Chapter Text
When Todd was told that the gun misfired, he almost threw up. His stomach did a strangle little somersault and tears tore open his eyes. His broken laughter sent shivers down his own spine, and his limbs shook like branches in the wind. His knees dug into the soft dirt, and he bowed his head like a weeping angel.
The Poets cheered and laughed around him, throwing their hands high before wrapping tenderly around each other. Together, their joy and pain came out in cries that made the purest flowers curl in on themselves. But to them, it was a song. A great epic of suffering and hope that would make the most stoic Gods grieve.
He was alive.
That was all they needed to know to remember how to live again.
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“How may I help you?” The woman’s smile is kind despite the exhaustion lingering in her expression, staring patiently as Todd blinks against the bright lights boring into him.
“I’m, uh, here to see Neil Perry?” Embarrassment flushes his cheeks when she politely leans forwards, head slightly cocked to the side and golden brows furrowed. “I’m visiting Neil Perry,” He says, louder this time, and his eyes instantly flick away to the other people waiting, who to his relief don’t even raise a brow or indicate him being too loud in any way.
“Right this way, please,” The woman nods, walking around the desk to a door. She pushes it open with that practised smile and indicates for Todd to follow.
Their footsteps echo against the smooth white flooring as doctors whizz past and nurses trundle carts and stretchers, yelling to each other things Todd can’t catch. His heart thunders in his chest with anticipation, and he mentally counts the room numbers they walk by. “Room 137,” Charlie had told them once their sobs had been reduced to weak sniffles, “It’s a small room, but has a nice chair at least. Also, I left flowers so don’t touch those. They’re for the pretty nurses.”
“Here we are.” The woman holds open the door for Todd. On it, painted in neat white lettering, is the number 137. His hand feels slippery around the bundle of flowers and as he walks in (barely muttering a meek ‘thank you’ to the kind woman who accompanied him) he can already feel his pulse thrumming too fast throughout his body.
He squeezes his eyes shut as soon as the soft click of the door tells him he’s alone. Alone with Neil. God, Neil. Todd’s soul is begging for him like a neglected child, but he knows that if he opens his eyes he’ll just be left with more pain than before.
Is Neil’s expression one of agony? Does it depict every horror, every tear, every suppressed cry that was hid behind his happy mask? Is his head cracked open, does blood mix with his tears that continue to shed even in unconsciousness?
Todd doesn’t want to know, so he shuts his eyes and looks away. The sunflowers drop onto the polished wooden floors with little more than a thump, but he doesn’t bother picking them up, instead he tightens his hands into fists and digs his nails into them until they go numb.
“Neil,” His voice comes out sticky with emotion, and he bites back the tears that brew. “I’m so sorry. You could have told me. I would have listened. I – I would have tried to help. I would have – have done anything, Neil!” His voice breaks and the last word is too loud, more angry than sad.
Neil.
And then, because he can’t bear it any longer, he opens his eyes and turns around, immediately finding himself with his breath stuck in his throat.
Neil’s head rests delicately on the pillow, lips lightly parted and skin a shade paler than before, with his fringe fanned over his forehead gently just like it was all those mornings that Todd would find him passed out after a night spent rehearsing. Under it, however, bandages wrap firmly around his forehead. On the right side, just poking out from under them, he spots a patch of Neil’s hair, or rather, lack thereof. Blood soaks the surrounding bandages, a dark but present red.
“God, Neil,” Todd’s voice quakes with tears and he can barely stumble to the side of Neil’s bed before he collapses onto his knees. He can’t help the sobs that rack his body when he stares up at Neil’s face. Is this what he would look like if he were dead?
Carefully despite his shaking, Todd rests his head against Neil’s outstretched arm. He can’t describe it, but he’s awfully glad they’re alone right now, as he lets his tears trail off his face to linger upon Neil’s fair skin. He gets the feeling that other people wouldn’t understand, somehow, that they would judge him.
“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?”
The only answer is Neil’s rhythmic breathing and the birdsong drifting through the open window. The light seems to catch on every slope of his face in the most breathtaking way, as if he were made from ancient marble.
Anger bubbles up inside him, reddening his face and squeezing his lungs until he has to fight for breath. What the fuck did his dad do?
“Please, please, hold on, Neil,” Todd sniffles, shaking his head weakly at the other boy. “Please, I – I’ll work something out. We’ll – we’ll ask Mr. Keating for advice and – and, uh, we’ll move up to New York or something and you – you can act a-and…”
Looking at Neil, he cuts his own words short when a thought appears in his mind. It hits him solid, a heavy weight that sits on his chest until it’s the only thing he can see.
Neil looks so beautiful right now.
It’s true, and maybe that’s the worst part of it. Todd tries not to dwell on what these thoughts may mean, and instead he allows himself to succumb to them. Just this once.
His hand shakes as it reaches for Neil’s face and is met with warm skin when he gently cups his cheek. Todd ignores the heat rising to his own and allows his eyes to flutter closed. The feeling of Neil’s arm beneath his head and his face beneath Todd’s hand is one that Todd knows he won’t get often enough, so he lets himself drown in it. Just for now. Just this once.
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Welton has not gotten any better since Mr. Keating left. The Poets had all begged for him to come back since Neil was actually alive, but Mr. Nolan was just as stubborn as them and wouldn’t budge.
The new English teacher is a snappy old fellow – just the kind of man Welton looks for. Mr. Hadley is balding but refuses to admit it, and combs back his short tufts of grey hair with a sickly amount of gel and only smiles if it’s sarcastic. His personality is as rotten as the apple on his desk, and he constantly makes fun of Todd (and all the other Poets.)
And now, as his shoes glumly scrape across the halls of the supposedly best school his parents could find for him (or rather, for Jefferey) he can’t help but be filled with a kind of nostalgia. With Mr. Keating, classes were fun. The memories and friends that formed through him, and through Neil, felt something like immortal. Todd was blessed the day he met Neil and then again the day he met Keating. But now, both are stripped away and he is an angel with burnt wings and a halo of suffering.
“Todd!”
Knox smiles in front of Todd, ignoring the never-ending flow of students as he waits for Todd to catch up (which sparks quite a few scowls and irritated murmurs of the passing pupils).
“Hi, Knox,” Todd returns the expression as the two fall into step, and he begins to fiddle with his sleeve as Knox starts talking.
“Guess what? I’ve got another date with Chris!” He grins, and Todd smiles at his visible excitement. “After that, though, she’ll be going away for a while to visit her grandparents or something – so I’m planning to finally do it with her.” His cheeks flush, but not an ounce of shame is behind it.
“Really? What if she says no?” Todd raises his eyebrows, slowing his pace as they near Mr. Hadley’s classroom.
“Well,” Knox hesitates before answering, and his brows furrow in thought. “Then she says no, I suppose. I don’t want to force her, that would just scare her off, and you know how difficult it has been even getting this far.” A grin easily returns to his face, and he steps into Mr. Hadley’s room before Todd can think up a reply.
A chill races down Todd’s spine and his throat twists into a knot when he enters after Knox. The air is quiet, even as students rustle through their things and set up their desks. He wishes he could say it’s peaceful, but instead the silence is charged, just waiting to blow or crack with violent insults or glares.
And as Todd sets up himself, he can feel pointed eyes prickling the skin on the back of his neck.
God, that’s not a good start.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Handley begins, his voice quick and snappy as always, as soon as everyone has gotten to their seats. “Today, we will be looking at Oscar Wilde. Now, can anybody tell me some of his greatest works? Books, plays, letters, all of it included.”
Several hands immediately shoot up.
“The Importance of Being Earnest?” A boy says when pointed to.
“Yes, yes, a terrific play.” Mr. Handley nods dismissively, his eyes searching the crowd with intent. “You?” He asks, pointing to someone else.
“The Picture of Dorian Gray?”
Mr. Handley’s eyes sparkle evilly, and Todd sinks further into his seat when those menacing eyes land on him.
“Yes, perhaps we can come back to that one,” he smiles, but in his eyes lies pure malice as they linger on Todd’s before finally stalking away. “Now, have any of you gentlemen heard of De Profundis?”
A series of unsure nods roll over Todd’s classmates, whilst he himself feels a tide of nausea wash over him. De Profundis.
Todd remembers reading it, remembers feeling empathy and sorrow wash over him until he was drowning in it, quietly crying whilst Neil stared with an expression somewhere between worry and amusement. He was confused about how Todd was crying over a book (‘at 10 PM, as well!’ He has insisted) and even more so when Todd refused to let him read even a sentence.
“Yes, an amazing work. A 50,000 word-long letter to his lover, written from prison. Do any of you know who his lover was?”
And uncomfortable silence stretches, and Mr. Handley seems to bask in every moment of it as his footsteps echo pointedly. “His name was Lord Alfred Douglas,” He spits the words out like even saying it disgusts him, and he pulls up part of his lip in a snarl-like grimace. “And the reason Oscar Wilde was sent to prison was because of his… indecency. Intimate acts with other men. Surely you boys know how wrong that is, don’t you?”
A series of scoffs and cruel snickers bubble up amongst them, and Mr. Handley gleams with assurance. “Good, good, now settle down, boys. I just wanted to make sure none of you were feeling the effects of not schooling with women.”
Sweat spikes at the back of Todd’s neck, and he dares not breathe. Of course, he’d never commit such ‘indecencies’, but with the way Mr. Handley’s gaze keeps flickering to his, he can tell who this speech is for.
“Anyhow, Wilde’s letter is undoubtedly moving, despite its intentions.” For half a second, Todd can swear he sees Mr. Handley roll his eyes. “Next week we will look at his poetry, and I advise you to begin looking through it in the library as preparation.”
The rest of the lesson passes without further ado, mainly just discussing the themes of De Profundis, but Todd finds his heart still hammering when he hurriedly walks back to his dorm. Thankfully, Welton had the decency to not give him a new dormmate for a while. Somehow, though, he felt that their leniency would come to an end soon enough.
They still had no idea whether Neil would be coming back to Welton, and even Charlie seemed unsure last time they discussed it. Still, Todd finds it hard to believe that Neil’s dad wouldn’t give him a bit more leniency after what happened.
After the door finally clicks behind him, silence weights down on Todd like never before. The joy and laughter and muffled giggles that once gave the room life now seem to have floated out the window, leaving an unrecognizable husk of what it once was. Without Neil, Todd feels… lonely.
He groans miserably when his back hits the bed, and he drags his hands down his face dejectedly. The ceiling stares back down at him, and he imagines the wooden patterns moulding into faces and animals and trees until he finally convinces himself that’s weird and sits upright.
He’ll go visit Neil again – that’ll help. Maybe this time he’ll bring some poetry to read too, he could even bring Oscar Wilde so that he could be prepared for next week, like hitting two birds with one stone. He can go in a couple days’ time, on Saturday, and then the day after that the Poets will be visiting Keating.
He smiles at the thought, mood immediately lightening when he remembers himself and all the Poets crowding around Charlie, waiting to see how Keating had replied to their invitation. They had all arranged for a casual meet-up, a winter picnic in a park near the Poets’ woods. Keating didn’t know, but they all hoped to bring him to the cave for a meeting afterwards. Still, it would feel wrong to be there when Neil wasn’t. That same idea had put Todd off from coming to the meetings for so long that the Poets eventually stopped asking. He wishes Neil would wake up so he could go again. They all do.
But still, he sleeps.
Todd rolls over and half-heartedly yanks the covers over him. His Welton uniform will be wrinkled by tomorrow morning, but he really couldn’t care less.
Right now, he just wants to dream about a better place, a better world. One where Neil is an actor and Todd is a poet and Mr. Keating is still teaching them and the rest of the Dead Poets are happy doing what they want to do.
Oh, to dream.
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“Hello, I’m here to – to see Neil Perry.”
The nurse smiles at him politely and nods.
“Yes, I assumed you were, Mr. Anderson,” she jokingly teases, making him flush a shade pinker. “I’m guessing that this second visit won’t be the last, then?” She asks, walking around to push open the same door as before. Todd hurries after her.
“No, he – he was my friend, ma’am. My best friend.” He looks away from the pitiful gaze she gives him and focuses instead on the rhythmic clacking of his shoes hitting the polished hospital floors.
“I see. Well, you certainly are a good friend. You and all those other boys my coworkers have told me about.” She smiles at him again, and then she’s down the hallway once more, blonde hair bobbing livelily in a building full of death.
After a moment to compose himself, Todd finally pushes open the door. At the foot of Neil’s bed lies a table, just like before, but now there’s also a chair positioned near it. Todd’s sunflowers have been put in a little baby blue vase, and next to them are roses (probably the ones Charlie had brought) in a white one. Todd didn’t really look around the room the first time he entered, so now he takes a moment to appreciate the work the nurses have probably done on it to make it feel homier, but he finds his eyes inevitably straying back to the boy in the hospital bed.
“Um, hi, Neil,” he almost mumbles, his ears already going pink. He’s basically talking to himself right now, huh? Regardless, he picks up the chair by the table and positions it next to the bed. “You would hate our new English teacher,” Todd sighs, slumping onto the chair. His head lolls back against it and he stares rather lazily at Neil’s face, his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest that seems to be the only indicator that he’s alive.
“I wish you would hate him.” Todd’s voice is a whisper now, and he quickly wipes away the tears that form at the corners of his eyes. “I mean, I wish you could.”
Neil doesn’t answer – of course he doesn’t, but Todd still feels slightly dejected after a few seconds of silence.
“I – um, I’m actually kind of scared of him,” he chuckles, subconsciously beginning to rock in his seat. “And – and I know you said I should be – be less anxious and that everything’s fine and all that, but he r-really hates me, Neil, today he was just being so passive aggressive, like he’s being every day, and – and I, um.” He takes a breath and rolls his head to look up at the ceiling now.
“Anyways, it doesn’t matter. I mean, God, of course it doesn’t, here you are basically dead and I-I’m complaining to – to you now.” A bitter laugh bubble up through him, and with it brings water to his eyes. “I – I’m sorry, Neil. I’m so, so sorry.”
And then, because he simply can’t help himself, he turns towards Neil and softly, carefully, puts his hand on his head. Neil’s hair is still soft somehow, and slightly longer than before. Todd doesn’t want to mess it up, so he just sits there, occasionally rubbing his thumb back and forth over the strands.
“I wrote a poem today.” He tries to smile, but the expression feels somehow disgusting on him so lets it fall. Neil won’t see it, anyways. “I never let you read them before, so I thought I could recite it to you now. Um, and after that I thought we could read some Oscar Wilde together? I’ve got to study it for English, so I thought I’d bring it here.” He coughs and finally draws back his hand. Neil’s hair is only slightly mussed up from it, so Todd takes that as a win.
“Anyways, um, here’s the poem. You better remember this because I’m not repeating it. Ever.” He laughs weakly, but his nervousness makes it sound choked. With a deep breath, Todd starts.
“O, sleeping one, awake, awake!
The bluebirds yearn to sing for you
The grass misses your soft embrace
Shall you deny them such simple pleasures?
Will your eyes still refuse to see
The world that adores every breath, every laugh
That floats about so merrily?
Will you deny me such joys
That come about with no more than your presence?
The brightness that filled every room
And made the broken laugh like boys?
You are light, you are sound
You are laughter and you are beauty.
You are a poem.
One so much better
Than this.”
Not even the birds dare to fill the silence that comes. For a moment, it seems that the whole world has paused for them. For a moment that only one of them is really experiencing. Still, anxiety clasps Todd’s throat tightly and his breathing quickens in response, though he tries to keep it quiet.
“Shit, you won’t even remember this,” He eventually mumbles, laughing sharply at his own stupidness. He stands up from the chair too fast, and it scrapes against the floor painfully.
“Neil, I –“ Todd hesitates.
I what?
“I really wish you’d wake up. I – I miss you. I miss you so much, Neil, it hurts. I don’t think it’s normal to miss someone this much when – when they’re right in front of you but –” Neil is blurred from behind Todd’s tears, and he furiously wipes them away. His hands unknowingly clench into fists. Neil looks so peaceful.
“I – I fucking hate you!” he finally bursts. His voice is harsh and loud like it had never been before. Thrilling anger swells in his veins, and he steps closer to Neil. “Why – why would you do that? Neil, we fucking love you. You’re – you make us so happy and then you – you just… you killed us, Neil. You killed me, only I didn’t have the fucking luxury of not feeling anything. It wasn’t fair, okay? It wasn’t fucking fair!”
By the time he’s done, his chest is heaving and his senses feel heightened by anger. Neil, though – god, Neil. He falls to his knees next to the bed and with trembling fingers, reaches out to brush his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” He whispers, “You had already died too. That’s why you did it, wasn’t it? I’m – I’m so sorry. I wish we were better. You – you will be, though, I know it. We’ll get away from your dad. Me, you, the Poets – We’ll go to New York, like I said, and you’ll be an actor in some great play and,” The words seem so futile once spoken aloud, Todd has to stop himself. He’s just lying now, isn’t he? The knowledge sinks in his gut like a rock.
“I don’t want to live without you. Please. Wake up.” The words scratch against his throat. They’re perhaps the truest things he’s ever muttered and yet he feels ashamed of them. He’s just caring for his friend, so why does he sense an overwhelming sense of fear sink in his gut?
Todd stands, regardless, and as he looks back from the doorway, it may be a trick of the light, or his cruel imagination, or simple wishing and hope manifesting into his vision, but
one perfect eyelid
blinks.
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“Where the fuck is Charlie?”
A series of grumbles wash over the group, and Knox quietly scoffs “Typical” Near Todd’s ear. He grins in response, and Knox easily returns it.
“So, how did things go with Chris?” Todd asks, raising his eyebrows. He shivers abruptly and pulls his coat tighter around him. “Stupid winter,” he mutters.
“Oh, it was legendary – honestly, Todd, I would say I wish you felt it but actually, I really don’t. Best day of my life, no questions asked.” He smiles, and Todd laughs at the red spreading over his cheeks. “Woman’s touch, man – we all need it. So, speaking of which, any pretty ladies catch your eye recently?” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully.
“Oh, no,” Todd hastily replies, sheepishly glancing down. “I’ve never been in love before, actually.”
“Seriously? Never?” Knox asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Well, if you did fall in love, what would she be like?”
Todd pauses in thought and tries to picture a girl in his mind. It passes by many girls (some of which Todd knows are undoubtedly good-looking) yet feelings refuse to come for any. “I don’t know. Nice, hopefully.” He shrugs, and Knox rolls his eyes jokingly.
“Oh, come on, I’m talking the good stuff. Nice tits? Blonde, maybe? Big lips?” He asks expectantly. “No? Or are you more the skinny brunette type?”
“I – I don’t know, Knox,” He snaps, red colouring his cheeks. “Someone – someone nice, I-I guess? I don’t know, honestly!”
Knox opens his mouth to reply but freezes as Pitt’s voice cuts through the thin air.
“Charlie!”
Immediately, all heads swivel towards his direction to see Charlie strutting confidently down to them. His hands are shoved in his pockets casually and he grins at the sight of them, though the cold clearly makes him grimace beforehand.
“It’s Nuwanda, dipshit!” He shouts, and familiar laughter bursts through them.
The crisp January air seems to flee for a moment, and friendly warmth envelops them. The first to start running is Knox, and then suddenly all their feet are hitting the ground too fast, stumbling and laughing and crashing into each other. Todd isn’t usually too fond of hugs like this, but he feels himself melt into it like just another drop of ice in the spring.
“Wimps. I knew you couldn’t live without me.” Charlie mutters once they pull apart, but the amiability in his smile is hard to hide and Todd can tell the redness on his cheeks isn’t from the cold.
“We can. Just don’t want to.” Knox grins, looping his arm around Charlie’s neck as they start to walk. Nobody says anything to contradict that, and when the snow starts to gently kiss their hair, they laugh like happy children and begin to run.
Maybe that is what they are, in the moment, and maybe that is all they’ll be. But if being a child means feeling such eternal happiness, Todd supposes he doesn’t mind living as a child.
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“Hello, boys.” As soon as the polished black door swings open and that familiar voice arrives, smiles break across the Poets’ faces and much like before, with Charlie, their arms clumsily wrap around him and each other. Surprise flashes across Mr. Keating’s face, but quickly it is replaced with affection as he tries to find somewhere to put his hands.
Todd smiles, though he tries not to show it, and embarrassment colours his cheeks when Mr. Keating places a hand on his head and gives him a proud smile. “Hello Todd, Meeks, Pitts, Knox, Charlie,” He greets them, looking at each of them when he says their names. “Hello, my Dead Poets.”
“Mr. Keating!” Charlie says quickly, pushing through the rest to grab his arm. “Have you heard? Neil’s –”
“Alive, yes,” He nods, and his eyes briefly flick to Todd’s. “Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to see him.”
The Poets erupt in a fit of complaints, and Todd winces at so much sound so close to his ears. Thankfully, Mr. Keating raises his hand to quiet them.
“Yes, yes, I like it no better than you, but it is what it is. I trust he’s coming along, though?”
“He hasn’t woken up,” Meeks mutters, and similar worry dances in everyone’s eyes. “They say he should have, but they don’t know what’s going on. Hopefully, it’ll just be a few more days, but I don’t know.”
Silence settles over them gently, and they take a moment before Mr. Keating breaks it with a smile.
“Well, shall we? I don’t believe anyone will be bothering our picnic in this weather.” He chuckles, raising a hand to catch the falling snow.
Todd can only nod wordlessly along with the other Poets as they begin to walk. He stays at the back, letting the rest of them crowd Keating cheerfully and praying that with each curious glance sent Todd’s way, they don’t see the same thoughts repeating themselves painfully in Todd’s mind.
He’s meant to have woken up.
He’s meant to have woken up.
Why won’t he wake up?
Will he ever wake up?
“Todd.”
Todd jumps, a small gasp escaping him, but all he finds is Mr. Keating’s kind face, staring at him with unmasked worry. He looks in front of them, and the Poets are laughing and crowding Charlie as he probably tells them a story.
“Tell me, what’s on your mind?”
“Oh, n-no, it’s nothing,” He quickly states, eyes flicking to the frosted sidewalk.
“Now, I’m not calling you a liar, Todd, but I know that’s not true.” Keating sighs, and Todd flushes guiltily. His next words come softer, more careful. “Is it Neil?”
Denial rests on the tip of Todd’s tongue, but when his eyes flick up to Keating’s, his lies crumble before they’re even out. “Yes,” He reluctantly murmurs.
“I thought so.”
No more on the matter is shared as they walk, and as Charlie finishes his tale, they come back to crowding Keating and Todd is left in silence. Not that he minds, of course, but when they finally near the park, he’s flushed with relief.
None of the Poets had any picnic blankets, so they had instead stolen Cameron’s bedcover. (“He’s a little shit anyways,” Charlie had insisted to an unsure Pitts.) They laid it down and tried to settle, though most of them were sitting half on the grass by the time they had put down all the food.
“So, aside from the lovely perks of schooling with girls, how your new school been?” Knox asks, clearly referencing something that makes Meeks and Pitts snort.
“I have to say, Patterson is hardly better than Welton.” Charlie sighs, “though, at least they listened to God and got some girls,” He muses in a thoughtful tone that causes the group to burst out laughing.
“Speaking of all these girls, any caught your eye?” Pitts asks, “Or are they any pretty ones you don’t want?” He exchanges a sly glance with Meeks, who likely is thinking the same thing he is by the shared grin. Todd doesn’t exactly want to know what it is, and he uncomfortably shifts his position ever so slightly.
“Afraid not, gentlemen,” Charlie clicks his tongue easily with a sad shrug. “All the decent ones are taken by idiots, as always happens. Isn’t that right, Knox?” He smiles, patting him on the shoulder. Knox doesn’t seem to catch onto the sarcasm and nods.
“Yeah, at least Chris – wait,” Knox turns to Charlie, but by the time he does Charlie is already rolling on the floor with laughter along with Meeks and Pitts. When Knox turns to Todd for reassurance, he tries to keep a straight face, but when Charlie starts mimicking Knox right behind the man himself, he can’t supress his laughter. Even Mr. Keating chuckles, though he quickly gives Knox a sorry look.
“You’re all fucking bastards.” Knox snaps, but his eyes widen as they land on Keating. “Except you, sir, of course,” he quickly amends, face flushing redder (if that’s even possible) with embarrassment.
Charlie lets out one final hoot before they all begin to die down. Todd reaches for a sandwich once the steady banter has returned and listens quietly to the stories they share.
By the end of the picnic, Todd has learnt that in Charlie’s school, he’s started being picked on. Not anything big, he had insisted, but Todd saw the fear flash through his eyes. He brushed it off every time someone asked why, perhaps with a joke like, because I just attract all their girls, or, because I’m the only one God talks to. But the truth is hidden somewhere deep.
Keating, meanwhile, will be staying in America for two more months before deciding what his next step is. Don’t worry, he reassured the boys when they began whining, I may choose to buy a house here for me and my wife. Who knows, perhaps I could teach at Patterson. At that, Charlie was ecstatic.
Other than Keating and Charlie as the main topics, they also talked about other things: poetry, Welton, cars, homework, and the one thing they kept returning to; Neil.
“Why do you think he did it?” Charlie muttered at one point.
“We don’t know. Maybe one day he will tell us, but we must never push him, understood?” Mr. Keating had answered, looking each of the boys in their eyes as he said so.
It only took the slightest convincing to get Keating to have the meeting with them, but when he agreed, the poets jumped for joy regardless.
Just like that, Todd was whirled off into the woods with the others, who now chat merrily amongst themselves in front of him. He really doesn’t mind – he finds it nice, actually, to be quiet amidst the crackling leaves and the biting wind that pulls at his jacket. The other Poets make up for his lack of voice, anyways, chanting something incoherent whilst stomping through the woods like toddlers turned wild.
He notices, however, when a familiar presence falls into step beside him. After all, how could he not? This teacher – a simple English teacher, they say, but Todd knows he’s so much more. He’s the Professor of life and freedom, and his students are the children of living itself. They are chained, however, and will either break free or die trying in those chains. Todd wishes he didn’t knows which path Neil had walked.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Mr. Keating asks, and Todd chuckles.
“Sir, you know I’m not good with words,” He smiles politely, but Mr. Keating shakes his head.
“You are, Todd,” He says, grinning now, “Come on, where’s that yawp?”
“No, no,” Todd scoffs, face quickly reddening. “I-I’m fine. Truly.”
“Well, then, please. Tell me what’s praying on that brilliant mind of yours.” He asks, and Todd has to look away from his gaze in fear of him seeing too much.
“Well, um, i-it’s Neil.” He finally replies as quietly as he can.
“Yes, we already discussed that. What about him, Todd?” Todd expects to find annoyance in his expression, but instead there’s that same steady patience luring him out of his shell.
“I’m scared, I-I don’t when he’ll wake up – If h-he’ll wake up,” He stutters out, shaking his head to himself. “I don’t want to – to lose him.”
“I see.” Keating nods, staring silently to the ground in thought. “Todd, it seems to me that you’re taking this a lot harder than any of his other friends.”
“What?” Todd swivels his head too fast, and he grimaces at the snap it makes.
“Well, Mr. Dalton’s known Neil for years, has he not? And yet the day you were all told of his attempt, you were the one crying for him on the docks.”
“I-I didn’t—” Todd begins, but snaps his mouth shut when Mr. Keating gives him a kind smile.
“Now, now, I’m not suggesting anything at all. I just think that you two have a very special bond.” He smiles, and Todd senses a sadness lingering behind it. “Hold onto that. It’s not every day something like it happens.”
Todd finds himself at a loss for words, face warm and mouth in a small o. Luckily, before the silence gets too awkward, the other Poets let out a whoop and somebody screams ‘Poetry time, motherfuckers!” (It isn’t hard to guess that was Charlie.)
Mr. Keating offers a fleeting smile before they’re stumbling into the cave, laughter and playful shoves rebounding until finally, everyone settles into their usual positions. The stone beside Todd is vacant and icy, and his right shoulder is cold to match his left. He tries not to dwell on these, tries not to think about how instead of Neil, Charlie stands up and starts the meeting, tries to ignore the wandering glances to the empty space in the cave.
Poems come and go, and as usual, Todd sits quietly. Only this time, he isn’t listening. His thoughts have wandered to a dark, dark place – a place he went to far too often when his anxiety was still out of control. His thoughts are spiralling – tripping haphazardly down a winding staircase with not bottom. Each bruise and batter hits him harder than the last, only it’s inside of him, and so much harder to ignore.
“I suppose I should read as well, shouldn’t I?”
Todd’s head snaps up at Keating’s voice. He’s smiling at the Poets and, inevitably, he smiles at Todd too.
“I had a feeling something like this would happen, so I’ve decided to memorise one.” Knox lets out an excited whoop, and the rest cheer after him. Todd stays silent, and yet Keating’s gaze finds him first. He clears his throat and takes a breath, and not one of the Poets breathe when he begins.
“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.”
A moment of silence stretches before, slowly, Meeks starts to clap. Pitts follows after and when Knox joins, Charlie lets out a cheer, encouraging louder claps. Todd sits, unmoving, letting the cold seep through his skin until his head spins in time with his mind.
No.
He swallows down whatever empathy he felt with the poem and claps. His lips stretch into a thin smile, but under it lies an insatiable urge to puke.
Fuck.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
“Neil.”
The door slams behind Todd, and he hardly flinches at the sound.
“Meeks said that the doctors said you were meant to have woken up by now,” He hesitates, trying his best to push down the tears that form in his eyes. “Neil, wake the fuck up. I-I’m really scared.” His voice comes out choked by tears, and he sniffles quietly whilst setting himself down in the chair.
“Neil, you’re really scaring me – scaring all of us. Please, just – just wake up. I-I know you can’t hear this, but – but…” He hesitates, lowering his head to hold it in his hands.
“I fucking do need you to take care of me, alright?” He whispers, watching tears fall onto his trousers. “I do, Neil. I really do.”
Suddenly, the door slams open, and the metal handle hits the wall with a painful crack. Todd winces, snapping his head up and covering his ears.
“Oh.”
Fear trails its bony fingers down Todd’s spine, and immediately he feels the blood draining from his face. The man’s face is rigid and controlled, either emotionless or angry depending on the situation. This time, Mr. Perry simply looks upon Todd with blatant distaste, scowling as he checks his watch.
“Who are you?” He snaps, barely giving Todd any notice as he sets down some assorted flowers on the table in a business-like manner.
“T-Todd Anderson, sir. I-I was Neil’s r-roommate,” He stutters, hurriedly wiping away his tears.
Mr. Perry stills, his whole posture suddenly rigid. When he finally turns, he looks upon Todd with blazing eyes and his words are more clipped than before.
“You were part of this ‘Dead Poets Society’, then?”
Todd finds himself wordless once again, but Mr. Perry is too quick for him to think anyways.
“Get out. You may never see my son again.”
Todd gapes. The words spill out of his mouth before he can even attempt controlling them, and anger seeps through every crack.
“B-but he’s my friend, sir, he would want me here, surely—”
“I said, get out!” He shouts, walking straight up to Todd until he’s towering over him. “He is here because of you, understand? You and all those – those fucking hippies made him do this to himself and I will not allow any of you to go near him every again, do you understand? Do you Goddamn understand me!?”
The world seems to be rocking under Todd’s feet, and he’s just a moment from tripping overboard. His fists quake beside him, and he tries to force any fear out of his expression.
“Yes, sir.” His voice cracks but he can hardly care. He leaves the room lifelessly, a corpse walking.
And maybe that’s for the best.