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Neil laid down from where he had been sitting on the grass, staring at the beams of sunlight dancing through the fresh leaves of Spring. He could hear the other dead poets nearby; Cameron and Charlie fencing (Charlie refused to play against Neil anymore, citing that Neil winning made him look bad, which Neil just rolled his eyes at), Knox and Pitts arguing over… something. Neil wasn’t actually sure what. But he could hear Meeks’ voice interjecting occasionally, playing mediator but seemingly still siding with Pitts even though he was adamant he wasn’t.
Neil smiled to himself, it felt easier to relax when his friends were nearby, considering the difficulty of the Winter. For a moment, he begins to think about that time. About how exhilarating being on stage felt, the deep fear and surprising swell of anger he felt when he spotted his father, the anxiety he felt on the drive home, and the hopelessness when his father brought up military school. His quiet footsteps approaching his father’s study, his blurring vision when he unwrapped the white cloth from the gun like a ceremonial dagger, the cool metal against his fingers, his trembling hand as he raised the gun to his head-
“Neil.” His eyes sprung open- when had he closed them? It was Todd, standing behind Neil's head, looking down at him. Neil stretched, his arms going above his head and bumping into Todd's legs lightly. “You okay?” Neil dragged his arms along the green grass, enjoying the tickling sensation as he had pushed the sleeves of his thin sweater up earlier, not anticipating it to be so warm already.
He looked back up at Todd and studied the expectant expression on his face. He really liked Todd’s face, he decided. What? What do you mean you like his face? The thought echoed in his mind. Well, a face can be objectively attractive, it's not like I’m in love with him.
Right?
It was then he realized he had yet to respond, and had been staring at Todd, who was staring at him with what Neil guessed was confusion and… something else. He had never been great at facial expressions.
“Sorry, lost in thought, I guess. I’m alright.” Neil gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Todd’s eyes flicked around the rest of Neil’s face for a moment, as if trying to determine if he was lying. Neil almost felt offended, before a quiet part of his mind reminded him they had reason to worry.
Todd smiled, believing Neil; it was Neil's favorite smile. Small, like his usual one, but paired with this funny look in his eyes. Trusting, maybe. Happy. It was one he only saw when it was just the two of them, and both were truly in a good mood.
“We should probably get going, Hager will be out in a bit yelling at us if we don’t.”
“Todd, since when have we listened to anything that man says?” Neil stood up quickly, ignoring the brief dizziness. He brushed off his pants and shed his sweater, opting to just wear the white collared long-sleeve shirt underneath. Once the sweater was over his head, he saw Todd had averted his eyes. Strange. He quickly fixed his shirt that had come untucked and wrapped an arm over Todd's shoulders as they began to slowly walk towards the school.
“I mean, we should probably listen to him in Latin, considering how often he keeps giving those pop quizzes-“
“We know all the Latin we need to already, Carpe Diem!” He shook Todd’s shoulders, who gave him an exasperated yet fond look. They both stopped close to the door, waiting on the other dead poets, two of which were quickly approaching.
“Dalton, shut up! You know I won that round!”
“THERE WAS A TREE ROOT, CAMERON! TRIPPING SHOULD MEAN A RESTART!”
“WHAT KIND OF FENCING DID YOU LEARN WHERE THAT’S A RULE?”
“Good match, I take it?” Neil smiled at the two boys, who both glared at him. Charlie quickly changed his look to one of pleading.
“Neil, my best friend, light of my life, tell Cameron he's an idiot and his win didn’t count,” Charlie said shaking Neil's shoulders, Neil pushed him off laughing.
“Charlie, you were fencing in the woods. Around trees. Surely you could’ve predicted there'd be roots to watch out for,” he said, amused. Charlie stared in disbelief at Neil's betrayal before turning to Todd.
“Todd. Anderson. Toddy. Toddster.” Todd scrunched his nose up at the last nickname, Neil found it hopelessly endearing. You what. “You know I would’ve won if I hadn’t tripped. Please.” Todd glanced at Neil for a second before simply shoving Charlie away laughing, back towards where Cameron was standing, smug.
“We're having a rematch later, Cameron,” Charlie said, making his way inside.
“Sure,” Cameron responded, with the air of someone who was sure to hold this over his head for the rest of the week. He followed Charlie inside.
Pitts, Meeks, and Knox had approached halfway through Charlie begging Neil to side with him, choosing to not interfere with the situation.
“Are we still having study group tonight?” Meeks asked after the rest of the group made their way inside, pausing before going to their respective classes.
“I’m in,” Knox agreed quickly, Pitts nodded his affirmation and said he’d double-check if Charlie and Cameron were going as well. “Neil, Todd?”
“No, I want to catch on some- some reading for English.” Knox shrugged before facing Neil and raising his eyebrows, Neil had eventually learned this was a non-verbal question.
“No, no, I’m doing the same so,” he could see Todd make a face in his peripheral, he didn’t try to decipher it. The boys said bye quickly as they could see Hager stomping towards them and made their way to class.
-
He could hear pages flipping and pencil scratches behind him, the clock ticking quietly, and the distant noises of students coming back to their rooms. Neil tapped his pencil against his paper rhythmically, its blankness mocking him. He wanted to write something, anything, just get words on paper.
As much as he enjoyed poetry, he had difficulty getting his own words out, feeling it was akin to pulling out molars. Sure, he could do it, not without strain and a bit of agony, blood speckling the page. Wait, blood? He had been picking at the skin around his nail bed, a small bead of blood trickling down his finger. Neil stared for a moment, fascinated, before realizing he should probably stop getting blood on his things.
Pulling out the small first aid kit they had in their room caught Todd's attention.
“What- are you okay?”
“Yeah, just picked at the skin without realizing, I’m fine.” Todd got up, quickly grabbing the anti-septic wipe out of Neil's hand, inspecting the small wound, and carefully dragging the wipe around it. He was much more thorough than he needed to be if Neil was being honest, but he appreciated the moment to stare at Todd unnoticed as he focused. There was a small furrow in his brow that Neil wanted to smooth out. Todd grabbed a small band-aid and wrapped it snugly around Neil's finger.
“There. Better.” Todd was still holding Neil's hand in both of his and looked up at him, proud of his work.
“You should be a nurse,” Neil joked, “You could pull off the uniform.”
Todd snorted. “Shut up, Neil.” Neil beamed, proud of having made Todd laugh. Todd's brain seemed to have finally caught up with the fact he was still holding Neil’s hand, dropping it as if it burned him. “Well, uh, I’m going to work on English.” He cleared his throat a bit awkwardly and moved out of Neil’s space. Don’t let him leave, get closer to him! Neil beat back that thought before realizing he did want to keep talking, it's not like his writing was getting anywhere.
“What are you reading?” Neil approached Todd's desk, where the boy had sat back down, leaning over his shoulder.
“Oh, just Walt Whitman. Keating quotes him a lot, so I thought I’d, you know, read some.” He shrugged non-committedly, almost embarrassed to talk about what he was studying.
“Have a favorite poem yet?” Todd's eyes lit up; Neil was entranced.
“Yeah actually, here.” Todd flipped through the pages, before stopping and going to hand the book over. Neil makes no move to take it.
“Could you read it?”
“Neil-“
“I know, I know, but it's just me here. Please?” Todd fidgeted with the page before breathing out a quiet okay. Neil moved to Todd's bed, sitting at the end, as Todd had not so long ago when Neil had begun his plan to lie to both his father and Nolan about his play. He shook his head of the memory and listened attentively.
“Once I pass'd through a populous city imprinting my brain for future
use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions,
Yet now of all that city I remember only a woman I casually met
there who detain'd me for love of me,
Day by day and night by night we were together—all else has long
been forgotten by me,
I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me,
Again we wander, we love, we separate again,
Again she holds me by the hand, I must not go,
I see her close beside me with silent lips sad and tremulous,” Todd read, a little quietly, but carefully, in a way that let Neil really process the words chosen. “This one actually gets paraphrased a lot.” Neil made a curious noise. “Well, the third stanza ‘Day by day and night by night we were together—all else has long been forgotten by me,’ it’s usually quoted as ‘we were together- I forget the rest.’”
“That’s nice,” Neil said quietly, unwilling to break the atmosphere created by Todd reading poetry to him. Todd nods, avoiding eye contact.
“He also, uh, this one’s technically not correct.”
“What do you mean?” How could such a beautiful poem be wrong?
“The original manuscript he-“ Todd is staring back at his desk now, his face nervous. “Whitman used male pronouns, not- not female.” Todd looked at Neil now, anxious but with a challenging look as well, as if daring Neil to say something. Neil had never seen this look and decided he liked it, despite the unspoken accusation of Neil maybe having an issue with ‘he’ being used.
“They changed it when it was published?” Todd nodded. “That’s fucked up.” He looked away from Todd's surprised face.
“It is.” He was smiling that private smile at Neil again. I think I’m in love with him. What.
-
They talked about Walt Whitman, Keating, and the other dead poets for a bit before calling it a night, Neil moving back to his own bed. He had promptly sealed any thoughts of being in love with Todd and the panic paired with them up in a locked chest in his brain, and only tentatively unlocked the chest in the safety of their dark room. He could hear Todd’s even breathing, which, as Neil noted to himself a bit annoyed, did in fact help calm him down.
He didn’t know how to approach the thought. He felt he was trapped in a room with a rabid animal that was blocking the only exit. Neil had always had a weird relationship with love. He knew he felt love. Platonic love, for his friends, and familial love, for his parents. His parents love him. He paused. His mother loves him, he's pretty sure.
She worries about him, but Neil thinks she might resent him. As long as he could remember, save for one memory, his mother had seemed trapped in that house. Neil was just as trapped, but at least had the mercy of a boarding school. Neil thinks she may have been upset at being left with such an angry man. His father wasn’t violent, but his words hurt and acted as a slow-moving poison, moving through one's body until one can’t find the will to go on.
Neil had tried to stand up to him, something his mother never had. He can't blame her, it's not like he succeeded very well either. His mother loves him, he goes with, it’s just outweighed by other emotions. Neil ignores the way his heart clenches.
His father… his father loves him. Just not in a way he fully understands. He loves in the way an owner loves his prized fighting dog. Neil loves his father the way the same dog loves the owner.
Things have been better recently. Not good, but better. His father still lashes out and ridicules his interest in theatre, but Neil takes the small mercy of still being allowed to act. He wonders if he’ll ever be out from under his father's thumb. If he could ever bring himself to hate the man. Neil decides to think about something else, he fears he already knows the answer to both questions.
Neil doesn’t think his parents are a good example of what love is supposed to look like. They don’t argue, which is somehow worse than them not talking at all. He wishes they'd scream at each other, that he wasn’t raised in a home of dirty looks and unspoken threats.
He has one good memory, though. He was very young and could hear music, something with strings, the tune bouncy. The music grew louder and his father had swept his mother up from their sofa, bringing her close in a quick waltz. His mother had laughed loudly, smacking his father's chest gently, saying something that made his father laugh just as loud. They danced in the warm light of the living room, he remembers staying on the sofa, simply watching his parents go round and round with a grin.
Neil could hear a quiet humming, before snapping back to the present and realizing he had been humming the tune from his childhood. He still didn’t recognize it, and couldn’t remember the words, but it was nice. That’s what love should look like, he thinks.
He thinks about his friends next, whether he loves them isn’t even a question. They're the ones who have been there through it all. Neil’s stuck with them, and them with him. He smiles at the ceiling, reminiscing on the earlier argument between Charlie and Cameron. They're all idiots, but they’re my idiots.
Neil thinks about Todd. He’s been doing that a lot recently. He thinks about the way he reads poetry, how his eyes light up when he's explaining something, how he laughs loudly when a joke catches him off guard, how he goes out of his way to take care of something as minor as a small cut, the quiet check-ins and private smiles Neil has come to adore. He’s Neil’s friend, of course, but the love he feels for Todd is… different somehow. Todd makes it easier to breathe, pulls him out of his spirals, and just provides a grounding presence. Is that what love is? Neil frowns at the ceiling now, frustrated.
He thinks of something Keating once told them, how when something seems difficult, try to imagine it years down the line, whether they will still be affected by it, or if it's something that’s left in the past. Neil imagines a future with Todd, he sets it 10 years from now, in 1970.
He imagines an apartment in the heart of some city, Neil with an acting career, and Todd as a writer. Maybe they have a cat or a little dog. Neil pictures sunlight streaming into their shared bedroom and waking up next to Todd. He imagines kissing Todd good morning and making them breakfast. He imagines Todd walking into their kitchen bleary-eyed and wrapping his arms around Neil. Working and eating meals and grocery shopping and cleaning and picking out furniture and arguing and making up and making ou- fuck.
He wants that, God does he want that, if the warmth he feels in his face and butterflies in his stomach are anything to go by. He’s in love with Todd. Not a fleeting school crush. A ‘let's spend the rest of our lives together’ type of love.
Todd's breathing changes unexpectedly, and Neil holds his breath. Todd rolls over from where he was facing the wall to face Neil and lets out a yawn. The moonlight is coming through the window, lighting up parts of Todd's face like a beautiful baroque painting, the light also being a strange parallel to the way Neil imagined the sunlight in their hypothetical future bedroom. Todd’s eyes flutter open for a moment and Neil can't help but stare back.
“You're still awake? It's late,” Todd guesses, voice rough with sleep, he's not sure what time it is. Neil glances at the clock. 1:15 am.
“Yeah, just thinking,” he replies softly.
“The thoughts will be there in the morning, you should get some sleep, Neil.” The curiosity eats at him for a moment. “What were you thinking about?”
“You,” Neil doesn’t see the point in lying, not when he thinks Todd might love him back. Todd’s breath hitches.
“Yeah?”
“Yep.”
“What about me?” Neil can’t stand the distance anymore and goes over to Todd, who smiles wide in confused happiness.
“Scoot over and I’ll tell you.”
“Neil, these beds are made of rickety steel and barely fit one of us,” he says, moving over anyway. Neil crawls under the covers and gets comfortable on his side, facing Todd. They’re nearly nose to nose. “So?” That expectant look again, Neil loves him so much.
“I’m in love with you,” he says simply, because it was simple, all things considered.
“You love me?” Todd's voice is elated. Neil nods, his hair moving funny where it rubs against the pillow. He’s sure he looks a bit silly with his messy hair and a smitten smile. “Are you- Neil, are you sure?” Neil places a hand on Todd's jaw, his fingers gently moving through the hair on the back of his head.
“I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I mean it.” Todd’s eyes are lit up again, glowing in moonlight. One of his hands reaches out and grasps the front of Neils shirt gently.
“Okay,” he says like it’s easy, Neil wonders how long Todd’s been sure about Neil.
They lay there, grinning like idiots, before Neil moves forward pushing his head under Todd's chin and wrapping his arms around him. They shuffle a bit, Todd putting his arms around Neil and tangling their legs. Neil wonders how he could’ve been so hesitant, now being held by Todd, in their quiet room with dim moonlight illuminating them, he's never felt so right about something.
Years later, in their apartment, he won't bring up the questions and frustrations that brought him to that moment. It's not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just all he knows is they were together- he forgets the rest.