𝑨𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝑷𝒐𝒆𝒕 • Neil Perry & Todd Anderson

ᴋɪssᴇs ᴡʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʀɪʙʙᴏɴs

Neil adapted to his new life easily. He had his routine where he would get up, work and come home smelling like coffee and dusted with snow. Marie would welcome him with a warm tea, earl grey being his personal favorite, and sleep peacefully on the pull-out couch.

He was content. This was the freedom he craved. But the more time that went by in the winter, the content melted off his skin. Especially now that Todd seemed to grow colder than the february air.

It started with overnight stays at this "Percy's" house. Then, he would call and say something along the lines of "We are busy right now. We have made a breakthrough!" With what? Neil could only wonder.

Ticking filled his ears with the overwhelming silence. He looked to the clock reading it was going to be another sleepless night. When he returned from his shift tonight, Marie said a quick goodbye before starting her own. She wouldn't return for another hour.

Neil bit his lip, waiting. He did not know what exactly he was waiting for. He craved Todd's voice in his ears. He wanted to feel Marie's kisses on his cheek after work, a new habit she picked up. He wanted something. Anything other than the constant sounds of New York slowly drowning him. He didn't want to admit to this growing need. Not yet, this honeymoon can't end yet.

What was battling with him most was the grumbling in the pit of his stomach for home. He did run away and he didn't regret it. Perhaps what he did regret was not bringing home with him. All of the dead poets should be with him. They deserved the right to explore like they all agreed to do. He felt guilty for not bringing them along with him. He abandoned his family.

He needed them back.

His lungs drained of air. All this time he could have had his family. They were in his coat pocket for months now and he completely forgot about it. The note. That little piece of paper with those ten digits.

He dashed through the living room toward the coat hanger. He rummaged through Marie's garments until he plucked his coat off the hook. Neil dug in the pockets until the sharp edge of paper came in contact with his fingers. He ran back to the lonely telephone propped on the wall.

   His fingers tapped feverishly as he read the numbers off to himself. The beating of his heart skipped. What would Mr. Keating say to him? Its been months and his promise to him was to call. He would probably scold him, tell the school of his whereabouts and God knows what his father would do. No, he objected, this is Keating.

  He entered the final digit and brought the ringing of the telephone to his ears. With every ring, his head spun.

Ring...Ring...Ring...

  "Hello?" A tired voice spoke over the line.

"Mr. Keating?" Neil struggled to keep his voice steady. "It's Neil." A mumbled sigh erupted in his ears.

"Neil, thank god!" On the line a cackle of relief echoed. "How are you Neil?"

He twirled the spiraled telephone chord between his fingers. "I am good, Captain. How are you and the others?"

"We all have been chewing our nails off worried about you and Todd. I think i spy a few gray hairs in my head even."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Keating. I should have reached out sooner. Things have been a bit hectic." Neil huffed.

The man on the phone laughed. "I don't doubt it. What have you been up to? How's Todd?"

"I have a job at this café. Trying to support myself. I met a girl too, Marie is her name." Neil thought for a moment. "Todd's good too."