Disclaimer: I do not own Dead Poets Society. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing fan fiction.
The first time Todd and Neil hold hands is everything it should be: sweaty palmed, awkward, and somehow kind of wonderful. The last few pieces of paper from the world's first unmanned flying desk set are still falling to the ground when Todd feels something brush against his pinkie, looks down to see Neil's hand slowly, hesitantly, grasping his own. Todd smiles, ducks his head and grasps Neil's hand just as lightly as Neil is grasping his. For a minute or two they just stand there, hands clasped and unable to look at each other.
Neil mumbles something about having lines to memorize, drops Todd's hand and rushes off, leaving Todd standing out in the night, confused. Todd returns to the room some time later to find Neil curled up in his bed, engrossed in his script in such a way that Todd think Neil might be avoiding having to catch his eye. Todd's not really sure he minds, though, because he's not sure he could look into Neil's eyes without blushing profusely. But at the same time, Todd wants to say something. Wants to express to Neil that the simple act of hand holding has meant the world to Todd. But Todd's not sure he has the words to do that. So he strides to the edge of Neil's bed, picks up Neil's right hand from where it sits on the bed, and just stands there, Neil's hand in his. Neil looks up from his script, his eyes moving between Todd's face and their clasped hands a couple of times.
"Hi." Neil says softly, cursing himself for not being able to think of anything better to say.
"Hi." Todd says.
Neil tugs Todd's hand, pulling Todd down onto the bed. Todd bites back a smile as he settles into the mattress next to Neil. Neither of them say anything, but they don't really need to. They're both content to just in comfortable silence, hands clasped, until it's time to get ready for bed.