Chapter Text
Todd was sure he's never felt worse than in that moment. Together, with all of the boys, sitting inside his and Neil’s shared bedroom. They were chatting idly about how winter break was coming up in just a couple of days. It was Wednesday, the day after the one when his one and only best friend ever tried to take his own life.
He wanted to scream, but he knew it wasn’t like him, and all the others would’ve thought he’d gone mad for good, so he just bit down on his tongue until he felt it give under his teeth, and the sharp taste of blood hit his tastebuds. Even after that, he kept biting, digging into his own flesh painfully. The others seemed none the wiser, still conversing in a tone that was almost casual.
It was as if Todd was the most shaken up about this, even though he knew all the other boys were probably in hysterics on the inside as well. God knows Todd was. Charlie tried for his usual bravado, but his remarks rang out with less force than they would've, were it any other day, and his vivid expressions seemed forced. Steam was practically coming out of Cameron’s ears, but he was like that a lot of the time. Pitts’ eyes were jumping back and forth in between the people, looking for all in the word like he was about to say something about what happened.
Maybe that would be for the best. Sure, even the concept of it is terrifying, because how? How does one even talk about this? All of them have an anvil of the heaviest kind sitting on their chest, and Todd knows with an uncanny surety that it would lose almost all its weight if they just admitted that all of them are scared stiff in the face of recent events, and feel completely helpless with no idea what to do.
To tell the truth, Todd covered his ears while the others went inside to talk to Neil. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket taut over his fingers and pressed them tightly to the sides of his head. It muffled the conversations heard through the door just enough so that he couldn’t understand what was being said anymore. He didn’t want to hear what anybody was saying to Neil, it would’ve only served the purpose of reminding him how the other Dead Poets are better at the whole comforting business than he could ever even hope to be.
He didn’t want to hear all the reassurances he couldn’t think of. Instead, his whole body tightened, muscles stiffening up until he was one big ball of anxiety, stuck in a position similar to how he used to curl up when he was a small child being reprimanded and wanted to drown out his parents’ words. All he could picture was barging in there, wrapping Neil up in the most gentle embrace ever, and pressing a softest, barely-there kiss to his temple. Maybe the other boy wouldn’t even have noticed!
With his palms over his ears, all he could hear were muffled words, but he could’ve sworn there was the sound of weak sniffles when Keating exited the room. His legs protested against his brain which made them stay put. He knew that if he would’ve allowed himself even the smallest of twitches, he would’ve gotten up and ran in there as fast as possible, only slowing down when he could see Neil’s frame on that crappy hospital cot. After that, he would’ve been tender though, steps kept impossibly light, approaching his friend as if he were a spooked animal. It was weird hearing confident, boisterous Neil reduced to tears, even though the sound was faint.
Neil crying wasn’t a thing Todd ever got to see. He heard muffled sobs during the night sometimes, but even though it tore his heart clean in two to pretend that he’s asleep, that's what he did every single time without fail. He covered his ears then too. Deja vu has never felt worse than sitting on the cold tiled floor of the hospital on that fateful day, so he did what he always did, he wrote.
He scratched the words on the paper fervently, like never before. His writing has always been calculated, erasing words that didn’t feel right until he found the one that just fit in a way that no other did, so he agonized over editing, and afterwards usually just crumpled the result up and tossed it in the trash. He always had the fear of somebody taking them out to read them, so he burnt the most incriminating, most telling ones. The ones about... boys. Well, about Neil, really.
“And what about you, Todd? What are you gonna do during the break?” He wanted to cackle, in that half-insane, voice-cracking, movie villain way. He was going home, while the most important person in the world to him was wasting away inside an unfamiliar hospital building. He wasn’t going to do anything other than blame himself. “Oh, you know, just the usual. Be with my family,” - lock himself in his room, and hope nobody knocks - “Walk around the town,” - the snowflakes would feel like miniature knives on his skin because he knows that Neil can only watch them from inside - “Maybe go to the movies...” - He won’t. It would only remind him of the play.
The poem he has shoved hastily into his pocket was practically burning him through his jacket. That’s how he remembered he still hasn’t taken it off. Tugging the thick material off his shoulders made him feel just a tiniest bit less like a volcano about to erupt. The other boys made approving sounds and gave similar answers themselves. Soon, one by one they trickled out of the room until only Charlie remained firmly seated on Neil’s bed. He didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon, his feet planted on the ground firmly, as if he sprouted roots into the stone floor. Todd took a seat on his own bed, facing the harrowed boy.
He stayed silent for the exact right amount of time. Charlie had his way with silences. Most people who didn’t know him too well had the common misconception of him that all he knew how to do was run his witty mouth, but Todd thought that especially because Charlie really did talk a lot, his silences were always meaningful. Those quiet moments always had emotions drifting in waves in the air, and now Charlie practically radiated despair.
“He tried to kill himself, Todd” “I know.” “He tried to kill himself.” “Yes.” “Neil.” There was that silence again. “Our Neil.” - Charlie’s voice cracked on the word, and Todd had no idea what to do. With two brisk steps he was across the small room, and putting his hands on Charlie’s boneless shoulders. God, you would've thought he was almost dead, his body limp and lacking power. Todd didn’t know how to breathe the soul back into him, so he just squeezed gently with his hands.
Charlie raised his empty eyes to his face, and suddenly the emotion returned into them. Todd wasn’t sure whether pure anguish or the nothingness before it was worse. “I know. And now we have to help him. Even though we don’t know how to. We have to make sure that he never feels so terrible that he wants to try again.” Todd’s no good at reading emotions, but he could’ve sworn there was a glint of hope in those irises. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what we’ll do.” The smallest smile ever tugged slightly at one corner of Charlie’s mouth. Todd vowed to himself that he would not let this bright boy’s flame get snuffed out in the process of saving his best friend. Both their best friend.
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Packing his suitcase felt wrong. Saying goodbye to the boys was wrong. Getting into the car he knows all too well was wrong. It was as if the world were just one tiny snow globe and some giant hand had come to shake it up and then set it back on the dusty shelf where it was picked up from. Everything was out of place, nothing was right. Nothing fit. Todd didn’t fit.
His parents probably thought he was observing all the places they were passing by, but in reality, his eyes were glazed over, unseeing. He was thinking, again, unable to stop the spiral he has allowed himself to be twisted into. He thought of Charlie, sitting on that bed and looking smaller than he has ever seen him, all the liveliness gone from his body. Neil, who has probably been discharged by then. Neil, who’s being sent away and is never coming back. Ever.
It’s right as he thinks this that that his mother enquires: “Well, how has the year been so far, dear?” Todd can tell from her tone alone that even if he said what was really on his mind, she wouldn’t even bat an eye. She had that airy quality to her voice that told the boy all he needed to know. She wasn’t even listening. “Good.” The boy I’m in love with tried to take his own life. “Good. Well, that’s great.” They stayed silent for the rest of the ride home, and for once Todd forgot about the whole almost-suicide business.
Instead he kept going over and over the fact that he said he loves Neil. Or, well, thought it at least. He’s never done that before. Even inside the confines of his own mind his affections for his roommate were a thing unspoken of, when his thoughts drifted that way, he forcefully pulled them away from the topic.
The way it just slipped through the barriers he built without him even realising it for a couple beats scared him to death. What if he accidentally said it out loud once? Just like this time, except they can’t disown or imprison him for his thoughts. No one can know. Ever. Sometimes, just sometimes though, in the dark of the night, when he can practically hear the sound of Neil’s teardrops hitting his pillow, and his ragged breathing, he thinks of it.
What if he were to get up? What if he gathered the courage to embrace the other boy and whisper loving words to him? What if he raked shaking fingers through Neil’s hair until he fell back asleep, breaths having calmed down again into their usual slow, steady pace? Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Now he’ll never get to do those things, ever, because Neil is leaving, never to be seen again. He’s probably already been enrolled into another school, and afterwards he’ll be on his merry way to Harvard, out of reach for good.
The thought is so demoralising that he snaps out of whatever imaginary awful world he has slipped into, crashing back into reality. The car is parked before the house he hasn’t really felt like is his home in forever. He’s the only one still sitting in his seat, both his parents having gone inside already. It was a small thing, but it made him feel so unwanted. Did the two people who were supposed to love him the most in the whole world care that little about him?
In the end he had to lug up both his suitcases up the stairs all by himself. Jeff didn’t even say hello.
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As he unpacked his things and began settling back into what should be a welcoming, open space, his room, he got that sense of wrongness that he had back when leaving Welton grounds. Who was he kidding? This room wasn’t his, he barely had anything in here, no personal trinkets or photos, nothing. It was also clear as day that nobody bothered to clean the small space while he was gone. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust that stuck to his fingers when he attempted to brush some of it off the flat surfaces in the room with his fingers.
He opened the closet and began shoving all his clothes inside. This time he didn’t bother to be neat, to pay attention and fold things carefully, or hang his shirts up the proper way to make sure that they don’t get wrinkled. He just wanted to be done with the whole thing.
The thing he saved for last was the poem. For some reason he’d taken to calling it a letter in his mind, even though it obviously wasn’t one. Still, it told part of his story in a way. Sometimes he fantasized about sending it, what Neil would say if he read the words that he pulled out from his very heart, unedited and raw. The idea only filled him with sheer terror some of the time. The other occasions were quite nice, actually. Those were when he imagined that Neil loves him back. Yeah right, as if that could ever happen.
He grabbed the ‘letter’ and took a shoebox out of the closet. Holding half of a pair, he balled the piece of paper up as tight as it would go and jammed it hard inside the shoe until he was sure it went up as far as possible. Putting the box back on the shelf at the top of the closet he heard a little 'plink' sound.
Crouching down he winced at the crack his knees gave. He dug around with one hand for a while until his fingers gripped something small and cold. Pulling his arm back he looked at the tiny object sitting innocently on his palm. It was the ring, glinting a cool green. Todd couldn’t help it, he broke out into tears, falling from his crouch into an uncomfortable sitting position on the ground. He closed his fingers around it and pulled his closed fist close to where his heart was beating, wrapping one hand around the other.
He finally had the ring back, just when he’s lost Neil. It was like some cruel twist of fate, the stone twinkling in its familiar, graceful way, glinting in the weak light, just like Neil did under the stage lights on the night of the play. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.