Work Text:
"I don't know what it means to be good anymore," Neil murmurs, and Todd wishes desperately to tell him he doesn't have to be.
They're in this liminal space of a relationship, which is a nicer way to say that they're not talking about it. Todd kissed him, after he fully let the yearning become the puppet-master of his limbs, and to his surprise, Neil kissed him back, without running this time. Now, they're all tangled together in bed, speaking in low volumes about this, and this, and that.
"I guess… I always promised goodness," Neil whispers, not looking at Todd, and Todd thinks he might be afraid of the truths that are tumbling out of his lips. "And, I always delivered. I've never… gotten anything less than an A, always on top of my extracurriculars, you know. But then, you came along, and I realised I didn't… want to be good anymore, if it meant I could just… be with you, and I was scared. I don't know, it's stupid."
"It's not stupid," Todd says, feeling his heart clench at Neil's bare confession, at this school's unrelenting love for reducing them to only their achievements, at the fact that they found each other here, out of all the places in the world. "I've…"
Todd pauses.
"I've never been good, Neil. To have some sort of belief in me, would've… but it doesn't matter now. But, with you I wanted… I want to be good, for the first time in my life. To deserve you, at least."
"You never needed to deserve me," Neil says, shaking his head. "And, you're good, Todd, you're really good."
Todd, despite the content of the words, aches. "You don't have to be good, Neil. You're… Neil."
Neil gives him a funny look. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Todd smiles at him. "That's… more than enough for me."
"Well." Neil places his hand to his chin, as if thinking. "If Todd Anderson says that I'm good enough, who am I to refute him?"
Todd chuckles, the same way he always does when Neil says something silly. They pause, peering at each other.
"Did you—"
"Have you ever—"
"Oh, you go first," Neil says.
"No, you can," Todd requests.
"Please?" Neil whispers. "The only thing I want to hear right now is your voice."
"Okay," Todd says. "Have you ever wondered what it would have been like to meet each other—not here?"
"Oh, yeah, definitely." Neil grins, almost at the promise of it. "Imagine this, right? You're a poet—or a best-selling novelist, and I'm an actor. Your book becomes set to be released for a movie. I meet you on set. Or—or—you work as a cashier at a bookstore, or something, and I meet you trying to buy a book."
"You've had a lot of thought put into this," Todd says, biting back a grin of his own.
"It's sometimes the only thing that keeps me going," Neil says, and his face goes a lovely red. "I mean—"
"It's okay, Neil." Todd admires the shade on his cheeks. "Me too. Keep going."
Neil licks his lips, averting his eyes. "It doesn't really matter—as long as we meet. You know?"
"Yeah," Todd says, then a little quieter, "I know."
"I wish we could've met at the playground," Neil says. "As kids."
"Yeah?" Todd asks him.
"Yeah. I think… God. I don't want to talk about him, but he's part of me the same way breathing is. I think my father always had plans for me to be like this. But when I was younger, there was—probably, I forget—a sweet spot where there were no duties, no expectations to be good. I want you to have met me then."
"What would we have done?" Todd says, reaching out to Neil's hands and squeezing them.
Neil smiles. "Gone down the slide. I don't know—what do kids do?"
"We could've… played at the sandpit?" Todd has no idea. Two teenagers who have forgotten how to play. He laughs, anyway, at the slight tragedy of it.
"The sandpit," Neil states, deadpan, but he's still smiling.
"Or, the swings?" Todd suggests.
"I like that," Neil says. "We could be side by side. Feeling at the top of the world, together."
He pauses.
"I wish you could've met me then," Neil repeats. "When I wasn't like this, when we could've figured out what it means to just be with each other, not good and no good, just enough."
"Yeah, I understand," Todd says, low and quiet. "I have dreams like that, too."
"Yeah?" Neil says, returning the squeeze of his hands, encouraging him to say more.
"Just… flashes. We're driving on the interstate to a new apartment. We write to Mr. Keating, sometimes. There's something cooking on the stove."
"I hope someone is cooking the stove," Neil teases.
Todd rolls his eyes, continuing on. "Fine. Well, I'm cooking, and you're sitting there, looking pretty."
Neil's face heats up, even as he continues to look intently at Todd, and Todd feels truimph unfurl in his chest at the thought that only he can elicit such a reaction. He is very pretty, though, and Todd'll find a day to tell that to him, in a poem, letter, or otherwise.
"We're dancing, in the kitchen," Todd explains. "You'll trip over your own feet, and I'll catch you."
"Oh, please. Is this just to tell me I'm clumsy?" Neil says, but there's no heat in it.
"No," Todd grins. "I'm just saying I'm the better dancer."
"Are not," Neil says. "I would be the best dancer in our household."
Todd, impossibly, softens further at our household. "That's not something to be proud of."
"Oh, yes, it is," Neil says. "Why not I prove it, right now?"
"Neil—" Todd says, in disbelief. "Hager's checking the rooms."
"We just have to be quiet," Neil says. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes," Todd says, because it's undeniably true. The problem is that Todd would trust Neil with his life. The problem is that he doesn't trust Neil with his own. Another thing, for another day, for another letter, Todd thinks.
"Okay," Neil says. "Let's do it."
This is how they find themselves doing a grotesque and bastardised version of ballroom dancing in the middle of their shared dorm room; There's no music, or anything, but only their hands in each other's and their feet moving to a rhythm that, to be honest, isn't even synchronised. Todd's cheeks hurt from smiling, and it's almost as much as chest hurts from suppressing his laughter. Neil, as Todd has suspected, is really not good at this. For someone who excels in sports, he cannot find his footing in a dance to save his life. He keeps tripping over himself, or Todd's feet. They are a mess of limbs, trying to tread lightly in fear of someone hearing them, if the melody of their shared laugher doesn't give them away first.
"Okay," Neil says, panting, and chuckling at the same time. "You were right, but I'm not giving up, okay?"
Neil is only slightly taller than Todd, which frustrates Todd only a little, if it means that Neil can attempt to twirl him in something that does feel vaguely like the real thing. The smile on Neil's flushed face is what every poet tries to capture in their writing, and Todd has it all for his own. Todd thinks, a little insanely, that he would've taken on every ounce of loneliness if it meant the sweetness of finding Neil, touching Neil, loving him. To write to Neil takes courage, but to write about him—to make Neil his muse for life requires the type of skill that takes lifetimes, and he will find it, if he lets him. If he wants this. If there's any part of Todd that is salveagable and Neil wants, he'll give it to him.
They're both tired by now, but Neil continues the facade, dropping down to his knees and kissing the back of his hand.
"M'lady," Neil says, as he looks up at Todd with, till this day, the most striking eyes he has ever seen.
"Is this supposed to make me fall for you?" Todd teases.
"Yes." Neil gently kisses his hand again. "Is it working?"
"No," Todd says, earnestly. "You've already made me."
Neil's cheeks get even redder, even from the exertion. Instead of responding, he stands up, slipping his hand in Todd's, bringing them both to the bed, and Todd lets him.
They lay down in the same position as they were before, with Neil on the inner side and Todd on the outer side, both looking at each other.
"So," Neil says, "How was the glimpse into our future?"
"Horrible," Todd says, he cannot help the fondness that he's sure leaking out of him. "You stepped on my toes five times."
"That was all a part of the plan," Neil says, and Todd rolls his eyes.
A beat.
"Are we really not going to talk about it? About this?" Todd asks, because if Neil needs him to be brave for him, he will. And, Todd's deduced that Neil's good at running from things if he knows that he can outrun them. But, Todd's right here, and if Neil's going to say things like our future, he has to know. Todd's never been very good at running, anyway.
"What's there to say?" Neil asks, then stumbles over his words. "I—like you."
"I like you, too."
"Jesus." Neil averts his eyes.
This startles a laugh out of Todd. "Jesus?"
"God, I mean—you're insane over this new boy for months and suddenly he likes you."
"Insane?" Todd says, amused, but also as embarrassed. "Suddenly?"
"I've been… insane over you, if it wasn't obvious."
"Over me?"
"Can you not talk for more than two words at a time?" Neil asks, feverishly.
"No." Todd says, if only just to tease him. "Over me?"
Neil nods. "If not the first time I shook your hand… But, you're… so good, Todd—that it makes me afraid."
"Why are you afraid, Neil?" Todd asks, and that's the crux of it, isn't it? Todd has dealt with his own share of guilt, fear, and resentment in choosing to love Neil. But, it was never the act itself, if Todd was being truthful, but what others' saw as the implications. A disappointment like Todd doesn't just choose to believe in redemption, so what was one more disappointment? But to have ran away first, and still hesitate to talk about it later, there's something in the act of loving Todd for Neil that makes him want to flee, and that makes Todd fear more than anything else.
Neil pauses, deliberating the words that he wants to say.
"To gain you, means I could lose you." Neil whispers. "I don't… want to do that. You're… everything, Todd. With you, there's a place outside my house. There's a place where I believe that I can get out of here, in one piece. I don't… what if I… what if…"
"Neil." Todd's heart breaks for him.
"I'm not used to keeping things," Neil confesses, and Todd takes his hands in his, rubbing his thumb gently. "You're… the one thing that I don't want to lose."
"Do you trust me?" Todd asks, the same question that Neil had asked him before. "You're… acting like I'm a passive pawn in your father's game, and not someone with agency."
"Of course I do, but I don't…"
"No, Neil," Todd says, like a prayer. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes," Neil says, and Todd can tell he isn't lying, just afraid. For someone larger than life, it's a crime that someone can make him look so small.
Todd, then, confesses a secret of his own. "I've never been good at getting things; I've learnt to settle with a lack. But with you? I get the chance to… finally fight to keep something. I met you. Even if it's not like the dreams that we have, we're still in a place where we have each other, and that must count for something."
"Oh," Neil says, softening. "That's my poet."
"Neil," Todd says, schooling his smile when he realises he hasn't gotten a confirmation.
"Yeah," Neil says, gaining some sort of resolve; some sort of bravery. "You're right, Todd."
"Yeah?" Todd says, feeling his heart stutter in his ribcage.
"Yeah." Neil says, without elaboration, and Todd, inexplicably, understands.
Tomorrow, they'll sneak back to their rooms to kiss, figuring out what it means to do just that, exactly. They'll take turns, writing love letters. Todd will fail to write poetry about him, accepting that the inadequacy of language to capture Neil's likeness is a part of the process of loving him. Neil, one day, will say I love you, accidentally in the most mundane of scenarios, and Todd will have never loved him more. One day, there will be a future outside the walls of Neil's house, and the future that they imagined will be real. But for now, they'll first figure out that they don't have to be good, or no good, as they sleep in each other's arms, they're enough.