tampered | ☞ close the door and no one has to know how we are

☞ close the door and no one has to know how we are

When; Tuesday, 1st September
Rating; PG 13 might be too much to hope for from them
Characters; Neil Perry [

had_not_lived], Todd Anderson [

mumbled_truth]
Summary; This conversation has been a long time coming, even if neither of them wants it to happen.
Log;

Neil was far from certain he was ready to do this. But who knew how much time they had here, either of them? Todd could be gone tomorrow-- and though it might be easier, might mean less strife between them, Neil knew that in the end he'd regret never confessing. As difficult as this was bound to be-- telling Todd was the right thing to do. He'd given nearly the same advice-- albeit on different matters-- to others, in the aftermath of revelation. It was easy to assure his friends that those who cared for them would forgive them, no matter the severity of what they'd done. Believing that Todd wouldn't mind the admission that he was in love with him was much tougher.

Maybe it was stupid, in essence trusting the City to tell him what he felt-- after all, a curse was just a curse. Why assume there was any truth to its implication? But the fact that it had raised the question at all, that he hadn't been able to simply dismiss it, proved the point. As did five months in a City full of beautiful women--all of whom he liked very much, and who had been kind-- and most of his hours spent in Todd's company. He had to admit, upon consideration, that it was less about making certain the shy boy got a fair share of socialization, than about his own unwillingness to be parted from him.

It helped a little to remember that it wasn't only him; that things were different here. People seemed to take it in stride that not all boys liked girls, not all girls liked boys. It was something of a shock, even as he considered his own questionable predilections. Common in vertebrates. Justin's sympathy had helped as well, though it was hard to accept without reservation, given what he now knew of the other boy's past. Caspian's insistence that love should never be shameful was a little more inspiring, if more foreign-- an ideal he'd like to aspire to, though he wasn't certain he had it in him. Living by a philosophy was more difficult than Neil had expected, but he'd taken the coward's way out already, once.

At least, if it'd been a girl, Neil would have some idea of how to proceed. Write her a poem, kiss her at a party, he thought wryly, smirking to himself, thinking of home, of Knox and his paramour Chris. Neil's mouth went dry considering either option. There was a world of difficulty between admitting (even to himself) that he had feelings for Todd, and being able to stomach the idea of anything physical. And as for poetry... maybe Todd would have had the right words. Neil didn't. The best he could hope for was to stammer out the gist of it and pray his friend didn't hate him. The possibility that Todd might reciprocate had scarcely occurred to him; he didn't dare hope for it, and somehow it seemed... statistically unlikely. That the two of them would both--

Is it any less likely than anyone falling in love? he wondered suddenly, shying away from the thought just as quickly. Neil couldn't get his hopes up about this. He knew he wouldn't been able to take it, if he did, if Todd turned from him. Better to take things one day-- one moment-- at a time. No matter what, Todd was his friend, first and foremost; he had to trust him. Trust their friendship.

Taking a deep breath, he rapped sharply on the doorframe to get Todd's attention, poking his head into the room with what he hoped was a nonchalant smile.

"Hey."

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For all the progress he had made in the time since he first met Neil, both at home and in the City, Todd had never lost his ability for going silent and receding into his own thoughts. It had found a new manifestation, of course, in poetry, which he dove into with that special kind of under-informed and overly devoted enthusiasm only an impressionable teenager can manage.

For this particular impressionable teenager, however, it served an admirable purpose. His shyness, his uncertainty, his overall unwillingness to put any thoughts-- any feelings-- that he had into words meant that for most of his life, he had lived in a quiet, resigned state of perpetually dismissing the idea that he had anything of value to express. But then there came Mr. Keating, and the idea of writing out words just for the purpose of expression. As doubtful as he had been about ever sharing it at first, he'd latched onto it privately, embracing the idea that he could communicate something that he felt without having to say it.

And then, of course, there was Neil. Neil, who always encouraged him, who always made him feel like he was worth listening to, like what he thought, what he had to say, actually mattered. Neil, who always loved Todd's poetry, who always wanted to read anything he had written, who always went to any length just to catch a glimpse of a few lines in a hostage notebook. Neil, who was his very best friend, who in a few short months had managed to mean more to Todd than any other single person, whose presence alone could make Todd feel better about anything, even himself.

Of course, this was also Neil who he now knew he felt too strongly about, who he cared too much for.

So it certainly made sense that, since the curse, he had clammed up a bit and found himself in a book more often than not, scribbling and scratching out and writing and editing and re-writing and tossing out poem upon poem, then faithfully starting the process from the top with another sheet of paper.

This was the process he was in the midst of, sitting on his bed with his back against the wall, when he heard Neil at the door. Having been thoroughly involved in his endless series of rewrites, he was a bit startled at the noise, though the surprise faded after a moment, giving way to that small, genuine smile that he never really did make enough use of. But this was Neil, and even if he was scared-- terrified, really, though even that was too weak a word-- of the possibility that Neil was angry at him, he was still happy to see him. He always was, even if he saw him more often than not, here; he was simply grateful that, through whatever powers existed over this place, he had whatever time they'd been given. Too grateful, of course, to say anything about that curse; he was Neil's friend, and their friendship meant too much to him to risk losing it.

"Hey," The book was placed aside, closed as he set it down, "What's going on?"

He answered the question with a shrug, stepping fully into the open doorway, leaning against the side for a moment as he tried to muster his courage. "Nothing." Immediately he felt like a liar for saying it; something was happening, awful and significant, something bound to change their lives. He knew this feeling, standing on the edge of a pivotal moment, aware that things would never be the same-- not quite. For better or worse, he didn't know; only knew that honesty was more than the best policy, it was his only option, if he wasn't going to make more of a mess of things than he already had.

Neil smiled back at Todd, a reflexive expression, though now tempered with hesitance. With fear, though he tried to suppress it, because as certain as he was of their friendship, he couldn't really know that it would stand this test. Afraid, too, of his own admission-- that he wouldn't be able to force the words out, that he'd mangle his intention, tripping on embarrassment. To say nothing of what it meant, what it said about him. What he was. As different as things were here, Todd wasn't from here. Neil wouldn't blame him for turning away from the very idea.

But there was a time when he'd thought himself brave, and though he'd done countless cowardly things since (or so it seemed now, his triumphs paling in the face of his trepidation,) he wanted to believe he still was. Still had the capacity for courage, at any rate. So Neil willed himself not to shuffle his feet, and managed (somehow) to meet Todd's eyes.

"We should talk." Not I want to talk, because he didn't. The note of desperation in his words made him feel obvious, vulnerable-- as though he'd already shown his hand, though of course the worst was yet to come. "Can I..?" He gestured to the end of the bed, asking permission to sit.

The word talk, in certain contexts, had managed to be rather intimidating to the shy boy over the years, but never had it managed to strike quite as potent a fear into him as it did when Neil said it now. In a horrifying moment, he knew that his fears had been realized; that his friend was angry, that he couldn't just ignore the fact that Todd was damaged any longer than he had. It was fair, of course; there was something wrong with him, and Neil had every right to tell him to leave, to never speak to him again.

Thankfully, the moment passed quickly, and the fear that had crept onto his face faded with it, slightly. It remained, lingering in his eyes, in the tension on his face as much as he tried to will it away. He knew it didn't make sense, not really; if Neil had suddenly lost his patience and decided to tell Todd to leave, it seemed that he'd be much more aggressive about it, wouldn't want to just sit down and talk. So he reminded himself of this as he tried to compose himself, tried to remain as normal, as nonchalant, as he could possibly manage under the circumstances.

Todd chewed at his lower lip a bit, his brow furrowed slightly, as he straightened up and tucked his legs under him to make a bit more room for Neil. He nodded nervously, a motion that lacked range but made up for it in frequency, as he replied, as hesitant as he had ever said anything, "Y-yeah... um-- of course."

He tried to meet Neil's eyes, and succeeded for the most part, though he couldn't entirely fight the urge to look away now and again, as if he was worried that constant eye contact would give away anything his friend hadn't already surmised.

Edited 2009-09-02 03:12 (UTC)

The reaction didn't surprise Neil much, though certainly if he were privy to the other boy's thoughts, those would. They'd been putting this off ever since it happened, avoiding any sort of confrontation of the curse and its significance. Neil knew that Todd knew-- must know-- what was going on; he was clever and those who'd figured out the City's reasoning hadn't been shy about announcing it. But it was different, bringing it up in conversation. A necessary hardship (or so Neil had judged it;) there was too much uncertainty, a kind of unhappy wariness between them. Even if Todd ended up hating him for it, it would be better to have things out in the open. He hoped.

It didn't bode well that Todd looked so afraid, though. Afraid of him? Though that seemed like the most logical explanation, it didn't sit quite right; Todd ought to know that Neil would never do anything to hurt him. Not again. If he'd learned one thing from all the other serious conversations neither of them had wanted but both of them had needed, it was exactly how much his suicide had hurt Todd, still hurt Todd.

He didn't say anything, though, until after he'd settled on the bed-- leaving a considerable distance between them, though he wasn't teetering on the edge of it. He didn't want Todd to feel trapped or threatened, but he did want to be near his friend-- a realization which made him more than a little uneasy, in spite of the fact that it was nothing new. Neil wasn't at peace with this, yet, and even the smallest things seemed oddly significant, and by extension inappropriate.

"I guess you know what about," he said quietly, with a rueful smile.

He knew that the fact that Neil was willing to sit anywhere near him should be a comfort, but Todd noticed the distance. He'd noticed that distance that had been between them lately, and had done his part, when needed, to keep it there, but he hated it. The empty air that hung between them was just so tangible, so full of tension and fear that he couldn't stand the weight of it in the room. He didn't dare break it, though; he wouldn't venture into that space, no matter how much he missed being at Neil's side. Everything had seemed so normal, once; he'd hugged Neil when he first arrived, after all, overjoyed and in disbelief at the very sight of his friend.

Now, of course, he couldn't imagine Neil letting him hug him ever again. Not that he could blame him for that, of course.

"Yeah..." he was a little surprised at exactly how quiet his voice was, right now, how meek it sounded. It had been quite a while since he'd heard it come out that subdued, "I think so."

He fought back the urge to apologize right off the bat; he figured he should let Neil say his piece first, after all, since he had started the conversation. Not that it would have gotten started any other way, of course.

Edited 2009-09-02 03:50 (UTC)

Neil had thought about that too, a hundred times-- a hundred times a day-- since Todd had landed on him. Things had been so easy between them, before; they'd hugged, leaned on one another's shoulders, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Now even the brush of their hands as they passed a book between them betrayed him. Now he second-guessed himself, trying to pinpoint the moment where friendship had become something else. He couldn't. Nothing had changed, and everything had.

Todd's obvious reluctance was nearly enough to make him give up on this-- apologize for bothering and head back to his own room-- but he'd come too far; having acknowledged that there was something to speak about, they couldn't go back to pretending that everything was fine. How to begin, though... he had no idea.

"I thought maybe..." Neil took a deep breath. "Maybe it would be better, not talking about it. But..." Lips pressed together in what wasn't quite a frown, he glanced away, as though there were an answer written on the wall behind them. "I can't stand this."

That puzzled Todd a bit, but it concerned him more so; wondering if by pretending it all just hadn't happened, he'd somehow upset Neil more than if he'd just apologized as soon as he understood why it had happened, as soon as he'd started questioning himself on how he did feel and found out that things were decidedly wrong.

He looked down, letting out a slow sigh, punctuated with a soft, "I'm sorry..."

Slowly, he raised his gaze back up to look at Neil, though he couldn't keep his eyes steady for more than a few seconds before they flicked off to a side or down or just away, trying to hide when he knew he couldn't.

"I just--" his mouth lingered open a moment before he closed it and opened it again, "I... I don't really know what else to say."

Edited 2009-09-02 04:25 (UTC)

For once, Todd's response was unusual enough to draw Neil out of the self-indulgence of his guilt. Sorry for what? He glanced back at the other boy curiously. He'd have met Todd's gaze-- or tried, at least-- if he wasn't looking away, avoiding contact. It wasn't what he'd expected. He hadn't known what to expect, really-- but this seemed...

There was a desperation in Todd's mien he hadn't expected, a certain fear Neil couldn't account for. And the apology only confused him further; Neil had been utterly complicit in Not Talking About It, and he'd taken Todd's silence for kindness, or maybe pity-- maybe just an unwillingness to leave, and find himself alone in the City. That was nothing to apologize for.

"...It's not your fault," he said slowly, watching Todd intently, chewing a little at his lower lip.

Edited 2009-09-02 04:53 (UTC)

His eyes managed to meet Neil's for a few moments, brow shifting into a peculiar combination of guilt and confusion. He was fairly certain that he knew what they were talking about, but that response didn't match up with it very well. Of course it was his fault; he'd been thrown into Neil, after all. He figured that much out in fairly short order after the nature of the curse had been laid out to him.

Unless, of course, Neil was being kind, telling him it wasn't his fault that there was something wrong with him. Though this didn't seem like that kind of a response, somehow.

But if Neil was saying that the curse wasn't his fault--

When he looked back up at Neil, he wasn't any less doubtful, guilty or afraid, but he managed to keep his gaze steady, "... what's not my fault?"

"What are you apologizing for?" he countered stubbornly, not quite able to believe what that implied. He met Todd's gaze evenly, trying to find some hint, some confirmation, of what he hadn't dared hope for. A mirror of everything he'd been hiding, the guilt and awkward longing he'd never realized he felt until the City chose to highlight it.

(And in the back of his mind, he realized, that from time to time it had to happen, wrong and unnatural or not. If like-minded people never met, there'd be nothing to have been labeled wrong, after all. And maybe nothing was impossible, here.)

Neil didn't give his friend time to answer. "Jesus, Todd. Really?" he breathed, leaning in a little, incredulous. Ambiguous though the question was, there was nothing remotely angry in his tone or expression. If his heart beat, it would be pounding.

"I--" Indeed, he wasn't given time to go any further than that before Neil leaned in, that overly dense air between them finally shrinking. It seemed somewhat less tense, certainly less of a solid, restricting barrier between them now. Though he wasn't sure he could really believe what the question implied, what his friend's reaction seemed to mean.

He hesitated slightly in answering the question. There certainly seemed to be some fairly clear implications, but that didn't mean he was even close to comfortable with saying anything too direct.

"You..." He'd drawn some tentative conclusions already, though it was still very much a question as he, too, leaned in slightly in turn, "Did you think it was your fault?"

"It was," he insisted quietly, nearly mumbling. At least in part.

Neil wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or sob, torn between relief and acute terror. He trembled a little, overwrought with conflicting emotion-- no longer terrified of being rejected, but uncertain of how to proceed. He was incredibly uncomfortable with the possibilities this created, even as he exulted inwardly.

Christ, what do I even say?

Something sweeping and romantic would be appropriate, if this were a story. If he had the stomach for it. Even knowing that Todd felt the same-- he did, he had, and of course it all seemed obvious now, what idiots they'd been!-- didn't help the honest, obvious embarrassment of being in love with a boy. A part of Neil wanted to throw himself into Todd's arms.

He only leaned forward a little more, palm sliding across the bedspread to catch Todd's hand, fingers curling around his friend's. It was a start, albeit a small one.

They'd held hands before, of course, but never with this kind of significance, certainly not with this kind of understanding or context. Without a word, he glanced down at their hands and tightened his own fingers over Neil's.

He looked back up after a quiet moment, swallowing hard. His heart was racing from how overjoyed he was, how wonderful and unbelievable it was just to know that somehow, Neil-- Neil, the boy everyone loved, who everyone listened to, who everyone looked up to-- actually cared about Todd the same way. At the same time, the entire thing was terrifying; there was a weight in the pit of his stomach which had become more noticeable, not less, with the realization that they both felt the same way.

It had never occurred to Todd that it was at all possible for Neil to return his feelings, so he hadn't thought about what he would do if his friend did. Besides that, his upbringing meant that he couldn't even begin to think about doing anything remotely physical. It was wrong, and he still couldn't shake the feeling that all of this was.

Of course, there was still a great deal of relief in this moment, in knowing that the space, that horrible heavy tension between them, was gone. The feeling of his friend's hand in his own was reassuring, if more than a little awkward under the circumstances. But this was Neil, and he trusted him. He loved him.

Todd couldn't find any words at the moment, couldn't bring himself to say anything he felt. All he had to offer as he returned his gaze to meet Neil's was a small smile, nervous and shy in an entirely new way.

Even though they both kept silent, it was different; it had become something unspoken, rather than something they didn't speak of. Words could change the world; but maybe, sometimes, the world could change quietly, just as drastically, in the space of a breath.

This unexpected and unsought affection was like a gift; and for once he didn't even think of how little he deserved it, too in shock and too eager to reassure Todd that he meant it, even if he couldn't quite saying it without feeling like a fool.

To hell with what he was supposed to be, or what he wasn't supposed to want. He'd done things much worse and much more drastic, things he deserved to be (and was) ashamed of, to defy authority he didn't agree with. How bad could it be, really, to love someone? To appreciate all the things about Todd that no one else seemed to see?

Suddenly decisive, he tugged at Todd's arm, trying to pull the other boy into an embrace. It felt a little odd-- as though, at any moment, someone would burst in on them and punish them for their misbehavior. As utterly ridiculous as he knew that was, it was difficult to overcome. Maybe he'd feel a little less stupid, if they didn't have to look at each other's dumbfounded grins.

He moved closer to Neil in response to the other boy's tugging, albeit a bit stiffly; not unwillingly, just unsure.

As tentatively as he moved, the proximity between them actually served to quiet some of the concerns and fears that plagued his mind. With Neil here, this close to him, he had a difficult time thinking of anything other than how strongly he felt, how much he had always cared about his friend, how much more he'd noticed it since winding up reunited here. After all, he had essentially died for him, without even thinking twice about it. He had already decided that he didn't want to go home, long before tonight, ready to give up his life so he stay here; so he could be with Neil.

They had only known each other for a few months back home; even with the time they'd spent in the City, it wasn't quite a year, but already Neil meant more to him than anyone else in any world. He had never felt so accepted, so wanted, anywhere by anyone. Nobody had ever managed to make him feel like he was worth anything the way Neil did or, for that matter, had ever gotten him to do quite as many insane things... things that had changed who he was, had helped him overcome his shortcomings. His friend's gift of persuasion, he knew, could only be partially blamed for that.

So it was wrong. He knew it was, but he didn't know why, and unless anyone could present a valid reason, the fact that he felt what he did, as strongly as he did, decidedly took precedence.

There was one last moment of hesitation, and then Todd shut his mind up and wrapped his arms around Neil.

Edited 2009-09-03 02:02 (UTC)

With a shuddering breath he didn't really need, but couldn't help taking, Neil shifted forward too. He'd never considered how awkward this kind of thing must be; trying to find a place to put his knees so he didn't end up sitting on Todd's leg, narrowly avoiding a tangle of scrawny arms. He felt ungainly and self-conscious and deliriously pleased, as they somehow managed it, face turned inward as he laid his head on Todd's shoulder, trying not to think about anything at all.

This wasn't the kind of thing you ever had to discuss with any of the guys-- the emotional part, the strange vulnerability brought about by an admission of feelings. Even a tacit one. At seventeen it was mostly posturing and tall tales, anyway; lewd jokes and creased centerfolds wavering in flashlight beams. But there was an understanding that even as you boasted, you didn't have to share the details, where they made you look soft and stupid and human.

Which made things all the more awkward, here. In his friend's arms, as something more than a friend-- balancing the desire not to look like a fool with how badly he wanted to be here, curled together, the two of them against a world of insecurities. It was easier, with his eyes shut. It felt right. Not poetry and romance, maybe, but a quiet kind of completion he'd never expected, never known to yearn for.

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☞ close the door and no one has to know how we are

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