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Study hall at Welton always sounded the same: the scratch of pencils, the occasional cough, the heroic attempts not to fall asleep. Meeks found the monotony comforting. Predictable. Even the stale radiator heat wagging through the room felt familiar.
What he didn’t find familiar was the tapping.
At first, it was faint—a soft, irregular tik tik tik against the edge of his desk. Meeks tried to ignore it. Plenty of people fidgeted. But three seconds later, the tapping grew louder. More insistent. And it was absolutely, undoubtedly, deliberately aimed at him.
Meeks didn’t even need to look up. “Charlie.”
Next to him, Charlie Dalton froze mid-tap, eyebrows raised in theatrical innocence. “Yes, Steven?”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re tapping.”
Charlie placed his hand dramatically over his heart. “I’m expressing myself.”
Meeks shot him a look. “With noise pollution?”
Charlie leaned over, expression bright with mischief as if Meeks had just told him the word ‘pollution’ was personally insulting. “It’s not random, you know. I’m sending you a message.”
Meeks blinked. “That wasn’t a message. That was pure nonsense.”
“No,” Charlie corrected, “that was Morse code.”
Meeks’ voice dropped to the quiet, patient tone of someone who had explained this to Charlie far too many times already. “You can’t just say everything is Morse code.”
“Watch me,” Charlie whispered.
Before Meeks could protest, Charlie resumed tapping—this time with an air of scientific authority that was frankly offensive.
TAP. Tap-tap. TAP. TAP… tap.
Meeks pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “That is nothing.”
“It’s a message,” Charlie insisted, lowering his voice so McAllister wouldn’t notice. “If you weren’t so stubborn, you’d understand the deep and meaningful communication I’m trying to deliver.”
Meeks sighed. “Fine. What’s the message, then?”
Charlie grinned, leaned in far too close, close enough that Meeks could smell the faint citrus of his soap, see the sunbeam catching in his lashes, and whispered:
“It says Meeks, you’re cute.” Charlie sat back, smug as anything.
“I— that’s—” Meeks tried, ears burning, brain short-circuiting. He didn’t usually lose words, but Charlie had a way of smacking them right out of him like a rug being beaten clean.
Charlie watched him with a soft, triumphant quirk of his mouth, clearly expecting Meeks to shove his shoulder or roll his eyes or call him an idiot.
But Meeks didn’t. Because suddenly he was aware—acutely aware—of how close they were, how easily Charlie’s jokes slipped beneath his guard, how familiar and warm this all felt and had always felt.
His blush must’ve been obvious. Charlie’s smirk faltered. Just slightly, but Meeks caught it.
“Oh,” Charlie said quietly, not quite meeting his eyes. “Um– it was a joke. Obviously. I just– I was winding you up. Don’t make it weird.”
“I wasn’t making it weird,” Meeks whispered, mortified by how weak his voice sounded.
“You looked like I proposed marriage.”
“You told me I was cute!”
“I didn’t!” Charlie hissed, suddenly flustered. “I said the code said it, not me.”
Meeks stared at him. “You made the code up.”
Charlie’s mouth opened. Closed. “…You’re missing the point.”
“I promise you I’m not.”
Charlie ran a hand through his hair, then folded his arms on the desk and slumped forward like a man personally victimised by his own flirtation.
Study hall continued around them—pencils scratching, papers flipping—but the air between them felt entirely different now. Brighter. Sharp-edged. Like they’d stepped into a doorway they couldn’t step back out of.
After a moment, Charlie’s voice emerged, muffled by his sleeves.
“…I can actually learn Morse code, y’know.”
Meeks blinked. “Why?”
Charlie lifted his head, cheeks faintly pink, eyebrows raised in defiance. “Because you said I couldn’t.”
Meeks’ heart did a somersault it definitely wasn’t supposed to do. “I never said—”
“And because,” Charlie continued, jabbing a finger at him, “if anyone at this school is going to teach me, it’s you.”
Meeks’ mouth went dry. “I—”
“Tonight.” Charlie nodded firmly. “After dinner. Morse code lessons with Meeks.”
“That’s not—”
“You owe it to the future of communication.”
“That’s not how communication works—”
“Excellent,” Charlie said, patting Meeks’ arm like this had been mutually agreed. “I’ll bring biscuits. You bring that giant brain of yours.”
Meeks stared at him, utterly helpless against the tornado that was Charlie Dalton. “Charlie. You don’t even want to learn Morse code.”
Charlie smiled, and this time it wasn’t mischievous or smug. It was warm. Soft. Hopeful in a way that curled into Meeks’s chest and stayed there.
“…Maybe I do,” Charlie said quietly. “If you’re the one teaching me.”
Meeks swallowed hard. Suddenly, the room felt too warm.
“…After dinner,” he managed.
Charlie’s grin returned, sun-bright and delighted. “After dinner.”
And he didn’t tap again for the rest of study hall.
──────────────────
Dinner was more or less the same blur of meatloaf, peas, mashed potatoes, and the Dead Poets’ usual noise. Charlie kept nudging Meeks under the table with his knee—lightly at first, then with growing impatience, until Meeks finally muttered, “Will you stop?” and Charlie beamed like he’d won something.
“Big night ahead,” Charlie whispered, waggling his eyebrows.
“We are studying Morse code,” Meeks hissed. “It is not a big night.”
“It absolutely is.”
“Charlie—”
“You’re my favourite study partner.”
Meeks nearly dropped his fork.
Todd glanced up. “You two are very… close today.”
Charlie kicked Meeks’ ankle.
Meeks turned pink.
Neil stared between them, slowly raising an eyebrow.
“Okay,” Charlie said loudly, clapping his hands, “time to go! Come on, Meeks!”
And before Meeks could protest, Charlie grabbed him by the sleeve and all but dragged him out of the dining hall.
They burst into Meeks’ dorm like a man entering a battlefield, where Charlie dropped a packet of biscuits on the bed and declared, “Right. Teach me.”
Meeks closed the door, exhaling through his nose. “You don’t have to pretend to be excited.”
“Pretend?” Charlie scoffed, flopping onto Meeks’ bed like he lived there. “I’m extremely excited. Riveted. Electrified.”
“You’re sitting on my pillow.”
“I’m making myself comfortable for the riveting electrification, obviously.”
Meeks sat at his desk, trying not to smile. “Come here.”
Charlie obeyed instantly, dragging the desk chair so close their knees touched. Meeks jolted.
“Sorry,” Charlie said quickly. “Am I too close?”
Yes. “No,” Meeks lied, trying to sound casual.
Charlie leaned in even closer.
“Okay,” Meeks said, voice cracking, “we’re beginning with the basics. Dits and dahs.”
Charlie grinned. “Sounds thrilling.”
Meeks shot him a warning look, then tapped once on the desk:
•
“One dit.”
Charlie nodded solemnly.
Then Meeks tapped a longer press:
—
“One dah.”
Charlie nodded again.
Meeks repeated, a rhythm of short-long-short. “• — • means R.”
Charlie blinked at him. “R.”
“Yes.”
“…Why R?”
“It just does!”
“Well that’s stupid.”
Meeks rubbed his forehead. “You’re impossible.”
“You adore me,” Charlie said lightly—so lightly, the way he always joked. Except this time his voice wavered, just a breath.
Meeks looked at him.
Charlie looked away.
“Your turn,” Meeks said softly.
Charlie straightened, suddenly very serious. He lifted his hand and tapped three rapid beats: TAP TAP TAP
Meeks tilted his head. “That’s not a letter.”
“It is,” Charlie insisted. “It’s… my own system.”
“That’s not how systems work.”
Charlie tried again, slower: Tap, TAP, tap-tap, long tap, tap
Meeks shut his eyes. “Charlie, what– what is that supposed to be?”
Charlie looked proud. “It spells Meeks.”
“No, it does not!”
“Yes it does! It’s artistic interpretation!”
Meeks had to laugh. He couldn’t help it. Charlie’s whole face lit up at the sound.
“You’re hopeless,” Meeks said fondly.
Charlie grinned so widely it nearly split his face. “But I’m your hopeless.”
The words came out casually, like a joke. But they hung between them with surprising weight.
Meeks felt his heart lurch.
Charlie noticed and immediately froze.
“I– I didn’t mean that in a weird way,” Charlie said quickly. “Just… you know. Friends. Friendly hopelessness. Mutual hopelessness. I’m very hopeless. Shut me up.”
Meeks stared at him for a moment, something warm and wounded and dazzled curling behind his ribs. “Charlie,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to panic. I know what you meant.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Charlie swallowed. “Good.”
But neither of them moved their knees away.
Trying to steady himself, Meeks reached out gently and took Charlie’s wrist.
Charlie stiffened.
“I’m going to guide your hand,” Meeks said, voice soft but steady. “So you can feel the rhythm.”
“Oh,” Charlie breathed, cheeks faintly flushed. “Right. Yes.”
Meeks pressed Charlie’s knuckles lightly to the desk and tapped: — • — •
“That’s C,” Meeks murmured.
Charlie was silent.
Meeks repeated it, slower, his fingers brushing against Charlie’s.
— • — •
Charlie stared at their hands. “C,” he whispered.
“Correct.”
Charlie frowned at the paper Meeks had sketched symbols onto.
“Hang on,” he said. “What letter is—” He squinted. “—this one?”
Meeks glanced down. “That’s A.”
Charlie brightened immediately. “A.”
“Yes.”
“As in—”
“No,” Meeks said pre-emptively.
“As in awesome.”
Meeks huffed a laugh. “As in Alpha.”
Charlie paused. “Wait. Like the… military thing.”
Meeks nodded. “The NATO phonetic alphabet.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “You mean—”
“Yes,” Meeks said, a little sheepish now. “Each letter has a standard word. A is Alpha. B is Bravo. C is Charlie.”
Charlie stared at him.
“…You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
Charlie’s hand flew to his chest. “So they named the letter after me.”
“They didn’t name it after you,” Meeks said automatically, then softened. “It just… happens to be the same word.”
Charlie grinned. “That still counts.”
Meeks smiled despite himself. “If it makes you happy.”
“It does,” Charlie said, earnest and bright. “Immensely. Somewhere out there, right now, someone is saying ‘Charlie’ into a radio and they don’t even know they’re talking about me.”
“And M,” Meeks added, because he couldn’t seem to stop himself now, “is Mike.”
Charlie’s eyes lit up again. “So you’re Mike.”
Meeks ducked his head. “…Yes.”
Charlie leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “I like that.”
He tapped once, gently, against Meeks’s knuckles.
— • — •
Meeks looked up.
“Charlie,” Charlie said softly, not the code this time. Just the name.
They stayed like that for a moment—close, quiet, something unspoken humming between them like a signal waiting to be received.
Eventually, Charlie cleared his throat.
“So,” he said, deliberately casual. “What’s next, professor?”
Meeks smiled. “Well,” he said, tapping once more, “next we spell words.”
Charlie’s grin was immediate. “Excellent. I am a natural linguist.”
“You are absolutely not.”
“I once learned all the lyrics to Great Balls of Fire.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Still impressive.”
Meeks shook his head, smiling despite himself. He slid the paper closer between them and tapped once.
“Start with something easy,” he said. “Three letters.”
Charlie nodded, jaw set in concentration. He placed his fingers carefully on the desk, hovering like he was about to defuse a bomb.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay. I’ve got this.”
He tapped:
— • • •
• •
—
Meeks watched, heart doing something inconvenient. “I… I think you meant to spell bit.”
Charlie squinted. “Did I?”
“Yes.”
Charlie considered this. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“What was your intention?”
Charlie glanced up at him, eyes bright, mischievous. “You.”
Meeks froze.
“That spells you,” Charlie clarified quickly. “Y-O-U. Not… like—” He waved a hand vaguely. “Not emotionally.”
“That’s Y-O-U,” Meeks said, tapping them out gently on the desk, close to Charlie’s hand.
— • — —
— — —
• • —
Charlie watched, quiet, absorbing. “Okay,” he said softly. “You.”
He tried again, slower this time, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration.
— • — —
— — —
• • —
Meeks’ breath hitched. “That’s… correct.”
Charlie’s smile was small and pleased. “Good.”
They stayed like that for a moment, looking at the desk instead of each other.
“Your turn,” Charlie said, after a beat. “Spell something.”
Meeks hesitated. He wasn’t used to being put on the spot, especially not with Charlie watching him so closely.
“Something neutral,” Charlie added quickly. “Safe. Academic.”
Meeks nodded, tapping once, then again.
• —
• • •
• —
Charlie frowned. “That’s… A-S-A?”
Meeks winced. “I meant and. I messed up.”
Charlie smiled, warm and forgiving. “It’s okay. You’re still learning.”
Meeks snorted. “You do not get to say that.”
Charlie leaned closer anyway, eyes shining. “You’re doing great, Mike.”
Meeks’s ears burned.
Charlie shook out his hands like an athlete preparing for a race.
“Okay,” he said. “New word.”
Meeks smiled. “That’s reassuring.”
Charlie stuck his tongue out at him, then leaned forward again, posture suddenly careful. Focused. Like he actually wanted to get this right.
He tapped.
• — • •
— — —
• • • —
—
Meeks watched the pattern form, translating automatically in his head.
L.
O.
V.
T—
He frowned slightly. “Hold on,” he murmured. “Is that last—”
Charlie cut in, already tapping again, brow furrowed with concentration.
•
Meeks went very still.
E.
He stared at the desk.
“…Charlie,” he said quietly.
Charlie was still watching his hands. “What? Did I mess it up again?”
Meeks swallowed.
“You didn’t mess it up,” he said. “You spelled it.”
Charlie noticed the hesitation. “Meeks?”
Meeks looked at him then, really looked at him—the open face, the nervous hope, the complete lack of guile.
“…You spelled love,” he said.
Charlie blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The word landed between them, soft but heavy.
“I wasn’t—” Charlie started, then stopped. “I didn’t mean— I mean, I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know,” Meeks said quickly. “I know you weren’t.”
Charlie laughed, a little breathless. “Because that would be— wow. That would be—”
“Yeah.”
They sat in the quiet for a moment, knees still touching, hands still far too close.
Charlie glanced down at the desk. “…Did I do it right?”
Meeks nodded. “Perfectly.”
Charlie swallowed. “Huh.”
Then, like always, he tried to joke his way out of it.
“Well,” he said lightly, “guess my subconscious is more romantic than I am.”
“Maybe it just knows Morse better than you think.”
Charlie laughed softly at that. Then he sobered again, eyes flicking back to Meeks.
“Does it… bother you?” he asked, quieter now.
Meeks shook his head. “No.”
“Like. At all?”
“No,” Meeks said again. “I think it’s kind of nice.”
Charlie’s shoulders relaxed, just a fraction.
“Good,” he said. “Because I’d hate to accidentally insult you with… you know.” He gestured vaguely at the desk. “Romance.”
Meeks smiled. “I don’t think you could.”
Charlie held his gaze for a second longer than necessary.
Charlie was still smiling to himself, absently tracing circles on the desk, when Meeks spoke again.
“Charlie?”
“Mm?”
“There’s something else I should show you.”
Charlie perked up instantly. “Advanced Morse? Secret spy stuff? Hidden government messages?”
“Spelling,” Meeks said, softly. “Actual spelling. Not… artistic interpretation.”
“Oh,” Charlie said. “Right. Yes. Educational. I’m ready.”
Meeks hesitated.
Then he placed his hand flat on the desk between them.
“Watch,” he said.
He tapped once.
• •
Charlie leaned in. “I?”
“Yes.”
Meeks didn’t look at him when he continued.
• — • •
“L,” Charlie murmured automatically.
Meeks tapped again, careful and steady.
— — —
“O.”
Charlie’s brow creased. “Meeks, that’s not—”
• • • —
Charlie went still.
“V,” he said slowly.
Meeks’ fingers didn’t pause.
•
“E.”
Charlie’s breath hitched. “…Meeks,” he said faintly.
Meeks swallowed, heart hammering, but kept going.
— • — —
“Y.”
— — —
“O.”
•• —
“U.”
Charlie let out a breathy laugh. “You spelled I love you.”
Meeks smiled, a little shaky. “I know.” Meeks’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “I love you.”
The words sat there—no dits, no dahs—just honest and bare between them.
Charlie blinked rapidly.
“You… you really just—”
“Yes,” Meeks said. “I did.”
Charlie stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—soft and stunned and full of something bright.
“You’re unbelievable,” he said. “You know that?”
“I learned from the best.”
Charlie reached out, slow, like he was afraid Meeks might vanish, and covered Meeks’s tapping hand with his own.
“Hey,” he said gently. “For the record?”
Meeks’s heart pounded so loudly he was certain Charlie could hear it. “Yes?”
Charlie squeezed his hand. “I think that’s the best message anyone’s ever sent me.”
And something in Meeks finally loosened.
This time, when Charlie leaned in, Meeks didn’t pull away. He didn’t overthink it. He didn’t catalogue the risks or the consequences or the thousand possible outcomes.
He just stayed.
Their noses brushed, breath mingling, and Meeks inhaled sharply—the scent of Charlie’s soap, paper and ink and something unmistakably him. His heart raced, tripping over itself, and before fear could catch up, he closed the distance.
The kiss was soft.
Tentative. Almost shy.
Charlie’s lips were warm and just a little chapped—he chewed them when he was thinking, Meeks realised distantly, a detail he would absolutely never forget now. Meeks kissed him like he was afraid of doing it wrong, like this was something precious and breakable. Careful. Earnest. Full of everything he’d never dared say out loud.
For a second, Charlie stilled, startled and then he melted into it, a quiet sound slipping from him as his hand tightened around Meeks’, grounding and real. He leaned in, just enough to say yes without words.
Meeks felt it all at once: the warmth, the certainty, the way Charlie fit there like he always had.
They pulled apart only enough to breathe, foreheads resting together, both of them smiling like they’d stumbled into something miraculous.
Charlie murmured, breathless, “That was…”
Meeks smiled, still a little stunned. “Yes.”
Charlie laughed softly, the sound low and fond. “You’re not very descriptive.”
“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” Meeks said. “At least not one we’ve learned yet.”
Charlie brushed his nose against Meeks’, eyes bright. “Guess we’ll have to study.”
He kissed him again—less hesitant this time, more certain—and Meeks responded instantly, heart soaring. One of his hands slid up to Charlie’s wrist, thumb brushing over skin, steadying them both as the world narrowed to warmth and breath and the quiet understanding between them.
Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed. Footsteps passed.
They broke apart, laughing quietly, foreheads still touching, the moment lingering like an echo.
“We’re going to get caught,” Charlie whispered.
Meeks smiled, bright and breathless. “Worth it.”
Charlie grinned back at him. “For the record,” he said softly, “I love you too.”
Meeks’ heart felt like it might actually lift him off the floor.
And when Charlie pressed one last kiss to the corner of Meeks’s mouth—quick, secret, perfect…
Well.
That was just extra credit.