Just wanted to say this was so incredibly amazing??? I could visualize everything omg.
â IF I CANâT HAVE YOU BABY
pairing:Â mattheo riddle x nott!reader
summary:Â you weren't quite used to the attention of other boys, and it seems your brother's best friend isn't too fond of it either
warnings:Â brother's best friend trope!! swearing, kissing, not much else, very much unedited
authorâs note:Â i don't tend to stray outside of the marauders era characters buuuut i've been a bit obsessed with mattheo and theo recently so this was for my own selfish needs lol as always let me know what you think!!
He had barely looked away from you all evening.
You knew the only reason Mattheoâs eyes had been fixed on you for the entirety of dinner was because of a certain type of attention you had unconsciously garnered on your first day back at school. Particularly male attention. It wasnât any less disconcerting, however, knowing that your brotherâs best friend was prepared to fist fight any potential romantic advances towards you because he was just as protective as your actual older sibling.
Your brother Theodore is no better, a displeased frown appearing every five minutes when he looks over to where you sit at the Gryffindor table.
âMerlin, boys are pathetic,â Ginny mutters, spearing a potato with her fork. âYou go away for one summer and come back slightly prettier and they flock to you like bees to honey!â Youâre about to weakly protest that sheâs exaggerating, but at that exact moment youâre interrupted by a tap on your shoulder.
You slowly turn on the bench, reluctantly lowering your goblet of pumpkin juice to face Michael Corner, a Ravenclaw boy who youâd only ever spoken to when he was going out with Ginny.
âHi, Michael,â you sigh, offering him a bland smile.
âHello, Nott,â Michael replies, with what he probably thinks is a winning smile. âHad a good summer? I was just going to ask if you wanted to go on the first Hogsmeade visit of the term with me.â
You stare at him, unblinking. âEr- well, as⊠nice as that sounds,â you say slowly, not meaning a word. You glance at Ginny as pointedly as you can manage and raise an eyebrow. âI donât quite relish the idea of going out with my best friendâs ex.â
âOh! I, erm, I didnât actually see you there, Ginny,â he stammers, laughing sheepishly. âMy mistake.â
âQuite,â Ginny says drily, turning back to her plate of food.
âWell, er, see you later then,â Michael mumbles, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes back to the Ravenclaw table.
You bite your lip to stifle your giggles but itâs not long before you catch Ginnyâs eye and the both of you erupt into fits of laughter.
âI canât believe I ever went out with him,â Ginny groans, wiping her eyes.
âWas he always such a tosser or is that new?â you ask, snorting at the way Ginny scrunches up her face in embarrassment.
Youâre still laughing when your eyes happen to pass over the Slytherin table just to focus on Mattheo.
You notice with a jolt that heâs looking at you again. This time, his eyes flick over to the Ravenclaw table for a second where Michael has settled back onto, then back to you and he quirks a brow quizzically.
Frowning, you mouth at him to stop in hopes that he ceases his scrutiny, just for him to roll his eyes and return to whatever one-sided conversation Blaise Zabini was attempting to engage him in. You hope you donât look as flustered as you feel after realising Mattheo has just witnessed such an embarrassing encounter, but youâve found over the years that youâre not the best at hiding the effects he has on you. Theo has never mentioned it in front of Mattheo as far as youâre aware, but he definitely hasnât shied away from teasing you about the childhood crush you have on your brotherâs closest friend. Not that youâve ever admitted it to him anyway, and youâve gotten a lot better at hiding it since nothing could ever come of it.
âYour brother and Riddle have been looking like theyâre ready to halve the male population of Hogwarts since we got on the bloody train,â Ginny says, pulling you out of your thoughts.
âTell me about it,â you sigh, cutting into your carrot a little more viciously than needed. âThey keep looking over at our table. I feel like Iâm on one of those Muggle reality television programmes Hermione was telling your dad about the other week.â
Arthur Weasley was absolutely transfixed when he was learning about reality television from Hermione during breakfast the week you both stayed at The Burrow, and although you zoned out after his sixteenth question about a singular programme, you feel as though you caught the gist of it.
âHm,â Ginny agrees, grimacing at the memory. She had nodded off at the table during that conversation and fallen asleep on her slice of toast. âIn fairness, thatâs not really a new thing.â
âWhat, being watched by my two guard dogs?â you ask in a mock-serious voice.
âYeah, butâŠâ Ginny chews thoughtfully for a second before answering. âIâm not just talking about today, or even recently. Your brother mostly minds his own business. Iâm talking about Riddle. Heâs always looking at you, I noticed it last year. Wherever we are, kind of like heâs checking up on you,â she says like itâs common knowledge, shrugging. âItâs sweet, I guess.â
You blink at her, a little speechless.
âWhat?â Ginny frowns after a few seconds of your silence. You look at her with raised eyebrows, not really taking her seriously. In your first few years at Hogwarts, you had confided in Ginny regarding your silly, little girl feelings for Mattheo and she would read into every action he took towards you in an attempt to prove he liked you too. Obviously, he saw you as nothing but a younger sister figure and once you grew up a bit, Ginny had let it go too.
Ginny reads your dubious expression now and sets down her knife and fork to cross her arms. âOh, for heavenâs sake. Iâm serious! Iâm not just saying it because you were helplessly in love with him until you were, like, fourteen.â
âShush!â you hiss, thwacking her arm. âWhy donât you just get up on stage with Dumbledore and ask him to include that titbit of information for the entire school to hear in his speech!â
âGood idea,â she says, nodding seriously and starting to get up. You know sheâs just teasing, but you start spluttering and frantically grab at her sleeve to sit her back down, causing her to topple onto you slightly. This sets you both off laughing again and you find it hard to stop for the rest of dinner and desert, thankfully staying far away from the topic of Mattheo. You also pointedly avoid looking at him again.
Once dinner is over, you head to the Gryffindor common room with the rest of your house and catch up with everyone for a while. After a couple hours of socialising and fifteen minutes of helping Neville Longbottom search for his pet toad, you head up to your dorm with Ginny and Lena, one of your other dormmates, to unpack.
As soon as you open your luggage, you search for your pyjamas and immediately change out of your robes and into a t-shirt and baggy shorts for comfort. Youâre in the middle of unpacking some textbooks when you hear Lena whistle from behind you.
âI do not remember those pyjamas looking like that,â Lena comments, grinning at you. Rolling your eyes, you comply with her request to do a little spin and you canât help feeling pleased when Lena and Ginny start whooping and hollering. âYouâve always been gorgeous, but you really grew up this summer, huh? Look at those legs!â
âTell me about it,â Ginny pipes in, flopping down on her bed and abandoning her unpacked suitcase. âShe came to stay for a week and Mum looked like she was going to cry every time she saw us. Something about âblossoming into young ladiesâ or whatever bollocks.â
âYou âblossomedâ last year,â you point out, and Lena hums in agreement. âI havenât forgotten how Zacharias Smith fell off his broom trying to wave at you during Quidditch practice.â
Ginny groans and starts ranting about teenage boys again. Lena joins in and starts teasing her about how Harry Potter is the only boy she hasnât complained about and youâre about to set down your belongings to help Lena dodge the pillows Ginny is throwing at her when a flash of green and silver in your suitcase catches your eye.
âShite, I have Theoâs uniform,â you huff, grabbing the clothes out of your suitcase and sliding your slippers on. âThat means he has mine and I am not dealing with this at seven in the morning. Iâm gonna go drop this off, be back in a minute.â
Ginny says goodbye before resuming her pillow attack on Lena as you make your way out of the room and down into the common room. Itâs nearly empty, with most people having gone to their rooms to pack and a quick glance at the clock tells you its past curfew. You decide to take the risk since you have a reasonable excuse, but you hope that if you do get caught, it isnât by Filch or Snape.
By the time youâve reached the dungeons, you thank Merlin that Theo had the sense to tell you the password for the Slytherin common room before dinner in case of emergency.
âPureblood,â you mutter, fighting the urge to scoff when the door swings open. You enter the common room and brighten up when you see that the only students still hanging around are Theo and his friends. Your brother seems to have already started unpacking since heâs standing and holding your uniform, presumably about to come and find you. His friends all mumble polite âhelloâs and he walks up to you with a smile.
âOh, hey, I was just-â Theo cuts himself off when he properly looks at you and frowns. âWha- Why are you wearing pyjamas out and about?â
âYouâre wearing pyjamas too!â you exclaim, slightly embarrassed that your brother is doing this in front of your friends. They all turn to look at you again, hearing the indignation in Theoâs voice and you notice Mattheo suddenly sits up straighter. Suddenly aware of your bare legs, you tug down the material of your shorts, despite the fact they arenât even very short to begin with.
âOi. Stop looking at my sister!ââ Theo snaps, glaring at Blaise, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. You know the only reason they glanced at you in the first place is out of curiosity regarding Theoâs question, but Theo and Mattheo scowl at them all the same and they all start sputtering, Draco in particular when Pansy narrows her eyes at him. Theo sighs at you, quickly exchanging your uniforms. âJust- at least take something to cover up back to your room.â
âIâll walk her back,â Mattheo says, out of nowhere. He stands up and makes his way over to you, face carefully blank. Theo nods, agreeing quickly before he ruffles your hair goodbye to go and finish packing. Youâre too surprised by Mattheoâs offer to protest until youâre already out of the Slytherin common room.
âI donât need someone to walk me back, you know,â you mumble after a minute of charged silence.
âIt was either me or Theo,â he shrugs, completely unapologetic when his mouth quirks up in a smug smile. âAnd I know you prefer me.â
âYouâre both equally annoying,â you say, rolling your eyes, happy that heâs talking to you like normal again. You hated it whenever Mattheo was serious â it was rarely ever towards you and you much preferred when his whole face lit up with a smile. He begins to tease you about your bunny rabbit slippers and youâre in the middle of pretending to be irked when you both run into Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff prefect doing patrol duties.
âHey,â Ernie offers you a friendly smile and gives Mattheo a brief, slightly nervous glance. While you prefer not to get into trouble for breaking curfew, Mattheo clearly couldnât care less and his relaxed, yet intimidating stance must be off-putting to Ernie. Thankfully, youâre on friendly terms with the Hufflepuff and you give him an even brighter smile to make up for it, to which he beams at. âHow was your summer?â
âGood, yeah! Erm, listen Ernie. We didnât mean to be out at this time, itâs just that I accidentally had my brotherâs uniform and needed to-â
âOh, forget it. Donât worry, I wonât dock you any points,â Ernie reassures you, waving off your excuses and you instantly relax. Ernie gives Mattheo another unsure glance before leaning in the tiniest bit closer to you. You try not to pay attention to how Ernie has been glancing at your legs and how Mattheo tenses up when Ernie starts speaking again. âI was actually wondering if you were available next weekendâŠ?â
Ernie trails off when you donât show any indication of replying straight away and you snap out of your surprise to say something, but Mattheo beats you to it.
âSheâs busy then,â he says coldly, working his jaw. âNow, if you donât mind, itâs late. Kindly get lost.â
âWha- Matt!â you hiss, smacking his chest to which he barely flinches, nor does he look at all apologetic. âErnie, I-â
âNever mind,â he says quickly, seemingly eager to just leave. âIâll, er, see you later.â
You stand frozen in shock while Ernie rushes down the corridor and turns the corner, leaving you and Mattheo alone. Turning slowly, you look at him with barely contained anger.
âWhy the hell did you do that?â you demand, voice sharp as nails. If it werenât past curfew and you werenât in the middle of a school corridor, you would most definitely be yelling. Mattheo stands with his hands in his pockets, clenching his jaw and his silence makes you even angrier. You accepted long ago that youâd never have a chance with him, but now he was getting in the way of you having a chance with anyone. It was completely unfair. âWhat if I actually wanted to go out with him?!â
Mattheo scowls at this, but his impossibly dark brown eyes flash with a hint of uncertainty. âDid you?â
âWhat?â you ask, impatient.
âDid you want to go out with him?â he says, voice low and dangerous. He walks forward, towering over you and you refuse to be intimidated so you start walking backward until your back is against the wall. Despite having cornered you, he maintains a fair amount of distance between you, leaving plenty of space if you want to move away. You donât.
âThatâs none of your business,â you say stubbornly, raising your chin and trying your best to keep your voice steady. Mattheo narrows his eyes and reduces the distance between you ever so slightly with another small step. You nervously keep talking. âI can go out with whoever I want.â Another step. âAnd you canât just-â One more step. âMatt.â His shoes are flush with your slippers.
âWhat?â he whispers, tilting his head and looking at you calmly, while you feeling anything but calm. âI canât just⊠what?â
The previously respectable distance has gone out the window and instead you barely have space to breathe with the way Mattheo is leaning in, head dipped toward you but never touching, hands resting on the wall either side of you. He leans in, eyes dropping to your lips and your heart leaps in your chest with anticipation, but he ghosts his lips over your jaw instead and the barely-there contact has you breathing unevenly.
âYou canâtâŠâ you exhale, trying to finish your sentence with some dignity and failing miserably. âYou canât just scare people off like an overprotective older brother.â
Mattheo stills, lifting his head enough to meet your eyes, but making no move to distance himself any further. He scoffs quietly. âBrother,â he says the word with a mildly disgusted scowl. âIs that what you think I want to be?â
âI- I donâtâŠâ
âYou donât know,â Mattheo finishes for you, the corners of his mouth turning up, yet his expression is devoid of humour. âNo, you donât know how badly I wanted to hex Macmillan just now. How badly I wanted to try out some new, experimental spells on that fucking Ravenclaw earlier. But none of that had anything to do with brotherly feelings.â
âThey were just being nice,â you say stupidly, with not a clue in the world as to why youâre defending them right now. If anything, youâre just confused.
Mattheo quirks a brow, tongue pressing against his cheek as he considers your words. âThat Ravenclaw from earlier was talking about you on the train. He said he was going to ask you out at dinner because youâd âgotten hotâ over summer,â Mattheo sneers, like heâs suddenly regretting not hexing Michael Corner in the Great Hall. âThey werenât being nice.â
All of a sudden, you feel irritated because you have no idea why Mattheo is telling you any of this. âWhatâs wrong with a boy finding me attractive? Is that such a crazy idea?â you demand, part of you not wanting him to answer.
âMerlin, do I seriously have to say it?â he groans, sighing when you glare at him. Mattheo takes a breath, meeting your eyes and you marvel at the sincerity you see when he speaks. âYou didnât âget hotâ over the summer. Youâve always been beautiful and theyâre idiots for not paying attention then.â
Your breath catches in your throat, whether itâs from emotion or from the close proximity with Mattheo, you arenât sure. âYou think Iâm beautiful?â
Mattheo nods, leaning back in to brush his nose against your own, his breath mingling with yours. âAlways have.â
You take this as a cue to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him in and the next thing you know, his mouth is firm against yours, and his hands are finally touching you, grabbing you by the waist and sliding up your back to hold you closer. Youâve thought about kissing Mattheo before, but the thoughts feel utterly stupid compared to the real thing. Mattheo kisses you fiercely, mouth sliding hot and wet against your own making you come alive and weakening you at the same time. He nips at your bottom lip and you gasp, causing him to smile into the kiss. Your hands are sliding up his chest to snake around his neck when a thought suddenly occurs to you and you pull away abruptly.
âOh my God, Theodore,â you hiss, covering your mouth with your hand. Mattheo furrows his brows, looking a little dazed and confused. âWhat are we going to tell him?â
 âHe knows Iâve loved you since we were kids,â Mattheo says flippantly, waving you off and impatiently starting to lean in again, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. âWhat?â
âYouâve loved me since we were kids?â The words hardly register, but before you can feel any sort of elation, you mostly feel pissed off that your brother has clearly had his fun with the situation for years. âAnd Theo knows?â
âYes,â Mattheo says slowly, as if he were talking to a child. He brushes the hair out of your face and his gaze turns a little uncertain when he speaks. âEr, this is hopefully the part where you say you feel the same way.â
âWell, of course I feel the same way,â you huff, still thoroughly annoyed at Theo. âHe knew I was crazily in love with you too and the bastard was so irritating about it!â
Youâre about three quarters of the way down a list of ways you want to get back at your brother when Mattheo gently turns your face by the chin to look at him. âAs much as Iâd love for you to plot against your brother right now, itâs kind of a mood killer thinking about him when Iâm kissing you.â
âSorry, sorry. Continue with the kissing.â
âHow romantic,â he says drily. His smirk turns smug, however, when he processes your previous statement. âSo⊠you were in love with me too. What was the word you used, again? Crazily? Crazily in loveâŠâ
âDonât make me take it back, âcause I swear I will.â
© angelfic 2023.
11K notes
·
View notes
Me and whoever wrote this are going to have a TALK.
THE LAST TIME
- ten out of the countless times you have seen neil perry, and nine where you saw him alive. (neil perry x gn! implied to be shy reader, fluff to angst, canon-typical main character death, major spoilers for dps but i assume youâve watched it before, i included my own poetry so i hope yâall like it, sad face emoji i teared up while writing this).
word count: 9,006
a/n - thank you so so much to my beta readers @sorencd and @chuudidit for reading this massive piece, i appreciate you endlessly <3 this was definitely a labor of love, one that i took a considerable amount of time to write and edit. i adore dead poets society and poetry in general (i have written 130+ poems and never plan on stopping) so i definitely needed to put my thoughts into words lol đ anyways, i hope you enjoy, because i definitely enjoyed writing this for you.
When Neil Perry first saw you, and god, did he see you, he knew nothing would ever be the same again.
You were simply sitting there under the old tree just outside the borders of Welton with a book under your nose and the soft rays of a flashlight filtering through your hair. You had one knee up, holding the book in a gentle balancing act as he stared. Charlie gave him a nudge, eyebrows raised and a tease on the tip of his tongue, but Neil couldnât even move. He was completely and utterly dumbstruck. The moon was hanging above your head, full and bright, drowning you in a poetic haze. You flipped a page and he could feel his heart beating in his chest. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful before, and he had no idea why.
After a long minute, he peeled his gaze away from the figure under the tree and followed the other dead poets to their second ever meeting. From the corner of his eye, he swore he saw you glance up at him when he passed, but no one else seemed to notice.
When Neil and the poets were walking back to Welton, you werenât there- something Neil noticed instantly. Of course, being who he was, Todd noticed that Neil noticed, and Charlie noticed that Todd noticed, and before he knew it, Neil and his fixation were the new tortured topics of the evening.Â
âOh, love at first sight! The most beautiful kind.â Charlie teased, clasping his hands and spinning around. âHow romantic.â
Neil shook his head, trying desperately to clear his suspicions. âItâs not like that. I swear, itâs not even a crush. I just thought it was weird.â
Cameron chimed in with a slightly hushed tone. At least he was aware of the fact that they were quickly approaching the earshot of every single person in Welton Academy. âI wonder where they came from. I mean, it couldnât have been comfortable or safe to be out here at night. Especially alone.â
âSame. What do you think they were reading?â Neil responded, quick to try and put the teasing behind him. Despite his efforts, the teasing carried long into the night and the days following it. It seemed like nothing and no one would ever let him forget he ever saw you.
He would find out later that you were reading a poetry book.
He saw you for the second time on a trip to the main town. He recognized you instantly, from what little knowledge of you he had gained. You had the same hair, the same stature, the same book tucked under your arm as you peered into the musty old bookstore in the back corner. Just Todd was with him this time, and he definitely knew what was up.
Todd glanced at him, a warm expression on his face. Once again, Neil was entranced.
In the new glorious daylight, he noticed things he never couldâve before. The undertones of your hair, your skin, the way you seemed to glow even when you dipped into the shadows. He saw the pure beauty of you in a manner he had never seen anyone else in before. He took a step forward, pulled towards you somehow as his heart beat a mile a minute. The bookstore loomed over you, cracked and imperfect, yet casting the evening in a scene plucked out of a storybook. You turned, seeming to have seen him in the windowâs reflection, and he flinched. He almost had a heart attack as his brain registered the color of your eyes and exactly how your mouth pulled up into a smile. Quickly turning away, he grabbed Toddâs sleeve and hightailed it out of there. Todd followed, as he always did. Neil was enamored, and Todd could tell.
âDo you think they saw me?â Neil gasped, pulling Todd into the squareâs corner. He was panting lightly, red-cheeked, with a lopsided grin on his face. Todd had never seen him nervous, much less shy. In fact, he was the opposite- friendly, inclusive, and not the type to run away from a challenge. Something must have been different about you.
Todd raised his eyebrows. âProbably, Neil, they looked back.â He, too, saw your eyes, though he was mostly focused on the anxiety coursing through his veins rather than committing them to memory.
Neilâs gasping breaths were definitely louder than they needed to be. âOh god, they definitely saw me. They probably think Iâm a creep. Jesus, itâs definitely over.â
âWhatâs over?â Todd put a hand on his shoulder worriedly. âThere was nothing there to begin with. Theyâre just a person, youâll be fine.â
âWay to kill my dreams, Todd. Look, can you promise me that you wonât tell this to anyone else?â Neil asked, suddenly very serious. He glanced around like someone would waltz into the trash-filled and truthfully disgusting corner. The bathrooms were just around the bend, and he could smell it.
Intrigued, Todd nodded.
âI need you to say it. Promise me.â Neil whispered. His coat crinkled as he moved closer to Todd, the material dipping around his sweater. The fall air was the perfect background for whatever Neil was trying to get up to.
âI promise.â
Neil grinned boyishly and glanced around the corner again. âThis is stupid, but I think Iâm in love.â From the look in his eyes, Todd could definitely tell. His friend was suddenly more animated than he had been in a very long while, and he knew that he would do anything to keep him that way. His caution, however, took over.
âDonât get ahead of yourself. What if you never see them again?â
âAnd what if I do?â Neil breathed. âWhat if I see them tomorrow, or the next day, or a week from now? What if I see them every day of my life because I just went out and said something?â
Todd shook his head. âJust be careful, alright? Thereâs a very good chance that nothing will come of it.â Neil clasped Toddâs jacket, quirking his eyebrows.
âNo.â
âWhat do you mean, ânoâ?â
âJust no.â
The first time you saw Neil Perry, you didnât even know you saw him. You were sitting under a tree, reading an Emily Dickinson book you bought in the townâs bookstore. It was a way to relax to you. A way to forget all of your troubles and just enjoy the wonders of the world. You donât know why you picked that tree, or why you stayed so long you had to use the flashlight you so hastily packed, but life has its ways of pulling you towards something you didnât know existed.
The scenery was absolutely beautiful, even at night. You wrapped your thick coat tightly around your shoulders. The fall leaves beneath you gave a crackle and the moon hung high above your head, slightly illuminating your page. Welton Academy loomed just outside of your line of sight. It was beautiful, too, but something about the cold stone walls made you shiver.
As time slipped away, you began to hear a hushed cacophony of boys around your age coming out of the school to the side of you. They had their hoods up, laughing and giggling like they were in some sort of secret club. You looked up, and one of them stopped dead in his tracks. You could see his breaths clouding in the night as the others urged him forward. Your eyes drifted back down to your book, as if you were embarrassed. The moment broke, and he was on his way.
You werenât there for his return back to Welton.
The second time you saw him, you noticed him a lot more clearly. You were window shopping just outside of the bookstore. Even though the building was dusty and marred, it smelled like home. It smelled like stories and adventures and comfort. You were a frequent visitor to this place, and one of the ownerâs best customers.Â
He often set up his new imports in the big, yellow-tinted window in front of you. As you gazed in, you noticed a face appear in the space next to you. You turned around partially, meeting his dark brown eyes. Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at him.
It was an electric moment. His lips were slightly parted, and the gray clouds above him were engorged with unshed tears. You gaped at him, dumbfounded, as milliseconds ticked away like hours.
Before you knew it, he had sped away with his friend in tow. Huh, you hadnât even noticed he had a friend. All you could think about was the fact that he looked familiar, and the fact that he was the most handsome boy you had ever had the pleasure of locking eyes with.
His stature reminded you of the boy by the tree, the boy from Welton Academy. There was just something about him that screamed âyou saw him once in a dreamâ.
Somehow, you thought one simple thought: you were in love with someone you did not know.
When Neil saw you for the third time, and the third time you saw him, he worked up the courage to talk to you.
Mr. Keating was instructing the boys outside yet again. They were in the courtyard, taking inspiration from the world around them. From leaves, patches of mud, anything that struck their fancy.Â
You were taking a walk by campus. Once again, you didnât know why; you just were. The boys were not a quiet group, and you could hear their shouts very clearly. You strained your ears, hoping to hear one voice in particular. Of course, you didnât know what his voice sounded like, but you were listening anyway. If you were right, and he was a boy from Welton, maybe you might be able to catch a word or two.
Thatâs when Neil spotted the person walking loops around the front of campus. Maybe, for the first time, you could be his inspiration.
He looked over his shoulder, quickly trying to assess whether he could slip away unnoticed or not. No one seemed to be looking at him. He left his group behind and jogged up next to you.
You saw him coming. Even from a distance, you knew it was him. Your heart began to pound in your ears, loud and fast and just a little bit lovesick. You were right.
âHey!â He exclaimed. You took a small step back. Your nerves were on their highest setting and your mind was reeling. What did he think of you, you wondered. More importantly, who was he?
As he approached, you put on your best nervous smile. âHi.â
âMy nameâs Neil.â He said, reaching out a hand for you to shake. You complied quickly, saying your own name in turn. His palms were slightly damp, but you couldnât blame him. Yours were probably worse.
The moment your hand held his, fitting perfectly under his fingers, he knew you were made for him. âI saw you in town the other day. Do you like books?âÂ
Your voice was hesitant, unsure, and Neil wished he could reach out and smooth the wrinkles in the sound like an old coat. âYeah.â
âWhat were you reading?â Neil asked. He tried to stamp down his own nerves, but something about you made his breaths flutter in and out like butterfly wings. It was a feeling he was completely and entirely new to.
You shifted the bag on your shoulder to your hands, reaching in to pull out the book. âOh, Poems by Emily Dickinson. Itâs not the traditional type of book, but I love poetry.â Your cheeks began to warm. You knew nothing about this boy. What if he thought poetry was stupid, just a lesson in his English class and nothing else? How could anyone know how much those words meant to you?
Neil beamed, big and wide and lovesick. You truly were perfect for him, he thought. Poetry. You certainly were poetic, with those gorgeous eyes and an equally beautiful mind. âI love poetry too.â He breathed.
Your tense smile turned genuine. âYou do? Thatâs awesome.â A quiet flutter started to pick up in your heart.
âYeah. You know what?â He grinned, âmy friends and I have a sort of poetry club. The dead poets society- we do readings, original works, whatever the members are feeling at the moment.â He sucked in a silent breath, pausing just enough to let his reeling mind decide on what he wanted to say. âItâs at night in the old Indian cave.â You nodded along to his words, growing increasingly intrigued the further he carried on. This dead poets society began to excite you. It was all you ever wanted in life: a community of like-minded people sharing the verses that made your heart tick. âIf you want, I mean, you should go to our next meeting. Itâs tonight.â Neil offered. He could tell his words were cycling through your mind, finally catching up to his proposal.
You wanted to join the dead poets society so badly it made your heart ache. A little inkling, though, in the back of your head, sparked a pit in your stomach. âWould your friends be okay with me being there? I⊠I donât exactly know them.â
Neil was head over heels. You were so wonderfully lively, in the way that a breeze touching his eyelashes with the tips of its fingers would be. You were exactly how he expected, and exactly who he needed.
He waved away your concern with the flip of a hand and a laugh. âDonât worry about it. The others bring guests too, and gosh, Iâm sure theyâre going to love you! Especially Todd. Iâm sure you two would get along real well.âÂ
âThen Iâll definitely be there.â You replied. The sparkle in your eye shot Neil at full force. You were excited, smiling, happy. He made you happy. He mentally patted himself on the back.
âGreat!â Leaves rustled from behind Neil, and you could see a group of boys approaching in the near distance. âShoot. I gotta go, but make sure to show up. Iâll be waiting for you.â He whispered, leaning in closer to you before turning around to walk towards the group. You felt cold air where he had once been, and you wished for a moment that he would come back. His friends, however, were hooting and hollering, and you thought you could hear a kissy noise or two. You shook your head, a shaky warmth creeping its way up your neck, before turning to walk away.
You were going to go to a secret meeting in a secret cave at a hauntingly secret hour, and you had never been quite so excited in your entire life.
The fourth time you saw each other was the dead poets society meeting. You were brimming with nerves beforehand, shaking fingers gathering your materials as you tried to prepare for waltzing into a place with people entirely unknown to you. The bag you were holding contained a couple of your favorite poetry books, your own poems scratched in the empty spaces on certain pages that really inspired you. You werenât entirely sure if you wanted to read a poem out loud, especially your own work, but earlier in the evening, you resolved to âgo with the flowâ and do what the others were doing. You hoped you wouldnât have to regret that decision later.
After putting everything together and making sure to turn off your light and close your door, you slipped out of your house into the black night.
The scenery on your walk was entirely too beautiful. You never noticed just how much the bark on trees formed swirling patterns, or how the stars seemed to twinkle on their own. The ground under your feet was littered with fallen leaves in fiery shades and clumps of moist dirt. You began to smile just a little bit, thinking of a poem you had written when autumn had first started. That is surely what you would say if the dead poets wanted you to speak.
Nothing felt greater than breathing in the crisp, cold air and swinging your arms as you stepped along the path less traveled on.Â
When you finally reached the cave, heart significantly lighter, the sound of laughter floated up to your ears. It was bountiful and boyish and beautiful. You peered around the edge of the cave entrance, and Neilâs eye immediately caught on you.
âCome in, come in! Weâre just about to begin.â He called. You stepped fully into the light and glanced around at your company.
They were giggling and shoving, gaping at you and Neil with a sort of uncertain certainty. Some were standing, some sitting, a couple moving around, and all of them male. You took a seat next to Neil, between him and the boy you saw with him in town. He gave you a meaningful nod and looked to Neil, who was opening an old, thick book. He was frightened to so much as speak in front of you, as silly as it might have seemed.
âAttention, dead poets. Today is another wonderful night.â He announced, voice deep and commanding and humorously theatrical. âI went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately⊠I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life! To put to rout all that was not life⊠And not, when I came to die, discover that I had not livedâŠâ His voice trailed off, and someone from the back of the cave echoed his last word. He closed the book with a snap, and the boys began to murmur excitedly.
Neil took a seat and turned to you, a glimmer of something sweet in his eye. When he looked at you, all he saw was magnificence. âWho wants to start?â
A boy jumped up. In his fist was a crumpled piece of paper, which he made a show of unfolding. âFor those of you who donât know,â He said, with a pointed glance at you, âmy name is Nuwanda, and today, I actually made a poem.â
A couple boys yelled in support, and Neil gave you a nudge. âCharlie Dalton.â He whispered, making sure to not alert the others. You thanked him with a shy nod. Then, as âNuwandaâ was starting to begin his woefully homemade poem, Neil put his arm around your shoulders.Â
His touch sent jitters through your entire body, lighting you up like a firework. It just felt so right, so natural, so breathtaking. It felt exactly like shaking his hand and feeling his eyes and seeing his breath hang in the air- like it was destined, written in the stars, utterly perfect. You leaned into his touch, feeling his warm breath fanning over the back of your neck and shoulder. âTo live, to learn, to die,
my boys,Â
to see, to love, to burn.Â
To touch, to know, to harm,Â
my dear,
to eat, to reap, to sow.âÂ
Charlie recited. For someone who seemingly took poetry lightly, he wasnât particularly bad. He put more passion into his words than most other boys you knew. In fact, youâre sure he would be a great writer if he put more than an ounce of effort into it.
He took a bow as the room erupted into applause, Neilâs arm still wrapped around you. He could feel it too, the electricity. He wanted nothing more than to bottle that feeling and keep it forever.
Charlie sat, staring at you and Neil with a smirk on the corners of his lips. âHey, why donât we let our guest take a crack at it?â
The cave filled with a rumble of excitement from all of the poets. Neilâs brows were furrowed, but he gave an urge of support anyway. âIf you want to, of course.â
You wanted to. Energy thrummed throughout your company, filling you with a sense of confidence you rarely had anywhere else. For once, you truly wanted to speak up. The air was crackling with a sense of anxious anticipation, and you could smell the love each boy held for each other. They knew, somehow, that the moment meant a lot to Neil, and they were willing to put aside any inhibitions to help him enjoy the night.
âIâll go.â You uttered. Neilâs face lit up as his previous worries slunk away into the night.
You pulled out a book from your usual bag and opened it to the page you knew so well you could recite the poem it held without looking. And, of course, your own poem was scribbled in the margins.Â
Everyone was attempting to peer over your shoulder, to take a glimpse of what made you a poet. Having attention on you was an odd feeling, like ants crawling along the back of your spine. You took a deep breath. âWhen you die,
the beetles will still sing.
The trout will still jump,
and the earth will still rumble.
When you die, the moon will still turn
and the stars will still burn.
When you die,
The lakes will still ripple
and the trees will still creak
and I will lower you into the ground
and I will cry so hard the world stops moving.â
As the last words left your lips, a profound silence enveloped the group. Then, all at once, it exploded.
âWeâve got a real poet in here!â Came Charlieâs teasing (yet not entirely unkind) voice. âTruly Keating material. What sparked your creative melancholy?â
You felt yourself glowing as you sat. If you were being honest, you never could have imagined that anyone would genuinely enjoy your work. That notion was entirely unfounded and untrue, considering they were a group of poets, but it persisted nonetheless. âI donât know, really. Just the notion of losing a loved one, I suppose.â
When Neil saw you, in that moment, when he heard your voice, he couldnât breathe. He knew so little about you, yet you pumped his pulse up to be as fast as a racehorse. He wanted, no, he needed to learn everything that made you you. He needed to know what you looked like when waking up in the morning, or how your fingers felt threading through his hair, or your deepest, most desperate passions. He needed to be so close to you he could feel your heartbeat through the fabric of your shirt. He was intrigued.Â
When he first discovered acting, he felt the same exact way- a burning desire to learn, to know, to discover. If you let him, he would recite his lines all the way into your heart.
The meeting continued as the sky grew ever darker, complete with poems and rhymes and words spoken in deliberately lyrical tones. You fell into every verse and every story as easily as you would if they were written in a book. You began to learn every name in the room, and they quickly caught on to yours. It was a community, a group of people that began to feel like home.Â
Of course, by the time they decided to end things, the stars were full and bright. The sun would surely peek its head out of the fog in a couple hours. You were smiling harder and more genuinely than you ever had before, with Neil by your side, and Todd on your other. As they all stood up to leave with boisterous whispers, Neil turned to you.
âWill you come tomorrow? And the next, and every day after that?â His question was so excited, so innocent, like he didnât know that you would kill for the chance to be near him and everything he held dear.
You smiled. âOf course. Iâll be a dead poet for life.â
Your eighth encounter with Neil was not a lucky twist of fate. He got permission to leave school for some something or other that you never bothered to find out. Now, it was just you two and the big town square looming in front of you.
In truth, it wasnât that big, but when youâre standing at the beginning of a new day with the boy that holds your heart, everything feels intense.
He took hold of the sleeve of your sweater, as he so often did, and you descended upon the shops.
âCome on, youâve absolutely got to try the milkshakes at Tomâs Ice Cream Parlor! Theyâre just the best. Hurry, hurry!â He tugged you along, a bright smile on his face. God, how you loved him.
You had grown closer in the past five dead poets society meetings. Often, he would stay with you in the cave long after the meetings had ended. You would talk about whatever crossed your mind in the moment, and he would spin stories out of thin air. He didnât ever seem to talk about real life things, though. His work at school, sure, but anything outside of that was uncharted territory. When you asked him about his family, he just clammed up.
You laughed as he weaved through the clumps of people with you in tow. âSlow down, Neil! Youâre gonna get us killed.â
The sound of your voice, especially your laugh, was something Neil had come to relish. He would keep you talking all day if it meant he could hear that giddy ring in his ears every time he craved your presence. âYouâve just got to go faster. The line is horrific at this time of day.âÂ
âThis place had better be good.â
âIt is, believe me. Itâll be the best youâve ever had.â
When you arrived, bodies hot and just a little uncomfortably sweaty, the sight of the ice cream parlor was a welcome one. He led you through the doors and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. You wished you could do it for him. The line was, unsurprisingly, quite long. You made idle chat, but his words fell on deaf ears as you stared at him.
ââŠhe was real impressed when Charlie played his sax. Mr. Nolan, though, he definitely wasnât-â And, before you could think about it, before the screaming in your head could tell you no, you reached up and smoothed the cowlick that always seemed to mess up his part. When you pulled your hand away, he was beaming.
âThanks.â He said, simply. You smiled back at him.
âNo problem. So, what happened to Charlie afterwards?â You questioned. Neil gave you a look, one you had come to realize meant âIâll tell you laterâ.
As you stood three people away from the front counter, Neil fumbled around in his pockets. âShoot, I couldâve sworn I brought more money than thisâŠâ He muttered. He pulled out a dime and three pennies, all slightly covered in the fuzz from his jacket pocket. âIâm sorry. I donât know, I mustâve spaced out- Iâm usually so good about things like this.â
You took his arm with one hand and slipped the other in your pocket, rooting around for any spare change you had. âDonât worry about it. Iâm sure I have more than enough.â
You did not, in fact, have more than enough. You had a single quarter and a spare button. Pooled together, you could get exactly one milkshake and have his three pennies left over. Neil looked at you regretfully.
âYou take it. Iâll get one another time.â He said, putting on a smile. âIâve had too many sweet things today anyways.â
You would not accept this as an answer. Not here, not now. He deserved all the good things life had to offer, and you would be damned if he didnât get them- starting with this milkshake. âItâs alright, you have it.â
Neil looked at you with furrowed eyebrows. âYou should have it, really.â He would be damned if you didnât get what he dragged you out here to experience. If he could see your face, smiling and sticky-lipped, after taking a sip from something he contributed to, he would be the happiest man on earth.Â
The back-and-forth was getting nowhere and you both knew it. âWhy donât we just share it then? Ask for two straws?â You sighed. âItâs the best solution.â
He paused. It wasnât ideal, and it wasnât the life he wanted to give you (if this was any indicator), but it would work. Everything would work as long as you were there. âOkay. Yeah, letâs do that.â
There was another quick conversation about which flavor to choose, but you settled on one that you both liked equal amounts. You discovered that he had far different tastes than you milkshake-wise. If you were any less filtered, you wouldâve told him his opinions were downright wrong.
You sat with him, smiling so hard you thought your face would break as he finally told you what happened to Charlie. Apparently, Nolan had reprimanded him as he so often had to do, but Charlie couldnât stop smiling during the lecture. Eventually, Nolan just stopped mid-sentence and ushered the boy out the door. Apparently nothing and no one could ever crush Charlieâs spirit, not even the hardships of wooden rulers.
You leaned in to take a sip absentmindedly. As you reached your straw, you felt the tip of Neilâs nose brush against yours, and you realized you were so close to him you were almost kissing. You pulled back quickly, a hotness enveloping your cheeks.
âSorry.â You uttered, trying not to look him in the eye. You were so mortified you almost killed yourself on the spot.
Neil, however, was overjoyed. He felt your breath on his chin and it was all he could think about. You, close to him, like you wouldâve touched him if you hadnât pulled away. He relished the feeling.
He shrugged, trying in vain to make it seem like he was just simply all right with it. âIt wasnât a problem,â He said, before noticing that the milkshake was running dangerously low. âHey, why donât you take the last sip?â
You cocked your head slightly. âWhy?â
âBecause I never want to be the one to end it.â He grinned. You shook your head, the corners of your lips rising up as he let out a little laugh. You adored his laugh.
âIf you say so.â
That conversation stuck with you a long time after it happened.
It took four more dead poets meetings for Neil to ask you to go somewhere with him again. By the twelfth experience, though, you knew him like the back of your hand.
He loved acting. Loved it. He loved it so desperately that he was willing to face the wrath of his father to pursue the play he was casted in. Oh, and you learned about his father through whispers, mostly from Charlie. Neil, he told you, would never say a word about him. Tyrannical, inhospitable, red-hot like fire and ice-cold like ice. You knew of his mother, too, and her quiet indifference. Neil held a special place in his heart for Todd, the new boy at Welton. He loved puppies and poetry and soft scarves. Not the scratchy ones, as those irritated his neck. He wanted to be an actor in the future, but his father wanted him to be a doctor. He loved so many things, and yet could not have them; however, he definitely hated when people felt sorry for him.
So, you werenât sorry. You felt his desires like a burning in your gut, stripped away piece by piece, but you were not sorry. You loved him.
You needed him to be fulfilled in every way possible, and you were not sorry. He was going through so many conflicting things, and you were not sorry. You were hopeful.
Life would turn around, you told him. He would see. In ten years, he would be on Broadway, waving at you and Todd and Charlie from the stage. He would be great, and you knew it.
âIâve never skated like this before. Are you sure itâs safe?â You asked, standing at the edge of Weltonâs lake. It was late in fall, with powdery snow dusting the edges of the ground, but the lake may have been in the process of freezing still. Neil took your gloved hands.
âTrust me, itâs good.â
He often asked you to trust him, and you always did. There was just something in his deep, dark eyes that whispered exactly how strong he was.
You took a tentative step onto the ice, nose already feeling the cold burn of pre-winter air. The ground under your feet was slick, but it held. Neil walked backwards, gently guiding you, and you followed.
You found a sort of rhythm in the movements, pushing off with your feet and letting them slide forward on the ice. Neilâs face was tinged with red as you skated on flat shoes, never letting go of your hands. You laughed, truly and honestly. The world spun around you in a blur, white and brown and beautiful. The air snuck through the gaps on your clothes, but you did not care. In that second, it was just you and Neil and the most beautiful day you had ever known.
His eyes softened when he looked at you. Even through the lack of words, he knew exactly what you were thinking. That crinkle by your eyes, the curve of your lips, your laugh. You were content, happy even, because he brought you here. When you reached the middle of the lake, leaning against him, trusting him, he felt a fluttering in his stomach.Â
Throughout his days with you, he had come to discover the person behind the book, behind the shy smile. He could firmly say that he knew you, and he loved you even more for it.
He knew your favorite book, which jokes made you laugh so hard tears formed in your eyes, your favorite ice cream flavor. It wasnât his, but it was completely and entirely you. There was nothing he adored more in the world than you.
You stared at him with a smile gracing your lips as you came to a stop. He reached his hand up to your face and brushed a small snowflake away from the corner of your mouth gently. His hands were soft.
He leaned in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his face. It was now or never, he thought. Carpe diem.
Neil pressed his lips to yours, and all of your feelings exploded from your connected flesh like dynamite.
He was warm, so warm. You kissed him fervently with your arms wrapped around his shoulders like you were dancing. He had finally done it, put to action the kind thoughts he had expressed, and you were glowing. There were stars in your tightly shut eyes, and you reveled in how they spun.
Neilâs mind was racing as you didnât pull away. He didnât know what he expected, but you pulling him closer was not his first thought. He most definitely didnât mind.
When you finally broke the kiss, you were both panting feverishly and looking starved for more. Your combined breaths hung in front of your faces.
âWe should do that again.â He whispered. You huffed a laugh, feeling every bit as blushy as he looked.
âOnly if youâre okay with never stopping.â
It was a week and a half before Neilâs big play, and the twenty-fourth (maybe twenty-fifth, you had lost count) time you saw him. It was also your tenth official date.
âDateâ may have been a loose term, as it was more practicing lines than talking, but the atmosphere was quiet and calm at the cafĂ© you sat in. There were grainy pictures of favorite customers on the wall and the chairs were just the right amount of wobbly. It felt like a place where you could relax without abandon. Neilâs hand was on top of yours and he was staring deep into your eyes as he spoke line after line, trying to steel his nerves and push past the stress of his approaching deadline.
âIf we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumberâd here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream, gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: and, as I am an honest Puck, if we have unearned luckâŠâ He hesitated for a moment, eyes unfocused. You squeezed his hand in support and he gave you a small smile. Clearing his throat, he continued. ââŠnow to âscape the serpentâs tongue, we will make amends ere long; else the Puck a liar call; so, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.âÂ
You gave a quiet cheer and clasped your hands together. âI think that was your best runthrough yet! Iâm so proud of you.â
His eyes lit up as he gazed at you bashfully. âYou think?â
âAbsolutely. Youâre good, youâre really good. You could probably perform tomorrow if you wanted to.â He smiled and ran his fingers over his fleece sleeves as you spoke. If you were in the audience, he was sure he would be able to do anything. âIn fact, you could perform any time you wanted to. Youâre just that amazing.â
You were so impressed by the sheer amount of talent and emotion he had that you just couldnât help but smother him in compliments. Every single one was true.
Neil tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, blushing like a madman. Every time you said something kind about him, his heart leapt for joy. âWhat about you? What have you been working on?â He posed. He had heard your poetry before, of course, but you always seemed to be creating something new.
You pulled out a book from the bag sitting next to you and flipped around. There was one specific poem you wanted him to hear. One you had written about him.
When you found it, you turned the book sideways so you both could see and pointed at it. âThis one.â Neil tilted his head, opening his mouth to read it aloud. âI think,Â
if I was blind,
I would still know your face.
The curve of your nose would call to me
and your eyelids would flutter under my touch.
There is no one else, no one at all
who could make the pads of my fingers
see the entire world.â
He gazed up at you with a starstruck expression. âIs this about anyone in particular?â Neil leaned forward and dipped his head down to rest on his propped-up hand. He had a grin on his face. He absolutely knew who it was about.
âI wrote that one for Meeks. Heâs just so cute, donât you think?â You teased. Neilâs mouth dropped open as his expression turned to comical shock.Â
âIâm wounded, my love! How dare you.â He shouted, throwing his arms up. You started laughing as he continued his theatrical expressions, much to the dismay of the cafĂ© workers.
âBe careful, we might get thrown out!â
âIâll throw you out myself if you donât stop laughing at my demise.â He furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched his nose as you giggled from your seat. âIâm so lucky to have you.â He murmured, suddenly as soft as a spring rain. You ran your fingers over his hand underneath the table, finding every groove like it was your own.
âAnd Iâm lucky to have you. I love you, you know.âÂ
Neil smiled gently. âI love you too. So much.â
You sat in that café for a few hours more, until the workers had to politely remind you of their closing hours. You laughed and talked and felt the sheer joy of being with the boy you had begun to consider your soulmate. He was a star, shining his light and illuminating you with his rays. Too often, however, the brightest lights fade within the snap of a finger.
âI hope that when I die,â Neil wrote, right before your thirty-first meeting,
âGod will send me back to Earth.
He will say,
âLive again. Run again,
hope again,
plunge your body into ice-cold water again.Â
Hate again,Â
and cry again,
run your fingers through the grass again.
Kiss them again,Â
press your palms to their faces again,
and lose them again.
Let yourself feel again,
and never forget
that life is what matters,Â
not death.â
And I will say,
âI promise
to do everything I have ever told myself I could not do
again and again and again.ââ
He closed his journal with a thump and tucked it into his drawer calmly. That was something he would rather not share with anyone, not even you.Â
The day was cold and drizzly, but he stood up with a kind of manic smile. He walked out of the doors of Welton and into your awaiting arms.
You both sat down on a park bench under the cover of a tree. Your seats were slightly wet and very cold, but it didnât matter all that much. You were just glad to be there with him, with Neil. He was the love of your life, and any time with him was well-spent.
âWhat are you thinking about?â You asked softly. He was the same as he always was, you thought. But his eyes were welling up with tears and you just felt the need to ask, like some unearthly force was telling you that you needed to.
He leaned back, putting his arm around the back of the bench with a sigh. âIâm trapped.â He was smiling, but there was such an utter lack of humor behind it that it made you shiver. You shifted closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as a silent sign of comfort. By this point, knew everything there was to know about Neil Perry- even the parts he tried to keep hidden.
âHow so?â
âI donât even know, I just⊠I want to be an actor. That is what I want to do for the rest of my life. But I canât, and Iâm trapped, and no one can help me, no matter how much they try.â His voice was sullen, but he was still smiling. Curse him for trying to make you feel better even then.
You placed a kiss on the back of his hand and threaded your fingers through his. Your heart ached for him. You knew there was nothing you could do about it, though, and thatâs what made it even harder. Holding his hand, telling him itâll all work out, everything ultimately did nothing for his situation, and you cursed the being that forced him into this position. If you could scream into the night, into the big, black sky to execrate the universe, you would. You did, in the future. You regretted not doing it sooner.
âIâm sorry.â You started, squeezing his hand. â Just keep going, alright? I promise you, in the future, none of this will matter at all. You just have to stick with it. The world will find a way of figuring it out.â
His face formed a more genuine smile as he laid his head on top of yours. âYeah. I guess it will.â
The last time Neil Perry saw you was the night he had been anticipating, dreaming about, and dreading: the night of his play. He was prepared. He knew every line and cue by heart, and yet he was still nervous. He was so nervous he could hardly think.Â
He stood behind the curtains listening to the chatter of the audience. The rest of the cast members and some of the technicians were scrambling to put everything in place, but he just stared at the dark walls of fabric separating him from his new life. That was it. He was going to put on the best performance of his goddamn life.
The lights dimmed, and he stepped away to take his place.
When it was finally time for him to make his entrance, Neil did it with flourish. âHow now, spirit! whither wander you?â He spoke. Cheers came from the audience, whoops and hollers from the dead poets. He could hardly keep himself from smiling.
Then, he saw you. You were grinning wide and large from your seat, giving him that quiet encouragement he had always loved. You whispered his name, and Neil could hear it in his heart.
He was having fun. So much fun. With every line he spoke, with every movement he made, Neil was sinking deeper and deeper into the play and his love for acting. He didnât remember the last time he had ever felt that alive.Â
But with every sinking, there comes a point where one drowns.
His father was there. When had he come? Neil hadnât seen him before. God. He was burning a hole in the back of his head with his piercing gaze, and it took everything in Neil not to turn and run. That was it, he thought. He was done. But gods be good, he was going to finish his play. He would not let his father ruin this for him.
By the time he was speaking his last lines, the ones he had practiced with you, he barely remembered his father was part of the audience. The curtains closed, and the audience exploded into cheers. He could hear your voice, he swore he could- he was the happiest man on Earth. He had put on the performance of his lifetime, and he couldnât be more proud. Until, of course, he was dragged out the door by his father.
He was back home before he had even registered his fatherâs anger. All he could feel was emptiness as the gnawing hole in his stomach expanded to encompass his entire being.
âWe're trying very hard to understand why it is that you insist on defying us. Whatever the reason, we're not gonna let you ruin your life. Tomorrow I'm withdrawing you from Welton and enrolling you in Braden Military School. You're going to Harvard and you're gonna be a doctor.â His father stated, eyes sharp. Neil let out a noise of protest.
âBut that's ten more years. Father, that's a lifetime! I wonât be able to see any of them again, not one person I knew before. You canât do this to me, you just canât.â Tears formed in Neilâs eyes, and as he looked at his mother, she was feeling the same way. And yet she said nothing. He could feel himself becoming increasingly more desperate.Â
His father scoffed. âOh, stop it. Don't be so dramatic. You make it sound like a prison term. You don't understand, Neil. You have opportunities that I never even dreamt of and I am not going to let you waste them.â
Neil rose to his feet, suddenly angry. He needed to fight for this, for himself. He couldnât just let one man take away everything he had ever loved. If he couldnât see you, his friends, if he couldnât act, there was no purpose in his life. âI've got to tell you what I feel.â
Neilâs mother reached for him. âWeâve been so worried about-âÂ
âWhat? What? Tell me what you feel. What is it? Is it more of this, this acting business? Because you can forget that. What?â And just like that, it was gone. Neil sat back down, staring blankly at his lap. He couldnât do it. He couldnât do anything because he was just a stupid boy who wouldnât listen. His father scoffed once again before leaving the room.
His mother, ever the soft one, paused.
âI was good. I was really good.â He whispered. She sighed, urging him to his feet.Â
âGo on, get some sleep.â
Neil nodded, still in a trance, before trudging to his room. That was it. He was done. He would never see you again, no matter what, and it hurt him so badly he didnât know what else to do. He ran his fingers over his things lightly before removing his shirt. That was it. He grasped his crown of twigs and placed it on his head, staring out through his open window. The cool air kissed his body sweetly, like your lips on a rainy day. He took a deep breath.
It was time for his last act, his curtain call, his final carpe diem. There was no warning, and yet there did not need to be one. That night, that cold, bitter night, he knew what he needed to do.Â
The last time you saw Neil Perry, he didnât see you. He couldnât see you. It was December 18th, and you had been asked to read a poem at his funeral.Â
God, the word âfuneralâ hit you like a train. Neil was dead. His sweet demeanor, his gentle words, his soft hair, they were all going to be covered in dirt within the next few hours. You couldnât stand it. The world needed so much more of him, but terribly, horribly, the world did not deserve it. No one deserved him.
It was odd, you thought, how the sound of one gunshot could replay over and over again in your mind without you ever having heard it at all. The boom, the thud, the scream. It was all so clear in your mind.
As the priest spoke, you felt an emptiness pool in your guts. He was really gone. Your Neil, your poor Neil. You sat between Charlie and Todd, all three of your faces streaked with tears. You could feel more welling up in your eyes, and you let them free without a care. Neil was dead, and nothing else in the world mattered.
In a way, you couldnât believe it. He was just here, warm and happy and yours. When you got that phone call, you almost joined him. Nothing was worth it anymore, nothing at all. The eulogies, the sobs, they faded into the background as you stared down at the ground.
Before you knew what was happening, you were standing at a podium with a piece of paper clutched between your shaking fingers. Neilâs mom looked up at you in silent support.
You took a breath, so much like the breaths you always took before reading a poem and yet so different. Neil could not hear this one.
âWhen you died,
the beetles still sang.
The trout still jumped,
and the earth still rumbled.
When you died, the moon still turned
and the stars still burned.
When you died,â Your voice cracked. Looking out into the audience, at people you didnât know and people you knew so well you could identify them by a strand of their hair, it was too much. Hot tears slipped their way down your face as the pit in your stomach grew ever-wider.Â
âThe lakes still rippledÂ
and the trees still creaked
and I lowered you into the ground
and I cried so hard the world stopped moving.âÂ
There was a murmur throughout the audience, choked sobs and utters of agreement. âFor Neil, who lived as he died and died as he lived.â You rasped.
You were quickly ushered away from the podium and back into your seat.
Neil was one in a million. There was no one else in the history of ever that could make you feel so amazing. Like you were a real person, like you mattered. He made everyone feel that way, but something in him burned for you in a way that you believed was unique. And, of course, you burned for him the same.Â
The rest of the service went by in a blur. Everyone around you began to get up, and you knew it was time. As you sat there, still as a rock, when everyone went to say their final farewells, you were extinguished.Â
You felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. When you looked up from your tear-soaked lap, Todd was there, and he clasped your hand. âLetâs go.â He whispered. âLetâs say goodbye.â
You pulled a page from the book by your feet and shoved it into your pocket. It was for him, it always was and it always had been.
âIn some other universe, I found you again.
Maybe in this one we held hands, gently and honestly,
or leaned against each otherâs shoulders on the train,
or sobbed against each otherâs shirts when we crashed and burned,
because anything with you
means flying too close to the sun.â It read.Â
As you stood in front of his casket, you could hardly bear to focus on his pale face.
He was cold, so cold. The embalmer had done well with his head, but there was so much that just looked off. He didnât look like your Neil. He looked empty. You gripped his hand and brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. It was winter, and he was colder and paler than the snow.
You held him far longer than what was deemed socially acceptable before tucking the page into his lapel and swiftly walking away.
You werenât there for his burial, and you knew you couldnât be. It was just too much. If you had seen his casket close, if you had watched them shovel dirt on top of the wooden box, you wouldâve dropped to your knees and screamed. Much like youâre doing now.
You sat on that same old park bench, knees clutched up to your soaked chest, sobbing harder than you ever had before. Your Neil was gone and you could never see him again, not ever.
When you saw Neil Perry for the last time, and god, did you see him, you knew nothing would ever be the same again.
496 notes
·
View notes