“I’m checking for a concussion. Follow my finger with your eyes.”
Neil tries to ignore the flush in his cheeks and raises his pointer finger, holding it up right in front of Todd’s face, as if he was pointing at something in the sky. Look at these clouds, these swallows, this shade of blue. Look at this summer. Obediently, Todd’s eyes fix on it, following when Neil slowly moves it to his left.
Todd’s shirt has dried in the spots where his summer-hot skin touches it most, his shoulder blades, his chest. The fabric is soft and worn, and looking at it, looking at Todd sitting cross-legged, blood trickling down his right knee that must have taken part of the fall, Neil feels like youth is enveloping them, feels like they are both standing on an edge, just shy of adulthood. He thinks the high shrieks of the swallows that rush across the sky are a sort of parting song from childhood, a hymn to summer and growing up.
Neil moves his finger back to centre and Todd’s eyes follow, but when he moves his hand to his right, they stay.
the nectarine is so soft it feels molten and smells like tipsy sugar.
he should have eaten it earlier, but todd supposes that's the pattern of his life, biting into every sweet thing only once it's almost died and its sugar has turned into something twisted and addictive.
he grips the knife tighter.
the flesh of the overripe fruit oozes juice and gives way under his fingertips no matter how delicately todd tries to hold it. he tries his best not to think.
the juice runs through the gaps between his fingers, perfect drops leaving an itchy trail.
todd remembers last july, neil licking his knuckles clean - you can't cut fruit for shit, todd, you're all sticky - and the way todd flushed at the heat of his tongue, gone before it was really there.
he remembers sharing apple slices in the bathtub with jeffrey as kids, bare knees bumping together.
neil is still laying on the couch when todd brings the plate over.
"come on", he says when neil shakes his head and just goes on staring at the ceiling, "you need to eat something, neil. it's almost seven."
neil shakes his head again, his eyes still with that frozen look in them.
todd's skin tingles where the juice makes it sticky.
todd has kicked them down to a puddle around his feet and is still covered in a thin layer of sweat, heat stumbles around this old-fashioned building like a confused fly, unable to find an exit, even at night.
he lies there, hot and tired and undeniably awake, and their room is too stuffy despite the half-opened window. it looks like someone ran away, like someone's escaped these last days of june that should be spent in woods and rivers, not classrooms. but no one is escaping this room.
neil lies in his bed, breathing evenly. he's shirtless- which makes sense- the heat is unbearable.
the cave is the only place todd feels like shadow is more than paint or a concept. the cave is the only place he locks eyes with neil for too long, counting seconds and feeling each one stir something in his chest. the cave is the only place - too many eyes at school, not enough in their room.
the cave is the only place where todd presses his palm flat against the stone wall, feeling a relieving chill, and neil puts his hand right next to todd's, pinkies touching. one word, muttered: salvation.
hello poets!! uni and also life has been pretty busy soo the book channel had to wait :') BUT i really wanna start that project in july!! thanks for your patience everyone and big hugs <33
neil is looking at him with eyes that know they'll leave, todd has noticed.
he could never quite put his finger on it, the same way a line of poetry sometimes flees him for days until he catches it on a napkin in some cheap diner in downtown philadelphia; could never quite name what made him so uneasy about neil looking at him as if he was a sparrow seconds from flying away.
"why ya looking at me like that?"
"what?"
"you're staring."
neil shrugged, his eyes still on todd. "just wanna remember this, is all."
todd huffed, not more than half a laugh. "i'll be here."
and neil would kiss him but not answer.
now, months later, with all the crying and shouting long behind them; desperation having turned into some stale kind of resignation, he understands that neil will be the one to leave.
not now, not tomorrow (he's made dinner reservations for next thursday), but eventually, the way you always know winter will come even when bringing your parka down to the basement in june.
and all todd can do is change and move and spin, be blurry and never sit still enough to be remembered. it's too early. just stay for a moment more. one more look. i swear you haven't seen it all.
hii not sure if anyone's on this blog anymore because it's been forever since i've posted (i'm sorryyy i swear more cowboy anderperry is in the making) but i've been thinking about starting a youtube or instagram to share little videos about the books i love - would anyone be interested? <33
a small thing that is promised to calm todd down when everything gets too overwhelming is playing with or brushing his hair.
which, unfortunately, is way too intimate a thing to ask his friends for- they help as good as they can already, trying to be quieter when todd gets that very intense look, passing him food that isn't too spicy or salty, talking loudly when a teacher is looking for people to get up front to the board, so that they'll gleefully pick the loudmouth.
but this is different; involves a kind of gentleness, of vulnerability that todd can't ask for. it means baring the parts of him that are most sensitive, revealing he's a baby bird in thunderstorms, asking for whispers and warmth in a place that doesn't offer these things.
neil still finds out.
which shouldn't come as a surprise to todd - neil has a way of catching him where he's most vulnerable, closing his palms around him as if he was a ladybug in a child's hand. careful now, don't hurt it. i'll keep it safe. i'll carry it off the pavement, put it where the grass sprouts in may-coloured strands.
so neil finds out, when they're laying on todd's bed (better sun in the evening), neil reading the script of his newest play, todd just breathing, trying to match the tides of neil's heartbeat below him, trying to slow down his own. and neil isn't sure what happens, because to his mind, nothing's changed, but suddenly todd's eyes have that frozen panic in them.
neil thinks he can feel the way todd's drowning in his own thoughts, and todd's thoughts tend to be quicksand in these moments. it's desparation, in the end, that gets neil to bury his left hand in todd's hair, carefully weaving his fingers through the sandy strands. he knows it's silly, but the urge to physically wipe the thoughts off todd's head is what makes him lightly trace his nails across the other's scalp, gentle, always so gentle.
and todd melts.
his breathing slows, and suddenly he's back, and neil's heart flutters like a dragonfly drying off its wings. he can help. not much, not always, but he can try.
he soon discovers that it helps after showers, too - todd is embarrassed enough to snap at him the first time, the first time neil's heard him rashly angry, but it only takes todd a week to come back and apologise, to say neil was right, but could he not make a big deal out of it. (and neil perry, king of theatrics, doesn't)
because showers can be overwhelming in these times, when todd's mind is a bridge wobbling on brittle foundations- standing there all wet, knowing he'll need to get out the stall, and dry off, and get his clothes and put them on and they'll still stick to him a bit and his toes will stay wet because the floor is cold, and- it's too much.
but neil can brush his hair, still wet and darker than usual, and the scratch of it along his scalp grounds him, puts his thoughts on a leash. neil will hum a song, and todd will ache with the sweet cruelty of love, the stinging tenderness of vulnerability.
and when todd gets into bed in exam season, and the sheets are fluffy and full of fresh air, smelling of spring and melancholy, he breathes in deeply through his nose. and neil walks over to him for a second before going to his own bed, three extra steps that make todd close his eyes and bury his face in the pillow.
and he runs a hand through todd's hair, and it feels like warm notes on a cello. like autumn sun falling through tall tree trunks, like a mug of cocoa, like a childhood kitchen table. his fingers trace lines across todd's scalp, reminiscent of the contrails of the plane that divides the sky three years later, like neil is already dreaming of it.
todd breathes and smiles.
good night, little poet <3
(i put this on ao3 even though it's ridiculously short, so you guys know what that means- the time of poet writing dps fanfiction has started, and the next ones are gonna be way longer)
