Chapter Text
Neil Perry has always been called handsome, if it ever came to compliments. Those formal dinner parties where he donned a suit and tie, shaking hands politely with his hair slicked so far back it practically looked like he didn't have any - his father's friends were always fawning over “such a handsome young man you have.”
It didn't really strike anything in him, even when the other daughters at these parties would giggle and twirl their hair. He didn't care. He never did. But it was always that. Handsome.
“That boy Neil Perry?” He'd hear a blonde yapping to her sister, “Oh, he's so handsome…”
When his mother was fixing his askew tie, “You look so handsome, my dear.”
When Charlie would mock him at the formals, “Hey, look at this handsome hunk of meat.”
But, it was always different when Charlie did it. Or Meeks. Or Todd, Knox, Pitts. They rarely did, in fact. Only for a laugh, and it would make him laugh, the only real laugh he'd have at these damn things.
So, when the poets start to replace the word, Neil stumbles.
Quite literally.
He's carefully applying eyeliner, hands slightly shaky and careful not to get caught. He's only ever worn the damn stuff for plays, but he's always marvelled at how sharp it makes his eyes look, how crisp his glare becomes. So, sue him, he wanted to try it.
He bends forwards into the bathroom mirrors, as the rest of the boys are on their evening walk, and carefully lines the pencil around his outer eye—
The door slips open, and Neil reels back, pocketing the pencil that Ginny had given him hurriedly, frantically looking for a way out.
“Hey Neil.” Charlie. “You didn't fancy a walk?”
Neil stays facing the mirror, pretending to fiddle with his hair. “Yeah, I was about to leave, I just had to… fix my hair.”
Charlie hums his affirmation, strolling into one of the stalls and clicking the door shut. Now is his chance, he could run, maybe wash it off? But he doesn't want to, he… he can't, it's expensive, according to Ginny, and plus, a bit of a waste. So, he carefully slips out of the main section, ready to bolt—
“Cameron fell by the river.” Charlie’s voice echoes through the empty bathroom, and Neil curses silently. “Face first. Ha! Right into the mud. Nolan wasn't happy when we brought him back. Uniform covered in shit.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he laughs, exiting and coming into the main section to wash his hands, “And then we told him to shower here but he only really had to wash his face, so— Wait. Neil?”
Shit. Shitshitshit. He stays facing the mirror.
“You've been, uh, fiddling with your hair for a while there.” He walks up behind him, “Want any help?”
“Nope. I'm good.”
“Okay, whatever you… are your eyes okay?”
He looks up sharply, looking at Charlie's own eyes in the mirror. Fuck. His cover is blown.
Charlie blinks, then grabs Neil’s shoulder to see it face on. His eyes are practically looking into Neil, who blushes under his gaze.
“I-It was just a stupid idea, I know it’s— it's only what girls do, and, and I shouldn’t have done it, I-I was gonna wash it off—”
“Neil.” Charlie says, voice so sincere that it brings his panicked rambling to a screeching halt, and he looks back up at Charlie, slightly mortified.
“Don't wash it off. You look so… pretty.”
His breath catches, and a chill runs down his spine. There were so many thoughts running around in his head, shame making his heart beat about 100 times over, but now all that he can hear is just pretty, pretty, pretty over and over, and how sincere Charlie was.
“I-I— Y-You— Pretty?” His voice is far too high to be considered normal.
“Yeah, man,” Charlie laughs, “Really pretty.”
Neil is sure his face is bright red, and he can only stumble through half-finished utterances as any kind of thanks or simply a reply in general.
“You should show the others.” Charlie says, removing his hand and instead turning the tap on. Neil feels oddly cold. “They put you in that stuff for theatre?”
Neil relaxes. Theatre. Normal territory. He can work with this. He knows how to do this.
As Charlie leaves, Neil in tow, he says, “And plus, it doesn't matter what gender these things are for. I paint my nails on Sundays.”
From then, it’s like they’re all in on some form of a prank. They can’t seem to go a few days without dropping the p-word on him. The p-word being pretty, if you fell a bit behind, there.
Except there is no prank. It usually seems to be pretty genuine.
Their next formal, combined with their neighbouring schools that were recently introduced, he can’t really seem to hear the end of it.
When they were getting ready, Meeks had shuffled in next to Neil, fixing his hair in the mirror as Neil also did the same, and they idly got round to talking about poetry and chemistry, the insane amount of homework due for said class, and so on and so forth. It had been cut short, however, when Meeks had turned to leave, and announced over his shoulder, “You look really pretty tonight, by the way.”
With a boyish smile, and in all his radiant, bespectacled glory, he’d slipped away to join the others.
Neil stood, dumbfounded, blinking owlishly at the spot where Meeks had previously been. An odd, persistent flush creeped up his neck, which he rubbed hotly to try and soothe the burn that was all in his mind. Why were they all calling him pretty? Was it some sort of sick joke? Just to make him feel like an idiot, or maybe for them to laugh at him blushing profusely?
He shook his head, fixed his hair a final time (and splashed a decent amount of water in his face, just to try to soothe the blush there), and went out to join the others, trying to look as unaffected as possible.
From then, the night passed in a blur, one that was slightly hazed over by the pleasant burn of some whiskey that Charlie had acquired, and the evening closed with a… smile on Nolan’s face? That startled them so bad that they had to step outside for a breather.
Knox and Charlie were dancing to music that wasn’t playing, with Meeks and Pitts cheering them on as the four of them all laughed, heads thrown back. Cameron sat on the side, watching them fondly, eyes half closed, and Todd and Neil leant over one of the balconies, letting the cold wind gently whip against their faces.
Todd can’t seem to stop looking at Neil. His hair is windswept, cheeks kissed slightly pink with a twinge of slight tipsiness, eyes glistening with retreating laughter, the smoke of a cigarette carefully cradled by his pointer and middle finger curling against the night sky as it rises. But all he can do is look at Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil… It’s all Neil. His jawline, his small smile, his nose for god’s sake, everything about him just made Todd forget anything he could’ve ever known.
Todd writes and rewrites sonnets and poems in his head when Neil turns to meet his eye.
“You alright?”
“You’re so pretty.” Todd whispers, slightly unaware that he’d even said it until the words burn his tongue like ash.
Neil blinks, pupils blown, and a blush takes place of the previous alcohol twinge. Yet, that gorgeous moment only lasts a split second, because his brow furrows, smile dropping, replaced by his set jaw, and he turns quickly on his heel and stalks inside, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out.
The laughter of the others dies out when they see his tense form, and they look towards Todd, who’s currently struggling to breathe normally.
“...Uh. What?” Charlie asks, but Todd feels his entire body burning with adrenaline, and before he can answer, he’s sprinting after Neil, crying out his name uselessly.
There’s a million scenarios that play out while Todd is sprinting down empty hallways, skidding to a halt when he realises he’s not going the direction of their dorms, still slightly new to the general design of Wellton. Neil could scream at him, Neil could kick him out, Neil could… expose his darkest secrets, even though he hasn’t even told him the worst one, but by the way that Neil is reacting to this small thing, he’s sure that he’d… rip his head off, or something similar.
When he collapses through the door to their dorm, he’s not expecting to see Neil sat on his bed with his head in his hands, although he startles when the door smacks against the wall obnoxiously.
“...Neil.” Todd breathes.
“Don’t.”
“N-No– Neil, I–”
“I could take the others doing it, alright?!” Neil snaps, finally looking over at Todd, eyes red rimmed. “I could take them mocking me, calling me… but not you. I didn’t think you’d do it. Meeks, sure. Cameron? Maybe. But..”
Todd blinks uselessly, trying to piece together what Neil could possibly be saying.
“Is it funny? Does it make you laugh, seeing me blush and stammer, huh?” Neil says, chuckling humourlessly. “Is it really that much of a– a kick? Did it make you laugh when I put eyeliner on? Did it? Or when I’d– I dunno, style my hair differently, when everyone else called me pretty? Did it give you some kind of sick satisfaction in seeing me–”
“Neil, stop!”
The room falls silent. Neil seems to be choking back some half-formed sentence, and Todd distantly wonders if it’s what he’s always wanted to hear.
“Neil, I didn’t– we aren’t joking around. When we say you’re pretty. We all love you, and– and we want to let you know that you’re– you’re more than just… you. If– If we said handsome, then it’d just be like any other compliment. Charlie– he told us when he said it to you in the bathrooms, and… and we just wanted to– to make you feel… seen? I-It– It was my idea, I’m the one who– who wanted you to be told that you’re pretty, a million times a day, if I had to.”
“Todd–”
“Let me finish. Please.”
Neil’s mouth snaps shut. He nods. Todd has begun walking closer to him, and he doesn’t miss the way Neil backs up against the wall, nowhere left to run. Good.
“I wanted you to… to be told, because I knew I’d never be able to. B-But I'm sick of hiding.” He looks at Neil, properly, “I think… you're really pretty, Neil.”
Neil feels a breath rush out of him, shaky and so uncertain, and he tries to merge himself with the wall. Todd creeps in closer, and Neil distantly marvels at his assertiveness, so unlike him.
“Y-You— I…” He can't get anything out, it's all so… new. Todd has never been like this, and he almost jumps out of his skin when Todd's hand carefully shifts a lock of hair out of Neil’s forehead.
“You're so pretty.”
Neil's face is on fire. He can't explain how he feels when Todd calls him that, but it's… new. Something akin to fizzing settles in his shoulders, the air thins out, more than it ever did when Charlie said it.
Neil snaps out of his sedative state as Todd… leans in. Oh my god, oh my god, if he could, he'd scream like a little girl.
However, he falters. “C-Can I—”
“If you don't kiss me, or call me pretty again, I think I'll ask to change rooms and leave Wellton.”
Todd laughs at that, before moving his hand to Neil's cheek and kissing him softly, carefully, in some Typical Todd Fashion. Neil kisses back immediately, making a small noise into the kiss, bringing one hand to the small of his back to pull him in closer, and then they both settle on Todd's waist. The wall is sturdy against his back as Todd kisses him with more intent this time, only pulling away for air, and Neil’s knees are pretty much going weak.
Todd pulls away with a stuttered breath, before moving to Neil's neck, pressing feather-light kisses to the soft skin there. Neil hums, a noise building in his throat, but that’s nothing compared to what Todd does next.
As he kisses along Neil’s neck, he keeps calling him pretty. Between each kiss, each nip, each sensation, he whispers about how pretty he is, and Neil damn near faints; he lists each piece of Neil, each fragment, and adorns it with the title of pretty, and Neil doesn't think he's gonna last much longer in this blissful purgatory.
“You've got the prettiest eyes I've ever seen. And the prettiest smile. Prettiest hair. Prettiest laugh. Prettiest hands.”
“Todd.” Neil breathes, close to a whine.
“Want me to stop?”
“Never. Don't you dare.”
“Whatever you say,” he moves up to Neil’s ear, “My pretty boy.”
Neil balls his hands into Todd’s lapels, not even sparing a thought for the damn rental company Nolan shoved them into, and crashes their lips together, domination fumbling when Todd licks into his mouth and slips his thigh between Neil’s legs, swallowing the low moan he lets slip when his hips thrust forwards on their own accord. He moves his hands from Todd’s blazer to his hips, pulling him against Neil’s own leg, and he nearly melts when Todd moans shakily into his mouth, breaking the kiss to pant into the crook of his neck.
Todd is shaking slightly, hips beginning to move erratically, gasping out a litany of, “N-Neil– Neil, ah, Neil–” every so often, obviously trying not to be too loud, and Neil himself has to grit his teeth to bite off his own moans of pleasure. Having Todd like this, against him, the shocking, stern, dominant side of him slipping away with every thrust of his hips, is like something out of a dream, blurred at the edges, sickly sweet and sticky like honey.
“G-God–” Neil bites out, and it feels so good that it’s almost painful.
“Come on, pretty boy.” Todd whispers into his ear, voice shaking, and Neil lets his head loll back with a brittle moan, one that’s way too loud, but he’s becoming too far gone to care, shuddering as another wave of ecstasy coils in every inch of his body–
And then there’s a knock at their door.
Todd actually swears, deeply, muffling it into the skin of Neil’s neck, and he feels like an entire bucket of ice cold water has been dumped on him. He didn’t even notice Todd unbuttoning his suit and shirt until he pulls away, face flushed, and Neil feels the cool evening air against his bare chest.
“Wh–When did you–”
Todd smiles, and Neil almost tackles him again, then and there, but there’s another knock, followed by a tentative call of his name.
“Sorry! Be right there!” He fixes his suit as good as he can, tries to do the same for his hair, and makes himself look a bit more… ahem, decent.
He swings the door open, every sense so painfully aware, and the rest of the poets stand on the other side, eyes going wide at his state, and Todd behind him, busying himself by the radiator.
And he watches them piece together what conspired.
Knox is the first to reach his conclusion. His eyes skate down Neil’s body, land on his askew buttons, and the mark blossoming on his neck, and he looks to Todd, then back at Neil, mouth hung open. Pitts and Meeks - always the hivemind - do the exact same thing at the exact same time: they look at his neck, his hair, his kiss-swollen lips, Todd, and then at each other. Cameron just makes some sort of pained noise, too aware of what he walked into. Charlie, surprisingly, is the last to go, too busy gazing at Knox, he imagines. But Charlie takes him all in, tunes his wild gaze onto Todd, and then opens his mouth to scream. And he does.
“Did you two fuck?!”
“Nuwanda!”
“What? Oh come on, Knoxious, look at his face! And his neck– Jeez, Anderson, didn’t take you for a vampire!”
“W-We didn’t– do anything. Like that.” Todd admits from behind him, at the same time as Neil asks, “What are you guys here for? Everything alright?”
“We came to see how you were doing after you ran away earlier.” Knox says. “We were worried about you.”
“Clearly there was nothing to worry about.” Cameron mutters, and Charlie actually turns around and high-fives him.
Neil blinks. Okay, he’s definitely dreaming.
“Did that just happen?” Todd whispers to him. Neil shrugs.
“But if you’re alright, then we can… leave you to it.” Meeks says.
“I– Wh–!” Neil stammers, face flushing, “There’s nothing to leave us to!”
Charlie leans forwards, “Course, Perry, we’re only joking. We’ll go, it’s late.”
They all wave goodbye, but Charlie lags behind. And then leans in.
“See you tomorrow, pretty boy.”
Neil lets out an offended squawk, but what really surprises him is that Charlie screams himself and begins to run as Todd grabs Neil’s shoulder, carefully pushing him aside, and sprints down the hallway.
Neil watches him go, and softly admires the way he practically trips Charlie into his and Knox’s room, and he laughs as he hears, “Anderson, Anderson– I’m sorry! Forgive me! I’ll never come onto him ever again! Todd!”
When Todd returns, aglow with mirth, he grabs Neil, slams the door shut with his foot, and presses Neil against it, pushing their chests flush.
“Now,” he hums. “Where were we, hm?”
Let’s just say… the poets have plenty of blackmail for the next ten years after that night. When they go down to breakfast, Neil covered in bites and bruises, Charlie risks his life by moaning, “more, Todd, baby, moooore”, but Todd just throws a napkin at him.
“Hey! Abuse! I’m the one who called him pretty first!”
Todd hums. “You’re not wrong.”