𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

13. 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒆

The Welton dormitories permanently reeked of cigarette smoke. You would have believed it was just from Charlie alone if you hadn't been made aware of that fact at least a decade prior to his arrival. You knew that they were all accustomed to it in one way or another, but Todd still had the decency to leave the window open a sliver to allow the fresh air to slip inside.

You were both curled up on opposite ends of his bed, which was criminally bare compared to your overflowing array of pillows, blankets, and the odd teddy bear or two. Each of you had a spiral notebook tucked in your lap, angled in such a way that you couldn't read what the other was writing. You were supposed to be helping him with his poetry assignment, but it was obvious that neither of you had any intention of showing off what you had written.

"Just the first line?"

"No."

"First word? First letter?"

Todd's face grew hotter with each plea you delivered. You would never say it out loud, but you found just as much pleasure in teasing him as you suspected everyone else did. Only you were significantly more humane about it. Feighning a wounded sigh, you let your pen dance between your arched fingers. "You know, I'm starting to doubt if you have anything written at all."

"I-I-" he stammered, nerves melting away into relief as he watched the playful smile grow over your cheeks. "I actually have so much written. Pages. Novels, even."

"I have no doubt in my mind that Todd Anderson can write novels," you smiled, crossing and uncrossing your legs. "It's whether or not he can find the courage to read them out loud that I'm unsure about."

With a heavy sigh, Todd plucked the freshly sharpened pencil out from where it had been neurotically tucked and untucked behind his ear and put it to the page in front of him, scribbling madly for a straight moment or two while you read what you had already written over and over in your head. You've revisited the same line over a dozen times but nothing you did made it flow any better into the next.

Just when you thought you had something remotely resembling a solution, the door that led into the corridor was thrown open and hit the adjacent wall with a loud bang that made even the door itself wobble on its hinges.

You flew upright, already preparing your excuses in the case that Hagger had already sniffed you out of the many rooms on this floor. When you met the gaze of a very sweaty, very out of breath Neil Perry, you dropped your notebook to the bed and huffed. "You just scared the living shit out of me!"

"I got the part!" He blurted, as if it somehow made up for the mini-heart attack he just bestowed upon you. "I'm gonna play Puck!"

Any false anger you still held against Neil immediately evaporated into thin air. "Oh my god!" you exclaimed, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck. Unprompted, he hooked his hands around your waist, not paying any mind to the theater flyer in his hand that he was crushing in the process, and lifted you up in the air.

Todd laughed at the scene of his eccentric roommate swinging you around in midair before lightly tossing you back onto his bed. "That's amazing! You have no idea how excited I am for you!"

Still floating in his own little world, Neil exhaled in a breathy chuckle and ran a hand through his windswept hair. He must've run all the way from the post office. Maybe further, knowing him. He could have made it all the way from the threater in town for all you knew. Unfurling the colored flyer in his hands, he laid it flat on his palm before using it to swat you gently over the nose. "Now all I need is that letter of permission."

You watched Neil rifle through his desk drawers until he found what he was looking for — a single cut of thick cardstock with the official Welton Academy seal printed carefully across the head. With a sense of caution that almost rivaled your own, he laid it between the folds of his typewriter and began working.

Like a parrot perched anxiously on his shoulder, you watched him type out an official-looking letter, from the school administration on behalf of his father, Mr. Perry. Occasionally, you would bite your lip to keep from crying out at any sign of spelling or grammar mistake, but it was as if he were swooping low just to scare you and always pulled up before striking ground.

You were so in tuned with watching Neil that you barely registered Todd's sudden silence, or the shuffling of papers that soon followed. After a suspicious moment or two, he cleared his throat and successfully broke you out of the spell you had been put under.

"What's this?" Todd asked, using a tone that let you know automatically that he knew exactly what he was holding up in your yellow spiral notebook.

"I think you know exactly what it is, you dog," you teased, rushing over to snatch it out of his hands. You could play it up all you wanted, but deep deep down you were just as frightened of his poetry assignment as he was.

"Oh, by all means enlighten us," Neil said, pausing his more pressing assignment to turn around in his chair and eye you with his reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. You glared between them, the twinge of a smile daring to pull at your lips as you clutched your notebook as tight to your chest as your cardigan would allow.

"It's my poem. The one I wrote for class."

"No way," Neil almost snorted. Snorted. "Do I get to read it?"

"Absolutely not," you said, leaning forward to push his glasses back up until they rested flush against his temples. "It is one hundred and ten percent embarrassing and I refuse to subject myself to your misguided psychological torment tonight."

He shrugged and shook his head with a snicker. "We'll all be hearing it tomorrow anyway, oh wise one."

You reclaimed your seat at the foot of Todd's bed, tucking your feet underneath you while he readjusted himself to make room. "Fine by me. I'm only holding out as long as possible."

The three of you worked in comfortable silence after that, aside from the occasional click-clacking of Neil's typewriter keys and the odd shouts or birdcalls from the open window. Offhandedly, you glanced over at Todd's paper just to see him doodling a bird in the margins of a very empty sheet of paper.

"Todd Anderson!" you snapped, voice hushed despite your urgency. "I knew it!"

Flipping further into his notebook, he settled on another empty page and folded his hands over it innocently. "I have no idea what you could possibly be insinuating here."

"Todddd," you whined, leaning back in exasperation until your head met the cool painted brick of the wall. Maybe you shouldn't care so much about how he decides to do his homework, but for whatever reason you do, so you'll keep pestering him about it until it's all over and done with.

"You know, if you really need help, I have a whole diary full of poetry in my room from when I was ten. Most of them don't rhyme and all of them are about the old stray cat that used to come to my window at night, but it's something. And it's there if you need it."

He must've known there was a real offer in there somewhere, but he still laughed it off, moving once more to place his pencil behind his ear before ceremoniously removing it, just to drum against the front cover of his notes. "Thanks (Y/N)," he said, struggling to fight off his own grin. "I think Cameron might need it more than me, though. Poor sap doesn't have a creative bone in his body."

(A/N: Not Todd deflecting. Anyway, I keep getting requests for this book and it's almost finals and I'm struggling to fit into my fave dark academia aesthetic because my university library looks like erudite headquarters from divergent. may or may not drive to the school down the street just to use theirs. OH ALSO HAHA I ACCIDENTALLY PROPHECIZED WHAT COLLEGE I CHOSE IN THIS BOOK BECAUSE I MENTION IT BY NAME IN ONE OF THE EARLIER CHAPTERS. I JUST REALIZED THAT AND I THINK IT'S THE FUNNIEST THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD. Anyway, happy reading!!)