Chapter Text
Neil Perry had a problem.
A big, all-encompassing, mind-consuming, utterly exasperating problem.
Its name was Todd Anderson.
Sometimes Neil thought it was ridiculous—how much space Todd took up in his head. He wasn’t even trying, and yet he managed to be the most distracting thing in any room. It was the quiet things that got him, the small, unintentional gestures. The way Todd’s fingers always curled around the sleeves of his sweater like he was trying to make himself smaller, or how he’d smile—soft and hesitant—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. And when he laughed, really laughed, it was like sunlight cracking through clouds. Neil lived for those moments, the ones where Todd forgot to be cautious and just was. He had these impossibly kind eyes, wide and searching, that made Neil feel seen in a way that no one else ever had. And he listened— like what Neil said mattered, even when it was nonsense.
It wasn’t just the way Todd looked, though Neil would be lying if he said he wasn’t completely undone by the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint dusting of flush over his rosy cheeks, the way his hair fell into his eyes no matter how many times he pushed it back. It was more on how Todd treated him, like he was good, like he was enough. And God, Neil wanted to be enough for him. Wanted to be the reason Todd smiled that shy, rare smile more often. He was captivated, helplessly, hopelessly, like Todd was gravity and Neil had given up pretending he wasn’t already falling.
And then there was this times of Todd’s habit that get him- of him biting his lower lip when he was nervous. Not hard enough to break skin—just enough to leave a faint, pink mark. Neil had spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering if Todd even realized he was doing it. Probably not. Todd never noticed these things about himself. But Neil did. Every single one. Every ridiculous, unfairly adorable quirk Todd had was cataloged and classified in Neil’s head like he was preparing for a final exam on the boy.
And Todd laughed at his terrible jokes. The ones no one else found remotely funny. The ones Neil barely found funny. But Todd would still chuckle, quiet and sincere, like he couldn’t help himself. Like it was just for Neil.
Which was all fine and wonderful—except for the tiny, soul-crushing fact that Todd was completely oblivious to the most important thing of all:
Neil Perry was hopelessly, pathetically, head-over-heels in love with him.
It was excruciating.
“Dude, just tell him,” Charlie groaned, not even bothering to look up as he lazily flicked his fork. The weaponized utensil sent a half-cooked, sauce-drenched ravioli splattering onto Pitts’s plate with a wet plop.
Neil nearly choked on his drink.
“Absolutely not.”
Charlie’s grin widened, slow and dangerous, as he leaned back in his chair. He kicked his boots up on the bench with the kind of smug satisfaction that usually preceded a terrible—and undeniably entertaining—plan. “Come on, Neil, you’ve been making heart eyes at him for years. The guy’s gotta know by now.”
Neil set his drink down with more force than necessary, the liquid inside sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “I haven't—,” he muttered, "and he probably doesn't."
“He doesn’t,” Knox agreed flatly, absentmindedly spearing a grape and popping it into his mouth. He chewed, slow and contemplative, before adding, “It’s Todd Anderson. He’s completely unaware of everything. Except, like… probably himself.”
Neil groaned and let his forehead thud against the tabletop. The cool wood didn’t do much to soothe the pounding in his skull.
“I know,” he mumbled into the surface. “That’s the problem.”
Across from him, Charlie abandoned his assault on his lunch and leaned forward, elbows hitting the table with a dull thud. “Alright,” he said, voice dropping into something just shy of conspiratorial. “What’s the plan, then? You gonna keep acting like that until the day you die? Because from where I’m sitting, that’s what it looks like.”
Neil tilted his head just enough to glare at him with one eye. “Shut up Charlie.”
Charlie shrugged, wholly unbothered. “I’m just saying. It’s not exactly a solid life strategy.”
The worst part was… Charlie wasn’t wrong. Not that Neil was going to admit that aloud.
He sat up straight and sighed, dragging a hand through his hair until it stood on end. “I tried,” he said, sounding as frustrated as he felt. “Three times.”
Pitts finally looked up from his plate, chewing thoughtfully. “Three times?”
Neil nodded miserably. “The first time, I chickened out. The second, he looked at me with those—” he waved his hands in the air, as if trying to physically conjure the memory, “—those big, soft, trusting eyes and I panicked.” He paused, letting that humiliation wash over him all over again. “The third time, I got halfway through and he thought I was giving him a pep talk. For our friendship.” Neil practically spat the last word like it was poisonous.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Charlie burst out laughing.
Neil threw a balled-up napkin at him. It missed. “Laugh it up,” Neil grumbled. “I’m glad my misery is so entertaining for you.”
Charlie wiped a pretend tear from his eye. “You’re killing me, Perry.”
Knox didn’t laugh, but his lips quirked in quiet amusement. Pitts, ever the diplomat, just shrugged. “Maybe if you told him directly, it’d work.”
Neil stared at him. “That’s… horrifying.”
Charlie snorted. “No kidding.”
Pitts popped another ravioli in his mouth with a shrug, apparently at peace with his unhelpful advice.
Neil picked at his sandwich crust, hyper-aware of the weight of his friends’ gazes. His stomach twisted, half from nerves, half from the bitter reminder that no matter what he did, this wasn’t something he could control.
He hated not being in control.
“Confessing outright is dangerous,” Neil said, almost to himself. “What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I confess. And what if it just ruins everything?” He trailed off, staring at a crumb on his plate like it held the answer to his entire existence.
Charlie dusted off the crumbs out of his plate. “So what, then? You just gonna suffer in silence?”
Okay. Think, Neil. You’re smart. You’ve gotten out of worse situations—Calc class, for one. This is just strategy.
Just tactics. Just… Todd Anderson, who is about as easy to figure out as quantum physics and twice as terrifying.He chewed on the end of his straw, staring at the now empty paper plate with bread crumbs—like it personally offended him. “Operation: Make Todd Fall In Love With Me.” He underlined the title in his head three times. That was supposed to make it feel official. Though it didn’t.
Idea #1: Write him poetry.
Romantic, sweeping, heart-wrenching poetry. The problem? Neil wasn’t exactly Wordsworth. He tried once—ended up rhyming "Todd" with "God," and then cringed so hard. Scratch that.
Idea #2: Serenade him.
Sure. Classic. Timeless. Except for the fact that Neil couldn’t play guitar, and the only song he knew on the piano was Chopsticks. And Todd would die of embarrassment. And Neil would die of embarrassment. They’d both die. Terrible plan.
Idea #3: Leave him little anonymous love notes.
Cute, right? Sweet, maybe. Except Todd would probably think they were from some mystery girl, and then Neil would have to stand by helplessly while Todd spent the next six months wondering which girl at Welton was secretly in love with him. No. Absolutely not.
Neil groaned and slumped forward, thudding his head against the table. This was impossible. Todd was impossible. Too gentle. Too careful. Like if Neil said the wrong thing, he’d break whatever fragile thing they already had. And Neil couldn’t risk losing Todd’s friendship. That was the worst part—this endless, paralyzing fear that if he reached for more, he’d lose everything.
But then—then—an idea. It flickered in the back of his mind and suddenly sparked bright and alive. What if… No, wait. Yes.
He sat up fast enough to make himself dizzy.
A three-step plan. Foolproof. Or… fool’s hope. But it was something.
Step One: Make Todd notice him.
Not as a friend. Not as “Neil,” best friend and co-conspirator in poetry. But Neil dateable Perry, as someone... more. As someone he could want. Neil chews his lip, thinking. This isn’t about grand gestures—Todd would run for the hills if Neil suddenly burst into a sonnet. It’s about... moments. Leaning in close when they talk. Laughing at Todd’s dry little comments like they’re the cleverest thing he’s ever heard. (Because, honestly, they kind of are.) Maybe wearing that sweater that Charlie said made him look “less like a schoolboy and more like someone who actually knows what game is.”, whatever that means. Subtle. But intentional.
You can do subtle, Neil cheered himself, even as he doubted it. Probably.
Step Two: Flirt. Aggressively.
Okay, maybe not aggressively. That sounds a little—well, aggressive. But obviously. Neil thought harder. Eye contact. Lingering. Compliments that are a little too specific to be casual. Todd might not pick up on it right away, but Neil could be persistent at times. He can do this. Light touches—an arm brushing an arm, knees knocking under the table. The kind of things that might make Todd feel something without realizing it right away.
He marked a little star next to this one. For morale.
Step Three: FINAL STEP.
Must not act upon unless absolutely necessary.
Make Todd jealous.
It’s going to be risky. The nuclear option. Neil knows it. But if all else fails—if Todd doesn’t notice the way Neil looks at him, if the flirting slides off him like rain on a window—then maybe, maybe, seeing Neil with someone else will make Todd realize there’s something there. That he wants something there. The flush creeping up his neck, not out of shyness but something else. Something sharp. Wanting.
Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe it’s dangerous. Maybe it’ll blow up in his face.
But it’s a plan he could work with.
Neil leans back in his chair as he recapped his master plan.
- Make him notice.
- Flirt like your life depends on it.
- Jealousy—only if you’re desperate.
A little wild. A little reckless.
“Foolproof,” he whispers to himself.
Neil took a breath. Then another. Then he straightened, shoulders squaring like he was bracing for impact.
“No,” he said slowly, carefully. “I’m going to make him fall in love with me.”
For one, long moment, nobody said anything.
Then Charlie howled with laughter. “That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.”
Neil shot him a withering look. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“No, seriously,” Knox said, sitting up with actual interest now. “That's really the dumbest thing we have ever heard. How exactly do you plan on doing that?”
Neil tapped his fingers against the tabletop, counting off on his hand. “Well- First, get Todd to notice me as more than a friend.”
"He already does," Knox pointed the fact clearly. “You’re his best friend.”
Neil shrugged. “I need him to see me more like… datable.”
Charlie made a dramatic gagging noise. “You do realize Todd thinks romance is, like, a myth, right? He treats it like Narnia. Maybe it exists, maybe it doesn’t.”
Neil ignored him. “Step two: flirt with him. Aggressively.”
Knox raised an eyebrow. “Define aggressively.”
Neil gave a helpless shrug. “Touching. Compliments. Eye contact. They say it works.”
"I knew it," Charlie pointed his fork like a dagger. “You are pulling this from one of Ginny’s teen magazines.”
“Shut up.”
Pitts, after swallowing his last bite, asked, “Step three?”
Neil allowed himself a grin. “Make Todd jealous.”
Charlie choked on his drink. “Oh my god.”
Knox groaned. “Neil.”
“No, seriously,” Neil said, leaning forward now, urgency creeping into his voice. “I don't think it's going to fail! Tell me it doesn't sound bad and I don't have any other ideas, I'm so serious-" Neil's voice withered down as it slowly lost its previous confidence. "Is the plan that bad?”
Charlie was still wheezing. “Perry, you’re gonna fail so hard.”
Neil jabbed a finger at him. “No faith.”
“None,” Charlie agreed cheerfully. “But I am gonna enjoy watching this disaster unfold.”
Knox, though he was quieter. More thoughtful, looked at Neil in a less teasing manner and more in a worrying stare. His fingers drummed a slow, uncertain beat against the table. “Do you think this would work?”
The question hung there. And for a moment, Neil wasn’t sure.
What if he pushed too hard?
What if Todd pulled away?
What if this ridiculous, fragile thing they had unraveled completely?
If Neil lost that—if he lost him—he wasn’t sure what would be left. Would Todd look at him differently? Would he stop sitting so close? Would he pull away when Neil touched his arm, or laugh less easily at his jokes? Would he stop showing up at all? Neil couldn’t stand the thought. It would be like someone taking a piece of him and walking away with it. Worse—like he’d handed it over and asked them to go.
Because if Todd said no—if he didn’t feel it, if Neil had imagined all of it—then nothing could go back to the way it was. There was no rewinding. No “just kidding.” They’d both know. And maybe Todd would try to pretend things were fine, because that’s what Todd did, but it wouldn’t be the same. Neil would see it in the way he hesitated before answering the door, in the way he avoided Neil’s eyes when they passed each other at school. In the silence where there had once been easy conversation.
But then Charlie threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in with an easy grin. “Don’t listen to Obnoxious here. You’ve got this— I'll help. I don't have any more entertainment in my life right now, either.”
“Yeah,” Neil said, though his voice was softer. "Thanks— I guess."
Charlie smirked. “And if you fail, it would be fun to tell you 'I told you so.' when you cry and bitch about it.”
Neil rolled his eyes, but he couldn't let a good partner in crime go to waste.
“I hate you,” he muttered.
“Love you too,” Charlie sang back.
Maybe, just maybe, Neil thought, that this was a stupid plan.
But it was A plan.
And he was going to make it work.
Or die trying.