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“I mean, I haven’t even gotten the part yet. Can’t I even enjoy the idea for a little while?” Neil says exasperatedly.
Todd says nothing.
Neil sits on the iron heater, his excitement at finding a new direction in life escaping him as corrosively as the hard ridges of the heater that dice his body from butt down. Todd picks up his notebook again and Neil watches the movement of Todd’s eyes scanning over the words.
He just wanted to pretend like everything in his life hasn’t already been predetermined as calculated moves by his father. He wanted to believe he can star in a play because he wants to, not because the carefully curated selection of classes will best support his predetermined future career as a doctor. From the moment he saw the flyer and imagined himself on a stage, telling a story with his whole being, none of those calculations came into play. It felt natural. It felt right without it having to be right and for the duration between snatching the flyer off the board and running to show Todd what he had found, he hadn’t for a single moment felt absolutely paralysed by thoughts of what his father might do to him if he found out.
He hadn’t thought of the consequences, but Todd made him. Todd… who’s supposed to -- who is supposed to support Neil like he supports Todd! It’s a kick in the gut, for sure… Being forced to see sense from Todd Anderson. You know, Neil could have been different. He could have seen Todd join him as his new roommate and ignore a kid as shy as him, bully him, even, considering the amount of self-confidence Todd has could fit through the eye of a needle. But Neil isn’t like that. He isn’t the type to stop people from doing what they really want to do. What they really want to do. He isn’t his father, in that respect. Far from it.
And he likes Todd, as shy as he is. He genuinely likes him. It wouldn’t have mattered, though, whether Todd’s a round guy or not, because Neil likes to think of himself as fair above all else and it wouldn’t have been fair to exclude Todd, his own roommate, from the Dead Poets Society, even if he doesn’t read poems or say anything much at all. Todd deserves to be there as much as any of the guys, he has a place in the society, a place in their friendship circle, and in Neil’s heart, a special kind of place for a person, a friend, who is growing under his very eyes.
And in that sense, Neil considers himself to at least be attempting to emulate what Mr Keating was doing for the class in getting the guys in the cave and reading poems and listening to each other. It’s about support, about creativity, about freedom, about love. And fairness. And what he fundamentally feels about Todd bringing up how his father would not approve is that it’s just not fair.
He already yelled at Todd but he wants to yell more because somehow it’s easier to let his anger out on someone else than it is to fire himself into action. It’s easier to tell Todd off because would he have to confront his father if he were in Neil’s place? Would it be as hard for Todd as it is for Neil? But Todd wouldn’t even get into Neil’s position. He wouldn’t dream, would he? There’s too much hesitation, too much self-depreciation, too much… too little self-confidence. But isn’t that too much of a tragedy? Hasn’t Mr Keating showed Todd just how much he can do?
“You’re coming to the meeting this afternoon?”
It’s more of a statement than a question really, to which Todd replies offhandedly, “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Neil snaps. “Nothing Mr Keating has to say means shit to you, does it, Todd?”
Todd looks at him. “W-what is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re in the club!” Neil jumps to his feet, the backs of his legs smarting with being jabbed by the metal ridges of the heater. “Being in the club means being stirred up by shit. You look about as stirred up as a cesspool.”
Neil stands over Todd. Todd’s eyes go wide and he looks to one side.
He says, “So - you want me out?”
“No!” Neil cries. “I want you in, but being in means you gotta do something. Not just say you’re in.”
“Well, listen, Neil. I-I appreciate this concern, but I’m… I’m not like you. Alright? You- you say things and people listen…”
How did it go from Neil wanting Todd to be the first one to hear about his idea to star in the play to Todd admitting that he doesn't feel heard . Neil listens. Neil listens to anything Todd has to say, hell he listens to Todd breathe every night before he can get to sleep. How can he not see that Neil listens ?
“People listen to you. I’m, I’m not like that.”
Neil searches his friend’s face, presses his head against the dip in the alcove and feels the cold against his forehead. “Don’t you think you could be?”
“No! I-” Todd turns away again, his mouth agape for a moment before turning back to look up at Neil. “I, I don’t know, but that’s not the point. The, the point is that there’s nothing you can do about it, so you can just butt out. I can take care of myself, just fine. Alright?”
“No,” Neil says flatly.
Todd gapes at him. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
Neil drops to his knees and rests his forearms over Todd’s shins. “You think no one likes you, that no one cares what you have to say?”
Todd says nothing. He pulls his chin to his chest, his lungs heaving, his hair falling in front of his face, but Neil can feel Todd’s eyes on him.
“Well you’re wrong, Todd Anderson. I listen to you.”
Neil says this and then he realises that it’s no longer about the play or his father or Mr Keating, it’s about Todd and how unfair it is that he doesn’t think anyone cares about him, that he doesn’t see how much Neil cares for him.
“I listen to you,” Neil says again more quietly, firmly.
Todd seems taken aback. He huffs a puff of breath the makes his hair rise and fall off his face and for a moment Neil can see that he has cast his eyes to Neil’s empty bed.
“There are things…” Todd starts off carefully, “You won’t want to listen to…”
“No,” Neil insists. He turns his arms and cup Todd’s knees just because they’re there, handles for him to take hold of and he gives them a little squeeze. “I’ll listen to anything you have to say. Always.”
Todd covers his face with his hands. It’s so hard to hear what Todd says but he makes out something like, “Why would he care?”
Neil pushes off the hardwood floors and presses his knees either side of Todd, the back of his mind crying at the ease of the soft mattress on his knees, and he places his hands on the mattress next to Todd’s shoulders.
“What did you say?”
Todd moves his forearm in front of his eyes, his lips turned downwards, wet and glossy in the dim light.
“Why would you care about me?” Todd chokes out.
“Because I do,” Neil says earnestly, and softly, because he had snapped at Todd earlier and he didn’t deserve that and he deserves to be listened to. “Tell me anything. I’ll listen.”
He waits, hovering over Todd like this, heat swirling between them and somehow it doesn’t feel awkward because it’s support. It’s loving. It’s Neil giving Todd the time to speak and he waits and waits. And feels his arms threatening to give way so he flops down beside Todd, Todd's notebook jabbing him in the back but his attention is on Todd. On the ragged heaving of his chest, on the slight trembling of his shoulders. It's space now that Todd needs but Neil doesn't want to leave, at least not before Todd says something, or does something.
He waits what seems like an age and he sees himself in Todd. Sees the hesitation. The fear. He can't walk away from this.
Neil gently takes hold of Todd’s wrist and pulls his arm away from his face. Tears smear the corners of Todd’s eyes and seeing Todd like this breaks his heart. How come it's so hard for Todd to be honest, to say what he really wants to say, to do what he really wants to do? Todd is the mirror image of Neil and yet he’s a whole other person. A whole other person who feels the same way that he feels. Tears spring to Neil’s eyes and before Neil can even really think about what he’s doing he ducks down and kisses Todd. Just for a few seconds. Maybe because Todd looked like he needed affection, or wanted to be noticed, or maybe because Neil thought he should be the one stirring things up or maybe because he wanted to.
Todd whimpers and his cheeks flush at making such a noise and Neil pulls back from the kiss. Looks at Todd, his face pink and wet, and he leans the side of his face in his palm, elbow speared into the bed and he throws his other arm over his shoulder to remove the notebook from jabbing him in the back.
"Well,” Neil starts, choosing not to address the kiss and instead casts his eyes down at Todd’s notebook, staring at the messy writing that are just shapes of words to him right now, nothing that mean anything until he can focus, and then they’ll really mean something. “If you’re not going to--”
“You should do the play,” Todd says suddenly.
Neil looks at him, surprised. “I’m going to do the play,” he replies, and gazes at Todd’s pink face and at the slight dampness around his eyes. “And you’re coming this afternoon.”
He doesn’t look at Todd’s face for an answer, he looks down at the words on the page and they start to form their meaning. ‘We are dreaming of a new day’, so he does dream. Neil cracks a smile. He presses the notebook to his chest and suddenly gallops across the room with it. Without a second to waste, Todd leaps after him.
“Give me-- Neil. Neil, give that back.”
“‘We are dreaming of a--’ Poetry! I’m being chased by Walt Whitman!”
And for a moment it’s just the two of them pirouetting around the room, chasing their dreams. And then it’s Cameron and Charlie jumping around with them, a strange cacophony of music and rascalness filling the room. And the other boys in the hall stick their heads through the door to see the commotion. And Neil’s jaw starts to hurt from smiling so much.