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It was late — later than either of them should’ve been awake — and the fire in the old study room had burned itself into a heap of glowing embers. Todd sat cross-legged on the rug, a half-finished poem trembling in his hands. The words wouldn’t come. They never did when he needed them to.
“Still writing, Anderson?” Charlie’s voice came from the doorway, lazy and amused. He was leaning against the frame, shirt untucked, tie hanging loose. “You’re gonna drive yourself mad trying to rhyme ‘heart’ with ‘start’.”
Todd jumped slightly, clutching his notebook. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
“So are you,” Charlie said, stepping in and plopping down beside him. “Rules are meant to be broken, remember?”
Todd exhaled a quiet laugh. “Keating would approve.”
“Keating would join us,” Charlie replied, stretching out beside him. “Probably quote Thoreau until we both fell asleep.”
They sat there for a while, the silence not uncomfortable — just full. Todd’s candle flickered between them, casting Charlie’s smirk in gold light.
“Mind if I read?” Charlie asked, nodding at Todd’s notebook.
Todd froze. His first instinct was to say no — his poems were private, a safe place for all the feelings he couldn’t say out loud. But something about Charlie’s voice — light, but not mocking — made him nod.
Charlie took the notebook gently, scanning the page. His grin faded into something quieter as he read. When he finally looked up, his tone was softer than Todd had ever heard. “You write like you’re breathing it out,” he said. “Like it hurts not to.”
Todd looked down, cheeks burning. “It’s stupid.”
“Hey,” Charlie said, nudging his shoulder. “It’s beautiful.”
For a moment, Todd couldn’t breathe. The praise felt too much — too bright — and yet, he wanted to keep it.
Charlie grinned again, trying to ease the tension. “Y’know, I could add a few lines. Something about the brave, dashing Nuwanda inspiring the poet—”
“Please don’t,” Todd cut in, laughing despite himself.
They both laughed — really laughed — until Charlie’s laughter softened into a sigh. “You should share it, Todd. The Society would love it.”
Todd shook his head. “Maybe someday.”
“Someday,” Charlie echoed. Then, after a pause, he said quietly, “You’re braver than you think, you know that?”
The fire cracked softly. Todd glanced up, met Charlie’s eyes, and for once didn’t look away. “Maybe because of people like you,” he said.
Charlie smiled — not his usual mischievous grin, but something real, gentle, and unguarded. “Well,” he murmured, voice barely above the fire’s whisper, “then I’m doing something right.”
They stayed there until dawn began to tint the window pale pink — two boys in defiance of curfew, the world, and the idea that softness was weakness.
It wasn’t much of a rebellion, but it was theirs.