What We Stay Alive For

Chapter Fifteen: My Morality is Yours, Take It

16 November, 1959. After Admitting.

Todd always knew that something about he and Neil's dynamic changed after his birthday all those years ago. Their relationship with each other became etched into each other's skin with permanent ink. There was a place for Todd published officially and not last-minute written into the margins. It was less romantic and more friendly, then. But still the same as now, said out loud with bated breath and cold noses.

"I love you so well," Neil says like it hurt this whole time not to.

"I love you." Todd admits back. It's not hard to say, as he's merged through these feelings himself already. He thinks Neil must have gone through this, too, because his shoulder fall, relieved like melted butter on a warm pan.

"Wow," Neil responds. He is somewhere on the high grounds of competence and the ledge of devotedness. "You do." He doesn't ask for anything, only says so because he has to. He gazes up at Todd from his place at his hand, only straightening back up so that he may see Todd better in this moonlight. "You love me."

"I do." Todd nods, "I really do. I feel it. I know it." He echoes what Neil had spoken about his desk set flying only twenty minutes ago.

"How long have you known?" Neil asks him, softly. His eyes are wide with wonderment and his mouth is curved up with curiosity.

"It feels like I've known for years.

Neil laughs kindly at what he assumes to be a joke from Todd. "It sure does feel that way, huh?"

Todd can't find anything to say to that, really, since it is that way. He opens his mouth to speak, stopping himself when he feels Neil's hands slide from their locked position around his fingers, to his wrists, to his elbows. They stay there long enough for Todd to tense up, then glide up to his shoulders, to his neck, to his cheeks. They stay on his cheeks for a long time.

And Todd thinks that there's probably poetry somewhere here, hands against cheeks. There's something marvelous to be said about the crescent shape of a finger set against the sharpness of jaw, of mouth. What does it mean to be opposite like this? To let someone place their hands too close to the divots in your neck. The flowers and softness of love place their roots here, Todd thinks, from the seed of human nature. To love someone is to let them in close.

To love someone is to admit that you don't want to die enough times that you'll place your morality in their hands. Your neck, their palms. Your spirit, their bones.

Then, Neil admits another thing to Todd once winter gives up on trying to penetrate past his touch on Todd's skin. "I don't know what to do with my hands."

"Keep them here a minute longer?" Todd asks, croaky and somewhat unsure. He lifts up his arms so that his hands rests over Neil's.

To love someone is to hold your hands over the ones that hold you. I don't want to die, not if it's not by your hands. I want to live, especially when you hold me.

Neil nods, biting his lip so that he'll think about what he says before saying it. It does not work very well. "Oh, my God," he says, absolutely smitten. "Anything, anything. Anything you want." Neil's partially calm, false demeanor fades in an instant and he gives into his urges. He pecks Todd's forehead with a mwah sound and Todd laughs at him.

"Anything?" Todd muses, chest held high with his held breath. "I wouldn't promise that."

"I would," Neil says, "I did! I would do it again, too. Anything, Toddy, anything you want. Just say the word."

It hasn't been stated, but Todd probably started crying several minutes ago. Neil's crying, too. They don't sob or slobber, or become mucus messes. But the tears do flow in lustful longing, one met so sweetly. Todd's never seen Neil cry. His eyelashes look longer. It's beautiful, only here.