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The night after Neil's death, Todd can't sleep.
He keeps staring at the empty mattress across the room, tears running freely down his cheeks, and making no move to dry them. The grief is weighing him down like a heavy blanket; he's so exhausted but he can't, for the love of God, close his eyes and rest. It's too goddamn quiet in the dorm room without Neil's steady breaths to lull him to sleep like they always did.
He twists and turns, contorting into strange shapes that do nothing but offer a painful distraction and still, there's no rest for the weary grieving heart. Todd lays flat on his back, fists pressing hard against his eyelids and seriously considering smothering his ragged breathing with Neil's empty pillow. He doesn't do it. He's too much of a coward, always has been, he supposes.
There's a light at the corner of his peripheral vision, the source just out of sight but glowing. warmly. It seems to be the only warm thing in the room. Todd struggles to sit up, heaving a sob as he leans back on his elbows. His pajama sleeve brushes an itch across his arm and he scratches, violently, at it. The light seems to flicker and he lifts his gaze towards the lamp sitting on Neil's desk.
Instantly, he raises an eyebrow and stares.
Huh.
The lamp. It looks funny. Weird.
Neil, what have you done to your lamp? He thinks, ridiculously, just before he shoots back up from under his pile of blankets, slamming his head against the headboard of his bed with a thud. Before he has time to process the pain, he hears shuffling from the other side of the room, a sound that breaks through the ringing in his ears. Something lands heavily on the edge of his bed and Neil—Neil—is murmuring softly anxious words that Todd can't make out just yet. His hands find Neil's wrists—warm against his own cold, clammy palms—and hold on, tightly.
Finally, wild-eyed and gasping for a proper breath, he dares to look up and scan Neil's worried face in front of him, stunned.
"Are you okay?" Neil's asking, over and over again.
Todd exhales, swallowing hard and trying to choke out words.
"You…you died," is the only thing he can manage as he shakes his head, incredulously, at Neil.
"I what?" Neil asks, looking genuinely confused
His left hand is pressing against the back of Todd's head, fingers dancing through his tangled hair and searching for an injury. It's somewhat grounding and Todd inhales, closes his eyes, and breathes.
"Good that you're staying with me and not passing out," Neil remarks, the hint of a smile in his voice. "You'lI have one hell of a goose egg in the morning though.”
"Neil," Todd begins, seriously, his hands still shaking where they continue to grip Neil's wrists. "You died. After the play, your father —god, that self-preserving jerk— don't you remember anything?"
Neil's forehead creases and he looks at Todd as if he's crazy. The moonlight on his face makes him look almost angelic. Maybe that's what he really is. An angel sent to soothe Todd's grief and help him move on.
"Todd, the play is"— Neil glances at the clock. Two-thirty seven. He turns back to Todd—"tonight.”
Todd blinks at him as the reality sets in. He's lived in a dream. Neil is alive, for now, at least It's a second chance and he's so relieved, it brings a wave of fresh tears to his eyes. They slip down his cheeks, silently, before he even realizes it. Neil makes a noise of distress, shifting closer and bringing gentle palms up to cup Todd's face. He brushes the back of his hand over Todd's cheeks, whispers "shhhh" as one would to a child, and Todd sobs all the more because of it, letting his forehead drop, wearily onto Neil's shoulder.
"It must've been a terrible nightmare," Neil murmurs, wrapping his arms around a trembling Todd and still not quite understanding it all.
Todd relaxes completely into Neil's embrace, burying his face into his shoulder and clinging to the fabric of his pajama top like a lifeline. He sees the image of himself bent over in the snow, clawing his way down the hill, and screaming “NEIL!" into the cold winter air, fading like smoke. He thanks every god out there for giving them a second chance. Neil will live and so will he, to perform a thousand plays and write a million verses. Todd has never been more sure of anything in his life.
"Don't die on me," he whispers, his voice steadying.
Neil presses a kiss to the edge of his temple.
"I promise I won't. Dead Poets Honor."
Todd smiles.
“See? It's all alright now," Neil murmurs, pulling him closer.
And it really is.