Chapter Text
It’s been eight months.
Eight months since Mr. Perry ushered Neil into the backseat of their car, his friends’ congratulations dying on their lips. They’d mumbled their goodbyes to Mr. Keating and shuffled back to Welton in silence, the biting cold seeping through their coats. Knox had fallen to his knees in the snow and begged Chris to let them borrow her parents’ car, swearing that it was urgent and would be the last thing he would ever ask of her.
Eight months since the poets, with one member conspicuously absent, had crept out of their rooms even more cautiously than usual, piling into Chris’s car in a tangle of limbs and not bothering to readjust before Charlie urged her to “go, please, just drive.” Charlie hadn't even protested when Cameron had ended up half in his lap and half in the floorboard. They had crept through backroads, Charlie’s voice trembling ever so slightly as he listed off directions that he’d known since grade school. Chris dropped them off two houses down, leaving them with no options aside from remaining stranded in the cold or carrying out their plan.
Eight months since Charlie had rummaged in the flowerbed at the Perry house for a spare key, his hands still covered in dirt and half-melted snow as he shoved it into the side entrance lock.
Eight months since the boys had tiptoed up to Neil’s bedroom, breath bated as they waited to see what state their friend was in. Charlie had grabbed Todd at the bottom of the staircase, wordlessly redirecting him to the study. Whatever guided him – intuition, divine intervention, ten years of friendship – Todd hadn’t dared question it. As they were met with the cold glow emitting from the ever-so-slightly cracked door of the study, Charlie had begun to hyperventilate so badly that Todd thought he would collapse.
Eight months since he and Charlie had stumbled upon the worst sight of their lives: Neil, shirtless at the desk, the dim light from the windows reflecting off his pale skin, making him look otherworldly. Making him look like a ghost. His father’s gun was laid on the desk, reflecting the same pale moonlight as Neil’s skin. It hadn’t looked otherworldly. It had looked all too real.
Eight months since Todd had wailed, “Neil!” in Mr. Perry’s study, the sound filling his chest and ripping through his throat. Charlie, thankfully, had gone into action immediately, returning the gun to the drawer, hastily throwing his robe over Neil, dragging the three of them from the study right before Neil’s parents had reached the bottom of the stairs, and inventing a half-baked excuse about Todd having a foot injury to explain away the noise.
Eight months since the nine of them had sat at the dining room table, bleary-eyed and trembling, as the immovable object that was Mr. Perry met the unstoppable force that was an angry Charles Dalton – and, to a slightly lesser extent, the other members of the Dead Poets Society.
The negotiations had not been easy. Mr. Perry threatened more than once to call the police, and had actually picked up the phone at one point only to be met with a busy signal; Meeks had cut the line under the guise of a bathroom break. Charlie eventually produced a pack of cigarettes, wordlessly passing them to Mrs. Perry. Mr. and Mrs. Perry would only direct their words to Neil, whose blank gaze remained fixed on the table for hours. His hand gripped Todd’s thigh under the table as he choked out short, clipped answers: “Yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. I will. I’m sorry.”
The other six had joined in occasionally, becoming increasingly emboldened by their friends as the night wore on. Charlie had rattled off Neil's accomplishments since the seventh grade, with Knox corroborating with additional stories about Neil's obedience, his diligence, his single-minded devotion to pleasing his parents. Meeks joined in soon after, pointing out that Neil's academic performance hadn't slipped once despite the play’s demanding schedule. Pitts had managed to come up with something about leadership and setting an example without mentioning either Neil leading the Dead Poets Society or the example of reckless bravery he'd set. Even Cameron had chimed in, trying to justify Neil staying at Welton by listing off so many facts about the school's record that Todd doubted even Mr. Nolan knew them all. On any other night, this would've drawn merciless and incessant teasing from Charlie, but he'd simply nodded along.
Mr. Perry had finally relented after hours of exhausting back-and-forth, oscillating between quiet, firm orders and sharp, barked rebuttals. An especially unexpected outburst from Todd in response to Mr. Perry’s threats against Mr. Keating threatened to jeopardize the progress of the last several hours, but had instead resulted in Mr. Perry retreating from the subject. Neil would remain at Welton. He would give up the mathematics club, and Mr. Perry briefly flirted with the idea of giving up soccer as well. He would call once a week with a report on his grades and extracurriculars, and if he was found to be lying, would be shipped off to Braden immediately. Next semester’s play was out of the question. He would attend more summer courses of his father’s choosing. But he would stay.
They had all collapsed on the floor of Neil’s bedroom, the demerits that they would receive for missing morning roll-call a distant thought as the first rays of the dawn broke through the open window, melting the snowflakes that had gathered on the sill. Neil had given into exhaustion quickly, his head resting on Todd’s shoulder. Charlie flanked his other side, clinging to the material of Neil’s pajama shirt. As the other boys’ breathing slowed and grew steady, Charlie and Todd had sat silently, refusing to move lest Neil shatter between them.
Seemingly without noticing it, Charlie followed Neil at every possible moment in the following weeks. He sat next to Neil at every meal, every class, every Dead Poets Society meeting. His eyes often shot back to Neil abruptly, as if he were worried that Neil were, inexplicably, no longer there. Charlie also clung to Neil in the literal sense, grasping a piece of his clothing or resting a hand on his shoulder or back. It was as if Charlie was worried that Neil could turn into a ghost at any second, and his touch was the only thing anchoring him to the mortal realm. It wasn’t as if Todd could blame him; he found himself doing much of the same.
It’s been seven months since they’d returned from winter break, the seven of them balancing on the tightrope of the previous semester’s events. Todd often found himself waking suddenly in the middle of the night, counting Neil’s breaths in the dark of their room to help him fall back asleep. Inhale, exhale. One, two.
It’s been three months since the spring semester ended. A semester that had begun with trepidation had ended with cautious optimism, the promise of another year acting as a lifeline between them. The dead poets committed themselves to keeping in touch, letters and phone calls connecting them across the lazy days of summer. For several weeks, they had circulated the same letter in a chain, updating one another on their most recent adventures and responding to the others. Charlie had called it off abruptly after reading one of Knox’s entries, claiming that it had been so disgustingly sentimental that he’d needed to flip through Playboy for three hours in order to “get back in touch with his inner degenerate.”
It had been three months of whispers over the phone once the Perrys had theirs repaired. Neil had bemoaned the rigors of his summer biology course, humor slowly but surely seeping back into his voice. Todd had finally gained the courage to share his poems following Neil’s performance, and took to reciting and revising his new works with Neil. They read Shakespeare to one another, Neil fantasizing about dream roles: Othello, Dogberry, Romeo. When they received their room assignments by mail, Todd could’ve sworn he heard Neil’s smile.
It’s been two days since Todd had packed the last of his belongings and departed for Welton once more, his senior year stretching out impossibly long and yet, simultaneously, impossibly short before him.
—
It’s mid-August, one of those warm, sticky days that hangs heavy in the air and clings to the skin. Todd sits in the Welton Academy chapel as he had the year before, albeit now wearing the Welton uniform. The stone room offers some reprieve from the sweltering heat outside, but the warmth of the candles, the light streaming through the stained glass, and the dozens of bodies packed into the small space easily eliminate whatever relief is to be found. Todd discreetly runs a finger around his shirt collar, praying that the sweat beading on his neck will cool.
He can see Charlie sitting with his parents a few rows ahead, his head slightly tilted as if to signal his disinterest in the ceremony. Meeks is across the aisle, but Todd can only make him out through his periphery. After scanning the crowd several times, he decides that Pitts must be behind him somewhere, but he remains straight-backed and forward-faced for fear of calling unnecessary attention to himself. Cameron, Knox, and Neil are out of sight, carrying the banners once again.
The muffled sound of the bagpipes causes the room to stir, students and parents alike turning to watch the incoming procession. As the doors open, the song fills the small space, the ringing melody of the bagpipes reverberating off the walls. Todd watches the line of students file in and take their respective spaces at the front of the room, the banner-carriers at the tail end of the procession. His eyes flit between them, seeking out one in particular. Knox and Cameron have switched places, and between them is someone he doesn’t recognize – a junior, most likely. Neil is carrying the “Excellence” banner just as he had last year, the top of the pole just above those of the other boys’ on account of his height.
He takes his place at the front of the room, blank-faced and perfectly postured. The soft light of the candles reflects off his accomplishment pins – there are more than last year, rivaled only by Cameron’s – and casts a warm glow over his features. Todd notices that his hair is neat and even, the result of a fresh cut. It had grown shaggy over the summer, nearly reaching his eyes at one point, or so Neil had told him over the phone. Mrs. Perry must have made good on her threat to take scissors to it. His jawline seems sharper than it was three months ago, but perhaps that’s the shadows.
Neil holds the banner stiffly in front of him, displaying it to the audience. The sacred four pillars, the defining features of Welton, proudly set forth to them all in bold golden lettering: TRADITION. HONOR. DISCIPLINE. EXCELLENCE. Todd thinks, briefly, that Neil’s assignment is rather appropriate. Neil, the golden boy. Neil, the straight A student. Neil, the Harvard-bound future doctor. Neil, the obedient son and pupil. Neil, the loyal friend. Neil, the heart of their group. Neil, the personification of excellence.
The ceremony carries on as usual. The passing of the light of knowledge makes the room insufferably hot, and Todd’s shirt will inevitably bear sweat stains. Thankfully, Dr. Nolan drones on for only a short time. Even at a distance, Todd can make out the sheen of sweat on his head and suspects that Nolan yearns to leave just as much as the rest of them. The accomplishments of Welton and its scholars are touted once again, met with applause and approving murmurs from parents. The same reassurance that is offered every year echoes in Nolan’s words, in the grandeur of the chapel, in the perfect, polished boys filling the pews: Give us your sons, and we will make something of them.
It isn’t long before the bagpipes sound again and the families begin to make their way to the dormitories for their farewells. Todd's parents say their goodbyes quickly, barely making time for their son as they rush off to catch their flight.
“The more things change…” Todd mumbles to himself as he makes his way toward his and Neil’s room. It's devoid of decorations or any signs of occupancy, but otherwise the same as the previous year, with two sets of identical furniture on each side of the room. He opens the window, letting in a much-needed and short-lived breeze. Neil hasn’t arrived yet; his luggage isn’t on his side of the room. The other guys are also absent, likely still with their parents. The next hour or so is free, allowing students ample time with their families before extracurricular assignments are doled out. Without other options to fill the time, Todd heads off in search of his luggage.
The mountain of students’ belongings dominates the entrance hallway, the more fragile items lined up against the wall, away from the pile of suitcases and various boxes. A school proctor eyes Todd as he approaches. Clearly, he’s one of the first, if not the very first. He rummages through the pile, seeking out his chicken scratch on a luggage tag. Before he can find his bags, however, a cursive scribble catches his eye: Neil Perry. Without a second thought, Todd snatches up Neil’s suitcase and quickly locates his own.
He starts unpacking his suitcase, sorting his clothes into the same drawers as last year. It's oddly calming, a reminder that although so much is different now, there are plenty of things that remain consistent.
“Ah, so that's where my suitcase went.” Todd's head snaps up as his ritual is interrupted. Neil leans in the doorway, holding several boxes. A subtle smirk plays on his face, as if he finds the situation amusing.
“S-sorry, I was trying to be helpful. I didn't mean to–” Todd starts, but Neil cuts him off with a wave of his hand.
“Don't; I appreciate it. You saved me a trip.” He raises his other boxes in indication before unceremoniously tossing them onto his bed.
“Your parents aren't around?” Todd asks. He plops onto his still unmade bed, his unpacking paused.
“My father is probably talking to Nolan somewhere,” Neil shrugs as he begins opening his luggage. “He's decided that I should do the school annual after all. One of his friends in college admissions says universities like that sort of thing.” He starts arranging his desk first, and though Todd can't see his face, he can hear the twinge of frustration in his voice.
“You know,” Neil says, turning before Todd can concoct a response, “you've gotten the bigger side of the room again.” He looks around their room as if he's inspecting it, his brow furrowed in mock concentration.
“Neil. Both sides are identical. You could cut this place down the middle and you'd have two perfect halves.” Todd chuckles as his roommate begins to pace around the room, carefully examining his half first, then Todd’s.
“No, your side clearly has more space.” Neil positions himself in the doorway, staring critically into the room. “Come here, see? The window isn't centered; there's more space between the radiator and your side than there is on my side. And my headboard hangs over into the alcove more than yours does.” He gestures solemnly as he speaks, as though he is pointing out a grave injustice, but his tone is light and playful.
Todd joins Neil in the doorway, and shit, he's right. Todd’s side of the room is ever so slightly bigger, something you’d only notice if you were looking for it. “Okay, okay,” he throws his hands up, laughing. “We can switch if you want.”
Neil looks up at their ceiling, pretending to mull it over. “Well, since you’re already mostly unpacked… and since I’m in the middle of the unpacking process… it seems unfair to interrupt things for the sake of a few more inches.
“But,” he adds, his eyes sparkling as his grin grows wider, “You owe me.”
Todd shouldn’t get butterflies in his stomach at that. It’s typical banter, the same teasing that he and Neil have shared for almost a year now. But something about the way Neil says it, or maybe the way one of his eyebrows quirks up, or maybe how his dark brown eyes get darker and deeper, makes something spark in Todd’s belly.
He pushes the feeling away and returns to his unpacking. Todd’s crush on Neil is an unfortunate, ever-present, ever-awkward fact of life since the first weeks of the previous school year. Sometime over the break, however, Todd seems to have forgotten just how intense the feelings resulting from said crush can be. Damnit, he thinks silently, damnit, damnit, damnit.
Thankfully, the other members of the Dead Poets Society burst into their room, rescuing Todd from his own thoughts. He allows himself to ease into the chatter, trading summer stories back and forth with their friends and ignoring his earlier conflict. It’s set to be another year at Hellton, albeit one with slightly higher expectations and a much more permanent deadline. There will be lectures, and study sessions, and demerits, and nights spent sneaking out of the dorm, and their little family. There will be many things that will change in the course of the next nine months, but this, these friendships, will remain the same.