Archive of Our Own

Todd’s pencil taps lightly against the corner of his notebook, staring absentmindedly at the blank page before him. 

Neil sinks back in his chair, arms crossed, with an eyebrow quirked at Todd. 

“You’ve been staring at that page for what—ten minutes?” 

Todd scoffs in response, eyes darting around the room, searching for an excuse.

“I—I’m… Thinking. Alright?” He’s blatantly bluffing, he knows it. 

Neil smirks, observing Todd, something he does regularly—maybe too much.

Todd shifts in his seat, his eyes locked on the page below him. Purposely not acknowledging the older boy's gaze.

“Hm… Thinking? Looks more like procrastinating to me.” 

Neil playfully replies, cocking his head. 

Todd opens his mouth, as if to object, but is ultimately stumped.

Neil catches this, and huffs something between a scoff and a laugh.

Todd can’t help but reciprocate Neil’s soft smile, rolling his eyes with fake annoyance. 

“Look—atleast I take time on my assignments. You just—scribble something down, anything, and call it a night.” 

Todd counters. Crossing his arms, mirroring Neil.

“Oh come on! I—I try… Sometimes!” 

He stands up, exasperated, and begins to pace.

“There was that one time, Mr. Keating, he asked us all to write a poem to our favourite person, and, of course—I chose you. I spent three days on that poem! And, well, it didn’t turn out half as good as yours… But you can’t say I didn’t try.”

Neil abruptly stops pacing, and has a proud grin on his face; standing in front of Todd.

Todd, who shrinks into his chair, now flustered having recalled Neil’s poem to him.

Favourite person.

I chose you.

Todd repeats internally, while attempting to mask the warmth spreading across his face. 

He looks up at Neil, a proud look on his face, and Todd smiles; shaking his head.

“No—you’re right.” 

He begins, brushing his fringe out of his face. He turns to look forward at Neil, whose gaze is locked on the strand of hair framing Todd’s face.

“When you take your time…” 

Todd’s voice is hushed, now somewhat serious.

“You mean it. Every word.”

Neil blinks, eyes tracing Todd’s face, looking for an answer to his expression.

He looks down, swallows, then his gaze meets Todd’s again; who hasn’t stopped looking at Neil. 

Finally, a smile melts across his face,

“Well, you’re the only one that thinks so.” Neil's voice comes out more raw than he had intended; in response, a crease forms between Todd’s brows, soft and uncertain.

Neil immediately catches Todd’s concern.

He begins while huffing out a laugh,

“We should really go to bed, the lack of sleep, it's really starting to catch up to me.” 

He leans over Todd, hastily putting his notebook and papers away for him.

“Wha—hey! I’m-I’m not finished yet—just,” 

Todd sighs,

“just one more hour?” 

He whines, dragging out his words.

Neil sends back a sarcastic pout.

“That would just be one more hour of procrastination—or, I'm sorry, “thinking”.” Neil gestures apostrophes,

“And one less hour of sleep.” He finishes plainly. 

Todd slumps back in his seat, arms flimsy at his sides.

He lets Neil tidy his desk for him, and turn out the lights; leaving just one so they don’t stumble to bed in complete darkness.

Neil stands over the pouting boy, his face full of amusement over Todd’s stubbornness.

He smiles coyly, “Come on, Anderson, I don’t want to see you sleeping in class tomorrow."

Todd sighs, and finally caves.

Slouched over his desk, he tenses when the bell rings, sharp and obnoxious.

Todd leans back, stretching in his seat. He doesn’t notice the drool on his paper until Neil walks over.

“Huh, I didn’t know you were a mouth-breather, Todd.”

He teases, leaning against Todd’s desk.

Todd swiftly shuts his notebook, and stuffs it away, sending Neil a look that says don’t start even as the corner of his mouth twitches.

Neil casually observes Todd rising from his seat, stretching, gathering his books, putting them away; even mundane actions make Neil’s gaze soften in endearment.

Suddenly the moment is interrupted with commotion coming from outside the classroom. Todd and Neil look around and finally notice it’s just the two of them, the rest of the group already hurried to the hallway. 

Neil pushes his way into the boys’ circle, eyes darting around the room for an explanation, as Todd follows close behind him.

“Oh—Oh! Neil! Look, you have to see this!”, Cameron exclaims.

Before Neil can process what’s happening, a paper is shoved into his face. The top of the page reads, “Charles Dalton”, and below is a list of D’s, and F’s. 

Todd peeps at the page over Neil’s shoulder, his eyebrows raise, and he lowers his head in an attempt to hide his amusement. 

Neil tilts his head, eyeing a page that looks awfully like Cameron’s report card, sticking out of Cameron's jacket.

Cameron, who’s snickering with Meeks, doesn’t notice Neil sneaking his paper.

“Geez, Charlie, that’s pretty bad.” Neil’s words linger, the boys look over at the suspense in his voice. 

“almost as bad as Cameron’s.” He flashes Cam’s report card, and everyone immediately shuffles together to catch a look. 

Cameron’s eyes widen, and he snatches the paper away; but the damage has already been done.

“Straight F’s?” Knox gasps.

The spectacle of his grades makes Cameron’s face flush red, remotely similar to his hair.

“Whatever. Let’s see your paper then, huh?” Cam gestures at Neil, whose face goes pale at the mention of his report card.

“Yeah! Come on, Perry!” Meeks shouts. 

Todd stands close behind Neil, quietly observing. His eyes focused on the sudden tense in Neil’s posture.

Reluctantly, Neil reaches in his jacket.

Someone whistles when Neil flips the envelope open;

“No way,” Charlie says, leaning over his shoulder. “Read it out.”

Neil does—his voice steady, but tight around the edges; only Todd notices.

The reaction is immediate. A’s lined up across the page. Even Knox looks impressed.

“Christ,” Charlie laughs. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

Todd smiles before he can stop himself, warm and quiet, already turning toward Neil—and stops.

Neil isn’t smiling back.

His fingers are tight around the paper, knuckles pale, eyes fixed on one line like it’s the only thing there.

The C.

A moody, golden ray, sheens against Todd’s hair; causing it to turn from light brown to dark blonde.

He’s sitting in bed, knees to his chest, a notebook open in his lap. The page is scribbled with lines that just don’t seem to stick. He fidgets with his pencil, sighs, and slumps back against the wall; his eyes lingering onto Neil, who’s sat at his desk, hunched over Walt Whitman. 

Neil seldom studies for Keating's class, that's Todd's forte.

Todd disregards his writing, and shuffles his way over to Neil.

“Leaves of Grass, huh? You must’ve got that from my shelf.” Todd observes, leaning over Neil carefully.

He skims over the lines of the poem, and softly huffs out a laugh.

Neil finally looks up at Todd, “what?” the corners of his mouth twitch at Todd’s laughter, “what’s so funny?” he insists. 

O Captain! My Captain! Crowns the top of the page in big, bold letters.

Todd breathes out a soft “of course.” and subconsciously sways closer to Neil, leaning against his desk.

“You always pick the sad ones,” Todd says gently, his words coming out more hushed than intended.

“It’s—it’s not sad,” Neil counters, a little too quickly. 

Todd tilts his head, his eyes low and gaze fixated on the gilded light beaming against Neil’s profile.

“It is if you’re paying attention.” Todd’s tone comes out as a whisper, and it sounds like he’s telling Neil a secret.

Neil’s breath hitches, and his eyes flicker across Todd’s face. Just for a moment—Todd swears, they lingered on his lips.

“It’s just a poem.” Neil fronts, “You know how Keating loves the dramatic stuff.”

Neil shuts the book and shoves it away in a drawer somewhere, changing the subject to Keating's theatrical lesson earlier that day. 

A few hours pass by and both boys are in their respective corners. 

Todd is biting his fingernails, huddled up in his bed surrounded by crumpled papers and pencil shavings.

On the other end of the room is Neil, who seems to be captivated by Shakespeare's A Midsummer's Night's Dream; his fingertips lingering on each page. 

In a blink, the lights cut out abruptly.

Neil and Todd immediately lock eyes even in the darkness.

Just like that, the dorm goes silent. There’s a few distant voices, doors closing, faint laughter down the hall. However, the humming in the walls that’s always there, isn’t there anymore.

Tonight is one of the coldest nights Welton has seen in years. 

Of course, Todd feels the cold first; he always does. He pulls his sleeves lower to conceal his hands, and withdraws inwards; now a small ball in the corner of their room. 

“Well. This is clearly the end of civilized society.” Neil announces dramatically.

Todd quirks a soft smile that Neil can’t see. They can’t see anything, besides the faint moonlight seeping onto the floorboards. 

Neil is frozen in place for a few moments, perhaps lost in thought—or maybe because Neil hates losing control, Todd thinks, even briefly.

Suddenly Neil is rummaging through drawers, and then calls out towards Todd, “Be back in a sec—”, his voice gets cut off by the door closing behind him. 

Now Todds sat in the very corner of his bed, alone in complete darkness, breath shuddering from the cold. How pleasant Todd remarks internally. 

He can hear the faint shutting and opening of doors out in the hallway, it sounds as if Neil is going from door to door. 

“Knox, quick—I need candles”, Neil clamors, bursting through the boy’s door.

Knox scoffs, “Candles, huh? Trying to set the mood with Anderson?” 

Neil gives Knox an unamused look and Knox simply smirks in reply, making his way over to his bookshelf. 

Leaning in, Neil gets a small glimpse of the shelves and huffs something between a scoff and a laugh. Waning the shelf is a series of etiquette guides, along with Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, and Romeo and Juliet. 

Knox shuffles back with four candles towering over him; three vanilla scented, one rose.

“Here—you can keep them. I have too many to count anyways.” Knox says sheepishly; Neil’s eyes widen and he struggles to hold all the candles at once.

Shuffling in the dark to the next door, Neil occasionally fumbles from the candles or a snag in the rug; but he has to fix this. He has to lighten the mood—make Todd feel safe.

He ends up collecting two flashlights, one from Meeks, the other from Pitts.

Then, he stops dead in his tracks. 

Where in the hell am I gonna find matches?  Neil thinks, until it hits him.

Neil knocks, and after a pause, the door swings open slightly.

Charlie pokes his head out, hair a little messy, eyes wide.

“Neil! What are you—ohhh, the powers out!” His voice is half curiosity, half excitement. 

Charlie studies Neil’s face and gathers this isn’t the time for a blackout party.

“Uh… So let me guess—you need a flashlight, or somethin’?” Charlie slows, titling his head.

“Do you have matches, by any chance?” Neil says rushed, antsy to get back to Todd.

Charlie's eyebrows raise, and a smug smirk grows on his face.

“Of course—of course.”, Charlie says theatrically and scurries to his bed, dunks down, and pulls a scrappy cardboard box out from underneath. Lifting the lid, he reveals two Playboy magazines, a few cigarettes that look more like buts off the street, two pocket lighters, and a box of matches.

Neil’s face scrunches at the magazines, as he hastily grabs the matches, shouting a few thanks from the hallway as the door shuts behind him.

Before Todd has time to overthink, Neil appears in a blur of movement. Todd can hear him stumbling around in the dark, mumbling incoherently. Todd only catches bits and pieces of his murmur, “Knox…Hopeless romantic…” .

and then, in a split-second, there’s light.

The room is filled with a comforting vanilla aroma. The candles cast shadows on the walls, and the room is subtly glowing with a warm, cozy bath of gold.

The tense in Todd’s muscles relaxes, and he uncurls from his corner; silently thanking Neil for being, well, Neil. The one who brings light into every room he enters, the one who puts Todd’s racing thoughts at ease—even if it’s just for a moment. Neil, the one who makes Todd feel safe. 

Neil finishes lighting the candles, leaving the rose scented one for last.

“Of course, Knox had a dozen of these.” Neil muses, fixated on getting the match to light.

“It’s for the “atmosphere”” He continues in a mockful version of Knox’ voice, gesturing apostrophes. 

Todd hums with a smile growing on his face, intently watching the dark-haired boy struggle with the matches.

Neil scoffs, “yea right. He just wants to impress someone."

He finally gets the candle lit, the vanilla scent draping the room now has a hint of rose. Neil lifts his head and meets Todd’s gaze, a shy smile wavers over Neil’s lips, before Todd looks away bashfully; knowing he had been caught staring. Neil makes his way over to Todd, slumping down on the end of his bed; exhaling an exasperated sigh.

He leans back on his elbows, looking over at Todd,

“I didn’t take too long, did I?” 

His tone is sincere with concern around the edges, and Todd feels a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He tilts his head, his fringe falling in his eyes. Neil wants to brush it away, but tentatively stops himself.

“Neil. I blinked and you were back.” Todd playfully replies, and Neil immediately eases back in response. He turns to face Todd completely now, hand propping up his head. The vanilla scent softens the cold air, but Neil notices Todd shudder every few seconds, and the slight shiver in his hands. Todd shifts under Neil’s gaze, subconsciously trying to shrink himself. 

Finally, Neil breaks the silence. 

“Are you cold?” Neil's voice is steady, but comes out more worried than he intended. Todd shrugs, and Neil isn’t satisfied with that answer.

Carefully, he shifts closer towards Todd, eyeing the shaking of his hands. 

He hesitates, but after a moment, he lets his hand trace over Todd’s.

 “Jesus Todd—you’re freezing!” Neil gasps, cupping both Todd’s hands in his own without thinking. Todd’s face immediately fills with warmth over the sudden proximity, self-consciously turning his head away from Neil, avoiding eye contact. 

Neil reads Todd's flustered state as discomfort, and immediately pulls away, a feeling of guilt rising in his stomach. 

“I—I’m sorry. I just—” Neil fumbles over his words, eyes darting across Todd; suddenly he leaps up and begins gathering an armful of things. 

Todd wants to apologize for the misunderstanding; he wasn’t uncomfortable, though he feels he should’ve been. He should have rejected the touch, but he didn’t. It left him with a warm, fuzzy feeling all over, a feeling he doesn’t want to put a name to. All he knows is that he wants more of it—but he shouldn’t. He can’t. 

Todd is taken out of his train of thought from Neil dropping a pile of blankets and pillows upon his bed.

“Ok—here me out. A blanket fort.” Neil proposes, shuffling the blankets around. “It’ll keep all the warmth contained, and it’ll—it’ll keep you safe!” He continues, placing Todd’s desk chair at the end of Todd’s bed, and his own desk chair at the side of Todd’s bed.

Todd laughs, “Keep me safe? From what exactly?” He teases. 

Neil stills in front of Todd, a scholarly look on his face, and for a moment Todd thinks he’s about to say something serious.

“From the monsters under your bed—of course!” and Neil's face cracks into a wry smirk. Todd shakes his head, rolling his eyes; but he can't help the smile growing on his face.

“Now c'mon, help me fix this thing up.” Neil pleads, holding one corner of a blanket and offering the other corner to Todd. 

Todd sighs and gets out of bed, skeptically taking the other corner from Neil.

“Alright—on the count of 3, we bring the blanket up so it’ll drape on the chairs and work as a ceiling for the fort. Ready?” Neil’s voice is determined, Todd never knew someone could be so passionate about a blanket fort.

Todd nods in response, and Neil begins the countdown. 

The two boys hide from the cold together in their makeshift fort, and chaos ensues.

Neil clicks on one of the flashlights inside the fort, casting exaggerated shadows.

“Todd,” he says gravely. “You see that?”

Todd squints at the fort's ceiling, and sees what’s intended to be some sort of monster.

“Neil, that’s your hand.”, Todd states dead-pan.

“Or is it?” Neil grins, finding Todd's annoyance amusing.

Todd cocks his head and sends Neil a look, however that just fuels Neil’s nonsense more. He sends Todd a look right back—tossing a throw-pillow at his head.

“Wha—hey!” Todd manages to dunk, but not in time, the pillow grazes the top of his head and his once neatly combed hair now resembles a bed-head.

Todd’s had enough. He lunges for the flashlight with a smirk, but Neil bolts. 

Todd races after him, his breath catching between giggles.

“You can’t catch me, Anderson!” Neil calls out, charging Todd’s pursuit.

Neil darts around Todd’s bed, the flashlight beam grazing frantically across the walls. Todd’s side begins to hurt from laughter—heavy, genuine, laughter. For a moment, Todd realizes he hasn’t felt that in awhile. Neil is just within reach, and Todd takes that chance to lunge forward, fingers barely catching the hem of Neil’s sweater. 

“Got you—!”

Neil stumbles and gravity grabs a hold of them both. They both crash down onto Todd’s bed, which is now a mess of blankets and limbs. The flashlight clicked off and was left abandoned on the floor somewhere.

Todd’s gaze is fixated on the ceiling as he catches his breath. It takes them both a moment to become aware of their predicament. 

Their legs are entangled together, and Neil’s arm is draped over Todd’s waist. Suddenly the room isn’t so cold anymore, and Todd becomes hyper-aware of the warmth radiating from the other boy.

Neil feels the rise and fall of Todd’s chest, the quicken of his heart-beat. His eyelashes flutter and he finds it hard to keep his eyes open, as if Todd’s scent alone could put him to sleep. 

Finally Neil lifts his head from Todd’s chest, and for a second his hair brushes against Todd’s cheek. When their eyes meet, Neil is taken aback by Todd’s half-lidded gaze, dilated pupils hiding behind low lashes. His blinkings slow, and there's a subtle, coy smile quirking in the corners of his lips. 

Neil’s breath catches in his throat at the sight beneath him, he struggles to form words, but eventually he croaks something out.

“Hey,” is all he manages to say, his voice coming out more like a squeak. 

Todd swallows. His heart is pounding—not from the chase.

“I, um…” He lets out a breathy laugh that doesn’t quite land. “You don’t have to do all this. For me.”

Neil’s brows furrow, just slightly. His gaze shifts from left to right, trying to read every emotion in the younger boy's face.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I know.”

Todd’s fingers curl into the blanket between them. His voice comes out smaller, more honest than he intended.

“It’s just… when you’re here, it’s—”

Todd gets cut off by a sharp ring coming from Neil’s desk.

He feels Neil’s body stiffen on top of him, as if he already knows who's calling.

Neil’s expression tightens, and he looks at Todd a certain way as if to say, I’m sorry, I have to take this…

Neil pulls away reluctantly, and slowly makes his way to the phone. His posture is full of dread, and Todd watches; his face filling with concern. 

Neil’s hand hovers over the phone for a moment, as if he’s bracing himself from something.

“Hello, sir,” Neil says—and Todd’s stomach drops.

Todd knows who’s on the other line by Neil’s voice alone. His tone is clipped, careful, fearful. 

Todd stares at Neil from across the room, that’s not the same Neil he was laughing with a moment ago. 

Suddenly Neil flinches, and he brings the phone farther from his ear, creating distance between him and the person on the other side. 

“Yes, father.” Neil’s voice is flat, it wavers when he says father. “I understand.”

A candle flickers beside him, and Todd can feel the warmth draining from the room. He looks around and suddenly the fort seems childish, the candlelight feels inadequate. Neil’s on the phone, nodding his head as if his father can see his every movement. Todd shifts in bed uncomfortably; surrounded by warm, glowing candles, a delicious vanilla scent trailing the room, and fuzzy blankets feels wrong now.

Finally, the phone clicks back into place. Neil looks different. The warm blush that covered his face a moment ago is now forgotten with a sunken—pale color. 

Without saying anything, Neil begins cleaning the room. Hurriedly putting the chairs back in place, the blankets away. His posture is stiff, and he keeps his head held low—avoiding eye contact with Todd.

Todd just observes. He wants to say something—he doesn’t. 

He feels guilt, worry, disgust, rising in his stomach. 

Neil breaks the silence, “funny” he murmurs, “I didn’t think one C could weigh this much.” 

Todd doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even quirk a smile. He just stares at Neil from across the room, his brows knitting together, forming a concerned crease—his face is gentle, laced with sympathy. 

Neil exhales a deep sigh—as if he’s been holding it in. His eyes darted around the room looking for something to say. 

“It’s freezing.” He states plainly, and Todd simply shrugs in response. Neil makes his way over to Todd’s corner of the room, and stops, lingering by his bed. 

“I know you’re freezing too, more than I am—I’m sure.” He says finally, and before Todd can object, Neil casually settles down beside him. “You’re gonna be an icicle by morning—at least this way, I can make sure you don’t turn blue”. 

Now that Neil’s beside him he doesn’t just see the difference in him, but can feel it too. Neil isn’t okay. Not really.

“You can, if you want.” Todd replies simply, trying to sound as casual as possible. However he’s already scooting over, making room for Neil.

Internally he finds himself too aware of his breathing—am I breathing too heavy? Will Neil notice?, the creaking of the bed as Neil settles in it, the proximity between them, everything suddenly becomes enhanced. 

Eventually the candles flicker out, and they’re just left with the moonlight.

Neil almost instantly falls asleep, his mouth slightly agape and limbs scattered about. On the contrary, Todd lays awake; Neil’s face during the phone call is still buzzing around his mind. However, so is the warmth he felt before it; the lingering eye contact, the smell of Neil’s hair when it brushed his cheek, the heat coming from Neil’s arm wrapped around his waist. His thoughts race with different moments, trying to find reasonable explanations for each of them. Eventually, the exhaustion due to all his overthinking creeps up on him, and he swiftly nods out.

Todd wakes slowly, his mind still stirring from last night's chaos. The sun is beaming directly in his eyes and he squints—blinking hard; his eyebrows furrowed. 

His agitation quickly subsides when he feels a warm weight across his middle.

He tries to lean forward but is ultimately unable to, finally he looks down and sees Neil; his leg thrown securely over Todd’s hip, and his arm pinning him down. Todd shifts a little, careful not to wake him, and tugs the blanket back over Neil’s shoulder, almost on instinct—the way he does when Neil kicks it off in his sleep. For a moment Todd just lays there—taking it all in. The rays of sun cast on the sleeping boy's hair, the faint smell of vanilla still lingering from the night before, Neil’s breathing—even and familiar.

His chest aches, and he refuses to ask why. If he doesn’t name it, it doesn’t exist. So he lets the moments blur together—the lingering looks, the closeness, the way his heart sinks when Neil pulls away, and tells himself it’s nothing. It’s just…Neil.

“Morning,” Neil says into Todd’s shoulder, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Could you let me get up? Please?” Todd huffs, even when irritated his voice comes out lenient.

“‘M sorry” Neil murmurs, voice dazed with sleep. He sluggishly pulls his limbs apart from Todd’s, and immediately misses the warmth. 

After about an hour, Todd’s finished getting ready. On the contrary, Neil has just now gotten out of bed—there’s fifteen minutes until the bell rings. Todd’s combing his hair in the mirror, and Neil can’t help but admire him from across the room. 

“Gee Anderson, how do’ya do it?” Neil huffs something between a gasp and a laugh, “You manage to get to class everyday—in time, mind you, looking as if you’re ready to shoot for a magazine.” Neil flatters, with genuine amazement.

Todd scoffs and looks down to hide his grin, then looking back up at Neil through the mirror, the other boy reciprocating his smile. 

“Neil, come on, we’re gonna be late.” Todd insists, throwing Neil a change of clothes. Neil just stands there, idly, “worth it.” he replies with a smirk. Todd simply rolls his eyes and continues lunging different items at Neil.

Finally, both boys are ready—with only five minutes to spare. 

As they leave the room together, like they always do, Neil grabs Todd’s notebook by mistake. When he looks up, he notices Todd wearing his sweater—he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ask for it back.

Neil leans back in his chair, avoiding looking at the trigonometry on the chalkboard. Instead, he looks over at Todd, much less of an eye sore. He notices his paper is blank—not unusual, so is his. However, his posture is slumped and his lids appear heavy.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Neil prompts, leaning towards Todd. The drowsy boy simply shrugs, but he knows Neil won’t be satisfied with that answer.

Todd mumbles, “I slept enough.” even as he begins to put his head down.

“Liar.” Neil scoffs, looking down at the other boy with condolence. Hesitantly, he brings his hand to Todd’s back and slowly rubs large circles, Todd quietly hums in response. The moment is cut short when Neil notices the teacher walking towards them. Hastily—he moves his hand away from the tired boy. Before Todd can react, the teacher smacks the top of his head with a ruler. The sound the ruler makes lingers in Neil’s head longer than it should.

“Eyes on the board, Anderson.” the professor warned, their eyes looking over to Neil, “You too, Perry! Both of you, get to work!”. They storm off, gaze remaining locked on the two boys for the rest of the period.

Neil flinches at the shouting, there’s nothing he hates more than being yelled at by an authority figure. Todd’s head snapped up at the smack of the ruler, and he pretended to do work. 

A few minutes go by and Neil passes Todd a note, their knees brushing beneath the table. 

Will you be okay? The note reads; written theatrically, in large, cursive letters. It contrasts to Todd’s handwriting—neat, small, broken cursive. Todd doesn’t write a note back, he simply looks up at Neil and offers a small nod with his typical soft smile. However, Neil can tell it’s strained.

By the end of class Neil’s notebook is filled with doodles—Todd’s is left blank. As Todd’s putting his supplies away in his bag, his gaze lingers on Neil’s note sitting plainly between them. He looks over at Neil, seemingly distracted—and Todd subtly folds the note away in his bag, instead of throwing it away.

The bells ring and both boys walk slightly more energized, as now they’re on their way to their favorite class—Keating’s. Naturally, they walk together. Little-to-no proximity between them, but they don’t really notice. 

On their way there, Neil stops in his tracks. Todd looks up and follows Neil’s gaze, he’s met with a bulletin board. His eyes trace the board, looking for what could have possibly brought Neil to such a halt—until he sees it. An audition sheet to play in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He looks back over to Neil, he’s staring at the sheet as if it’s the only page there. 

“You’d be good at it.” Todd casually notes, Neil’s lips quirk up and his eyes meet the other boys, “you really think so?”. Todd nods, a tender smile spreading on his face that begins in his eyes. 

Neil just shrugs. “I don’t know—maybe.” He tries to sound casual, but Todd notices the excitement lacing his voice. 

The moon leaves a dusky gleam across the room, turning the floorboards brown to blue. Neil’s corner of the room radiates a warm glow from his lamp light, in contrast to the rest of the dorm. Uncharacteristically, Neil’s the one pulling an all-nighter tonight. 

He fidgets with his pencil, running his hands through his hair—he can feel a headache creeping up on him. Walt Whitman is open before him, he’s studying for Keating’s class. He tries to tell himself he’s reading because he wants to, but in reality, he’s terrified of receiving another call from his father. His father never calls to simply check up on him, or god forbid praise him; he only calls when Neil is doing something wrong—which apparently is all the time. 

Neil leans back in his seat and exhales, he didn’t realize he was holding his breath. 

Todd stirs awake, and slowly gets up to use the bathroom—his eyebrows form a crease when he sees Neil still awake. 

Todd makes his way to Neil’s desk, Neil doesn’t react—his gaze remains fixated on the book in front of him.

Neil has torn off an audition slip; it’s sitting on his desk, untouched. Neil keeps glancing over at it, and Todd notices—of course he does.

“You don’t have to decide tonight.” Todd says plainly, unassuming. 

Todd can see Neil’s not really reading, his eyes remain still—as if he’s lost in thought; staring at the page as an excuse.

“I keep thinking about my father.” Neil finally admits, still not meeting Todd’s gaze.

Todd doesn’t respond immediately, he merely moves a little closer, offering silent comfort. He leans against the tired boy’s desk, his face apprehensive. Todd’s eyes trace Neil’s jaw—it’s clenched, his lips are pressed tight, and his brows tense.

His hand twitches, hesitantly, it hovers around Neil’s shoulder. Finally, he lets it rest there—firm, unmoving. 

Neil’s eyes meet Todd’s in response, and he offers a tender smile that reaches his eyes—even though his jaw remains tight with worry. 

“You’re allowed to want things.” Todd finishes, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

And there it is, that gleam appears in Neil’s eye. The gleam Todd falls for. A tinge of warmth fills his face at the notion that he’s the one that puts that gleam there—no one else. 

Neil doesn’t reply, at least not verbally. He solely shrugs, folding the paper carefully and tucking it away into his journal.

Todd’s back in bed, hair ruffled, drooling across his pillow. Neil snickers to himself, mouth breather, he teases internally. As he’s turning out the light, his eyes are met with the page again. He stares at it for a moment, and suddenly Todd’s voice plays in his head — “You’d be good at it”. The corners of his lip tug into a fond smile, and before he can overthink—he signs his name on the audition sheet.

Todd paces the dorm, anxiously waiting for Neil’s arrival. It’s been over an hour since Neil has left for the audition, and Todd can’t keep himself still. Eventually his knees begin to buckle beneath him—he quickly grabs a hold of the chair beside him, catching his fall. His breath shudders, and he pauses for a moment. 

I need to get my thoughts together. I can’t let Neil see me like this. Todd thinks to himself—finally collapsing into the chair beside him.

His head hangs back, arms hanging by his sides; he squeezes his eyes shut as he puts a hand to the crease between his brow. After a few minutes his thoughts begin to slow, and he straightens in his seat. His leg, however, continues to bounce.

Todd knows Neil’s gonna get the part—that’s not the problem. The morning Neil told him the news—that he’s going to audition for the part, Todd was overjoyed. Both boys celebrated, and in that very moment they felt unstoppable.

Now reality has settled in. Todd can see Neil still has the expectations of his father in the back of his mind. He sees the way Neil flinches when the phone rings, his body turning stiff while his eyes appear to zone out. The letters he writes to his father at night, followed by them promptly being teared up. Neil glowing at the thought of acting, quickly diminished whenever home is mentioned.

Todd tries not to pry, but sometimes he’ll lean into questions related to Neil’s father. Neil always cuts them short, claiming he’s fine; but his words always come out ever too quickly—Todd sees the truth.

He wants to say something, anything, but the words never come out. They remain lodged in his throat, waiting for the right moment. Todd’s never had a way with words, maybe on paper, maybe in spurts of the moment when Neil needs him most—but never regularly. 

His thoughts get cut short when the door creaks open. Neil casually walks in, trying to mask his excitement, but Todd can tell Neil got the part. His steps are too light, his posture too straight. Without saying anything Neil flashes a page towards Todd, the top reads “Cast List”, followed beneath it is Neil’s name beside the role of Puck. Todd’s face beams with a slightly lopsided smile, his eyes meeting Neil’s with a misty gaze of affection. 

“Can—can you believe it? I did it! It’s real—it’s actually real.” Neil gasps out, like a breath he’s been holding in. Todd looks up at him with a look that says I told you so—his expression soft. Neil begins pacing the room, followed by a rant. His joy spilling out, words tumbling over each other. He doesn’t try to make any sense, he knows Todd understands. 

Neil abruptly stops pacing—his body coming to a complete halt. His gaze lowered, eyes darting. He looks up at Todd, “It’s not stupid—is it?” Neil swallows. 

Todd quirks his head, “of course not.” he replies plainly without hesitating, like it's obvious. Neil shrugs, “it’s just a play—it’s not a big deal” he says, even as he carefully folds the casting letter and shoves it deep within his drawer, like it's something that needs hiding. In response, Todd rises from his seat—and reaches for the paper. The dark-haired boy watches Todd hold it like it’s meaningful, his finger gently tracing Neil’s name. 

“I’m proud of you, Neil.” Todd’s voice is quiet, sincere. 

The words settle between them, simple enough that Neil doesn’t know what to do with them.

Neil swallows, his jaw tightening. “I just—” he trails off, then exhales.

“No one’s ever told me that before.” His voice wobbles slightly, and he lets out a breathy laugh as a cover up. 

A slight crease forms between Todd’s brows, he swallows, and steps closer—his gaze remaining steady on Neil. 

Neil’s head remains lowered—unable to look the other boy in the eyes; knowing it would give him away. Todd steps closer, slowly, like he’s giving Neil time to pull away. When he doesn’t, Neil finally lifts his head and meets his stare.

“Careful,” Neil says, trying to grin. “You keep saying things like that and I might start believing you.” 

Todd quirks an eyebrow—tilting his head slightly, reading this as a challenge.

He leans in just enough to hear Neil’s breath hitch, maintains eye contact, murmurs, “I’m really proud of you,” his voice low, just above a whisper, and Neil folds under it, his heart pacing at the tingling sensation of his breath. He tries to speak, but ends up swallowing a gasp. While his lips remain parted, he catches Todd’s eyes flicker down for a moment—before bashfully darting back up. 

Todd simply admires Neil, as if he’s trying to memorize his face. The pink spreading across his nose, his eyes glassy, pupils blown. If Todd didn’t know any better, he’d say Neil looks completely mesmerized. 

“I like seeing you like this.” Todd confides, soft and certain, on the edge of a secret. As a shiver travels down Neil’s body, he becomes hyperaware of the thumping in his chest, and the weight of his breathing.

Neil breathes, “like—” he pauses to swallow, “I—I like… h’what?” he continues to stammer, and shrinks over the sound of his own voice, it’s quavering, and higher than normal. When Todd’s eyes trace the stillness of Neil’s posture, and reads the dazed look on his face, he takes a step back.

He confessed without realizing it was a confession—to both Neil, and himself.

“I mean—I wasn’t thinking—” flustered, he quickly begins to explain himself, but then slows himself down, treating this carefully. Todd avoids eye contact briefly, but then returns it, “I just meant…” he self-consciously laughs, “I like seeing you kind of—um…confused. It’s cute.” Todd explains plainly, and immediately regrets the last line when Neil’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth stammering but no words come out.

Neil blinks, and huffs out a laugh that sounds more like disbelief. “Did Todd Anderson just call me cute?” Neil exclaims with a gasp, a little too loudly, and Todd has to physically restrain himself from smothering Neil’s words with his hand. 

“No—that’s not—” Todd sputters, his hands waving around as if he’s trying to grasp an explanation. In response Neil smoothly smirks, “no-no-no-no-no, no take-backsies!” Neil laughs—they both do. 

Eventually they both settle into their own interests, Todd comfortably situated in the corner of his bed, journaling prose of sorts. Meanwhile, Neil hums at his desk, indulged in the playscript, already studying for the part. He breathed out a sigh he didn’t know he was suppressing, in that moment he realized his pulse still hadn't slowed—the tightness lingering in his chest. Neil notices he misses Todd’s proximity—and sharply, his humming comes to a stop.

Oh.

The days leading up to the play were hopeful, and nonetheless—exhilarating. Despite the dread that loomed whenever “home” is mentioned, or when the phone rings.

Todd went to every one of Neil's rehearsal’s—all of them. Aside from being there to simply show his support, he would go just to see the way Neil glowed when on stage, beaming with joy. As soon as Neil would enter the stage, Todd’s head immediately rises—gaze locked on the golden boy as if he’s the only one in the room. 

Todd sits near the back of the auditorium this time. Usually he sits in the front so Neil can see him more closely—offering constant reassurance. This time, he wants to see Neil—all of him. He likes the distance, it allows him to blend in with the crowd. Not to mention it gives him a way to see Neil the way everyone else does, though Todd knows he could never see Neil as anything but extraordinary even if he tried. 

Neil stumbles over a line at first, and tenses, expecting the director to shout at him. On the contrary, the man gently corrects him and moves on. Neil’s shoulders relax, he’s safe here, he notes, and confidently resumes the scene. This time, he doesn’t look at the script. His voice is louder, clearer, playful in a way Todd hasn’t heard before. As he’s moving across the stage, his steps are wide, not afraid to take up space; he’s no longer constantly looking at Todd for validation. At last, when he bows dramatically at the end of the scene, a few boys clap without being prompted. 

After rehearsal, Neil bounds offstage, immediately running to Todd—who’s already stood there waiting for his person. Neil’s breathless, blooming, talking a mile a minute about blocking and costumes and how Puck gets the best lines anyway. Todd doesn’t interrupt, he takes pleasure in listening. His gaze is quiet, almost reverent, as he watches him go on and on, lingering with affection. He gets distracted momentarily when Neil runs his hand through his hair, a tiny, subconscious habit Todd has come to adore. 

As the days pass, and the night of the play grows closer, Neil’s glow doesn’t disappear—but it braces. Bordering on something fragile being held too tightly.

For the final rehearsal, Todd sits right in the middle row. Naturally, Neil hits every line flawlessly, earning a feverish applause. Todd claps faintly in contrast to the rest of the crowd, offering quiet support, and yet he’s the only one Neil hears. Neil avoids eye contact with the rest of the crowd, his gaze locked on the only one that matters. In spite of that, Todd frowns when he sees Neil’s expression; his smile is strained—his eyes fearful. 

After rehearsal both boys meet outside the auditorium, and they stroll back to their dorm together in the moonlight, feet shuffling through the snow. Every now and then they’ll bump elbows, shoulders, hands, it goes unspoken—but the feeling lingers. Neil speaks about rehearsals for a bit, his voice unfamiliarly hushed, and Todd notices Neil’s rambling ends sooner than usual. Todd brushes it off, blaming it on the weather. By the time they get back to the dormitories, their trouser cuffs are dripping with snow. Both boys look up at each other sulky in response—then burst into laughter, yet careful not to be too loud. 

“Shhhh—you’re gonna get us killed by Mr. Nolan!” Neil whisper-shouts, his finger pressed to Todd’s mouth before he could choke out another laugh. As a result Todd playfully shoves Neil away, soon regretful when they both break into another fit of giggles, leaving them both tumbling to the ground. 

Neil’s laughter fades first. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something else—something heavier. His throat tightens, and instead—he bends down, scoops a handful of snow, and tosses it at Todd’s shoulder.

Todd blinks.

“Oh, you’re dead,” he whispers.

Todd’s frost-bitten hands engulf the largest snowball they can fit, and he smirks before chucking it mercilessly at Neil’s head. Fortunately for Neil, Todd can’t aim for shit. The snow lands charitablely on Neil’s shoulder, and he shakes it off—along with the looming fear of tomorrow. 

Todd’s sides begin to ache from laughter, “You look like a wet dog,” he gasps out, and Neil self-consciously stops shaking off the snow, offering Todd an exaggerated look that says—oh, come on! 

Their faces are flushed with both amusement and the icy cold—somehow they’ve managed to distract each other from the piercing frostbite nipping at both their hands and face. Todd tries to huff another snowball towards Neil, but his grip is shaky and weak with frigidity, causing the snowball—if you could even call it that—to crumble and falter just before the other frost-bound boy. Neil laughs too loud, then clamps a hand over his mouth—his gaze darts to check the dark windows of the dorms, like he’s afraid of being seen. 

Suddenly the cold hits Neil all at once. He winces. “We’re gonna freeze before tomorrow.” His voice is raw, yet he conceals it with his soft tone, better known as his “Todd voice”. Todd replies with a hushed chuckle followed by a nod, “we better get inside, you can’t afford to get sick the night before the play.” Neil’s smile briefly falters at the mention of the play, but he plasters it back on before Todd can see. 

“I can’t afford you to get sick either, y’know.” Neil remarks, causing Todd to meet his gaze. 

“I would make it there to see you act—no matter how sick I was.” Todd’s tone earnest, and his sincerity makes Neil huff out a laugh, all while the corners of his eyes crinkle. “No—no, I wouldn’t let you go. I’d have to stay behind and take care of you all day.” Todd’s eyebrows form a crease while the corners of his lips quirk into a crooked smile. His face reads half offended, half amused, with maybe a hint of affection—but he’d never tell. 

Todd scoffs, “Take care of me? I can take care of myself just fine.” 

Neil laughs beneath his breath, and for a moment Todd’s chest feels light. 

“No.” Neil simply replies, shaking his head, a lopsided smirk growing on his face.

“No? What do you mean, no?” Senselessly Todd squints at the other boy, tilting his head, and Neil beams at the dopey look Todd sends him. 

“No.” Neil muses while his grin grows wider, stifling a laugh. 

Todd exhales through a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

Neil just shrugs, still smiling, like the word means something good.

The cold finally wins. They turn back toward the dorm together, their shoulders brushing ever-so often, as their steps fall into sync. Neil lets himself lean into Todd’s proximity—just for a second. He tells himself it’s the cold.

Neil doesn’t look back at the auditorium.

Tomorrow will come whether he’s ready or not.

The room buzzed with excitement, several conversations happening all at once. It seems everyone unspokenly decided to huddle in the auditorium, given the several feet of snow building up outside. Todd could faintly hear the sound of cars pulling up outside, and his heart quickened knowing even more people would be flooding through the door. In response, he subconsciously drew within himself in an attempt to become smaller—or rather, invisible. He swore to himself he’d never be in such a crowded room again, ever since his parents forced him to attend Welton’s opening ceremony. The dreadful feeling remains instilled in his mind—as if it was only yesterday. Throughout the entire day, everyone only appeared to care about his brother—”oh, you’re Todd Anderson? Are you by any chance related to Jeffrey Anderson?”. 

Nonetheless, that happened to be the same day he meant Neil—so in a way, it’s simultaneously the best and one of the worst days of Todd’s life. Todd huffs something between a laugh and a scoff at the thought, knowing he would only do something like this for Neil. 

Suddenly he feels a hand grab at his shoulder, “What’s so funny, Todd? Is it knox’ face—perhaps?” Knox plainly rolls his eyes at Charlie’s taunt, followed by him pulling the boy aside. 

“Are you really showing up to Neil’s play looking like this?” Knox deplores, his hands grabbing and twisting Charlie’s tie to perfection. Charlie unaffectedly looks at Todd with a smirk, his face reads, “get a load of this guy!” And Todd can’t help but think he looks like a child on picture day getting corrected by his mother. 

Similarly to Todd, yet in contrast to the rest of the boys, Keating doesn’t say much that night; besides a few Shakespeare references now and then. They all sit lined up side-by-side in the middle row, all eager to see Neil perform—Todd more than anyone. 

The performance will begin soon, yet backstage is nothing short of frantic chaos. While the rest of the cast flurries around—Neil remains composed, charismatic, and effortlessly in control. It’s almost uncanny. The air is thick, warm, if he inhales too large a breath he could catch a fever—yet his body is frigid, an intense chill running down his spine every few seconds. Neil stills for a moment, amidst the turmoil; he observes the actors pacing, hyper-aware of the costume rustling and heavy breathing. Subsequently, he walks over to the mirror, attentive to keep his hands clenched to mask their shaking, and adjusts his costume. Not once, but twice—maybe three times. 

There’s about five minutes till the curtains open, but Neil wants to see Todd now. He checks the curtain gap, eyes darting through faces, and finally gets met with his heart. For a brief moment his gaze softens, a smile forming—then instantly drops when he looks just a row above. Swiftly he shuts the curtain, promptly heading to his dressing room so he can unravel for a second, unseen. 

Neil paces his room—trying to gain composure. Given he has under two minutes before he must step on stage. He knew his father would arrive, yet the feeling of being seen by him as Puck is completely new. Neil got the call yesterday evening, just before his last rehearsal, his father’s tone cold—controlled, as if Neil has no right to live. 

It’s time.

The boys who were bantering just a moment ago start to shush each other, as the lights begin to dim. Todd’s already quiet, stilled on the edge of his seat, steady. He’s nervous for Neil—but not afraid. Confident in Neil’s talent, he knows his performance will be nothing less than perfect. As the curtains begin to rise, the auditorium is now completely silent, and seated—waiting eagerly in anticipation. Todd’s face easily gives away how proud he is, Keating notices this—but doesn’t say anything. He merely hums, the corners of his mouth tugging knowingly.

Puck steps onto stage, meeting Todd’s eyes right off. 

Only one thing runs through his mind.

“You’re allowed to want things.”

The applause is physical—Neil feels it thump in his chest. His body feels light, and when he bows he can’t feel his feet on the ground, not like he wants to come back down. Finally he lifts his head, instantly meeting Todd’s eyes, he feels chosen—real. The sound is huge, yet all he hears, or rather—acknowledges, is the applause of Todd. Unmistakable warmth rushes through his body, thawing the shaking in his hands, euphoria absorbing him. The lights are intense, nearly blinding, but he doesn’t flinch—not even a blink. Neil’s gaze instills fixated on the light-brown haired boy cheering from the middle row.

Todd’s the first on his feet, Keating second, while the rest of the boys follow suit. Todd’s clapping is hard, burning his hands, but he can’t feel it. Meanwhile, the other boys shout, particularly Charlie, and Keating offers a warm smile that reaches his eyes. Todd doesn’t realize he's crying until Cameron makes a snide remark—he pays him no attention; unable to break away from Neil. For a moment, Keating briefly looks at Todd, and he knows. He knows. 

Neil hesitates before finally looking towards his father; he expects a neutral face, maybe even a nod. 

His stomach drops. Suddenly the applause sounds far away. His father is still, too still. No applause. No expression. Just a single, tight jaw. The stage lights begin to feel hot instead of warm, yet his hands go cold instantly. 

Neil’s smile is gone entirely—like something was taken from him. Todd’s clapping slows, his eyebrows forming a crease, and he turns around to meet Neil’s line of gaze. He’s met with Neil’s father, Todd notes he isn’t standing nor clapping—the man is completely unreadable. However, Todd sees something in Mr. Perry. Something he fears. The way his grip is tight on the armrest—a twitch in his jaw. 

The golden boy stumbles his way backstage, his head held low. Instantly the cast scurries towards Neil, and several different people smother him with hugs; yet his posture remains stiff—lifeless. Praise is called out from numerous directions, but the words blur, voices overlap—until someone calls out, “your parents must be so proud.”

It feels like a stab in the heart. His breath falters. 

Without an explanation, he abruptly darts out the door, mumbling “I have to go home.” 

The auditorium that was once gleaming with Neil’s brilliance has darkened.

All the seats are vacant, the doors locked up, while Todd rubs his eyes with fatigue as cars drive away in the distance. Far too late to be outside—especially in this weather, half the group has already sped home. On the contrary, Todd stood shivering outside the auditorium, holding himself together by burying his hands under his arms. Knox tries to persuade Todd to stop being so stubborn, and simply drive back to Welton with him in his fathers car. However, Todd persists on not heading home without Neil.

“Oh, come on!” Knox drags out, yet Todd plainly shakes his head at the boys' dramatics. 

The whining grabs Charlie’s attention, and he shuffles back from his car through layers of snow, grabbing hold of Knox;

“Excuse him, Anders. Just typical “knoxious”.” Charlie snickers as he attempts to yank at Knox, ultimately leading Charlie shoved in the snow by the other boy. 

Knox continues to object, “the idiot thinks it's a good idea to just—stand in minus six weather.” he scoffs in disbelief, “he’ll be an icicle by morning!”.

Todd blatantly shrugs, unsure of how to defend himself because, he admits, his decision is senseless. 

Eventually both boys give up, fumbling over snow towards their respective cars, occasionally knocking shoulders, or muttering obscenities at the other.

Todd sighs, this is going to be a long night.

Then the doors burst open. Mr. Perry steps out first, Neil trudging far behind him. 

Todd’s chest tightens. Something's wrong. 

His eyes dart across Neil, waiting for him to say something—or at least offer him a passing glance.

Neil always looks back. Tonight, he doesn’t.

Obediently, he follows his father to the car, his gaze fixed on the pavement, as if eye contact would make it worse.

Despite that, Todd doesn’t look away. His stance is rigid, fearful, bracing himself—not just against the wind—as Neil gets driven away. 

Todd shudders when Mr. Perry slams the door, the blow echoing in his chest. 

Neil isn’t coming back tonight.

Todd stays there long after the taillights disappear.

As if staring hard enough might make them turn around.

By the time he makes his way towards Welton, it’s eleven at night. Aimlessly he follows the streetlights, as the cold continues to grow sharper. The uncontrollable shaking in his bones goes unnoticed—only one thought repeating in his mind.

He wasn’t supposed to be walking back alone.

Neil not being there to anchor him makes every step feel like a life sentence. The seconds go by minutes, minutes go by hours, everything begins to blur together. Suddenly he stumbles over his feet, collapsing to the pavement. Somehow, it feels warmer than his skin, so he decides it’d be okay to lay there for a moment—just a moment—as he can’t seem to remember where he was walking to anyways. 

Todd awakens to something violently shaking him.

He doesn’t know how long he laid there for.  

After a moment he realizes his own body is what violently shook him awake, yet he’s unable to feel the cold. Struggling, he barely manages to get on his feet, as if he’s lost all coordination. Moving what seems to be an inch per minute, he shuffles towards Welton, using the dorm lights in the distance as a guide. 

The boys are all up in their dorms, and everyone has fallen asleep—given that it’s nearly twelve. 

Everyone except Knox. 

Unlike the rest of the group, he decided it’d be best to wait until he’s sure Todd is home safe before he sleeps. Unfortunately for him, Todd is currently careless, and deranged, set on getting to Neil—which isn’t happening. Not unless Knox lends a hand.

Once the clock hit eleven forty five, Knox was done. He knew he couldn’t just wait around anymore for Todd to arrive—Todd wasn’t going to. Not unless he went to get him himself.

He gathers on multiple jackets, and steps outside. Even with several layers upon layers the cold is bitter as it blows around him. Immediately, he notices a pitiful figure in the distance, helplessly staggering around.

Yep, that’s Todd. 

Knox practically flies towards the boy, his eyes full of concern.

He grabs Todd—hard. 

“Todd, hey. Look at me.” His voice is loud, urgent. 

Knox held his jaw firmly, tilting Todd’s head up until he had no choice but to focus on him. 

“Can you hear me?” his voice comes out raw and desperate, causing Todd to snap back into reality. He tries to reply but has great difficulty, he ends up slurring his words—dissociating. 

Knox’ stomach drops. 

He physically pulls Todd upright, while shoving one of his jackets around the other boy's shoulders. Todd hates being touched like this—but he doesn’t fight it.

Knox continues to push, “Todd. Look. How many fingers?”. 

After a few attempts, Todd’s able to respond, his vision focused. Knox exhales a sigh of relief. 

Todd’s going to be okay.

They walk back to Welton, slowly, awkwardly, Knox half-dragging him. 

After a while, Todd breaks the silence.

“I said I’d walk back with him.” 

Knox doesn’t have to question who he’s talking about, he knows. Though he doesn’t say anything, his only focus is to keep Todd moving. 

Until Todd says something that makes Knox stop.

“Neil’s alone right now.”

“No,” he says immediately. “No, he’s not. He’s with his parents. He’s fine.”

Todd shakes his head, soft and unsteady. “You didn’t see him,” his voice is clearer now—thin, but there. “He wouldn’t look at me.”

Knox swallows. He loosens his grip just enough to look Todd over again. He’s trembling all over, his hands in particular. However, Todd’s eyes are focused—fixed, even.

“You can’t go out like this,” Knox says, softer now. “You’re freezing.”

Todd lifts his head, exhaling a shaky breath, “I know.” His voice is broken but serious, and finally, Knox no longer reads him as delirious.

Todd prepares to move again, but Knox steps in front of him without thinking.

“Where?” His tone is plain, yet direct.

Todd’s eyes widen, he hesitates, “his house.”

Knox lets out a humorless laugh, before turning straight-faced again, “absolutely not.” He states like it's obvious—yet Todd looks past him, toward the dark length of road. “I’m going anyway.” 

Knox runs a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says finally, and Todd nearly smiles. nearly.

Knox sighs, long and defeated. “You’re not walking. And you’re not standing out here any longer.” 

He pauses.

“My bike,” he adds, and it pains him to say it. “You take it. Straight there. No stops.”

Todd blinks. “Knox—”

“I’m serious,” Knox cuts in. “If you fall off, if you feel dizzy, you turn around. You hear me?”

Todd nods immediately with a small, fleeting smile, and Knox presses his scarf into his hands. “Wrap this around your face, and don’t stop moving.” His tone is grave, yet gentle. 

He hesitates, then adds quietly, 

“He’s lucky to have you.”

Todd’s breath catches, except it’s not from the cold.

He meets Knox’s eyes.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. Not ashamed, but careful.

Knox nods once, and he understands—he knows the feeling. 

The ride to Neil’s house feels endless. He’s simultaneously going too fast, and not fast enough. Todd scans the streets — he isn’t certain exactly where Neil lives, but he knows the area well enough to find out. He’d memorized the address from a phone book weeks ago, pretending it was idle curiosity, though now he can only recall a few digits.

Todd is about to turn back when he sees it—the faint glow from an upstairs window.

The rest of the house is dark.

Neil’s room.

Todd’s hands go numb on the handlebars.

He's here.

Todd’s entire body shudders as he makes his way to the door, his knees wavering beneath him. As he raises his hand to knock, he hesitates. Uneasiness turns in his stomach, and he steps back. He can’t risk Mr. Perry answering the door. 

His gaze shifts up towards Neil’s window.

Neil’s alone right now. 

Without thinking his trembling hands make a sloppy snowball—the best he could do—It barely grazes the glass. Todd clasps a hand to his mouth, a whisper of a sob escaping his lips, his shoulders shaking in desperation.

His frost-bitten hands burn as they wrap around the snow, and mustering all the strength he has left—hurls it at his last hope.

It hits the window. Hard, and direct.

Neil doesn’t move at first.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his costume shirt, fingers numb where they clutch the fabric. The house is too quiet—the kind that rings in his ears.

Another thud. He flinches this time.

His heart stutters, irritation flashing hot and brief, until the sound registers as wrong. Neil pushes himself up, his legs weak, unsteady, and crosses the room.

his breath leaves him entirely.

“Todd?”

He forgets himself as he darts down a flight of stairs, opening the door too fast. When he’s met with Todd—shaking, blue-lipped, barely upright, his heart drops. Neil instantly pulls the trembling boy inside, dragging him by the wrist towards the fireplace. 

Todd immediately eases as the warmth brings color back to his cheeks, and he offers Neil a tight-lipped smile, though it goes unreciprocated. Neil kneels in front of him without thinking, hands hovering for half a second before intertwining with Todd’s. 

They’re ice-cold.

“Jesus, Todd,” he breathes. “What were you thinking?” Their eyes meet, steady, unmoving. Neil’s wavering with concern, Todd’s with peace.

Todd shrugs weakly, “I wasn’t, but—” he sighs, and trails off.

Neil frowns, exhaling sharply through his nose, and begins rubbing warmth back into Todd’s hands. “You could’ve gotten hurt.” His voice flickering with tender worriment. Todd looks down, after a beat he meets Neil’s gaze. 

“You already were.”

The words land heavier than they should, causing Neil to still for a moment. Slowly, he looks up. “What?” He says just above a whisper, brows furrowed.

Todd swallows. His voice is quiet—not shaking, just tired. “You were alone.”

Neil’s mouth opens, then closes. He shakes his head once. “Todd, you can’t—”

“I said I’d walk back with you.”

Silence stretches between them, they shift. Neil’s hands loosen, then drop to his knees, his eye contact doesn’t waver. 

“You waited.”

Todd nods.

“You rode here,” Neil says, softer now.

Another nod.

Neil looks at him for a long moment—really looks. The shaking, the exhaustion, the way Todd hasn’t once complained.

“Why?”

Todd hesitates, he’s not afraid, but he knows this is irreversible. He sits for a moment, meeting Neil’s tender gaze. The corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction, and his eyes went soft.

“Because I love you,” he says. Plain, yet nothing could be more true.

Neil doesn’t react the way Todd expects. There’s no shock—only a quiet, soft understanding, and everything clicks into place.

“Oh,” Neil whispers. His gaze is heavy, so full of warmth, even the fireplace beside them can’t compare. He leans forward and presses his forehead to Todd’s, “You idiot,” Neil murmurs.

A comfortable silence followed, both boys huddled together by the fireplace. However, Neil looks over his shoulder every few minutes, and they give each other a knowing look. 

The house feels heavy, watched, unsafe.

Once he’s sure the coast is clear, he frames Todd’s face with his hands, thumbs stroking his jawline. 

“I love you,” he whispers, and the words feel dangerous in his home, yet undeniable.

Suddenly, Neil hears footsteps on the stairs—he flinches. Todd notices. 

Mr. Perry enters the room. He takes in the fire, the hour, the costume. 

He looks at Todd for too long.

Neil starts to pull away from Todd under his fathers gaze, but Todd doesn’t let him. He stands, still pale, still shaking, but steady. His gaze fixed on Mr. Perry, fearful—but he doesn’t let him see. 

“I’m sorry for the disturbance, sir. I didn’t mean to be here so late.”

And then Todd pauses for a moment, but he doesn’t hesitate. This time, he refuses to let Neil apologize.

“But Neil didn’t do anything wrong.”

Before Neil’s father can respond, Mrs. Perry cuts in. “Why—the boys freezing! Hurry—Neil, go fetch him some tea.” Neil flashes Todd a sorry look before trudging to the kitchen, his posture stiff. 

Todd can faintly Mr. and Mrs. Perry bickering from the other room, until it stops. After a beat, Neil’s mom sighs, “we can talk about this tomorrow.”

Mr. Perry enters the room, this time alone. He looks Todd up and down—like he’s a bug that needs to be squashed.

“You should go home.” 

Todd freezes in place, before quickly heading towards the front door. He doesn’t object, he recognizes it’s not his place to. 

Neil’s father abruptly enters the kitchen, draining the warmth from the room. He grabs the tea cup from Neil in one fast swipe, glaring when Neil flinches in response. 

“This ends here.” He doesn’t need to elaborate.

Neil doesn’t look up. He watches the tea run down the drain, even after it’s all gone.

Morning comes too soon.

Todd has already accepted he’ll be late for class, so he takes his time getting out of bed—for once, and lets himself reflect for a moment. Although last night feels like a dream, he smiles faintly knowing it wasn’t. The ache in his bones, the lingering cold, all proves it was real. Neil was real. 

Todd remembers the morning he woke to Neil wrapped around him, as if it was completely ordinary. 

He misses that.

Eventually he pushes himself out of bed, and for his first time at Welton, gets ready without Neil. He doesn’t put too much effort into his appearance today. His tie is a bit sloppy, his hair slightly disarrayed, and you can see last night's endeavours beneath his eyes. 

As he’s tying his laces, the door opens.

Todd looks up.

Neil stands there, already dressed, hair still damp at the edges like he didn’t dry it properly. He looks exhausted, but here. Really here. 

For a second, neither of them speaks.

“How are you feeling?” Todd says finally, voice quiet but sincere. 

Neil’s mouth curled into a lopsided grin, “I’m…Feeling.” He huffs a weak laugh, “I’m just glad to be home.” His arms expand out, gesturing to the dorm. A small, yet understanding smile touched Todd’s lips; and the space between them naturally shrinks, like it always has. 

Neil steps closer, eyes flickering across Todd’s face, “y’know...I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for last night.” 

Todd opens his mouth to object, but Neil cuts him off.

 “You shouldn’t have done that—I mean, I’m glad you did, but…” He trails off, exhaling, “please…Don’t scare me like that again.” Neil’s eyebrows crease with concern, his gaze intense but remains full of affection.  

Todd nods, too quickly, and Neil knows what he’s thinking. 

“He says it ends there,” Neil begins softly, “but he didn’t say I had to disappear."

He interlocks their fingers together, giving Todd time to pull away—he doesn’t. Their noses graze each other as Neil whispers, “I’m still here.” 

Todd swallows, “so am I.”

They lean in at the same time, closing the small gap between them. Todd grounds himself by clasping his hand through Neil’s damp hair, the smell of soap still lingering. A low sigh escapes from Neil as Todd's fingers tangle in his hair, and he brings his hands to his jaw, tracing slow, deliberate lines. 

After a beat—they reluctantly pull away. Given the fact they’re already late. In spite of that, they linger in each other's space for a brief moment, catching their breaths.

Finally, “come on,” Todd murmurs, “we’ll miss the second period.”

At the door, Neil hesitates, then laces their fingers together—just for a moment. 

Todd’s lips curled upward, a fleeting attempt at warmth. 

If it has to be a secret, at least it’s theirs.