Poetry for Three (Steven Meeks x reader x Gerard Pitts)

These Dreadful Tears

This turned out quite angsty, no toxic masculinity here.

Steven and Gerard had gotten very close recently, even more so than usual.

Steven had noticed the changes in Gerard's behaviour. During dinner, Gerard would sometimes place a hand on his thigh whenever he had said something particularly funny, sending waves of something through his chest, and when he was playing chess in the common room, Pitts would often lean over his shoulders and he would feel his breath tingling on his neck, which admittedly distracted him from the game.

Steven enjoyed it, truly, but it also put him on edge. If anyone picked up on Gerard's actions, they'd be in trouble for sure. Even though the sneaking around was admittedly exciting, the subject of the matter was weighing heavily on him, he felt anxious at all times, except for when he and Gerard were in their dorm.

Apparently, his literature teacher had picked up on his off behaviour as well. "Mr. Meeks, could you stay behind after class?" Mr. Keating  asked him in a calm manner when the lesson was nearing its end. He gave a short nod, though his nerves were already building. He couldn't think of anything he had done wrong, he'd even scored a perfect A+ on his essay on medieval literature.

Steven stayed seated as the rest of the boys left for lunch. He was twiddling his thumbs as he waited for the teacher to address him. "I've been thinking about your poem, Steven." Mr. Keating started. His heart dropped. He hadn't managed to figure it out, had he? Then again, he was a literature teacher. "Lovely words, might I add. Could you repeat them for me?" Swiftly, Meeks pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his desk and, once more, he read out his poem. "Hm, thank you." Keating said, putting a finger to his lips and sitting dow. "At first I thought you were debating about your own characteristics. I took 'then let me journey to the stars' as a metaphor for your intelligence and ambition." Meeks mumbled a soft "thank you" at that. "But it's not, is it?" He looked at the redhead expectantly, but when he said nothing, continued. "Correct me if I'm wrong," Keating spoke slowly now, letting every word sink in. "But I think that with beauty you meant to represent femininity, and strength, masculinity." The unasked question hung thick in the air. "That's quite the duality, isn't it?" So he had figured it out. And what now? He could feel tears brimming in his eyes and he tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. He nodded again, his head down, feeling absolutely pathetic. "Oh, Steven." Keating spoke softly. He could hear the older man stand up from his chair and walk over to him. He tore is eyes from his hands to look up at his teacher, who stood there with a sad smile and his arms open. "Come here." He said in a fatherly way Steven had never experienced. Sure, his father was a good man and he loved him, but he'd always been a bit distant, he was more of a 'mother's boy'. So with little doubt, Meeks threw himself in Keating's arms, who embraced him fully. As he softly sobbed into the man's shoulder, Keating patted his back. "There, there. It's alright, my boy." The usually energetic teacher was now very understanding and calm about the situation. "Writing that poem was very couragious of you." He spoke, now holding the boy by both shoulders at arms length. "If you need to talk to someone, you know where to find me." Then he let go of him. "Now hurry along, your friends are probably wondering why you're taking so long." Meeks nodded, dried his eyes and rose from his chair, making for the door.

"You really do have a gift for the written word, mr. Meeks! If you're not too busy 'journeying to the stars', think about that for a career!" Keating yelled after him as Steven left the classroom.