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I. September 9, 1959
The first time Todd finds the bridge is only a few weeks after his first day at Welton.
It’s a mediocre Wednesday, the sort that most people don’t care for, and Todd wouldn’t either, on the usual, except that most people don’t panic at the mere idea of a crowd, don’t hunch in on themselves to avoid eye contact, and, on the account of Todd’s usual unusualness, he finds himself escaping his shared room to instead venture out for a different place to be pathetic at.
Granted, he isn’t exactly alone, with bypassers of all sorts paying him no mind, but he is, a little, just noticeably, if he doesn’t tamp down the thought – lonely.
He ignores that to instead look up to the sky. It’s a bruise-like shade, turning dark at a rapid rate, and it’s still an hour or two before curfew. September nights have begun arriving quickly, quicker than he usually appreciates, but, with shadows encroaching and the air pleasantly chilly, Todd would prefer to slowly collect the chipped pieces of himself under the spill of stars, rather than sunny skies. Sunlight has always made him feel too seen.
Maybe for the oncoming darkness, maybe for their own studies to get to, the others at Welton, thankfully, don’t seem to notice nor care for him as they pass, one of the sparse things he can find himself appreciating.
To Welton, Balincrest had been, painfully but honestly, ordinary, but it was fit for someone like Todd, just as ordinary, not as honest, and it had helped to blend into the background of other ordinary people. Welton is already proving itself to be too much for him.
Surprisingly, he keeps up with the workload all right, and yet, inexplicably, it’s the people that've begun wearing him out. Back in Balincrest, it had been easy, slipping past people and going unnoticed, and, even, sometimes, he could convince himself it was a choice of his, self-imposed when people’s eyes never lingered on him, and when he was known as quiet, shy.
Welton, though, is tiring. Todd has no doubt it’d be easier if the people around him didn’t seem so set on getting to know him. It’s – unfamiliar. Half the time, he isn’t smart enough for it, doesn’t know what the right answers are when they ask about him, doesn’t know what kind of person he’s meant to make himself out to be.
He blames it on Neil.
Only a few weeks into the semester, Todd doesn’t know what to make of his new roommate; he’s insistent in a way Todd doesn’t know what to do with, and, despite his attempts, Todd has yet to quell the persistence Neil seems to hold in getting to know him. It’s strange. Unnerving, even.
Todd himself isn’t too keen on disappointing Neil so early on, and he’d rather not reveal himself to be the inconvenience he is, nor let Neil know how the effort of speaking to him isn’t worth the nonsense swirling around and around in his head. Even if they’re roommates, Todd would like to hide the true extent of the way he is, so undeniably weak with people, how shakily speaking to others is wearing him down like stormy seas against his jagged, uneven self.
It’s unavoidable, Todd getting like this, and it feels shameful, too, being so – worn out, perhaps, or exhausted, but that gives the implication that he’s done anything effortful. All Todd’s done all day is what Neil does on an hourly basis; conversing and chattering with so many people, juggling work and friends who don’t seem to know how to knock. Todd doesn’t know how he does it.
Contrary to his nature, Neil himself is nothing tiring. Overwhelming, Todd had considered him, but only fleetingly, only when he had known him for just a week, when Neil seemed to exude energy from every absent-minded move that he made, enthusiasm for life itself, like he harbors something great, hiding right behind his smile that never seemed to leave.
He has a certain kind of smile, Todd had noticed, one that Neil gives away so easily, but so significant nonetheless, like the worth of it will never wear down. He directs it at Todd like nothing, mischievous and sweet, as if they’re both in on a joke only they knew. It’s the kind that sticks around in his brain, has him thinking of verses and half-finished phrases he’ll never write onto paper.
It makes Todd feel – odd. It always gives him the urge to look around, just to make sure he isn’t mistaking it to be for someone like himself.
Neil treats him kindly, better than he probably should, acting as though they’re friends, even though he has the choice of hundreds of others to pick from, and it’s puzzling. He acts as if he wants Todd in particular to join their spontaneous group of friends, and Todd – isn’t like that. He’s not like Neil, so full of life and afraid of nothing at all and never so exhausted of living.
Though, Todd admits to himself, after knowing Neil for more than just a week, however, when Todd began staying up a little longer, for just a little bit more free time, Neil would collapse into bed before him, and Todd would get a glimpse of the exhaustion, the way his face goes slack, the shuddering sigh he lets out when he rolls over in bed to face the wall, as if there is a great weight he carries on his chest.
His stature is, undoubtedly, impressive. Difficult. Todd would almost pity him.
In comparison, Todd is very weak. Childish, almost, in his limits. Someone great like Neil can speak to half the population and thrive like a flower in spring. Normal people don’t get worn out like this. Todd has always come up short.
Another wave of something akin to exhaustion hits him. Sadness, he would call it, but he doesn’t feel like crying, only the urge to lay down for a long, long time.
He hasn’t forgotten himself, though, and the bridge is of stone, and there’s people still walking by, returning from town or study groups or a late game of soccer or whatever normal people do at this hour. Todd’s capability for embarrassment is quite low, an odd thing when it feels like everything he does is humiliating. He’d rather not risk more mortification.
He sits. He feigns stargazing. He doesn’t know much about astronomy.
He probably should have brought something along, too, to at least look like he came out here for a purpose, other than to ease his breathing and maybe remember how to be a human again. It was stupid to leave his shared dorm for this.
But – if he had stayed there for any longer, in the shallows of his humanity, and Neil had come back to see him like this – Todd doesn’t know what he would have done. Neil couldn’t see him like this, he knows. They’re barely on the borderline of friends.
Todd, anxious in spite of his efforts, had paced and paced and paced in their little room, until the fear had won over and he had left to get some fresh air. He barely has a hold of the school grounds. He’ll have to be mindful when he walks back.
When there’s a lag in people, when it seems like the rush of them walking by has ceased, he takes his shaking hands from the ground and rests them on his brought-up knees. He leans back, head against the stone, and closes his eyes.
The air is cool and refreshing when he breathes in, the mimicry of the freshwater lakes he’d submerge himself in during the summer, the relief against his summer-sweating body. His hands, now, are a little sweaty, too, bits of pebbles sticking to his palms. He tries not to think about it too much.
The back of his eyelids are only a shade darker than the sky, only a little bit more comforting, and he doesn’t know how much time passes as he sits. If he tries very hard, it feels like he could fade out of existence, like it’s a relief that he is so unattached to the world, like it’s a comfort.
Like it’s a choice. Like he wants this. Like he’s leaving something behind, like there’s something to leave. Like it’s not all absence.
It’s foolish, Todd, thinks, to wish someone would come looking for him, in times like these. He’s never been the brightest.
The moon gleams in the night.
He doesn’t open his eyes.
II. November 17, 1959
The first time Neil stumbles upon him, it’s only a coincidence. No one’s gone out of their way to look for him – not for Todd Anderson, of all people. People don’t look for him. Not on purpose.
It’s a gray day, and his parents don’t call for his birthday, which, Todd thinks, with a tinge of pettiness, is more of a relief than a sadness. They’d manage to make it about his brother, anyway, and – besides. Gifting him the same desk set that he already has sends him enough of a message.
Ironically, it’s his only company, sitting next to him where they both occupy the bridge, and the night is especially busy, peculiar for a Tuesday night, where many linger under the streetlights, cherishing the little bit of time left, just before Hager begins demanding doors shut and lights out. Despite the gaggle of students, he’s alone.
Todd wants to say he’s never cared for birthdays, that it’s never mattered to him, but –
He does. Underneath his lack of mentioning it, underneath the practiced indifference, underneath it all, he cares. He cares, and he cares, and it’s easier to pretend otherwise, but he can’t help it, the ache, the hope that someone would know – that someone would care. It’s an embarrassing admission.
Selfish, too. Undeserved. Birthday celebrations are for sons worth remembering.
“Hey.”
Todd blinks out of his daze and looks up, surprised when he spots Neil already making his way towards him. “Hey.”
It’s late, and Neil had been, presumably, returning from rehearsal, yet he looks like he has enough energy to fuel the sun, like he could make it daybreak just by smiling. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Todd replies, offering a little shrug, and it’s true. Objectively, nothing is going on, although something in him knows Neil means it in that discreet, subtly persuasive way of his to ask, What’s wrong?, because he’s the sort to care, to ask and want to know. Todd, still, can’t make himself be fully honest.
Or, at least, not until Neil is right in front of him, just a bit away while he stands over Todd. He’s not much taller, not when Todd’s upright and not trying to curl in on himself, but now, as he sits on the ground, Neil towers over him. He feels more scrutinized, although Neil wouldn’t make him feel so intentionally. It’s only this fact that prevents the rush of humiliation from being caught moping like this.
When Neil peers down at him, watching him glance between Neil and the desk set, Todd belatedly admits, “Today’s my birthday.”
Intrigue, almost immediately, blooms on Neil’s face, expressive as he is, and he, a little uselessly, asks, “Is today your birthday?” Todd gives a nod, looking away. Neil’s smile is audible when he says earnestly, “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” Todd mumbles, and risks a glimpse at him. His smile is sweet, genuine as all of Neil usually is. Surprisingly, the sun doesn’t make its appearance, but the warmth in it is all the same.
Neil’s eyes flicker to the set beside him. “What d’you get?”
Todd halfheartedly gestures with the nudge of his arm. “My parents just gave me this.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Isn’t this the same desk set –”
There’s a slight, dry laugh when Todd says, “Yeah, yeah.” He tries for a small smile, something humorous to hide the pitiful manner of it all. The desk set still sits there, unrelenting in its presence. “They gave me the same thing as last year.”
He risks a glance back up at Neil’s puzzled look, before quickly turning away, straying back to the gift. Some part of him wishes he had thrown it away already, just so he wouldn’t have to watch the fall of Neil’s expression, and he waits for the pity to arrive.
Neil says, “Oh.”
It doesn’t come. His face is carefully neutral.
Todd swallows down something bitter in his throat. “Oh.”
There’s a pause, and Todd’s fingers tighten where they hold each other, arms around his knees. The awkwardness of the moment passes when Neil offers, with a good-natured smile, “Maybe they thought you needed another one.”
Todd lets out a small laugh. “Maybe they weren’t thinking about anything at all.” Which is – probably bitter to say, off-guard from the humored reply Neil had given him, and Neil looks down at him. It’s too open, and Todd’s never liked being too honest. “Funny thing is about this, is I – I didn’t even like it the first time.”
Neil laughs lightly, and something like relief washes over him, the success in diversion. “Todd,” he says, shaking his head, “I think you’re underestimating the value of this desk set.”
Todd blinks, slight smile still on his mouth, and he watches Neil lean down to pick it up. He says it in that voice, the one he uses whenever he’s setting up a grand ruse, a set-up of some kind. Todd waits for the punchline.
Neil inspects it in his hands, as one would something much more interesting. “I mean,” he begins, “who would want a – football, or a baseball, or –”
“Or a car,” Todd suggests, and Neil makes an agreeing noise.
“Or a car,” he nods, “if they could have a desk set as wonderful as this one. I mean, if – if I were ever going to buy a desk set – twice,” he adds, and Todd scoffs, and Neil’s own smile spills over, “I would, probably, buy this one. Both times.”
Todd grins, gloomy mood subsiding, as it so often does when Neil is around. He is, undeniably, good at cheering people up, and especially so when the melancholy in Todd’s stomach lessens, with Neil next to him like this.
“In fact,” Neil continues, and he props it up in his hands, a faux contemplative look in his eyes, “its shape is,” he gazes up thoughtfully, as if searching for the right words, “it’s rather aerodynamic, isn’t it?” Todd stares up at him, watching as he walks over to the edge. “I can feel it.” He makes as if to drop it, mimicking the rush of air, and, with an air of certainty, concludes, “This desk set wants to fly.”
He says it entirely reasonably, like he does whenever proposing something outlandish, and Todd finds it in him to get up and stand beside him, the terrible weight in his body gone. Neil’s smile is the same as when he had suggested the first meeting in the cave, the same when he had first shown Todd the flier for Midsummer’s Night Dream, the same when Todd makes a joke, loud enough for only them to hear, the same when he looks at Todd, like this, in the evening.
It still has the same effect. Todd wants to do something rash, something he shouldn’t do. He looks from the desk set, to the broad expanse of trees and fields before them.
“Todd,” Neil says, and hands him the set. Todd adjusts the desk set in his hands, similar to how Jeff used to show him how to throw a baseball, and he’d been all right at it, but he feels like he’d be ten times better at throwing a desk set. Neil, with a tone of something professional, announces, “The world’s first – unmanned, flying desk set.”
Todd presses his lips together, before, with an intake of a breath and all the strength he can muster, chucks the desk set twirling over the edge.
The papers go flying, and satisfaction shines in him as it lands with a clatter, supplies scattering, and Neil huffs a breath, a little bit disbelieving. Todd can’t find it in him to be sheepish about it, the little whoop he lets out when it hits the ground. Neil’s head tosses back in a laugh. “Oh, my.”
Todd can’t help the bubble of laughter in himself, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so light on his birthday. The tail-end of it ends in a sigh, something relieving, something like letting go. He breathes out.
“Well,” Neil says, both of them gazing down at the destroyed set of supplies, “I wouldn’t worry. You’ll get another one next year.”
Todd makes a noise, caught between a chuckle and a groan. It’s hard to want to go back to moping like this, when Neil’s taken the weight off his shoulders and handed it to him to throw over the bridge. He feels alive in the night.
When he looks at Neil, he’s still smiling, and Todd gets a sudden surge of sentimentality. He wonders if Neil knows how much it matters to Todd, him coming along like this, even if it had been a coincidence, even if it hadn’t been on purpose. He, still, has made it so much easier to breathe.
“Come on,” Neil says, and then he’s looking at Todd, eyes warm and lifted in a smile, “Hager’ll be after us if we don’t head back.”
He can’t know, Todd decides, as he nods and takes Neil’s lead back to their room, and Neil’s smile lingers on his face. He can’t know.
“Think Charlie will share some of his smuggled cookies when we tell him the news?” Neil asks, eyes bright. When he doesn’t answer, Neil looks over at him. Todd’s mouth is still fixed in a smile, and his face is warm. He shrugs.
That’s the tragedy of people like Neil, he thinks. Too kind to see it for themselves.
“Maybe,” he mumbles, and Neil nods, thoughtful as they walk.
“We’ll convince him,” he resolves, sounding set on it, like it matters a great deal to him, and his hand finds itself on Todd’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “There’s still a little left of the day, Todd!”
When Neil’s smile grows, just a little, it feels like the sun has made its appearance, after all.
Todd doesn’t look around to check.
III. December 18, 1959
It’s snowing.
Although, in all clarity, it’s been snowing since November, before Thanksgiving had even been on anyone’s mind. The grounds of Welton have been coated in layers of frosty white for a while, a contrast against the grayish tracks that run so rampant in town. The snow, here, is mostly untouched on the fields, other than the steps of students on the paths and under a few trees.
Todd, thankfully, has never cared for the cold wetness seeping into his coat and his shoes and his socks, leaning over the stone edge, pressing his hands into the icy touch of the bridge, the pillowy look of the trees below. It’s beautiful.
There’s no one around – not many, at least, one or two bypassers who spare him no glance, hurrying to get back into a place with heating and less snow, far enough that Todd can’t hear their crunching in the snow, and everyone is a speck against the wide painting of whites and light blues, where the sky matches the ground.
It’s quiet enough for Todd to hear the footsteps before he turns around.
“There you are!”
Neil’s voice is warm, and it only matches the snow in its quietness, and he says it like he’d been expecting Todd in some way. Todd blinks, pulling his sleeve back a little to check his watch. It’s just past three, and they don’t have study group tonight, for the sake of winter break beginning, and their last Society meeting won’t be until late into the night.
When Todd turns to him, Neil clarifies, as though it explains anything, “You weren’t in the library.”
Which – Todd does, in fact, spend some afternoons in the library, on the rare occasions that he has some free time and his brain doesn’t feel muddled and full of math equations and Latin conjugations, but there’s no reason for Neil to have looked for him in the first place.
He does not voice this aloud, however, in the fear of seeming rude, or ungrateful, even, and instead shrugs. He doesn’t have much to say.
That’s not completely true. He has so much, too much, enough for it to bleed out of his eyes and ears. It’s all blurring together, though, and he’s awfully tired. His mouth never works how he wants it, anyhow.
Neil seems to know what he’s thinking, anyway. “You come here quite often, you know.”
Todd looks back to the view before him, although it doesn’t compete with the sight of Neil’s pinkened cheeks, his tousled hair, run through by the wind. It’s not the first time Todd’s wished to be part of the winter breeze. “Where else is there to go?”
“Good point,” Neil replies, and, when a cold wind passes them by, he adds, “although, the library is so much warmer. Aren’t you cold?”
Todd shrugs. “Not really.” He can’t feel much of it, anyhow, and he can’t tell if it’s immunity or numbness. He decides not to linger on that.
Neil makes a considering noise. “I’ll have to start coming here first when I can’t find you.”
And – it’s odd, how his stomach twists at the idea of Neil looking for him, as though he matters when he isn’t out of sight. Neil is, Todd has learned after several weeks of friendship, relentless when he wants to be, and especially when he’s come to decide to completely and utterly imprint himself into Todd’s life, against his own insistence, against the fact that he can take care of himself just fine.
Neil is the sort to go looking for his friends, and, by proxy, Todd. Neil is the sort to go looking for Todd.
It’s a strange realization, being looked for. Being wanted around.
Neil asks, “When do you leave?”
“Sunday.” Winter break is barely a break at all, and Christmas is never something particularly enjoyable for him, with stuffy family gatherings, full of relatives that don’t know him and food that’s nothing memorable, and gifts of cash stuffed in holiday cards barely make up for it all. “How about you?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Neil sighs, and his breath comes out in wispy white. “Father’s got dinners with old Welton alumni lined up for me.” He forces out a teetering laugh. “Thinks it’ll somehow break me out of my phase of ‘recent rebellion’.”
He brings up a hand for quotation marks, and Todd gives a sympathetic grimace. Mr. Perry has never come across as someone likable to him, and this has only been furthered by the more exposure he’s gotten.
Neil’s recent rebellion, or, as most would put it, his long-lived interest in acting, has not gone down well with his father. It’s been received with backlash and a constant effort to shove Neil in the direction of medicine, and it’s only effective in the manner of resignation for awkward dinners with doctors and the constant determination of getting to Julliard.
Todd purses his lips together. “All week?”
Neil snorts. “Two weeks.”
Todd blinks. “Oh.”
There’s a sigh, before Neil leans forward, his head dipping into view, and Todd resists the urge to turn and look at him properly, to drink in the slope of his jaw, the casual charm of him that’s never quite captured in words. “It’s all right,” he decides. “I can get through two weeks. New Year’s will be here in no time.” Todd nods, and feels it when Neil looks at him. His gaze on him always feels so heavy, so undeniable. “Maybe I’ll even be able to call you.”
Todd scoffs. “If either of us finds the time.”
“Don’t be so hopeless,” Neil replies. “I’ll at least bid you a new year. Promise,” he adds, like it matters to him, and maybe that’s because, Todd is learning, it does. Neil is interesting in that aspect, how the small things that matter too much to Todd seem to mean something to Neil as well.
Todd only looks over to offer a wry grin, turning away before his pink face turns darker.
“Okay,” he says.
After a moment, Neil questions, “You’ll be at the meeting tonight?”
He already knows the answer, the implicated agreement, ever since the first time he’d grinned at Todd and said, You’re in. Still, even with the months after that, he makes a point to ask. Maybe it’s in the excuse that Todd wouldn’t be able to backtrack if he gives an explicit agreement, but Todd isn’t completely sure of his intentions. For how open Neil makes himself out to be, he is very rarely vulnerable.
He nods. “I’ve still got the gifts to give out. I – I wouldn’t be able to miss out even if I wanted.”
At this, Neil grins. “Gifts!” He exclaims, leaning over to drum his hands on Todd’s arm, and Todd lightly laughs. His excitement over these things is more youthful than childish. Todd’s envy over it has morphed into admiration. It’s an odd thing. “I can’t wait to give you yours, I spent forever on it.”
Todd’s face involuntarily warms. “Neil, you didn’t have to –”
“Of course, I did,” Neil waves off immediately, like it’s obvious, like he could never consider otherwise. His eyes are sweet when they look at him. “You’ll like it, I hope.”
Todd offers a small smile, quickly looking back to the trees, before he reveals himself too much. He himself had searched through several bookstores in town, until he had landed on a leather-bound book of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, sonnets included and all.
Now, he’s feeling a little questionable about it. The gift feels a little obvious, too plain, but, then again, most things pale in comparison to Neil. He resists the urge to wring his hands together. It’s too late, now, anyway.
A cold breeze passes by, and they both shiver. Neil huffs out a breath.
“We should go inside,” he mentions, and Todd gives a short nod, removing his hands from the stone side of the bridge. He winces as he curls his fingers in, trying to get the blood flowing in them once more, and it aches, imprints of the stone on his palms and fingertips.
Neil frowns, pulling out his own hands, which have been dutifully shoved in his coat pockets, and they’re warm when they curl over Todd’s own. It’s a gesture that comes easily to Neil, who pats and shakes and taps and throws an arm around Todd constantly, and Todd has never thought twice about it, but this feels different.
It feels more – purposeful, strangely, more careful when Neil’s fingers wrap themselves around Todd’s, and he says, “Jeez, Todd, you’re freezing.”
“It’s not so bad,” Todd mumbles, trying not to run away when Neil rubs at his hands, trying to transfer some of the heat into his. “I –”
Neil shakes his head, and places both hands into one of his to tuck the other one back into his pocket. “Maybe I should’ve bought you a pair of gloves instead,” he tuts, before pulling out a pair of his own. “Here.”
Todd blinks, watching as Neil begins placing the gloves onto his hands. “No, it’s – it’s all right, I’ve –”
“Don’t worry,” Neil dismisses, “I’ve got plenty of pairs. You can have these.”
The sudden strike of warmth in him is, decidedly, not because of the gloves being pulled over his hands. “You – you don’t have to.”
“I will,” Neil says, the uplift of his mouth, before, “I am! Here.” When both hands are now newly gloved, he doesn’t drop them as expected, and Todd is trying to figure out where to look, that isn’t either their joined hands or Neil’s face. “Something to remember me by,” he adds, as if Todd could ever forget him.
“Thanks,” he returns, even though it feels like it comes up short. Then again, so does most of him.
Neil’s still staring at Todd. When Todd risks a look at him, he’s still smiling, different from the usual, charming smile that graces him – it’s small, sweet, almost absent-minded, and Todd doesn’t know what to do with it.
Neil doesn’t drop his hands.
“Let’s go inside,” he says, and it sounds like the best idea either of them has ever had.
IV. February 8, 1960
It’s after almost a straight three hours of studying that Todd’s brain feels like it’s moments from imploding inside his very skull.
He only mumbles it loud enough for Meeks, who sits across from him, to chuckle, and Neil, who sits next to him, to smile, before offering, “A break would do you some good, I think.”
“A break,” Charlie, having overheard this, exclaims, taking the chance to lean back and away from the textbook in front of him as if it has personally offended him. “Great idea, Neil. Fifteen minute for all of us, and –”
“I don’t think it’s considered a break if you’ve been staring off into nothing for the past hour,” Cameron huffs, no ceasing in his jotting, and he barely glances up. Todd doesn’t know how he does it, rolling on an infinite amount of brainpower.
Charlie raises a hand against his chest, grasping at his shirt dramatically. “Cameron, I’ve got no idea what you mean. I could teach Homer backwards by now.” He sniffs. “Besides, how would you know? I didn’t think you’d notice anything around you, with your head stuffed so far up your –”
“I’m going to get some fresh air,” Todd says, closing his book. The numbers in front of him are beginning to look like incomprehensible squiggles, and, for how amusing Charlie and Cameron’s antics often are, he can feel the beginnings of a headache come on.
Neil looks up, watching Todd stand and grab his jacket from around his chair. “Mind if I join?”
It’s nothing unordinary, but it has Todd’s fingers fumbling anyway, when he grasps at his sleeves. “No,” he replies, and Neil is quick to brighten, flipping his notebook shut.
“All right,” he announces, “we’ll be back.”
The snow has yet to let up, but it’s nicer this time around, nothing like the blizzards that had wracked the entirety of January. It’s not actively flurrying, and Neil had refused to take back the gloves he’d given Todd, so Todd’s hands are perfectly fine. He keeps them in his pockets anyway, just in case Neil gets the urge to hold them again. His heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
Neil walks close to him, as he usually does, close enough for the sleeves of their coats to swish against each other, the tracks of their steps closely entwined, sometimes bumping to each other, and Neil doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest. He leads the way as they walk, and it’s nice. Todd lets his thoughts wander.
“I’m getting tired of all this snow,” Neil murmurs as they walk, looking down at the patted down path of gray in front of them.
Todd’s fingers curl into his sleeve. “We can go back inside.”
Neil is quick to shake his head, quick to reassure, as if trying to beat Todd’s own thoughts. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, “I’ve just always liked warmer weather better. I’d take summer over this any day.”
Todd scrunches his nose at the thought. “The sweating,” he points out. “The bugs.” He shakes his head. “No.”
“But the flowers,” Neil sighs, almost wistful, “the sunshine. The grass. It’s all better than,” he kicks a bit at the snow, which barely budges underneath the attack, packed stubbornly against the ground, “ this.”
“Maybe,” Todd replies. “It’s always worse in town.”
“Can you imagine winter in New York?” Neil questions, grimacing. It’s been his thing, recently, the aspiration of moving to New York, the goal of being an actor, a restless thing. He hasn’t stopped mentioning it, and it’d be irritating if it weren’t so genuine, if it wasn’t clear as the escape that it is, the light at the end of the tunnel. He’s relentless for the things he wants, loves, Todd is learning. “Snow and dirt – everywhere.”
They’ve begun heading in the same, familiar path that Todd’s traveled several times, and people become scarcer. “And you’re set on living there anyway?” Todd asks, eyebrows raised.
Neil turns to him, nodding. “Of course! That’s where all the actors and poets live, after all, and – Broadway.” He brings up his hands in a flourish, as if revealing it into the air. “There’s no choice, really.”
Todd shrugs. “Some poets live in the woods.” It’s only a moment later that the bridge comes into view, where Neil has been leading them this entire time. The expanse of white around them is mostly untouched, a blank canvas. “It sounds pretty nice. Quiet. I – I wouldn’t mind living there.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be getting many roles in the middle of the woods,” Neil says, like the idea of living apart from Todd hadn’t even crossed his mind, like he doesn’t care what he’s implying. “How about an apartment in a quieter part of the city?”
He’s been saying things like that, too, as if there’s been some unspoken decision that they’d both be surviving in the future together. Todd isn’t sure if they had some conversation about this that he was entirely mentally absent for, or if Neil’s decided it for the both of them.
Even so, it’s not an – unappealing idea. It just makes his stomach flip strangely, the thought that Neil wants to live together, wants to spend the foreseeable future together, enough so that he’s imagining living together with Todd, which is – not what Neil had been saying at all, but Todd’s thoughts have always run wild.
“I’ll go uptown to audition,” Neil’s planning, continuing without a reply, “and you go wherever you find inspiration. In coffee shops, I’ve heard, or maybe Central Park.” Todd bobs his head in a mute nod. “Then we come home and eat dinner together.”
He pauses, then, with a furrowing of his eyebrows, and, for a quick second, Todd wonders if Neil’s realized what he’s saying, what he’s suggesting, who he’s proposing this all to. Maybe he’d finally caught a glance of Todd without him noticing and figured out how uninteresting it would all be, how disappointing, living with someone like Todd, someone so unconventional, even though –
Even though it sounds wonderful. Even though some part of Todd is envisioning it as clear as day, in sharing an apartment, sharing mornings, sharing dinners, sharing a home, where Todd would write and Neil would come home from acting, and they’d be living together, far, far away from here.
Even though Todd wants it so, so very badly.
“Although,” Neil finally says, and Todd’s heart squeezes, “I don’t know how to cook.”
Todd blinks. Oh.
After a split-second pause, he remembers to answer, “Me, neither.”
Neil hums. When he looks over at Todd, his face is delightfully pink from the chill, and Todd could write a sonnet about it. He pushes that thought away to linger on later, in their empty, shared dorm, when Neil isn’t only a few inches away. Barely a few inches away, really, close enough for the cotton of their coats to be brushing together.
“I suppose we’ll have to learn,” Neil decides, instead of suggesting anything else, instead of offering the idea of finding other people who do know how to cook, instead of claiming that no, perhaps they couldn’t live together, after all. He proposes learning, as if the effort of it would be worth living together.
It’s a nice thought. It makes him feel – hopeful. Some part of him aches for it, even.
He’s been a little too quiet for too long when Neil turns to him again, awaiting an answer. “Does that sound good?” He asks, as though he really wants to know, as if he’s filing it all away for later.
Todd can’t find it in him to argue against it.
“Sounds good,” he says, a little quiet.
Neil beams.
V. March 29, 1960
Todd’s alone when he wakes up.
It’s a startling thing, because, as his watch and the clock on his desk would have it, it is currently just past two a.m., barely above pitch darkness in their shared room, and Neil’s bed, sheets and blankets strewn about, is empty of Neil himself.
He can’t help the concern that rises in him, and he, for a second, almost considers the idea of someone having stolen Neil away, whisking him off into the night and away from Todd for the rest of forever.
That is, of course, insane, and Todd is insane, and he rolls around in bed and faces the wall.
For all he knows, Neil could be off for a trip to the bathroom, or over at Charlie’s for one of their shared, incredibly late-night smokes, or anything else that people do at such an hour on a Tuesday, after an entire day of classes and assignments.
He tries to allay the worry in him, and closes his eyes.
He can hear his clock ticking. Christ.
Miraculously, he manages to resist from getting out of bed for the next ten minutes, and he counts backwards from one thousand to try and get back to sleep, but when he glances at the time and it’s nearing close to two-thirty and there is no sign of Neil, he resigns himself to his fate as he gets out of bed.
He grabs a sweater to pull over as well, the night chill hitting him at full force when he’s out of his bed, and it’s spring, sure, but not quite into the swell of it just yet. The floor is incriminating when it creaks underneath him, and it’s a mindful effort to open the door.
The usual dog that stands guard beside the staircase is more appeased than usual, and especially when Todd has no treats to throw at it, and it’s peculiar enough for him to know that Neil’s been this way. It is barely a hint, however, with the entire area of the school grounds to search, but it’s good enough when Todd slowly makes his way down the steps.
There aren't many places to go, and he spares a look at the dock, where they’ve frequented, and he checks the benches underneath the pathway of trees, and he wonders if Neil is really that good at camouflaging himself, before he catches sight of him.
He blinks once, twice, just to make sure Neil doesn’t disappear into thin air.
When it’s confirmed that the image of Neil sitting on the same bridge Todd frequents isn’t some odd hallucination, he makes his way over, even if some part of him is worried his arrival would be unwelcome. Neil’s done the same for him plenty of times. It should feel less terrifying than this.
Neil doesn’t raise his head from atop his knees, curled into himself, and, upon closer inspection, his eyes are shut. There’s no snow to alert him of Todd.
Todd tries not to fidget. “Neil?”
His voice comes out a little raspy from unuse, but it works anyway, and Neil’s eyes blink open, shining in the moonlight when they look up at him. They look a little surprised, and that makes sense, when it’s in the middle of the night, and – Todd wonders if he seems overly concerned, if it’s odd that he’d come out of their dorm to look for him.
“Todd,” Neil says, sounding surprised, sounding – pleased, almost, and the self-doubt falls away.
He doesn’t know how to make it sound less interrogative when he asks, “Why – what are you doing here?”
Neil shrugs. “You come here often, so I thought,” his eyes look away, “you know. I’d come here, too.”
And it shouldn’t be surprising, but Todd’s surprised, still, that Neil had noticed anything about him, as though Neil hasn’t been set on getting to know him since the day they met, as though he isn’t the best friend Todd’s ever had.
“Oh,” he says. “Are you – all right?”
“I don’t know,” Neil answers, and it sounds like the truth. “I’m just thinking.” He seems to be lost in his thoughts again, and Todd questions if he should leave, if it’s one of those things that goes unspoken for people like Neil, except Neil suddenly clicks out of it, and looks up to ask, “Will you sit?”
He pats the space next to him invitingly, and Todd doesn’t think twice about it as he takes a seat beside him, and, despite the shivery state of the spring night, Neil is still warm.
He isn’t sure if he should say something.
Neil seems to make the decision for him. “Todd?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you,” he begins, and he pauses, like he’s taking great care in choosing his next words, before he continues, “ever – feel like nothing you do will be what you’re supposed to be doing?”
Which is, Todd thinks, an appropriately spiral-inducing question for two in the morning, and he furrows his eyebrows as he ponders on it. “What do you mean?” He asks, and clears his throat when it comes out croaky.
Neil looks as though he’s had a lot of time to think about this. “Like there’s something else I should be doing, even if it isn’t what I – want to be doing.” His mouth is downturned, so different from the person he is in daylight. “But it’s not – it doesn’t matter what I want.”
He stares at Neil, his figure crouching close together. “Why wouldn’t it matter?”
Neil opens his mouth, before closing it. “Well,” he says, “there’s just some – things that are more important than that.”
Todd frowns. “Like what?”
“Being a doctor, for one,” Neil mutters. “Father says it’s what’s best for me, but – God, it doesn’t feel like it.”
And Todd thinks, trying to figure out how to say the jumbled-up bits in his head without sounding like a scratched record, until he slowly begins, “Should – shouldn’t you be the one to decide that?”
Neil scoffs. “You make it sound like it’s easy.”
It doesn’t sound very bitter. It comes out more resigned than anything. “I don’t know,” Todd replies, “it could be. Sometimes.” Neil gives him a doubtful look, and he bites his cheek, shrugging. “I mean, what should you be doing right now?”
“Sleeping, probably,” Neil mumbles, and Todd lets a slight sigh leave him, something like a laugh.
“Then, um,” he says, “what do you want to be doing?”
“Sitting here,” Neil answers immediately, “with you.”
With you, Todd replays in his head, and it echoes around, and it’ll be stuck clattering around in his mind forever, he thinks, and he tries not to swerve around and look at Neil in the eye, to try and figure out if there’s any bit of him that means it how Todd wants it.
He feigns coolness. It barely works. “Then we can sit,” he says, and Neil cracks a small smile.
“Bad idea,” he murmurs, although he unfurls himself, joining Todd in leaning back against the stone edge of the bridge. He lets out a sigh, something deflating. “I’m pretty sure McAllister has a pop quiz planned for us tomorrow.”
Todd, for once, can’t find it in him to panic about it. Not now, he thinks, with Neil next to him, looking so burdened in the night. “That’s fine,” he decides, and Neil raises an eyebrow. His gaze, as ever, is heavy, almost weighing him down, but it’s a nice feeling, especially so late at night. “Unless you want to go back?”
Neil’s mouth twitches, almost a smile, but not exactly, and his eyes are undeniably soft when they look at him. He tilts his head, just a little, and he gives a small shake of his head. “No,” he murmurs, “no, that’s not what I want.”
Todd doesn’t know why the moment feels so heavy, all of a sudden. He can’t tell if it’s in his imagination that it feels so – intimate, in the sake of his mind running blank of anything else. Intimate. Implicative.
It feels like biting a bullet when he quietly asks, “Then – what do you want?”
There’s a pause. They stare at each other.
Todd, for a brief moment, wonders if he’s been caught.
“Bad idea,” Neil repeats, hushed, and Todd can feel a blush rise in him, for some strange, unknown reason. He wants to turn away, but that, indiscernibly, feels more inculpative than anything else. Neil’s still looking at him when he starts, after a long lapse of quiet, “Is there – anything you want?”
Todd swallows, and Neil’s eyes flicker downward. “Um.”
The space between them feels unbearably slim, now, and it’s hard to think about anything else, other than how close their hands are, the subtle stutter of Neil’s fingers, before they brush against Todd’s hand. His heart leaps up to his throat.
When he looks up, Neil’s eyes are already on his face, seemingly gauging him in, and Todd feels stripped open, his face undeniably betraying himself. He feels near to choking on his own words, clogging up his throat. He fights the urge to clear his throat.
Neil’s eyes are wide, sincere, and he asks, “Nothing?”
Something, Todd wants to say, there’s something, just one thing.
His body can only hold so much embarrassment in it before he comes close to tearing himself apart. As a result, it is only never that he takes risks, rarely ever do the chances of something good compare to the rush of mortification that often takes over him. Todd is not a risk-taker.
He takes a shuddering breath, and looks down at their hands. Neil doesn’t move away, and that, he supposes, is only the reason he has the bravery to whisper, “Maybe.”
His hand is shaky and a little sweaty when they nudge against Neil’s, fingers against fingers, until they slot together against the cold stone floor, and it feels like suicide. His heart jumps over the bridge’s edge.
He risks a glance up, and Neil looks –
He looks gorgeous.
“Oh,” Neil breathes out, and Todd blushes down to the bone.
He wants to turn away, terrified his face is more revealing than he’s ever been okay with, but it’s involuntary, his eyes staying on Neil, watching him glance between meeting his eyes and looking elsewhere on his face, somewhere lower, and their hands, and he, inexplicably, leans closer. It takes everything in Todd to remember to breathe.
It’s surprising, and it’s only a miracle he doesn’t jump out of his skin when Neil’s hand, the one Todd isn’t zeroing in on, finds itself on the side of Todd’s neck, and it shouldn’t be, especially when Neil had been slow to the gesture, moving like he’s afraid of frightening Todd, because Neil – knows him.
Neil knows him, and Neil knows him, and for that, Todd knows it’s only for decency’s sake when Neil asks him, “Is this all right?”
Todd, despite himself, despite the thousands of words running through his mind, cannot find it in him to say a single thing. He nods.
Neil blinks, once, twice, and he is so warm, close like this, and he wets his lower lip, a nervous tick of his. It does just a little to soothe Todd’s own anxieties, which come rising back up when Neil says, “Is this – something you want?”
Todd closes his eyes, furiously flustered, almost close to overwhelmed by Neil’s words brushing against his lips. When he opens his eyes once more, Neil, somehow, someway, hasn’t recoiled away, as though the brief moment of Todd’s own humanity had been nothing uninteresting to him, and he is, most surprising of all, smiling.
Todd couldn’t speak even if he tried. He nods.
He nods, and then Neil is so much closer, and Todd can’t bring himself to panic too much, not when he’s envisioned it so many times, and then, with the slightest exhale, with the crawl of a spring breeze beside them – Neil is kissing him.
Just like the rest of him, his mouth is warm, insistent, as if trying to memorize the feel of Todd’s lips on his, and his palm is soft where it curls around his nape, and Todd leans into, and he leans into it, and he leans into him, and he kisses Neil.
He’s glad for the privacy of the night, although the kiss is irrefutably innocent; just the press of mouths, the slight rawness of chewed skin, but Todd’s body feels like it’s on fire. His body tilts into Neil’s. His heart splatters against the ground.
It’s only when they part that Todd realizes his hand clutching onto Neil’s like a lifeline, foregoing any semblance of dignity where he holds onto Neil’s fingers, as if it terrifies him to let go.
Neil doesn’t seem to mind, letting go, only to properly press their palms together. “We should go inside,” he mentions, barely above a whisper. His eyes are traitorous when they linger on Todd’s mouth. “It’s late.”
Todd is no risk-taker. He can’t handle much of anything. Neil makes him brave, and he quietly asks, “Do you want to?”
Neil’s smile is a flower in spring.
“No,” he says, soft, and he squeezes Todd’s hand. “No, not completely.”