with the steadying hand on the small of his back after entering the cave. With an intercepted reply to one of Charlie’s questions he doesn’t want to answer. I love you, I love you, I love you.
It’s no longer a confession, but a fact. An affirmation.
The skies are blue. The leaves are green. Hellton is a nightmare, except for our friends, and you. You. And I love you.
The avoidance of their coded glances turns to staring contests. Todd can’t get enough of him.
Suddenly, he wants everything. Every touch, every word, every thought of his. He wants to be as close as possible, the closest two people can be. He wants to be the only one for him.
He wants so much, it’s back to being longing. It’s back to being desperate, but the rushes and ruthlessness don’t return.
This pining remains kind; remains sweet.
With the sharpness long gone, and merciless thoughts away, he lays in his bed, shimmering with the love that bubbles up inside his body. Far past his ribcage, and his arteries.
It must paint him golden, in the middle of the darkness, he’s sure of it. There's no way he’s not glowing with it, with the love he carries upon his shoulders, like a million pearls.
There’s no way no one notices how suddenly, he can find love anywhere. It’s in the sky, in the flowers. It’s in every word ever spoken, in every person. It’s like it’s always been there, but loving Neil has given him the ability to see it.
He wraps himself around his words, more so than his sheets, and he aches.
It’s lovely. Todd thought for so long that love must be pain.
That love must be a burden. That love is violence, and vulnerability is showing the other person exactly where to strike
It's sitting on the ledge, and begging to be pushed.
Long years of living off of conditional love. From his parents, from his brother, from the world. From himself.
And all it takes, is a boy with the light of a sunbeam, and a family made of seven people, and poetry. Beauty. Romance. Love.
Suddenly love is anywhere. Everywhere
Love becomes everything, everywhere. Like a child, playing hide and seek, waiting to be found. Todd never got to play hide and seek as a kid. His parents didn't want him to get his clothes dirty.
It takes him seventeen years, to realise this. The day he does, he can't grab his pen fast enough.
To love is to set free. For love is kind.
To love is to be soft. For love is patient.
Love does not seek to conquer. Love finds victory hidden nearby the meadows.
Wears it like an olive branch; high on its head in the form of a crown for a kingless kingdom.
Love is you, screaming inside caves to hear the echoes.
Love sends smoke signals, for it seeks to be sought.
Love finds, and love stays.
He’s met with thundering applause by his classmates, and wolf-whistles by his friends. He’s met with Mr. Keating’s unfigurable gaze, and unwavering, gentle smile upon his face.
Knowing eyes, always seeking; black pupils always whispering.
But most of all, he’s met with Neil looking at him, openly drawn to his face. He’s met with nothing less than his full attention, with his mouth agape and his brow slightly furrowed, almost like he's looking for something to say. Almost like he’s breathless.
It’s all that Todd needs, as he looks down at his shoes, grinning from side to side. Foolish, and so very filled with joy.
-If by the end of the class, Mr. Keating pulls him from the group for a second and says, “That, Mr. Anderson, is it. You’ve figured it out, my boy.”, That is for no one but himself, and his professor to know.-
"Penny for your thoughts?"
The waves of memoirs and iridescent, simmering longing inside his ribs is interrupted by his favourite sound in the world; a voice he hears through his sleepless nights, and deepest, most vulnerable daydreams.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Todd asks, with the caution of a child caught staying up past their bedtime.
"Yeah. Your thoughts are so loud they managed to wake me up." There's the rhythmic in and out of Neil's breathing resonating around the room, ricocheting off the walls. The words are shaped like a smile. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, it's fine," Todd says out of mere instinct, because he's not used to thinking he's allowed to say the truth. To be soft.
He tries his best to will the violence out. He tries his very, very best to ignore the thrumming of his pulse fluttering into rapid beats, coming alive just right under his flesh, over his wrists. Over every inch of his skin, with his hairs on end. Okay. Okay.
He finds himself melting onto the sheets underneath him. They feel like a wave washing over his skin. Lapping waters, freezing cold. Easy. The room smells like salt.
"Go back to sleep, Neil." He whispers, eyes closed. If Neil hears it, he doesn't show it. "Go back to bed."
"Since when have you been awake?" Neil asks.
"What time is it?"
"It's four o'clock."
Christ.
"Doesn't matter.."
The light creak of the mattress rings through the pitch darkness of the small space. He can barely see the outlines of the white ceiling against the walls.
He looks, and looks, and looks. Tries to pick the corners of the room apart.
Until he can feel the bed giving under the weight of another body, and Neil is sitting on the edge of his mattress, one leg bent under his own weight, and most importantly, right next to Todd
He only needs to turn his head slightly to the side to see Neil’s silhouette against the moonlight that sneaks through the only window in their dorm room.
It looks like he’s surrounded by lightning, right at the edges of his shadow, blending fiction with reality in a haze of light.
It's almost like it tries to stick to Neil's skin in an embrace, making him look sharp. Contained. With rounded edges, ran over with sandpaper.
Todd would be jealous if his every thought didn't end up circling back to adoration. To the need to reach out and touch.
He waits for the crack of thunder to break the tension of their unwavering stares.
It’s been deemed a habit by the rest of the Poets. They slip into it, they've been told.
Neil and Todd, Todd and Neil.
And an, oh Jesus, they’re doing it again. followed by groans is not a rarity by this point.
"What's up, Todd?" Concern tinges the edge of his words, like a golden-edge on an expensive book's coffee-stained paper.
Todd feels dizzy. He should probably ignore Neil. Say nothing, and turn towards the wall so that his back faces him. His brother would probably put an end to the conversation, and try to go to sleep.
But Todd has known he's not like his brother since he was seven, and his birthday stopped being highlighted on the calendar hung on the side of the fridge.
"It's stupid…" He trails off, lifting his hand to his own face, and over his eyes. He's sure his brain is tricking him when he swears he can see Neil's eyes trail over the slight curve of his neck; up his face, by the frame of his jawline.
"It could never be stupid."
Todd smiles, because oh, if only you knew, love.
"It's- it's just…" He pauses. Tries to recover from the overwhelming amount of thoughts circling his mind. To will his mouth to form words. He just doesn't know how he's supposed to explain what he's feeling.
But then Neil is looking at him like that again.
Like he's built citadels out of rhyme, metre, and prose. Like he's holding onto every exhale that exits Todd’s lips. Like he's holding back something, waiting, waiting, waiting.
It's weird to think about it. Todd's been pressured his whole life. There's always something he needs to be doing.
Something he needs to be doing better.
Neil looks at him like he's allowed to exist without an apology ready to crawl up his throat, and wait for its time to go out onstage, right under his tongue, in between his frantic, hummingbird heart, and his birdcage ribs.
Neil looks at him like he deserves to be loved. Like he deserves to be loved as hard as he loves others. As hard as he loves everything and everyone. As hard as he loves Neil.
"Neil, do you," He clears his throat, frowning. "Do you think I'm a good person?"
Neil seems taken aback by the question, perfect mouth downturned and eyes focusing on the floor. “Of course I think you’re a good person. I think you’re…”
He looks up, and they engage in one of their wordless staring contests. Todd feels like he could faint any second now, melt into a small puddle on the wooden floor; drip down between Neil's fingers, like water. Driven by his star-ridden eyes.
He won't look away first if it means expressing a triumphant, unspoken I love you more.
“I think you’re the most wonderful, kindest person I have ever met, Todd.” He says, gaze marvelously sweet, still locked onto Todd's eyes. And he wishes he could always be looked at this way.
That's a lie, actually. He used to think he'd want to be looked at by anyone who'd be foolish enough to take him. To choose him.
It turns out, Todd wants no one but Neil to look at him like that. Like he's wanted. Loved.
And perhaps it's him who is truly foolish; he swears he can see a little glimpse of adoration in Neil's eyes. Maybe, - And he'll never admit he desperately, and honestly hopes it's the case,- to be chosen is to be loved.
"I wish-" He starts speaking, before thinking better of it. He snaps his lips shut, looks away with flushed ears. He doesn't dare finish that sentence.
And of course Neil smiles. Of course his eyes crinkle like almonds, and of course Todd wants nothing but to lean over to his desk and write that down.
It's almost teasing, with that gorgeous smile to prove it, the way Neil asks, "What do you wish for, Todd?"
It's always the damn way he says Todd's name. Like it means more than just a common courtesy.
And he, -foolish, foolish, foolish,- smiles back; swallows his nerves so hard it can most definitely be heard around the room.
He thinks he might have to try and catch the careless words. He finds himself holding still. "I wish there was some way I could just-”
No. No.
He looks away, cheeks burning up. The thunder outside roars to life again, brings back the heavy pressure of building electricity in the humid night. Rain starts scattering like little jumping sparks, an echo of light against soil and pavement.
Neil hasn't looked away yet. Todd can feel his gaze against the side of his face like a brand.
His eyes are half-lidded, but he doesn't look sleepy.
There's an air about him, something so unguarded that it slithers from his mouth, opening and closing back again.
Whatever it is he's thinking slips past his brow, the slope of his nose, sliding around his cheeks. He looks sobered up; something deep, dark, and dangerous dances from eye to eye, then back again.
Neil's face is so expressive it becomes captivating. He's the growing ripple in a lake, the movement of the clouds across the sky. He's the orbit of the Moon around the Earth.
Todd's heart squeezes inside his chest uselessly. His fingers shake, and his breath quivers. He can't stop his eyes from drifting down to Neil's mouth.
Fuck. Christ.
The movement should be imperceptible in the dark of the room. He hopes he can get away with it.
He's normally not stupid enough to let himself be caught like this, because he knows what consequences this can bring. He knows better, he should be ready to gather it all up and lock it down inside him, cover it all up in hopes it'll disappear. He's indulged to the point of danger, to an assured no-return ticket straight to ruin.
But oh, he's so ruined already, isn't he?
He's been ruined from the very start, drawn tight like a string about to snap, careless in his affection, ready to risk it all in the name of love.
The shallow waters are far away now. He can't see the shore.
Neil's eyes widen a fraction. Todd sees him look down slightly, probably in recognition, probably in fear.
And Todd doesn't blame him. He's afraid of himself too.
But Neil must be kind enough to spare him the shame, to spare him the trouble. To try and understand. He is the kindest person Todd knows.
He pauses. Waits. Neil looks up again, eyes sure as they can be. It's the only way Neil knows how to look, how to act. The wavering of his throat, the slight quiver in his breathing goes unnoticed.
“What do you wish for, Todd?” He repeats himself, but it pales compared to the last time he said it.
It's meek, and if Todd didn't know any better, he'd say it's a little desperate. A little troubled. There's no joke to be told here when he asks, “what do you want?”
Todd wavers. He can feel a gasp building up inside his throat, lodging itself against his ribcage. It's the heaviest he's ever left, the lightest, the surest.
He's never been more sure of what he wants.
“I want…” he stammers, trails off, the words hot coals on his tongue, building up and ready to leap, “I want–”
A clap of thunder drops from the sky, the only witness to Todd's attempt at bravery. He slips again. He wants to curse himself, as he feels the steel leave his blood. There's nothing else to be found here, and the echoes of how undeserving he is of this creep back into his mind's eye.
He knows better.
“Nothing,” He says, and draws the covers closer to his body. “It's nothing.”
Neil looks at him expectantly. For a second, Todd thinks he looks almost deflated, somehow.
His face does something strange, like he wants to say something. Like something in Todd's own face confuses him. He sighs, eyes suddenly weary.
“Sometimes I think you've finally gotten it. That you can take what is yours.” Neil says, lost. Quiet.
“And then it's just–” he makes a confused gesture, face pinched and hands waving about, “gone from your eyes.”
"What?” Todd mumbles in response. Neil can be so confusing sometimes, in his boldness. So stubborn, set in his ways. Todd loves it, and when he doesn't, he's faced with it like a tall, frosted glass wall.
“You're so close to it you can touch it. You can just,” he pauses; licks his lips, “reach out.”
“So close you can feel the warmth seeping through,” Todd says. It's what he feels when Neil stares at him like that, like he's doing now. Like he wants to touch him, but it's so futile it's not even worth trying.
It's so easy for him normally. Todd wonders what's holding him back. What it is that makes it so easy to do then; that makes it so hard now.
“I don't know,” Neil laughs, mirthless. Todd rolls his eyes at his tone. “You're better with words than I am.”
Todd frowns. “It doesn't matter.” he says, sharper this time. He doesn't understand what Neil means, why he keeps pacing in circles around it. “You don't get it, Neil.”
Neil's face twitches. His eyes look like they're shaking. His mouth is drawn in a snarl, almost. Todd's never seen him like this, not over anything.
“Todd,” He says through clenched teeth, “I think I get it better than you do.”
Todd breathes out, startled and shaky. He loves him, oh how he loves him, even now, when he seems miles away. When he's reminded of how Neil is willing to risk it all just to be understood. To be seen.
“Neil,” he says, frost gone in seconds. Neil recoils in response, trying to look away from the warmth. It must be a slap to the face, Todd thinks.
It must be hard to accept that you can be loved when you lose your temper. When you're riddled with spines on the outside. When you're pushing and kicking away.
Todd knows how to be violent. Maybe it's about time he's a little reckless with it.
There's a firmness within him, he's never tried to reach it before.
For Neil he can try.
He reaches out, grabs Neil's wrist, and pulls him closer. Neil's guarded eyes twinkle for a moment, and it's easy to forget how much he carries within him when he laughs. It's easy to forget how clever he is, how good at reading people, at seeing deep within them in a way he sometimes can't see into himself.
And it renders Todd breathless. It leaves him hanging by his every graceful word, and boyish movement. It leaves him trailing behind.
He gives a step forward.
“Neil.” He asserts, in a whisper. “You know what I want.”
Neil stares at him blankly, weighting the response. Whatever he finds leaves him scooting forward an inch, two inches.
“What do you– oh, I'm a damn broken record.” Neil whispers into the dark, eyes pinched closed, like it pains him to say. The cold trail of moonlight mingles with the breath he lets out, quiet and shaky.
Todd smiles, and looks down at his mouth. It shines so prettily that it makes his stomach do somersaults, and brightness bursts behind his eyelids when gravity pulls him into Neil's orbit.
He falls into the kiss more than he gives it, nothing more than a quick peck, here and then gone in less than a second. He leans back like he's been burnt, and the tingling sensation of heat crawls through his mouth like pins and needles.
He must be branded with it, mouth red and angry like a rash making itself known. It must be written across his forehead, on his hands, like grey newspaper print. A headline declaring Neil Perry's mouth known to Todd Anderson.
A lingering taste of survival instinct forces his eyes open. A part of him is sure he'll be met with a stunned Neil Perry, who'll laugh it off and get up, finally ready to put an end to whatever spell has taken over the night air.
He's met with a stunned Neil Perry alright, with fingers against his lips and a smile so wide it must be hurting his cheeks.
“See, wasn't so hard, was it?” He murmurs, trembling with the electric charge of a lovestruck giggle. He could be a magazine's cover, a movie poster advertised in town.
Todd's breathing is picking up, and the panic settles until it's a buzzing, pleasant droopiness. He smiles back, just as silly.
“Neil,” He says, because he can. “Oh, Neil.”
You must know it, there's no way you don't.
He's swooning, drawn through the currents, and delivered to the ocean. He's pulled under, limbs heavy, sinking into Neil's hands, that are pulling him back in, back to shore, back to life–
He closes his eyes, and he falls. He feels the skin of Neil’s palms against his face like a vision turning prophetic. There’s nothing else, a quiet empty bliss that slithers through his veins, makes his pulse jump under Neil’s tender fingers. His mouth is soft, and a little hesitant. Soft.
He moves back against Neil, pushes and pulls away to smile, smiles even wider when Neil chases after him. He can’t help it when he chuckles, amused and endeared, free-falling and screaming with it. And Neil laughs too.
It’s the sweetest anything’s ever been, it’s something he wants forever.
So, he says as much, when he pulls Neil back in with a hand against the warm back of his neck, surely flushed pink with the blood-rush. He kisses the corner of Neil’s mouth when he misses, though it isn’t much of a loss with the gasp Neil lets out in response, moving his head to align their mouths so fast it knocks their teeth together.
They both pull back in unison with a hiss, a laugh trailing right after. Todd shushes Neil, before they manage to wake everyone up at an ungodly hour, and with no explanation as to their mirth.
Oh, we’ve been knocked together in our eagerness to pull into each other. You couldn’t possibly blame us for it, could you? He is radiant, can’t you see it? He’d explain, and expect no response. He is what Spring wishes to be, he is the echo of delight. I couldn’t help it.
But it would be useless to try and explain. It would be a gaping black hole, a void endlessly consuming every possible word he could write down, a hungry precipice swallowing the ink of his pen, the lead in his pencils, pages upon pages of books upon books written down in the shape of Neil’s smile, in the cadence of his words.
Or maybe, it would be quite easy. As easy as writing his name down a hundred, a thousand times. As easy as writing down you, you, you.
All that Todd knows is that he’s going to find out. And he’s going to delight in every second that it takes him. He’s going to spend nights up and about, pacing back and forth until Neil wraps him into his arms, under the blankets and against him.
He’ll stare at the rain, and he’ll find the reflection of Neil’s shining eyes against every small droplet. He’ll write until his fingers go numb, until there are shelves creaking under the weight of ten books too many, until every word that comes out of his mouth is wrapped in the syllables of Neil’s laughter.
And he’ll get what he wants every second that he does it. He’ll have the world, and the stars, and the whole damn universe while he does it. And he’ll say it, and say it, and say it. And he’ll push, and push, and pull, and pull. He’ll take, and he’ll give.
Todd knows it, deep down, and more than anything. He knows it now, and he’ll know it tomorrow morning, when the sun comes out, and the violence settles.