poeta nascitur, non fit ~ steven meeks x fem!reader

who we are~

song of the chapter: we fell in love in october by girl in red

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

(y/n)'s heart and even her soul felt more at ease after he conversation with Keating. It seemed more and more often lately she had underestimated his genuine character, taking charge as her prime role model during her late-teenage years. 

However, the spiritual lightness that had been procured from the heartfelt atmosphere, it had also brought forth memories of the girl she used to be - while her biological father was still the scent of expensive brandy and ancient parchment and not simply a ghost whose only trail were tear tracks. 

Nevertheless, she had picked herself up after an evening spent doing self care and a bit of post-studying snuggling with her favorite redhead. It had her feeling refreshed enough to be standing out in the chilly Autumn air during a particularly lovely October day, in the courtyard with the entire English class. 

The pupils were, as she suspected, confused about their change of location - but grateful to feel the crisp, earthy breeze on their faces instead of the breeze stirred in their classrooms, which wasn't a breeze at all but instead whooshing air from Welton passerby. Too busy enjoying the sensation like the lovesick romantic she was, (y/n) failed to notice her hair had fallen out of its ribbon. Meeks glanced over and took action, awkward but adorably so as she often found herself wanting to see more of. 

"Here," he offered "let me." Gently, he took the ribbon from off her shoulder and pointedly ignored her rose-red cheeks as he maneuvered the masses that smelt like sweet, dainty shampoo into a poor resemblance of a ponytail. (y/n), observing the damage, couldn't help but snicker. 

"Aw, Meeksie," she tsked, bumping his shoulder "we'll work on your hair doing skills eventually, mel." He arched an eyebrow behind his tortoiseshell spectacles.  

"Are you saying my work isn't already perfect?" he questioned "Because you look stunning." She rolled her eyes before leaning to whisper to him. 

"Hmm. Are you saying I'm not always stunning?" she retorted, smiling coyly at his flabbergasted expression. Thankfully, his stuttering was silenced by Keating taking his chance to speak up. 

"Yeah, quiet lovebirds." Neil whisper-shouted, leaning his arm on Todd's shoulder. Sometimes, (y/n) worried that others wouldn't be as kindly receiving to the idea of Neil Perry loving Todd Anderson, in a society where a mere hundred years earlier women of science were labelled as witches. They weren't exactly progressive - at least not in the sense that truly mattered.

Pitts, Cameron, and Knox walked briskly around the cobblestone courtyard, while Keating reassured them of the actions seeming insignificance. 

"No grades at stake, gentlemen," he reminded them "just take a stroll." The boys abided by his orders, gentle as they sounded. He was still a teacher, whose word was certainly treated at martial law. Soon, they fell into the same step, echoing loudly beneath the shaking of the dry leaves that had yet to accept a beautiful death, but clung to the branches like a sailor to his - her - raft. "There it is." Keating exclaimed after a moment.

They repeated their pacing in circles to the claps of the boys, which in turn became Keating singing a drinking song (y/n) was sure she'd heard outside pubs in London.

"Halt!" he yelled after a few minutes tomfoolery, having proven his point. "Thank you, gentlemen. If you'd noticed, everyone began with their own stride. I brought them up here before yo to illustrate the point of conformity. Who can tell me what this is?" his blue-eyed gaze raked across the young men and woman whose faces had fallen into what (y/n) called the 'Please-Don't-Call-On-Me' face. Except, Keating was smarter.