Archive of Our Own

Mr Nolan had refused his father’s request for a transfer, and his father hadn’t argued. He never argued with the people he wanted to impress, and Mr Nolan was an important man.

Your son is an asset to this school, Mr Perry, he had heard when he pressed his ear against the office door. His grades will surely suffer if he were to transfer in the middle of the school year.

They had scheduled weekly visits and agreed on an even stricter regimen that was sure keep a closer eye on Neil this time; with no more clubs or Saturday visits to the nearby village—just the bare minimum to get him through his studies, so he wouldn’t have any time of his own to frivolously fill.

Mr Nolan had stayed for dinner, and Neil shook his hand dutifully at the end of it. Once he was gone, his father locked himself in his office and Neil helped his mother with the dishes.

His father had lied to Nolan. His father had lied to the doctors too, about a gun misfire mishap that the nurses frowned at him for. Neil had been discharged from the hospital a week into the Christmas holiday, and other than the scar on the side of his head carefully hidden behind his hair and the faraway look his mother got sometimes, the three of them acted like nothing ever happened.

They’ve taken away everything he’s ever had, and they kept acting like nothing ever happened.

Neil spent his days lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. He could barely will himself to get up. The headaches came often now, and his brain grew quiet only when he was lying down. He lied about the amount of work he’s got, but only when he was asked about it.

The days surrounding the play, the hospital and home blended together and separated into Before and After. He couldn’t remember much of the blurry Before, but the dull ache from the side of his head made sure he was well aware of the After.

Sometimes, only when the stars were out, he let himself wonder where they stored his crown—the twig crown with the shiny red beads. They must have burned it, or snapped it in half; buried it deep within the recesses of their minds, where he will never ever find it.

His friends hadn’t visited. Neil toyed with the idea of what his father might’ve told them; a visit to an imaginary aunt that lived out of state, or a long and arduous Trigonometry camp. Maybe he didn’t say anything and just hung up the phone in their face. Maybe nobody called anyway.

They wouldn’t talk about what happened, but it stayed on the tip of Neil’s tongue, in the back of his throat, and it pressed down hard. These thoughts still lingered on the edge of his consciousness every time he passed his father’s office, or cut up vegetables, or shaved.

He shouldn’t feel like this. He’d gotten his life back; he was going back to Welton soon, and theoretically, he could sneak out and find another way to pursue acting. But no matter how much he’d like to hold onto it, the want—the need—had died, and these horrible thoughts filled its place.

It was all too much—and out of the question. He knew that if his father so much as heard anything about it, if he so much as held a knife the wrong way, everything would be even worse than it already was.

So they wouldn’t talk about what happened, and nothing ever changed.

When it was finally time to say goodbye at the gates of Welton, everything was the same as it’d always been. His father reminded him that he was expected to focus on his studies and only his studies this semester, and to report back every week with his progress. He also reminded him that his teachers were ordered to keep a close eye on him, so he shouldn’t try any funny business. Neil stared at his shoes and nodded when he was supposed to.

His mother kissed his cheek, something she hadn’t done in a long, long time.

There were no tear-filled goodbyes. There were no promises of staying safe and calling if anything happens. Neil didn’t even watch as his parents got in the car and drove off; he simply picked up his bags and walked inside.

It was a couple of days after the start of term. He had been forced to stay home until his mother stopped fretting around him (until she was sure his hair was covering the scar well enough so that no one could see it). Students were already swarming the halls, enjoying the lousy comfort of Welton’s old heater system. Neil ignored the people who sent him looks, and he ignored those that didn’t bother. He gripped his bag tight, kept his eyes firmly on the ground, and pushed past all of them.

He entered his dorm and shut the door, leaning against it and closing his eyes.

The smell enveloped him immediately. Parchment, sweat and pungent cleaning supplies, and a heater that’s been left on for too long. It was not a pleasant smell, as it was a room worn down from years of housing teenage boys, but it was familiar and it was safe. Someone must have left the window open, because he could feel a cold wind brushing against his cheeks, and he must have been in too much of a hurry because he hadn’t even noticed it outside.

A wave of relief washed over him, and it was so sudden and so welcome that he almost dropped his bags where he stood.

His mind was finally quiet. Inexplicably, he was able to breathe.

When he opened his eyes, he found Todd staring at him, frozen on his bed with a notebook and a pencil hanging limply from his hands. ‘Hi,’ he said, almost breathlessly.

‘Hi.’ Neil grinned, actually grinned, because the relief he felt was plenty and warm and almost intoxicating.

Todd stared at him dumbly, like it was a mythical fairy that stepped through the door, or maybe Elvis, because that look should not be meant for Neil. ‘You’re… you’re back.’

‘Mmhm.’ He dropped the bags by the dresser and unwrapped his scarf. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but it is good to be back.’

Todd snapped out of his stupor, put his notebook beside him face down and slid to the edge of the bed. ‘Is it?’

‘Even Hellton is better than New Jersey.’ The lies dripped freely from his tongue, and it was so easy that he felt giddy just by telling them. All the lies his parents have drilled into him should he be questioned, that he himself had rehearsed as surely as he had rehearsed for his role in the play—as soon as he shed these lies off himself, maybe the space in his mind that they occupied would empty, and then it would be ready to be filled up with good things again.

‘Surely it’s not that bad,’ Todd offered.

‘Oh, you’ve clearly never been to New Jersey.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ He chuckled, but composed himself far too soon. ‘It is… good to have you back, too. We were worried,’ he added hesitantly, and there was something in his eyes. Something so strongly akin to concern, that reminded Neil so vividly of that night in his father’s office, that he had to look away.

‘So!’ He said loudly. ‘Did anything happen while I was gone?’

Todd, never one to miss an underlying message, followed his lead. ‘Not too much. Knox and Chris got together over Christmas.’

Christmas. ‘Does he still wax poetic about her?’

‘She thinks it’s endearing.’

Neil laughed. ‘Of course she does.’

Todd smiled. ‘I saved some notes for you, too,’ he added. ‘Everybody’s teaching with finals in mind now, so. Um. There’s a lot of them.’

Neil blinked in surprise at the sudden change of topic, but smiled softly. ‘Thanks,’ he said. Hanging his jacket on his chair, he turned again to Todd. ‘How was your break?’ He asked, because he needed to get the lies out of the way. He knew that if he got this conversation out of the way now, Todd wouldn’t have the nerve to question him about them later.

‘Oh.’ Todd’s eyebrows scrunched together. ‘I don’t… I don’t really remember anything,’ he muttered and looked away.

‘Yeah,’ Neil lied easily, ‘Me neither.’ Sinking into his bed, he sighed in content, and closed his eyes. Not too much happened, that’s what Todd said. Not too much has changed. That’s good, that’s wonderful. Neil still felt like his insides had been rewired, but if nothing changed here, it meant that maybe he could just slip back to how things were before. Before before; no more acting and no more unsupervised time by himself, but he could still have this—this strange version of a home.

‘Are you… coming tonight?’

Neil opened his eyes, and all at once the relief started slipping through his fingers, and his thoughts started gushing again. ‘Coming where?’ He asked, though he already knew the answer.

‘It’s Friday,’ Todd said. ‘They were going to cancel the meeting, but now you’re here…’

‘I can’t.’ Neil smiled apologetically. ‘My father roped Nolan into keeping a closer eye on me. Eyes at every corner, he says.’ He leaned back against the wall and tried his best to act like it didn’t bother him as much as it did.

Todd’s eyebrow twitched, like he understood something but was too afraid to point it out. ‘There usually are,’ he said instead.

Neil looked down, playing with his restless fingers. ‘It’s no use. I can’t come.’

‘Oh.’ Todd paused. ‘It’s okay. I understand.’

And Todd didn’t understand. He tried to, and Neil was grateful, but he didn’t know half of it. His busy mind must be thinking of the Neil from the morning of the 15th of December and then the Neil of the now, and he couldn’t figure out what changed—why it changed. Why someone so eager to defy his father in order to seize the day became a lump, easy to mould. Todd didn’t know about the healing scar, or the cold winter nights, or the resigned looks sent his way over the dinner table. How could he begin to understand something he didn’t even fully know?

‘You should go,’ Neil said instead of trying to explain.

Todd looked up in surprise. ‘I—I couldn’t.’ Then he stopped and stared at Neil for a beat, his eyes as big as saucers. ‘You… I should?’

‘Yeah, of course you should,’ he encouraged. ‘If they have a meeting, you belong there too.’

‘Yeah.’ Todd smiled back, and Neil’s heart ached just a little more. ‘Yeah, I’ll go.’

Neil offered him a twitch of a smile.

Time passed slowly after that. Todd picked up his notebook again, and Neil flipped through the notes Todd left him. The silence was easy enough, but the pit in Neil’s stomach refused to fill. When the sun finally set, Todd grabbed his coat and scarf but hesitated at the door.

‘Are you—are you sure you don’t want to come?’ He asked.

Neil put his glasses down and looked up. ‘Yeah, I’m sure,’ he said, even though he wasn’t really.

Todd lowered his hand from the handle. ‘I could stay with you. If you want.’

‘No!’ Neil straightened. Something about the easiness with which Todd offered twisted Neil’s gut, but he pushed it aside. He would have plenty of time to think about that later. ‘No, Todd. You should go. Have fun for me, okay?’

With his eyebrows scrunched together, Todd still seemed unsure, but he nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said, and then with a little more confidence, ‘okay.’ He reached for the door again. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Bye,’ Neil replied quietly with a smile that he had to force.

With one last look, the door shut behind Todd. Neil stared at it long after he was gone.

Eyes at every corner. As if sneaking out did him any good in the first place.

No. No, that was a horrible thing to think. Neil loved going to the meetings, back when he was able to. Why would he think that?

Eyes at every corner. How much will these eyes notice? He usually noticed when something as big would happen to his friends, when they started drawing back and snapping at people.

He wasn’t stupid—he knew he wasn’t acting like he used to. But surely nobody would be able to notice everything, not if he tried hard enough to hide it. Barely anything around him changed, so the old instincts were bound to kick in at some point.

But in places like the dorm, where those eyes couldn’t see, he could do whatever he wanted without the carefully constructed facade—just as long as no one saw him ever again. There, he had the opportunity to let those feelings in his chest run wild, to make his pain real, and nobody would be able to stop him.

Whatever he wanted.

So why didn’t he go when Todd offered?

He wanted to go. Of course he wanted to go. He was the reason they started those meetings in the first place, wasn’t he?

But his limbs were heavy and they kept him down. The thought of seeing his friends again—seeing anybody he ever knew, who ever knew him—clogged his throat and left him mute and breathless. He couldn’t do it. Not like this; not when he was barely able to keep himself together at the mention of something he used to love so much. He couldn’t do it. How was he ever able to do it?

He watched the door desperately, but his head was still heavy and his heart was still broken. This might be the most free he would ever feel again.

When he woke up the next morning, Neil didn’t know where he was.

Something is wrong, his mind told him.

What’s wrong? He asked.

It didn’t answer.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong?

It refused to answer.

The room was quiet and the wall in front of him was so similar to the one in his bedroom and even more similar to the one in the hospital. The sheets underneath his fingers felt thin and scratchy, like they felt when he made his bed at home. A dim light reflected on the wall in front of him, just like the one he had watched for hours in the hospital’s Instant Care.

He couldn’t breathe, and his limbs were shaking, and his stomach was churning, and his chest was burning but he couldn’t do anything about it because his body refused to move. His face felt wet, but he couldn’t remember crying.

The wall was white, but it was also the pale blue of the paediatric ward. It was perfectly smooth, but there was a dent where the bullet hit the wall, or maybe it was from that time when Charlie laughed and hit his head on the wall a little too hard. Grass was rustling somewhere behind him, through a window perhaps, but there were cars honking and speeding by with a quick whoosh and he was stories high. There was no sound at all, and the window was bolted shut.

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know if this bedroom was one he knew or somewhere he’d never been. Did everything he remember even happen in the first place? Did he come back to Welton at all?

No. He must have. He thought he remembered the drive there, but maybe not. His mind could be lying.

He needed to get to Welton. He couldn’t stand another day in this place.

Grasping desperately at the sheets, he turned onto his back and pushed himself up. When he saw his desk, his Welton desk, he froze.

‘Are you okay?’

Dazed, Neil’s head snapped to Todd, who was sitting up in his bed and watching him carefully. His hair was mussed and his eyes were still heavy with sleep.

Neil opened his mouth to speak, but found he had to clear his throat before he was able to answer. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just…’ he waved his hand around, unable to provide any sort of explanation. He couldn’t even find one for himself.

Todd didn’t look convinced. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ He asked, and the question reminded Neil so much of what he would ask when Todd panicked that the nausea almost overwhelmed him.

‘No.’ His voice was raspy and hard to use. ‘It’s okay. It’ll pass.’

Todd kept his eyes on him, but Neil couldn’t look at him anymore. He looked down at the damp sheets he clutched in his fists and uncurled his fingers one by one.

He’d never felt that sort of panic before. He was so full of feelings already; he didn’t even know there was room for any more.

The sheets rustled across the room. Neil paused and watched from the corner of his eyes as Todd slid to the edge of his bed. If he leaned over just a little bit more, he would be close enough to see the pounding scar on the side of Neil’s head. ‘I read something at the meeting last night,’ he started.

Because you weren’t there.

Neil quieted the tiny villainous voice in his head immediately, because he was happy for Todd. He was. Todd was growing and moving on, and that was a good thing.

But there was still a part of his heart that ached, because he looked at Todd and he was still stuck in the passenger seat of his father’s humming car.

He plastered a smile, as genuine as he could make it. ‘That’s amazing,’ he said, and he tried to believe it.

‘I could… read it again,’ Todd offered hesitantly.

Neil stared at him for a moment. ‘It’s late. Maybe some other time.’ He glanced at the watch he left on the desk (his Welton desk). It was nearly seven; everybody would be heading down to breakfast soon. ‘I’ll just… take a minute and then start getting ready. You should too.’

Todd hummed and looked away. Neil watched him fumble around the room for his uniform and didn’t move. He couldn’t see him, not really. His mind had filled with a fog that made everything else look very far away, even if he could feel it all just under his fingertips.

How could he have forgotten? He came back to Welton for the new term. He wasn’t going back home for another six months, and he hoped he wouldn’t be back at the hospital anytime soon. So why was he so certain that he was somewhere else?

His skin felt odd stretched across his limbs, and his body was sluggish and heavy, and he wanted nothing more than to curl under the covers and fall back asleep. He did it again—fooled himself into believing in something so clearly wrong, so much that it hurt him. How did he allow himself to do that again?

He blinked and Todd was standing by the open door, dressed and frowning. Neil smiled apologetically, half-heartedly, and pulled himself out of bed. He took out his uniform and dressed, his tingling hands buttoning his shirt and tying his tie automatically. When he looked up again, Todd was gone.

His stomach felt uneasy, so he skipped breakfast. He would have caught only the tail end of it anyway.

He saw Todd again in Latin, and the crease between his eyebrows when he looked at Neil didn’t disappear, but he didn’t say anything. Neil stared at the board and felt a headache growing behind his eyes.

It didn’t disappear in Biology, and it grew a little bit worse in Calculus. In English, he dropped the books on his desk and didn’t dare look up.

Charlie had been glaring holes through the back of his head the whole day. Where he would usually turn around and grin at him, he hunched his shoulders and stared at the peeling wood.

‘Good morning, boys,’ Mr Keating’s voice boomed through the room. His familiar, kind voice wasn’t welcome and wasn’t unwelcome as it blurred the edges of Neil’s world a little further.

In front of him, Cameron perked up in attention, but Mr Keating’s words flew above Neil’s head like empty sounds. He couldn’t remember a time when none of his teacher’s contagious words registered in his brain, yet here he was—staring at the enthusiastic Mr Keating and understanding nothing.

His eyes stung with his exhaustion and pain, and it seemed his mind was only able to focus on everything but Mr Keating. A finch passionately chirping outside, the back of Todd’s head, the scar under his hair that would not stop itching.

He wanted to understand. He wanted to listen. He’d been a straight A student for as long as he could remember, of course he was able to concentrate. He could excuse not being able to concentrate in History or Latin, but if there was ever anything he wanted to listen to, it was Mr Keating. But his mind betrayed him, like it kept doing so often lately.

Was this his punishment? Having the things he wanted dangled in front of him, just close enough to reach, with his own brain the one to push them all away? He couldn’t understand. What could he have possibly done that was so bad for this to be a fair punishment?

Maybe he wasn’t ready to go back. After two months, he seemed to have forgotten how to act around anyone that wasn’t his parents or hospital staff. He had spent so many days staring at a wall and zoning out, maybe he just wasn’t used to actually listening to anyone yet.

Maybe his father was right. Maybe everything he did, everything he didn’t manage to, all just led to this. He did this; it was his fault. How could he have known when he picked up the gun, wanting freedom and peace from it all, that it would end with him, the furthest away from peace, being tortured inside his own mind? Would he have tried it had he known?

Or maybe this was all he was meant to be. Maybe without all the walls he put up to hide, from the outside and from himself, this true version of him was all that remained. Maybe, a small voice in him whispered, nothing would have been different whether he had succeeded or not.

Mr Keating’s eyes landed on him, and it was clear from the gleam in his eyes that he wanted to say something, but his eyes only lingered for a moment before moving on to Pitts who was sitting behind him. Neil curled around himself a little tighter. He felt the sting of tears pushing desperately against his eyes, but he wasn’t sure why.

As soon as the bell rang, Neil gathered his things as quickly as he could. He ignored Mr Keating waiting at the head of the classroom and fled to his dorm, slamming the door behind him.

‘Playing martyr now, Perry?’

Neil jumped and dropped his pencil. He started sorting through his books instead, if only to give his hands something to do. ‘Go away, Charlie.’

‘That’s not my name,’ Charlie chastised teasingly and collapsed onto his bed, digging into his blazer pocket for his cigarettes. ‘Besides, I haven’t seen your pretty face for so long, missed you here.’

Something turned in Neil’s stomach, and he forced himself to turn back to his desk and focus on the tiny black letters of his Chemistry textbook. ‘I’m sure you’ve had plenty of fun without me,’ he said evenly.

‘Well, yeah,’ Charlie replied easily. ‘But it would have been even more fun.’

Knowing it was best to engage so Charlie would go away quicker, Neil rubbed his tired eyes and sighed. ‘What do you want?’

‘When have I have ever wanted anything?’ Charlie stuck a cigarette between his teeth and put a hand over his heart, offended. ‘Me, your good pal, your best friend, your oh most humble and handsome buddy.’

Neil pulled a face. ‘Humble is… certainly one way to describe you.’

‘You know, as your greatest chum, that really hurts my feelings,’ Charlie said, though he didn’t sound hurt at all.

They fell into a comfortable silence. Charlie lit his cigarette and puffed on it, making sure as much of the smoke as possible would fly out the open window. Neil tried to focus on Chemistry again, but it didn’t work the first time and it definitely wasn’t working the second time. ‘You came here for a reason,’ he tried.

‘Not really.’

Finally admitting defeat, Neil groaned and scraped his chair back to join him. ‘Might as well,’ he grumbled. ‘I can’t focus.’

‘Just leave it then,’ Charlie said, leaning forward to offer him the cigarette.

Neil accepted it and inhaled. The smoke licked at his trachea pleasantly, reminding him that his mind would be able to relax soon. ‘I can’t just leave it,’ he said through a mouthful of smoke. ‘It has to get done. Not much of a choice.’

Charlie hummed and watched the ceiling thoughtfully. Neil figured that no matter what he did, Charlie just wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon so he let him be, if only to be left out of his friend’s obscene mind and whatever new scheme it was conjuring. But that also meant he was left with his own mind, and he had reason enough to believe it absolutely hated him.

He hadn’t been this close to Charlie in weeks, his mind reminded him, and yet he felt like a completely different person.

He’s always somewhat felt this way, always had these thoughts lingering on the back of his mind—who doesn’t?—but something about admitting to them, turning into putty in their hands… he couldn’t do it; he couldn’t face Charlie and talk to him like he didn’t do what he did. He sighed again, frustrated; he couldn’t get his body to relax like it used to, even with the nicotine pumping through his system. He was on edge, and he didn’t know what to do about that anymore.

The cigarette in his hand was burning, and an electrifying feeling shot through his body, raising goose pimples and settling in his chest like a crackling fire. Something in his mind clicked; That’s it. Maybe something a little dangerous, a little daring, might be able to restart his heart and shift him back to how he was supposed to feel—how he was supposed to be. It was an idea just crazy enough to work. It had worked before with the play, why couldn’t it work now?

He watched the cigarette in amazement, let it dangle close enough to his flesh that he can feel the heat coming from its flame. Close enough that if he made one slight move, his hand would be scorched. The nerves on his palm would shoot up to his brain and then his brain would be so occupied, nothing would bother him anymore. His pain would be real, and then it would go away, and it would never bother him anymore. He’d get to be how he was before.

It wasn’t something he would do all the time. He didn’t even know if it’ll work at all. And he wouldn’t be able to even if it did; Charlie kept the packet close, and as happy as Charlie would be to skive off and smoke with him for an hour or two, there were eyes everywhere now, and Neil was so tired.

But. He just needed to check if it worked first. Just once. He could worry about the details later.

Refusing to hesitate any longer, he pressed the tip of the cigarette with force against his right palm. His instincts took over before he could have processed anything though, forcing him to drop the cigarette. Charlie’s eyes snapped to him at the movement, his lips already open in question, but he stopped in his tracks.

Pain and a heat, so hot it turned cold, spread in waves radiating from the welt. The pain throbbed up his arms and throughout his body with the quick pumping of his heart, up to his brain where it pushed everything else away. His mind was left hollow.

He looked up at Charlie, and guilt washed over him at the look in his friend’s eyes, and it filled the emptiness far too soon. An accident, he wanted to say, but the glaring red wound was perfectly round, and Charlie was just too stubborn to listen to excuses.

Before he could have thought of anything else, Charlie stomped the cigarette out, grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the bathroom across the hall. He shoved Neil’s palm under the sink and turned the water on cold. Neil flinched as it irritated the burn, but Charlie only tightened his grip.

An underclassmen stared at them from where he was washing his hands, but Charlie was focused, more focused than Neil had ever seen him before. Neil smiled apologetically at the boy, ever so slightly, and he nodded and left the bathroom without drying his hands. Neil was sure he would hear some nice rumours soon enough.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the bathroom, and Neil expected Charlie to say something, but his jaw just barely twitched. Enough time passed that Neil resigned to the possibility that Charlie just wouldn’t say anything, like he usually did when it came to the big important stuff. And his father made it clear: this was some of The Biggest, Most Important Stuff.

When Charlie finally let his hand go, Neil grabbed it and held it close to his chest. He kept watching him warily, but Charlie didn’t even look up, just leaned against the sinks and glared at the wall opposite. ‘How are you?’ He asked finally.

Neil blinked. Charlie hadn’t. ‘Fine,’ Neil answered slowly, and it echoed back at him. For no real reason at all, it made him want to cry.

‘Fine.’ Charlie nodded once. ‘Fine’s good.’

‘Yeah.’ Neil shifted in place and let his hand drop. The pulsing pain had become negligible in his mind anyway. ‘Yeah, fine’s good.’

‘Only you vanished for nearly a month without a word, but. As long as you’re fine.’

Neil held his breath. When Charlie’s eyes snapped up to look at him, they were cold. So very cold. He hasn’t seen Charlie cold before—not when it was directed at him.

‘Where have you been, Neil?’

Neil looked away, but he could still feel the weight of Charlie’s eyes on him. ‘Just. Studying.’

Charlie hummed. ‘But you were late to the beginning of term.’

‘Oh, at—at the beginning of term?’ Neil closed his eyes, trying to remember the countless lies his mother had suggested for this exact situation. They had come so easily to him before, but now his mind was too busy with that useless surge of pain. ‘We stayed at my aunt’s in New Jersey for a bit at the end of the break. Snow, you know, couldn’t get back in time.’

‘And you just forgot about that?’

Neil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Yeah. I forget about things sometimes. Look, Charlie, what is it with this interrogation thing?’

Charlie’s eyes finally left him as he settled more comfortably against the sinks. ‘We haven’t talked properly since the break. Just wanted to make sure nothing happened after that whole fiasco with the play.’ Neil’s heart skipped a beat. ‘But you say you’re fine so, you know, nothing to worry about.’

Neil glanced at Charlie, and his expression was neutral and relaxed, but his own chest still refused to ease. ‘Right.’

‘Right,’ Charlie said simply, and then—‘Except you didn’t show up to the meeting last night.’

‘I was a little under the weather, that’s all. I’m feeling better now.’

Charlie’s eyes turned back to him. ‘So you’re coming next week?’

‘Uh, no,’ Neil mumbled. ‘No, I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just… can’t do that sort of thing anymore.’

‘But you said nothing happened.’ Charlie started nodding again, like he had some secret piece of information that he refused to share with him, and something inside Neil snapped.

‘Why are you being so insistent about this? I told you, nothing happened!’

Charlie pushed himself off the counter. ‘I’m so insistent because I’m so worried. You don’t turn in on yourself like that unless something happens!’

Neil turned to look at him, incredulous. There was anger overflowing through his teeth and loosening his tongue, and he didn’t try to stop it. ‘Yeah, well, apparently I do, because nothing happened!’

‘You’ve been hiding in your room since you got here. There are kids coming to me because you haven’t offered to tutor them since you disappeared. You’re worse than you were at the beginning of Freshman year!’ Charlie pointed a finger at his chest. ‘So you’re going to have to do better than “nothing happened”.’

‘There isn’t anything better than “nothing happened” because nothing did!’ Neil threw his hands up, even though he knew his voice was rising far too much to be contained inside the thin bathroom walls. ‘You are so… you’re so fucking stubborn! I told you, we were visiting an aunt in New Jersey. God, Charlie, You’re acting like I tried to shoot myself or something!’

‘Well, did you?’ Charlie snapped, and Neil’s head started ringing.

He bit down on his lip to keep himself from revealing anything further. Part of him didn’t even know why. He needed to talk—he’s needed someone to talk to for a very long time—and this was Charlie. If there was anyone he could tell about this, it was Charlie.

But there was also something in the back of his mind that refused to let it go, insisting that this was his own grief to bear, and his to bear alone. Insisted that what happened happened, and won’t again. Insisted the rotten thoughts lingering on the periphery of his mind weren’t there, and even if they were they shouldn’t be acknowledged. He thought that something wore his father’s face.

His mind didn’t feel so numb anymore, but what replaced it was ugly and wicked and confusing, and it was determined to spill the worst parts of him out, just so he wouldn’t have to tell the truth.

It took him too long to answer. Charlie’s eyes grew wide as the realisation dawned on him. In all their years of friendship, he had never seen Charlie’s eyes this wide before. ‘Did you?’ He asked again, his voice quiet.

Neil looked away, glared at a crack on the wall opposite. Charlie’s eyes burnt the side of his face, and he wanted to scratch it raw.

‘Neil,’ he said slowly and tried to step closer. Neil flinched away and started backing towards the door. ‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing.’ He very carefully looked at anywhere that wasn’t Charlie’s eyes, which became more and more difficult as he started closing in. ‘I did nothing, nothing happened. Just drop it.’

‘I can’t just drop it!’ Charlie laughed, and his voice sounded almost as desperate as Neil felt. ‘That… that isn’t something you just do in the heat of the moment!’ He took a deep breath. ‘Do you… have you planned on doing it for long?’

Neil stared at him incredulously. He knew Charlie was stubborn, but he just couldn’t stand it at that moment. ‘Jesus, Charlie. If I did, I wouldn’t talk with you about it.’

Charlie’s face dropped, but he quickly regained control over it. ‘Would you have talked with anyone about it?’

Neil didn’t answer, and Charlie hummed like he’s won the argument.

Neil desperately wanted to scream. To take back everything he had said to Charlie, or pressing the cigarette against his palm, or even as far back as the first memory he could conjure. To tear his chest open and let his organs spill, so he wouldn’t have to say anything anymore.

But he couldn’t do anything but let those feelings fester, build themselves a nest in the back of his throat and maybe one day, they would finally choke him dry.

But that day seemed so far out of reach now. He had the teachers’ eyes on him—now Charlie’s angry accusations. He just wanted to get away from it all.

‘Well, if that’s it then,’ Neil muttered when he finally reached the handle and rushed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Unfortunately, Charlie followed.

‘That’s it? That’s it?’ His voice was loud, and other boys’ looks across the hallway made Neil shrink in on himself. ‘Oh, that’s not even close to everything I have to say to you.’ Charlie shut the door to Neil’s dorm behind him as Neil collapsed on his bed, his head in his hands.

‘I’ve said all I had to say to you, so yes. That’s it.’

Neil heard a rustling of the sheets beside him, and looked up to see Charlie stuffing the cigarette box deep into his pocket. He’s forgotten it was even there. ‘I haven’t,’ Charlie said, his tone clipped.

Neil watched him, clenching and unclenching his jaw. If Charlie wanted to argue himself into a corner, that was fine by him; but he will do it by himself. Neil couldn’t say anything more, or else he might reveal something he shouldn’t. Again.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie straightened. ‘You know, the day after the play was quite the day for us,’ he started, his voice strangely casual. It was hard for Neil to think of that day as anything other than just another one of the days he’d lost in the hospital; actually, he wasn’t even sure he was awake for it at all. ‘Todd came up to me the morning after the play, asking me if I had heard anything from you. I told him I hadn’t, and he had this look—you know how he gets, eyes all huge and watery like you just kicked his puppy down three flights of stairs.’ He chuckled, but his voice was hollow. ‘The day drags on, and all throughout it I keep catching him staring at places you were supposed to be, all with that same look, like he already knew something terrible’s happened. Really put some nice images in my brain, too. So I try to call your house, but guess what? The phone was disconnected.’

He hadn’t guessed that one. Charlie had tried calling but the phone was disconnected. Knowing that now made his heart twist in his chest.

‘I convince myself it’s fine, because I know Mr Perry likes his groundings, and probably recognised the Welton number.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘No one wanted to touch the cake we snuck in for you, for your performance, and it was from Whitmore’s, you know? Nobody dared to even look at it.

‘Captain seemed to know something but he refused to tell us, saying some ominous bull about you needing some time off. I leave it for a while, but there’s still no word from you.’ He turned his eyes to look at him. ‘As soon as we were out on break, I tried again. Phone never picked up. I tried to knock on your door, and the curtains were swiped shut.

‘I thought…’ Charlie shook his head and pressed his palms against his eyes tightly. ‘I thought you were going to be fine. That you were having one of your moods, and I’ll just need to be there for you when you came back. I saw how your father acted, and I saw that look in your eyes when you left the theatre, and I didn’t do anything more to try and stop him because I thought you were going to be fine.’ He chuckled and lowered his hands, but wouldn’t look at Neil.

‘When I come back after the break, actually looking forward to it for once because Welton might mean seeing you again, but no. Not a word. Nowhere to be seen. When you do decide to show up, it’s a week into the term, and you’re a sorry excuse for yourself. You—refuse to tell anyone anything! You push everyone away!’

Charlie’s voice had kept rising as he talked, but now it lowered to a whisper, though it wasn’t any less drenched in anger. ‘So I’m sorry for being worried about you. I’m sorry for wanting to help you. But I do. So you can either start opening up, or at the very least stop pretending nothing happened and that everything’s back to the way it was, because it so clearly isn’t.’

Neil watched as Charlie breathed heavily, like his words had wrung him dry. He felt guilty about Charlie feeling so strongly about this, but Charlie always felt strongly about things. And that’s good, he should feel strongly about things, but just this once—Neil needed him to not feel strongly about this one thing. He needed to have this one thing, and for it to be just his. Not Charlie’s, not his father’s, just his. He didn’t have many things that were his own.

Charlie looked at him, and the fire behind his eyes only intensified when he understood Neil didn’t intend to reply. ‘You’re still—You still want to act like everything’s fine?’ He seethed. ‘My best friend wants to die, and I’m the one who’s overreacting?!’

‘I don’t—‘ Neil groaned in frustration. ‘It wasn’t like that. I don’t want to die.’

‘Really, Neil? What else would you put a gun against your head for?’

‘I don’t know!’ He snapped. One look at Charlie’s wide eyes and pressed lip and his heart gave another jerk. He dropped his head in his hands instead. ‘I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.’

Silence filled the room again, and it was painful and nauseating. He could still see Charlie from the corner of his eye, frozen in place. He needed to say something before Charlie could comment on his outburst.

‘This is not going to work,’ he said, leaning back. ‘I’m not going to talk, and you’re not going to budge, so unless you plan on sitting here forever, you need to just give up!’ The last words caught in his throat. He looked up at Charlie, who was just strangely watching him, yet to even move. Pleading quietly, he added, ‘I need you to give up.’

Charlie continued staring for a while, but eventually his gaze fixed on a spot on the far wall instead. ‘Maybe you should talk to someone else about this,’ he said, and from his eyes Neil could tell just how hard it was for him to say that at all. ‘Someone who can actually do something.’

Neil sighed. ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

‘Neil.’

‘There isn’t anything to talk about, Charlie!’ He snapped. ‘What do you want me to say? That my father wanted to trap me in some military school? That I couldn’t even—that I couldn’t even tell him why I was doing what I was doing, because he’s my father and I can’t even speak when he’s in my face? That the only way I had to make my life mine was to end it?’ He squeezed his eyes tightly. ‘You want me to push all my problems onto someone else? I can handle this just fine on my own.’

‘Hiding in your room is not handling it.’ Charlie tried to catch his eye again, but Neil couldn’t look at him. ‘What about Mr Keating? Mr Keating must know a way to help you.’

‘I can’t be helped when there’s nothing to help with.’

‘You seriously don’t think this is a problem?’

Neil leaned back against the wall and exhaled. He opened his eyes and stared at a mouldy spot on the wall for a while. ‘Look, this was a one time thing. I’m not going to so it again, okay?’ He said and added what he told himself often, ‘It happened, but it’s over now.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Neil stopped. He’d known Charlie for six years, and he never had to doubt he’d be on his side before. The words had cut deeper than he thought was possible, and he had to swallow twice before he could speak. ‘It’s the truth.’

Charlie was left unusually quiet. He didn’t take it back, Neil’s brain supplied unhelpfully. His silence filled the room and it was stifling and uncomfortable, in a new sort of way that made Neil’s skin itch. He kept his hands firmly by his side.

‘Go away, Charlie,’ he said instead.

‘Not until I’m sure you’re not going to do anything stupid.’

Neil chuckled, but there was no humour in it. ‘You’re going to be here for a long time, then.’

‘Works for me.’ Charlie leaned back against the wall, hands crossed over his chest. His hands must be itching for a cigarette, Neil thought, but he wouldn’t take any out.

He sighed heavily and pushed himself off the bed to try and focus on his Chemistry workload again. He kept his mouth firmly shut and refused to look at Charlie, who was uncharacteristically content to just sit and watch him. Instead of Chemistry however, all he could concentrate on was the movement of the pencil in his hand, ensuring nothing he did would have Charlie jump and grab his wrist again. They stayed like that for a long time.

Todd came in late, and stopped at the door. He murmured apologies, quickly grabbed his pyjamas and slipped away to get ready for bed. Charlie left even later, and only when Hager threatened to notify his parents (taking off demerits wasn’t effective enough).

‘Is everything okay?’ Todd asked after the lights were out.

‘Mmhm,’ Neil answered.

‘It’s just, you both looked pretty angry, and the not talking thing, that’s—that’s not like either of you—‘

‘Everything’s fine,’ Neil said more loudly, which stopped Todd’s rambling. He flipped to lie on his side and stared at the wall until morning.

He found a copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream under a pile of books on Todd’s desk one afternoon.

He didn’t mean to find it—he didn’t want to find it. But the title caught his eye, and once it did his hand reached out to pick it up as if on reflex, without ever consulting his protesting brain.

The book was thin and light under his fingertips, with an illustration of Bottom on the cover that mocked him. Looking at it, he didn’t feel anything. The magic was gone.

When had he stopped caring about the things that he loved? He couldn’t explain why he felt so full of emotions, so many that he was desperately trying to avoid the edge of a breakdown, yet at the same time they all came together to form… nothing. He felt nothing. And with Charlie’s eyes on him everywhere he went now, he didn’t dare trying to find another big solution for it.

He liked the way stretching the skin of his palm stung, at least for the first few days. It healed itself far too quickly, and Neil missed that feeling every time he tightened his fingers around a pencil or ran his hand under water. He started scratching the skin on his arms instead; it didn’t give that same rush, but it was all he had. The burning sensation afterwards at least gave him something to focus on instead of that nasty scar on the side of his head.

His father called every Sunday afternoon, at 5.00PM sharp. It happened enough times that Neil learned he should wait in the hallway ten minutes early, lest his father berated him for that too. He had enough to berate him about as it was.

He used to call Before, too. He asked the same questions he used to. How are your studies getting along? Did you get any test results back? He asked them the same way, and the syllables sounded the same, but they didn’t string together quite right. There was an air of silence in the room around him, and Neil knew he was sitting in his office. He wondered if his father thought about the office the same way he does. He wondered if he ever thought about the gun in the antique wooden desk, second drawer on the right, and he wondered if his father got rid of the gun at all.

Sometimes he would hand the phone to his mother. They all pretended it was nothing new. Her voice kept shaking when she asked how he was holding up, and Neil kept telling her he’s fine, even if he couldn’t even remember what fine felt like. It was enough to hear her exhale through the receiver, and he could almost see her smile when she said, that’s wonderful. It had to be enough for him.

He had caught Charlie warning their friends about him, one afternoon when he had been a couple minutes late to lunch. Charlie himself still wasn’t talking to him properly, but he had asked them to keep a closer eye on him for a bit and wouldn’t elaborate why.

And they did. A not-so-discreet glance, an innocent offer of going for a walk after class. None of them were as subtle as they’d like to believe.

He started keeping his answers short when they expected them, and soon that turned into mostly just nodding and shaking his head. All his words feel bitter in his mouth. Because that’s what did it, wasn’t it? All the words he had practiced for the stage, and all the words he couldn’t say to his father.

He spent the afternoons with Todd in their dorm, because it was the only encounter he couldn’t avoid. They sat there and did their homework, and Neil didn’t have anything to say, so he didn’t say anything. He knew of the glances Todd sent him, and of the times Todd was late to clubs or didn’t bother showing up to them at all, just to stay by his side. The new silence irritated his skin, and the stinging cuts left by his fingernails were beginning to lose their edge.

A part of him knew his friends meant well, that they were just trying to look out for him. But pathetically, with their eyes watching him so closely now and with how they so carefully manoeuvred around him, he felt even more trapped than before.

He wasn’t sure which approach he preferred; his parents, who pretended nothing ever happened, or his friends, who pretended the whole world turned upside down in a night. He wanted his pain to be noticed, sure, but not so much so that people treated him like a broken puppet, suffocating him with his guilt. Maybe he didn’t prefer either approach. Maybe he preferred nobody paid enough attention to him to bother pretending at all.

He took the book and stuffed it under his pillow. He didn’t know why he did that, and he tried very hard not to think about it at all.

Neil looked up from his work to see Todd standing above him, fidgeting and waiting, although he could swear Todd was on his bed hunched over his own work just a second ago. He blinked, just to be sure, but Todd didn’t move again. ‘Did you say something?’

The wrinkle between Todd’s brows suggested he’d been saying something for quite some time already. ‘I need to return a po—a couple of books to the library.’

When he didn’t continue after a moment too long, Neil frowned. ‘Okay.’

Todd shifted, clutching a pile of books closer to his chest. ‘Do you… I was hoping… I was hoping you’d like to come with,’ he said quickly, all his words leaving him with one breath. ‘It would be nice to take a break for a little bit.’

Neil’s eyes burned suddenly with the unexpected intensity of unshed tears. He looked back down at his Latin, and the tiny letters blurred. ‘I really have to finish this.’

Todd was silent for a moment too long. ‘You can’t… you can’t finish it later?’

‘No,’ he snapped, but caught himself quickly. Hating himself a little more with every passing second, he added quietly, ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’

Todd looked at him, lips pursed and eyes big and full. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. He must’ve gotten used to the way Neil’s been acting by now. He wished it wasn’t something Todd had to get used to.

‘It’s not okay.’ Neil shook his head, desperately trying to make him understand. ‘How can you say that? It’s not okay. It’s not.’

Todd opened his mouth but closed it, nodding instead.

Neil’s anger flared at his silence, bright and sudden, though he couldn’t understand why. ‘Stop that. Stop just letting things slide,’ he sneered. ‘You need to get mad. You should get mad. I’ve treated you like shit and you still stay. The least you could do is get angry.’

Todd’s eyes grew impossibly bigger. ‘Neil—’

‘You shouldn’t just stand there and take it. That’s the worst thing a person could do, you know? Just stand there and take it. I’ve treated you like shit, so you should treat me like shit right back.’

‘Neil.’

‘I need—‘ he blinked again, and focused on Todd. Counted his breaths as they filled his chest and counted them as they left. ‘I have to finish this,’ he mumbled. ‘Please.’

Todd looked at him, his eyes blown wide, and with a sudden jolt Neil realised he looked scared—just as scared as he was at the beginning of the school year. What’s the point of all the progress Todd has made (on his own, when he wasn’t there), if Neil just ruined it all for him? If he acted the worst way he possibly could, just so Todd wouldn’t be able to get better?

Was that it? Was that the selfish, wicked part of him that insisted that if he doesn’t get to be better, Todd shouldn’t get to be better either?

What a disgusting thing to think. What a disgusting thing to be. Was this who he was, deep down inside, when he didn’t filter out everything that came out of him? A villain—a wolf parading around in bloody sheep’s clothing?

He wanted to scratch his arms until they bled. He wanted to pick the scar on the side of his head until he reached the brain; until he caused enough damage that he won’t have to feel like this anymore. However he was feeling, he just didn’t want to feel like he was.

His body felt like a cell, and it was too big for him. It was not his, and none of its decisions were made by him. The need to rebel against it, to destroy the rotting Thing—that whispered and envied and refused to leave—was in his every thought, and he didn’t care what happened to his body in the process.

He was willing to chip at it, at his father’s carefully constructed cage, bit by bit. He could make it clear that his body was not his; and what with everybody so keen to take control of it, he could make sure they know that everybody—anybody was welcome to do with it what they will.

(He didn’t hate his father as much as he hated himself anymore.)

It was a small rebellion, more or less invisible, but he could see it. And Neil Perry just wasn’t brave enough to rebel in bolder colours anymore.

He stayed behind after English that Friday.

He didn’t mean to. But his eyes were heavy, and his limbs were tired, deep inside his bones, and the English classroom was the only comfortable place he’d been in the whole day. His brain felt like mush inside his head, lulled by Mr Keating’s enthusiasm, and a part of him wanted to stay. Part of him—not the one that wanted to slam his head against his desk repeatedly, but a softer, quieter part—still held out hope that out of everyone, Mr Keating might know something that will help him stop feeling like this.

He was so tired of it all. That look on Todd’s face, the concerned glances he got from everyone that hovered around him, the oppressive hovering by teachers—he just didn’t want to be himself anymore.

If what Charlie said was true and Mr Keating could fix this, in any way possible, then it had to be worth a shot. Didn’t it? If simply so he wouldn’t have to see those looks on his friends’ faces.

‘Neil.’

He looked up to see Mr Keating hovering above him, the usual mirth in his eyes replaced by concern. Neil was starting to get used to receiving that look from people, as much as he wished he didn’t have to.

(He had seen that look on Mr Keating Before, too.)

‘Captain.’ He offered a lopsided smile, even though the word tasted bitter on his tongue.

The teacher returned the smile, though there was still a frown between his brows. ‘Were you waiting for me?’

He had to decide now. It was worth a shot, sure. But if he opened up and Mr Keating could do nothing about it, he’ll lose the only somewhat safe place he had. ‘Can I talk to you?’ He asked before he could regret it.

Mr Keating’s smile faltered as he studied him carefully. He must have seen something that slipped through the cracks, because eventually the teacher nodded and reached out a hand to beckon Neil towards the tiny office attached to the classroom. ‘Let’s go somewhere quiet,’ he said.

The office, much like his room at the teachers’ quarters, was small and cramped, with only a small sink, a table, one chair and a sputtering radiator. A set of shelves in the corner was overflowing with books, framed photos and knickknacks. Neil wanted to ask about them instead, but the pressure on his ribs told him he was only delaying the inevitable. It didn’t have to be inevitable, surely, his mind reasoned. He was younger, faster—he could still flee if he made a break for it.

He closed his fists until his nails dug into the skin and burned. No. He was going to try, if only to be able to construct a better mask. If he made people believe everything was normal, their guard might come down again. They might, at least, remember the dignity of not shoving their worry in his face.

Mr Keating closed the door behind them and gestured for Neil to take a sit on the chair while he busied himself by putting a kettle on. Neil sat down and stared at his hands instead of addressing the silence. He didn’t know where to begin, or how to begin it; everything felt important but when he tried to put why into words, they ended up just sounding lame and inconsequential before he’d even spoken them. He should’ve prepared something, anything, because the silence was stretching on for too long and god, he shouldn’t have come in the first place.

‘Your friends are worried about you.’ Neil froze and forced himself not to look up at Mr Keating. His teacher, like always, didn’t relent. Leaning against the radiator, he continued in a lighter tone, ‘Don’t worry, they haven’t said anything. I just know how to spot a secret.’

Neil didn’t answer—couldn’t even force himself to smile. Instead, he raised his head to meet Mr Keating’s eyes properly. ‘You must’ve been told to keep a closer eye on me,’ he said.

Mr Keating nodded, and when he spoke his tone hadn’t changed, like they were simply old friends catching up over a cup of coffee. Irritation nipped at the back of Neil’s neck, although he didn’t know if he preferred any other tone. ‘It was mentioned in one of the meetings, yes.’

The teacher was looking at him expectantly, but he couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. Mr Nolan said he would inform the staff of his situation, and that included Mr Keating. He should know already, so what was he waiting for? Neil couldn’t try to explain it himself—the words were bitter and stuck in his throat. ‘Then you know something is wrong.’

‘These meetings are all crap. I’d like to hear it from you.’

Neil blinked, surprised; even if it was Mr Keating, he’d never heard a teacher curse so freely before. ‘Something… happened,’ he said eventually. ‘Over the break. After my father pulled me away after the show.’

His teacher’s voice finally dropped the cheeriness, becoming more quiet and gentle, but the queasy feeling that raised the hairs on Neil’s skin didn’t lift. ‘Yes, we were all quite worried.’

‘You were there.’ It came out more as a question. Mr Keating smiled softly, and Neil lowered his head. ‘Right.’

The silence stretched through the room, and Neil considered running again. But the same heaviness that forced him to stay after class settled in his chest now, and it pushed and pushed and refused to relent.

‘Something bad happened,’ he said when he couldn’t hold back anymore. ‘And I don’t… my mind just can’t move on from it.’

Mr Keating’s voice was still kind when he spoke again, but it was heavier now, filled with conviction. ‘You’re strong, Neil,’ he told him. ‘It might be hard right now, but I know you tend to see the good in any situation.’

‘Well, you obviously don’t know me very well, then,’ Neil snapped. Quiet spread in the tiny office. The kettle whistled, but the teacher didn’t move. Neil looked up and found Mr Keating staring at him, eyes wide and expectant. Neil wanted to apologise, but the words felt wrong on his lips. He lowered his gaze instead.

‘You don’t know who I am. I don’t know who I am,’ he mumbled. A part of him hoped it was just quiet enough for Mr Keating to ignore. ‘Everything has always been decided for me. Do this, like that, think those thoughts, say this to these people. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know if the people I love will still love me when I uncover who I am.’

He shook his head and wanted to cry, but it came out of his mouth as a laugh instead. ‘I try and I try and I try to show people who I am. But everybody has this perfect, pristine image of me in their head and they refuse to see. They’d much rather pretend nothing happened than face the fact that there is something with me that’s just wrong. That they should run as far away as possible while they still can.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.’

He looked up at Mr Keating again, but the teacher’s eyes were big, and honest, and overwhelming. The tears built up against Neil’s eyes fervently, because couldn’t he see? This was exactly what he meant. His mind was rotting, and Mr Keating refused to look at it. ‘I lied to you,’ he said suddenly. If he wanted help, Mr Keating needed to understand, to see him completely. ‘I didn’t talk to my father before the play.’

Mr Keating nodded slowly. ‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’ Neil’s eyebrows knit together. ‘I lied to you.’

‘The lie in itself doesn’t matter,’ the teacher answered simply, his eyes never moving from Neil, and never hardening. ‘I still think you should’ve talked to him beforehand, but I’m not angry because you lied. I’m not angry at all.’

Neil swallowed thickly and ducked his head, covering his eyes. ‘You were right, by the way. I should have,’ he mumbled. ‘My father was angry; he wanted to withdraw me from Welton. Send me to some military school that will keep a closer eye on me. But that’s—that’s ten more years and I couldn’t, I…

‘I should’ve died that night. In my father’s office. I put his gun to my head and I—I pulled the trigger, and I should’ve died.’

He took a deep breath. It ought to have been more dramatic than it was, finally dislodging these words from the back of his throat. With how desperately his parents avoided the mere mention of it, he thought that the ceiling should at least come crashing down.

But it didn’t. These were barely anything more than desperate words spoken into the cold winter air. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

Mr Keating didn’t say anything. Neil chanced a look at him, but found that he was still just watching him, a glimmer behind his eyes the only indicator that he was listening. The threatening tears in his eyes stung harder.

The words had spilled from Neil freely, tugging at his seams; he had kept them locked up for so long that as soon as he opened his mouth, he couldn’t try to close it. His words, his vocal cords, his tongue—they just kept rebelling against him—led by a strange, obscene presence at the back of his mind, that hissed and whispered and brought out the very worst of him.

‘I can’t step outside, I can’t act, I can’t so much as move without people breathing down my neck,’ he confessed. ‘That was the only choice I ever made on my own. Even—even that you take away from me.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have joined the play,’ he added quietly. ‘Maybe just doing it all in secret would’ve been enough.’

‘No.’ Neil’s head shot up at Mr Keating’s sudden comment. There was a fire burning behind his teacher’s eyes, but it didn’t hurt him. ‘What happened after the play was challenging, but you were so excited before your father found out. Every day for months, I watched your smile get bigger and bigger. I don’t mean to belittle your feelings, but isn’t something bad in exchange for something great better than eternal nothingness—just staying in the same spot?’

‘I don’t know,’ Neil mumbled after a long while. ‘Sometimes. But sometimes, everything becomes too much.’

Mr Keating smiled softly. ‘Healing isn’t linear. There will be ups and downs, and ups and downs again. It’s okay to feel like this.’

‘Well, I wish it was!’ Neil snapped. ‘I really wish it was linear, because my mind never gets like this when everything’s okay. I never feel like… like this. Like there’s something ugly that rears its head every time the sun is too bright, or when there’s people around at all the wrong moments, or when I—when I look too quickly and suddenly my father’s at the end of the hall.’ His breath hitched. ‘I want this out of my head. I want it dead.’

Mr Keating’s smile faltered. ‘Are you sure this is healing?’ Neil chuckled, but the sound was wet and died too quickly. ‘Because it certainly doesn’t feel like it.’

A long silence passed over them, and Neil looked down at his hands. His racing mind insisted once again that he shouldn’t have stayed. Why would he get his hopes up for nothing? Did he enjoy wallowing in his own misery?

No. Surely not. But he knew this wouldn’t end well the minute Charlie suggested going; he knew it and still he came, just to shove his misery in Mr Keating’s face. Didn’t he have enough on his mind already?

How selfish. Neil had everything he could ever need, Mr Keating didn’t, with hundreds of students he was in charge of and a wife back in London. And Neil was going to complain to him?

How deplorable. What a deplorable human being he was.

He shouldn’t have missed—shouldn’t have let the bullet simply graze his head. He shouldn’t be there, he wasn’t supposed to be. If after everything that happened he could only spread misery, what was the point of him?

Before he could run out of the tiny office or dig himself a hole in the ground, Mr Keating slid from the radiator to crouch in front of him. He gently took Neil’s hands and turned them, only hesitating a little when he caught sight of the healing, perfectly round wound on his palm. And yet he still looked up at him—not down at him, not over his shoulder. Into his eyes. A warm feeling spread through Neil’s chest, and it became harder to breathe.

‘This thing that rears its head,’ the teacher began, ‘It will always be a part of you at the end of the day. But it is a part of you, just like your passion and that wonderful smile of yours.’ Mr Keating smiled and waited until the corner of Neil’s mouth twitched upwards. ‘Hating this part of you is just hating any other part—it’s useless, as it’s not going to go away. So bit by bit, we have to learn to accept it.’ His hands closed around Neil’s, warm and real. He hadn’t realised how cold he was. ‘You can be hurt without being hurt forever, just as you can be happy without being happy forever. None of these parts define you, and none of these parts are in themselves bad, but all of them together make you whole.’

Neil stared at Mr Keating’s hands wrapped around his. The healing burn didn’t itch quite so strongly under their warmth. ‘I need…’ he shook his head desperately, closing his eyes against the sting of his tears. ‘I just don’t know if it’s all worth it anymore. I don’t know how much longer of this I can take.’

Mr Keating was quiet for a moment before he answered. ‘I wish I could tell you it gets better, but that is something you will have to learn for yourself.’ He squeezed Neil’s hand, who looked up at him. ‘Break your healing into little steps. Start by promising yourself tomorrow will be better. Promise that again the day after that, and again the day after that one. At some point, tomorrow will be better.

‘And being better might not be feasible right now, because the want for it is so deeply hidden, but it is possible. You want to get better, you can get better. You want to be happy—’ Mr Keating nodded, ‘—you will be happy.’

Neil shook his head again, desperate for an answer—anything hidden behind Mr Keating’s eyes that will be easier than wait and see. ‘How… how can you know that? How can you know I can still want that?’

But Mr Keating looked at him resolutely, like he’d never been more sure of anything else in the world. ‘You opened up to me. The longing for happiness slipped through.’ The teacher smiled softly. ‘And I’m glad it did.’

Instead of answering, Neil swallowed against the ball in his throat and looked back down. ‘I’m just—I guess I’m scared this is all I’ll ever be.’ He chuckled. ‘Just the very worst parts of me. That when all the expectations peel away, all that’s left will be the worst of everything.’

‘The people who are there for you, those who really belong at your side, expect nothing more from you other than to be happy. They want nothing else. No demands, no shaping you into a different person—you don’t need to be exactly who you were. We won’t mind.

‘You’re not a bad person underneath it all. You’re just in pain.’ Mr Keating’s hands squeezed again. ‘And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.’

Neil’s head snapped up again, but he could barely see Mr Keating through his tears. ‘I don’t know. With what I did since I came back… with what I said to Charlie… and you should’ve seen the look—‘

‘Listen to me. You can still be good.’

Good.

He was good, wasn’t he?

Before.

But he was damaged now, irreparable—his mind gushing and the outside world numb. He couldn’t bring himself to like the same things or focus the same way; he couldn’t possibly bring himself to be the way he could have been Before.

But Mr Keating still believed in him, somehow. It had to mean something.

He used to surround himself with fairytales when he was younger, young enough to be blind to his father’s frown. Fairytales of knights and shining heroes, faraway lands with nasty creatures and deplorable villains who whispered in ears and tempted and sneered. Yet the hero always beat the villain in the end. They all lived happily ever after, and no one was sad, and nobody mourned the villain.

No one mourned villains; no one cared when something bad happened to deplorable people. No one believed they could have done good, had they just been given more time. He’d been given more time, and someone who cared and believed in him. He wanted to do good. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

He just hadn’t wanted to be condemned to a miserable life. He just didn’t want to be in so much pain anymore. Was that so bad? He didn’t want this pain anymore.

Neil raised his hand to wipe his tears, but as soon as he did, more continued to fall, each one faster and heavier than the last. He pressed his eyes shut tightly; he didn’t want to break in front of Mr Keating, but he couldn’t stop.

He can still be good, he can still do good—what a crazy idea. But it was just crazy enough to work.

Neil’s breath hitched when hesitant arms enveloped him, but he hung on desperately, burying his face in the teacher’s soft jumper. Mr Keating pressed his lips against his temple and whispered soothing words that filled Neil’s brain with a mellow fog.

‘You don’t have to carry it all on your own,’ he said once Neil calmed down enough to be able to listen. ‘We’re here to help you. We’re all ready to carry a part of your burden until it becomes easier to bear. Even if it takes a very, very long time.’

Mr Keating’s hand was gentle in his hair, ghosting over the scar on the side of his head. Something inside it was beginning to mend.

The dorm was quiet. Neil sat on his bed, staring at the wall opposite, and didn’t turn when the door opened, and not when he heard Todd’s hesitant footsteps across the wooden floor.

Todd’s movements were careful. They usually were, but it was glaringly obvious to Neil now, with how well their last conversation ended.

He could only hope this one will turn out better, no matter impossible it felt in his mind.

‘I tried to kill myself after the play.’

Todd froze, just a few steps from the door. His shoulders tensed, his hand still hovering over the handle.

The corners of Neil’s mouth turned up into a smile. ‘Your eyes. It’s obvious you’ve thought about it quite a bit.’

Todd turned to face him fully, and his eyes were blown comically wide. Neil’s smile turned a little more genuine. ‘I—I would never have asked—‘

‘I know,’ Neil said. ‘You don’t usually say what’s on your mind.’

The tension in Todd’s shoulders eased a bit, but his eyes searched Neil’s, imploring. He still wouldn’t ask.

Neil looked away, shame colouring his face. Despite the uncomfortable presence pushing against his chest and how desperately he wanted to be anywhere else, he preferred Todd heard the words from him. He trusted Charlie not to tell, but he didn’t trust himself enough not to slip up again, and Todd deserved the full picture. Villains don’t ever get to show the picture from their point of view.

Maybe he wasn’t a villain. Maybe the snarling voice in his head wasn’t much of one, either.

He took a deep breath, and told Todd what he had told Mr Keating. Most of it, anyway.

‘I don’t think I wanted to die,’ he explained, heart hammering against his ribcage. ‘Not in the big, forever sort of way—I wasn’t really thinking that far ahead. I just knew that by the time I was out of med school, I would be miserable. I didn’t want to live so long and try so hard just to be miserable.’

Todd was quiet for a long time. His face was pale, and at some point he sat on the bed facing Neil, watching him earnestly. After Neil finished, he opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly, over and over. By the third time that happened, Neil raised his eyebrows, and Todd started sputtering.

‘It’s—it’s nothing really,’ he tried. ‘It’s just, I think that’s what the Dead Poets Society is for. Well—At least, that’s what it should be.’ He shrugged. ‘To get this—to get it all out into the world, before it… eats up all the good things and leaves you empty. I don’t want to live in a world where Neil Perry is empty,’ he added quietly. Neil’s face heated up, but he pretended not to hear that last comment.

‘You’re very wise when you want to be,’ he said instead.

Todd’s face turned a lovely shade of crimson. ‘I’m—I’m really not—‘

Neil laughed, in a way that stuck to the back of his throat and stayed there. ‘Relax. I like it when you turn all wise like that.’

The crimson only darkened, but Todd offered a hesitant grin.

Neil sobered quickly, wiping the smile off his lips, and looked at Todd with eyes that were beginning to sting. ‘I’m sorry about how I treated you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about how I treated everyone. You didn’t deserve that.’

Todd’s eyes softened. ‘I understand.’ Now, after everything, maybe he could. ‘You were hurting, we were there,’ he explained matter-of-factly. ‘But we weren’t going to leave, no matter how much you tried to push. Not then and certainly—certainly not now.’

Neil smiled, just a little. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply, but Todd’s face brightened all the same.

Silence stretched between them, but it was clear and comfortable, for the first time in a long time.

Eventually, Todd hummed. ‘Can I… read you something?’

Neil stared, taken aback for just a moment, before eagerly agreeing. He had missed the opportunity to watch Todd read twice already, and he wasn’t going to miss something he wanted again. ‘Yeah! Yeah, please do.’

Todd smiled softly, reaching under his bed and pulling out a thick, battered book with a peeling green cover. At Neil’s raised brow, Todd grinned and explained, ‘Mr Keating lent it to me. He said—he said Hager wouldn’t be particularly pleased to find it.’

‘You dog.’ Neil scooted to the edge of the bed to get a closer look at the book. The cover was bare, but he caught Leaves of Grass on the title page. His smile stretched even more, in a way he didn’t remember was possible. ‘Who would’ve thought? Todd Anderson, hiding forbidden texts under his bed.’

Todd’s grin grew impossibly wider, and there was a mischievous glint in his eye that twisted something deep behind Neil’s navel. He opened the book, flipped to a marked page and took a deep breath.

‘On the beach at night,

Stands a child with her father,

Watching the east, the autumn sky.

‘Up through the darkness,

While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,

Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,

Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,

Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,

And nigh at hand, only a very little above,

Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.

‘From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,

Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,

Watching, silently weeps.

‘Weep not, child,

Weep not, my darling,

With these kisses let me remove your tears,

The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,

They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,

Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night, the Pleiades shall emerge,

They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall

shine out again,

The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,

The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.’

Quiet spread throughout the dorm again, the words still echoing in the air. Neil stared at the space in front of him and thought of Mr Keating.

He wanted to get better, he reminded himself. He will get to be better again. And if not tomorrow, then the day after. And if not the day after, the week after that.

How lucky he was, that he even got to see a tomorrow, and the day after and the week after that.

He still hurt and the scar on the side of his head still itched something terrible, but the fog in his mind was clearer and his chest didn’t feel quite as heavy. Day by day, he repeated to himself. Day by day by day.

‘To me, there’s something… magical about pieces like this,’ Todd explained without meeting Neil’s eyes. ‘They provide some sort of—of comfort, when there’s nothing else to do that.’

Neil focused back on Todd, and his small smile, and the passion that rolled off him in waves, and he wanted to cry. He had missed this, he decided. Just sitting around and talking and being able to listen. When neither of them were angry, and neither hesitated. When the war in his head didn’t drown out all the good things. He’d missed it a lot.

Todd looked back up but startled when he saw the expression on his face. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to upset you. I should’ve—‘

Neil raised a shaking hand to wipe at his lachrymose eyes, and smiled. ‘No! No. Thank you, Todd. I love it.’

There was a part of him that kept whispering, you can still be good. It was still quiet, but he was starting to listen.