Chapter Text
"You know, this whole thing wouldn't have happened if we still had the kids from last year."
Charlie is lying in the middle of the stage, trying to get pencils stuck in the ceiling above but ultimately just hitting themself in the face. Despite the fact that there was no real reason to anymore, Neil still unlocked the auditorium every afternoon, and everyone still hung out there for the hour and a half they'd reserved for the now cancelled musical.
"It's not my fault they were all seniors," Neil says as he walks the length of the wall above the orchestra pit for the fourth time that day, arms out to keep his balance. The musical being shut down had hit him especially hard, and understandably so. If his father wasn't such an asshole, he'd be in the middle of dress rehearsals right now. He still had their opening night in his calendar on his phone, mocking him every time he checked when his stupid math team met. It was infuriating. He had been looking forward to his big number.
Todd looks up from his seat in the audience, surrounded by his chemistry notes. "I don't know who you're talking about," he says, not for the first time.
Leaping down from his paces, Neil kneels on the ground in front of Todd. "The most amazing people in the whole world, Todd," he says with way too much conviction. "They were the true Bohemians, and we are lost without their direction."
There's the sound of a door opening backstage and Stephen emerges, carrying snacks from the vending machine down the hall.
"When Neil joined drama last year," he explains as he passes out the crinkling bags, "the whole club was made up of seniors, and now that they've graduated, he's the only one left." He leans down to take the rest of Charlie's pencils, ignoring their indignant cries, and continues, "He's still dealing with the separation anxiety and his latent abandonment issues."
"Hey!" Neil says as Stephen throws a bag of chips at his face. "I resent that."
"More like resemble."
"Anyway," Stephen sits next to Todd, interrupting before Neil attacks Charlie, "I highly doubt they would've been able to do anything about this. I mean, Rent, Neil? Really?"
Neil pulls himself into one of the other seats and props his feet up on the short wall. "It's not my fault the administration doesn't appreciate good art."
"Right, that's why they shut us down. Definitely not the open references to sex, drugs, and AIDS."
"That's 'The Man' for you," Charlie says from the floor. "Stomping out individuality. La vie Boheme, gentlemen, is a dying lifestyle. Creativity is out, conformity is in, and we are the last of the great romantics. It is our job to carry on the tradition of the tradition-less."
Stephen rolls his eyes and Todd laughs a little as he turns back to his homework, but Neil suddenly gets that look in his eyes, like he's just had the best idea of his life. Judging by the fact that the last best idea is what landed them where they are, Stephen is understandably concerned when he recognizes it.
"Hang on," Neil says, reaching for his backpack. "Charlie's got a point."
"They do?" Stephen asks. He's already come up with three backup plans and two escape routes in the time it's taken Neil to pull out his English notebook.
Nodding, Neil flips through the pages until he reaches his notes from earlier that week. "The other day, Keating said something, I can't remember what, about this group of poets, something about the next generation of bohemians."
"He says things about poets every day," Charlie points out. "That's kind of what the class is about."
Neil is still looking when Gerard and Knox get back from Knox's car, still looking as Chris and Ginny arrive in their volleyball uniforms. While Charlie and Chris fight over the speakers, Neil borrows Todd's notes to see if he got it.
"You have seriously terrible handwriting," Neil says as he hands back the notebook. Todd shrugs bashfully and Neil can't stop staring for a minute. When he shakes himself out of it, he says, "I can't believe I can't remember it. It was some kind of society or something."
"The Dead Poets Society?"
Neil turns around so fast he feels like he should be afraid of whiplash. Gerard is sitting innocently on the stage, legs hanging off the edge and eating a sandwich. "What did you say?" Neil asks.
"The Dead Poets Society," Gerard repeats once he swallows his mouthful of food. "Keating said it was a local legend kind of thing, a bunch of high school kids in the seventies reading poetry in their basements or something. I remember cuz he said 'women swooned' and then he winked at me." He pulls a face. "It was weird."
Neil leaps up as soon as he hears the context and remembers. He reaches over to grab Gerard's face and kiss him on the forehead before running towards the door.
"What the hell was that for?" Gerard yells after him at the same time as Charlie asks, "Where you going?"
"To find our new tradition!"