Chapter Text
Neil Perry shut his English book with a content sigh. He had just finished underlining words and sentences he presumed to be of importance for the following class, and had written scribbled notes in between- and sometimes over parts of text. He hadn't let the free space on the margins go to waste, either.
Any teacher at Welton would've felt the need to give him a rigorous lecture if they ever were to notice how he treated his textbook, but he had a strong feeling Mr. Keating wouldn't mind.
The man didn't seem to respect the book in the first place- as he had ordered his students to rip out the entire introduction on his second day of teaching.
Neil found himself smiling at the memory of it. It had been a while, but he vividly could recall the confused faces of his fellow classmates. None of them, including Neil himself, could have guessed it was the start of challenging the strict principles placed upon them.
He took off his glasses and hooked them on the neck of his knitted vest. His focus shifted to the conversation happening between two members of the study group. As the rest of the Dead Poets sat in silence, Charlie Dalton and Steven Meeks were whispering to each other over the table. Whispers that were far from quiet.
-"What are you talking about? I am working."
Meeks raised an eyebrow. "Judging by the elated look on your face, it's not Latin, is it?"
"Screw Latin. This is better. I'm working on a new piece for the next meeting." Charlie stated proudly. "I'm calling it Saxoverse." he used his hands to emphasize on the title, visualizing it in the air- accidentally hitting Knox in the process, who was seated next to him.
Richard Cameron, who had been quiet up until now, spoke up. "That's even worse than Poetrusic."
Charlie sharply narrowed his eyes at his roommate. "I don't remember you being a part of this conversation." he sneered.
Meeks let out a small laugh, bending himself over the table a little to get a closer look at the messily-drafted music sheet. "I really do look forward to hearing Saxoverse, Charlie- but I have to ask you to put that aside and practice Latin with me."
"The Society is more important than some stupid test. Right, Neil?"
Neil did not want to be a part of this conversation. He gave an indifferent shrug. "Sure, but I'm not the one failing Latin."
"Neither am I- not yet, anyhow. The test will be the judge of that. And I will pass. No problem." Charlie said with absolute confidence as he wrapped his arm around Knox. "I got a plan, you see?"
"If your plan is to copy off of me, you're screwed." Knox mumbled, not looking up from his textbook.
"What do you mean, I'm screwed?"
"I mean I'm not letting you be my leech, Dalton."
"Your leech?" Charlie repeated mockingly. "Oh, come on Overstreet. Now you're just insulting me. We both know that I am in fact, your leech." his lips curled up in a teasing half-smile. "You even have the bruises to prove it."
"Shut up!" Knox hissed as he pushed the other boy away from him. "Charlie!"
Charlie was already laughing loudly, almost shrieking out of cruel enjoyment, causing Knox to grow even more flustered. He adjusted his sweater's collar, pulling it higher up his neck. "I'm serious!" the poor boy cried. "This isn't funny! I'm being serious, shut up!" but despite his efforts, Charlie continued to roar with laughter.
Neil felt like he was missing a huge amount of context to their quarrel, and judging by the questioning looks of the other Dead Poets, he knew he wasn't the only one. Todd looked the most confused out of all of them.
Pitts exaggeratedly cleared his throat to silence the commotion. "Do I even want to know what's going on here?"
"Depends, Pittsie." Charlie begun. He clasped his hands together and rested his chin upon them. "How much can your great Yale brain handle?"
Pitts launched a pencil at the boy with full speed, gaining a loud yelp out of him.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, Take it easy, alright?" Neil said. "Todd is trying to advance in Chemistry. I don't think he can concentrate with your turmoils."
"It's- it's not just that." Todd sighed quietly, sagging down in his chair a little. "I'm just... not any good at this."
"I can help."
"No, no. It's fine- I will figure it out on my own just fine."
"Hey, I didn't go to summer school for nothing." Neil put his glasses back on and leaned closer to Todd to get a better look at the chapter. "Page 62, Intermolecular Forces." he read out loud. "Where are your notes for this? You know the book doesn't provide all the information by itself."
"You'd think differently by the size of them." Todd groaned in response. "I didn't take any notes. I know I should have, I just- I don't know. I guess I figured I wouldn't have a chance at understanding it, anyway." he ended the sentence with a weak laugh. "I don't understand any of it."
"You can borrow mine." Neil offered happily. He stood up, the chair giving a chill-inducing croak as it was forced back. "They ought to be helpful. I'll get them and we'll discuss them together."
"Neil-"
"I will be right back. Don't go anywhere, okay?" Neil playfully hit the space between Todd's shoulders before hurrying out of the room before the boy could protest any further. He walked his way down Welton's halls, reaching his dorm at last.
His desk was more organized than Todd's, which was an explosive mess consisting of crumbled-up paper and towering stacks of textbooks.
Neil's desk was slightly more organized, tidy enough to spot his Chemistry book and the accompanying notes rather quickly. He was about to walk over to grab them- but something caught his attention- a small, curious detail out of the corner of his eye.
There was something strange about his roommate's bed. Or rather, what was tucked between the mattress and the frame. Neil walked over to it to get a closer look.
It was Todd's notebook.
Neil had seen him write in it before, the boy’s eyebrows thoughtfully furrowed, his mouth silently enunciating along with the words to test how they would flow.
Neil hadn't had the chance to go over the poetry himself- the closest he had gotten was when Todd was chasing him throughout the room, hopping on and off their bed as they laughed, playfully pushing and tugging at each other.
And now, he had the chance to get a proper look. He reached out, taking it out of the cleft.
Confessions of a Madman's Devotee
A Collection of Poems by Todd Anderson
He grinned upon observing the title. It sounded too official, too formal to be written on some flimsy cover- despite Todd's handwriting matching said flimsiness. The curiosity got the better of Neil. He brushed the inside of his thumb over the border of the thin paper, opening it just slightly.
Surely he could at least sneak a glance at the poems, right? It wouldn't hurt anyone.
It wasn't like he was about to read someone's diary, this was different. And he'd just take a quick look- then tuck it back where he had found it.
His roommate would be none the wiser.
Introduction
If you dared to listen to the voices of tomorrow
You'd hear us reflect on a somber yesterday
There is a part of me hidden beneath layers of who I'm supposed to be
A dried-out flower, preserved between pages of unreadable verses
Lavender, the purple symbol of distrust
Tucked away, and so it stays
Petals dried out against words that carry no meaning, shambles of letters on thin pages
This part of me, I loathe its presence. The way it weighs down in my chest
How it haunts me when I try to lay my eyes to rest
Dares to lead me astray when it whispers to me, screams in silent tongue
"Is it truly me that frightens you,
Or is it him, he who inspires you."
Neil's eyes shot back and forth as he read line after line. He hadn't even noticed he'd been holding his breath all the way through. The same phenomenon had taken place when Mr. Keating made Todd improvise a poem in front of the class. Which he did so, so wonderfully. Neil had been staring, his mouth hanging wide open, nearly as spent on oxygen as the young poet had been.
"Oh, Todd." Neil whispered to himself, a proud smile inevitably tugging at his lips. "You brilliant, brilliant successor of Walt Whitman."
He read the last line once more, and he couldn't help but wonder- who exactly was the one inspiring Todd? Was it a person, or an idea, some metaphor he couldn't understand? Neil wasn't as much of a writer as Todd was, after all, no matter how much Todd tried to hide it, he was a poet at heart and always would remain to be. No matter what direction his parents forced him in.
I want to reach for thee, oh pretty gleam of a will-o-wisp
Follow wherever your light may guide mine
I don't care where we go, or how long this road will stretch ahead
Eternity sounds alright as long as you will let me hold your hand
But if I were to reach out to you, my bright will-o-wisp,
Would I burn my fingers?
Would I die?
Don't go, oh pretty will-o-wisp, tender spirit of the forest deep
I cannot bear to be alone
For here am I, blind and sorrowful
Wandering a world turned dim
Left to weep
The feeling the poem conveyed came familiar to him. He could relate to the sense of loss, reaching for a dream he knew wasn't meant to follow- that was his interpretation of the verse, anyhow. Maybe if Todd were to read it to him, Neil would get a hint on what the poem was truly supposed to indicate.
Neil started to daydream, to imagine what the words would sound like read out loud in Todd's voice, how the boy would pace and phrase it. How his lips would dance and stumble around the words until the anxiety would fade from his face as he completely immerses himself in the lyrical narration.
They say beauty is meant to fade away,
Unable to reflect on what it once used to be
Drown and disintegrate into puddles of decay
Only to be a memory, a concept distorted to humankind
But I don't want to forget how radiant you looked,
That day you took wing
And soared through my mind
Fly, my precious bird
Fly.
Leave this cage behind
Neil's first impression was that it was a love poem- and as obvious as it was, it took him an embarrassingly long moment to realize there were no girls attending Welton. And as far as he was aware, Todd didn't interact much with girls outside school grounds either.
However- the subject was left quite ambiguous. Maybe it was nothing more than a stream of thought. Regardless, it made Neil feel like he was intruding as if he was indeed reading a diary.
A diary, consisting of richly artistic verses. The regret started to sink in, making his heart feel heavy and tired. "One more poem." he whispered to himself. Just one more.
Dedicated to the boy who silently recites his lines to the moon
Singing a poet's song
Sits by the darkened window with a candle, an ardent flame.
Longing for the stage, as I long for him
Silent all the same.
Dedicated to the boy who inspires me
Dedicated, to the boy I love
If the previous one wasn't a love poem, this certainly was. Todd had written about a boy.
A boy, who seemed a bit too much like Neil to be a coincidence.
He read the poem again. Again, and again, and then another time,- and once more until his heart weighed even heavier in his chest than before. A strange kind of heavy, not unpleasant. On the contrary, it felt amazing, bordering euphoric.
And maybe he was reading into it too much. There was no way to confirm that this was in fact written with Neil in mind, that Todd loved him but it was a possibility- one Neil had never dared to consider before, even at the many times he caught Todd observing him, only to blush and turn his head away when he realized Neil had noticed.
Neil started pacing from one side of the room to the other. He had to sort out his thoughts before they would drive him mad. Shit, he was nervous. Plagued by ever-new images in his head, images that disappeared when he tried to grasp and observe them.
He sat down on the radiator to catch his breath and welcomed the fading orange light of dusk coming through the window to illuminate his face. How beautiful the world seemed at that moment, a world that operated on cruel and dishonest laws- but there was art, there was music, there was poetry. There was friendship. There was love.
"Longing for the stage, as I long for him." He quoted out loud. There came those strange waves again, a giddy sensation. Carefree and filled with childlike wonder. He allowed himself to think about Todd for the first time. His fluffy locks, his bright blue eyes. His lips, and what it would be like to kiss them. The way he would duck his head when he considered a situation to be embarrassing. How adorable the boy was.
"Neil?"
Neil turned his head to see an all-too-familiar face stand in the doorway. "Todd! Oh I'm sorry, I totally forgot about Chemistry." he said with a humble laugh as he got down from the radiator in a smooth motion. "Did I make you wait for long?"
Todd didn't answer his question- his eyes were fixated on the notebook in Neil's hands, standing wide and desperate. "Oh, please tell me you didn't read that." Todd breathed.
"I'm sorry." Neil replied softly. "I shouldn't have."
"Yeah. You shouldn't have." Todd's voice was trembling, and so was the hand that he held out to request his poems back.
Neil reached out to give it to him, and Todd urgently grasped at it from the other side. But Neil didn't let go. "Am I the one who inspires you?" he asked. He felt like he had to know for certain, before anything else. He had to make sure this wasn't just his head, creating some kind of narrative out of thin air. Everything about this situation felt unreal, as if he was dreaming but without the fuzziness that usually came along with it.
Todd yanked the notebook out of Neil's hands. "Does- does it matter?"
"It matters to me." Neil said as he took an experimental step forward, Todd immediately doing the exact opposite, backing away with both his arms clutching his poem collection protectively against his chest. His face entirely red, matching the color of his lips "You weren't supposed to know." he said quietly.
"Todd-"
"I don't want to hear it." Todd interrupted him. "I can't, okay? I can't."
"But we have to talk about this!"
Todd frantically started shaking his head. "We- we don't have to talk about anything, okay? I have to go."
"What do you mean?" Neil asked. "Go where?"
Todd swallowed, backing away further until he reached the corridor. "Anywhere but here."