Chapter Text
Neil has no idea how long he’d been wandering Central Park. He left his apartment that morning with his backpack and just started walking. He didn’t know where he was going, he only knew he had to get out. He drifted through his thoughts like a raft lost at sea. Everything felt heavy, so very heavy-- his chest was tight and his shoulders felt as though he had fifty pound weights rested upon them. His father hadn’t even said anything particularly bad this time.
It was always the same.
“You’re worthless as an actor. You’ll end up homeless, hungry, and broke. Acting is a job for girls and fags. You’re so pitiful. What a disappointment of a son I have. I don’t know what your mother sees in you.”
Neil made the mistake of hoping. He had hoped that things would be better after he had left, better at Juilliard, in New York, better away from him. But life rarely ever answered Neil's hopes and whispered prayers to a God he didn’t really believe existed. He was wrong. It was harder now that he was out of the house. His father always saved his harshest words, his nastiest wounds, and ugliest battles for private, hidden from the eyes of Neil’s mother. Now, there was no one to guard him from his father, away from the protection of his mother’s wing.
He always felt so weighed down after vicious phone calls from home. The walls of his usually comforting apartment felt impossibly suffocating. So, he threw on his softest hoody and grabbed a nearby denim jack and left, some time ago that he no longer remembers.
He does know that he left so long ago that his fingers are starting to go numb from the cold. He pulls his denim jacket a little closer around his shoulders. Eventually his thoughts simmer down to a state he’s usually in, and as he continues to walk the park, he’s muttering snippets of his lines under his breath, watching as clouds of cold bloom around his mouth. Neil checks the time on his worn out watch, that he wears more as a matter of principle than practicality as he could just as easily check the time on his phone, and decides that he has enough time before class to treat himself to a cup of coffee. He makes his way out of the park and starts in the general direction of Juilliard, which he is slowly realizing is blocks away (wow, he went a lot farther than he thought he did).
Out of the corner of his eye he spots a quaint coffee shop and quickly works his way inside. Dead Poets’ Cafe, labels the sign out front. What an interesting name, he thinks and absently wonders where it comes from. Neil orders himself an iced caramel latte and stands near the pick up area waiting for his order. He checks the time again.
“Shit,” he swears under his breath and silently pleads that his coffee is done soon because he needed to be leaving 5 minutes ago.
“Order for Neil!” the barista calls out. Neil thanks them and practically runs out the door.
Or more accurately he tries to run out but the once wide, open door is replaced by a wall of person. His full body slams into this stranger because of how fast he was moving and how little he was paying attention, which winds up with them both on the floor. Neil recovers quickly and is on his feet in a split second. The distractingly attractive stranger with dirty blonde hair and striking blue eyes looks incredibly disoriented, and reasonably so, as to why they are on the floor.
“Oh my god I’m so, so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention and was trying to leave way too quickly! That was completely my fault! Are you okay?” Neil rambles and tramples over the end of each sentence at a volume that is far too loud considering he is talking to a hot stranger who is half outside and he’s half inside a door to a very respectable establishment.
“Sorry, too loud! I’m so, so sorry,” he tries again, trying to show his sincerity to this stranger who is still on the floor. Help him up, idiot! He silently scolds himself.
Neil dumbly sticks out his hand to the stranger, which he tentatively takes. Neil yanks him back up onto his feet and dusts off the stranger’s leather jacket just a bit before realizing how awkward he looks and quickly dropping his hands.
“Are you okay?” Neil asks one more time, less frantic now.
“Yeah, I-I think so?” The stranger quietly responds. Neil flashes him a grin.
“Okay, good that’s good. Once again I’m so sorry. I do have to go, otherwise I’d try to make it up to you, but at least I didn’t spill my coffee all over you! Have a good day!” And with that Neil is back to dashing out the door, this time with no interruptions. He checks his time one more time and realizes his class starts in 15 minutes but is definitely at least 20 minutes away. He picks up his pace and dodges and weaves through the always busy streets of New York.
Todd Anderson, still incredibly shell-shocked by the chaos of this stranger who literally plowed him over, mindlessly makes his way up to the barista to order his usual black coffee. He can feel his cheeks flamed with red due to the amount of eyes currently on him as he makes his way over to his usual corner. He sits as he always does, sips as he always does, and reads as he always does, trying to make good use of the warmth inside the cafe. And if anyone asks, he definitely does not spare the chaotic, good-looking stranger a passing thought or two.
And for anyone who was wondering, Neil makes it to class only 2 minutes late and he is somehow there before the professor. How? The magic power of Neil Perry weaving through the crowded streets of New York City.