landslide, neil perry

five.

that was the day that mr. keating had decided to talk to his daughter. despite having a good relationship with each other, the two didn't often find solace in the traditional manner of words. instead, they opted to read poetry to each other, or, in celia's case, give occasional art pieces to express their emotions.

now, keating had been planning to talk to his daughter for a while. since their arrival at welton, he'd wanted to allow his daughter space; he was afraid of hovering over her as she attempted to make new friends. despite his love for her, he didn't want her to feel like she was limited to only being his daughter. he felt that it was best to allow her to grow on her own as an individual before really acting like he was picking favorites.

of course, the man had asked her every night how her day was, but with her dorm on the other side of the premises, it was hard for him to get a time to actually sit down with the teen, who seemed perfectly fine living her life as if she, like the rest of the boys, was living away from her parents.

the knock on her door made celia look up from her canvas, hastily cleaning up the brush and shoving away the paints in case of a surprise attack from nolan. "just me." her father said with a smile, walking into the room. "wow, they really don't give you kids much room, do they?" he asked.

celia chuckled. "no, they do not." she agreed, smiling up at him. "what's up?"

"i just noticed we.. we haven't really talked too much since classes started up. just checking in." he explained. words normally came to him so easily, yet he struggled often with how to talk to the girl. he often wondered if it was that they were so different from each other. now that she was older, he wondered if the true issue was that they were too similar. 

"yeah, i'm sorry about that, i've been meaning to set time aside to go over to your offi- your room," she corrected, remembering that the traditional office of his classroom was doubling as his home for the moment, "but i haven't had much time with all the schoolwork. did you know that hager assigns two full chapters a night?"

keating laughed, shaking his head. "no, no need to apologize. i, too, endured the imminent struggles of the higher education at hell-ton." he patted her knee then, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "i noticed you made some friends, they're a good group of boys."

celia smiled. "yeah. they love you, a lot."

his face brightened at this, and she swore she noticed him blush slightly, as he often did when complimented. "oh, they only say that because i don't load them down with homework as much as the board of direction insists i should."

"no, they really love you. you're a really great teacher, dad. you make learning seem.. actually important and fun." she admitted, tucking her dried off paintbrush behind her ear. "i mean, if anyone can get charlie dalton to enjoy poetry, he has to be some sort of a magic man."

he laughed once more. "you're not wrong. hey, i take it the first meeting went well? i saw neil got my book."

she looked up at the mention of his name. "yeah, yeah, it went really well. i think it's making them all feel more connected to something, like the poetry is giving them a sort of purpose that they didn't have before."

keating smiled warmly, proud of his students. before he could think of a response, he noticed the book that was sitting out on her dresser. "may i?" he asked, waiting for her approval before picking it up and scanning the cover. "t. s. eliot?" he questioned, looking over at his daughter. "i didn't know you were a fan."

celia chuckled. "i wasn't. neil gave it to me in exchange for me making him read dickinson."

"ahh." he said, nodding his head as if something suddenly made sense. "he has good taste, the waste land is a good read." he set the book back down on her desk, letting his hand remain on it for a moment before he stood. "well, i won't keep you, i just figured i'd make my way down to see you."