A/N: A short little angsty, fluffy oneshot. Please R/R! Thank you!
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Comfort
Todd Andersen slipped into his room with a bewildered expression on his face. It was five minutes to eleven o'clock, and he had barely made curfew. But this wasn't what left him with that look in his eyes. Neil Perry had not come to dinner, nor had he appeared afterward, when the boys scattered across campus to waste away their time before curfew. Charlie had shrugged it off, saying the actor perhaps had stayed at his rehearsal and had dinner with the cast. Todd hadn't mentioned Neil's absence after that, but he doubted Charlie's suggestion anyway. He had kept a look out for Neil the entire night, but the actor had never showed. He had eaten his spaghetti and meatballs with a lonely feeling in his stomach. Maybe it had just been him, but it seemed like the whole table was quieter that evening, without Neil.
The poet suppressed a sigh of relief when he closed the door behind him. Neil was stretched out on the radiator again, staring out the window into the night. He didn't turn his head at the sound of the door, but Todd smiled faintly anyway. He remarked that they had missed Neil at dinner, as he hung up his coat in the closet. Only one lamp lit the room, dimly. The actor didn't budge, and Todd finally noticed his best friend's posture wasn't familiar. Shoulders were slouched against the wall, one hand was buried in pocket his resignedly, while the other hung limp with a cigarette in between his fingers, head was tilted forward in melancholy, as the boy's eyes fell through the windowpane like sunbeams. Todd's voice turned into concern, and he asked Neil what was wrong. The actor only released a breath that rattled through his chest. Todd waited for an answer, stepping forward a bit. After a silent moment, Neil turned his head to look at Todd, with tears streaming down his face.
"My father's making me quit the play," he admitted, with pain throbbing in his eyes. Sorrow breathed in the folds of his emerald green sweater. "I talked to Mr. Keating, and he said I have to talk to him. I don't have any other choice." His voice shook, his lip quivered, and Todd didn't move for fear that he would shatter completely. "Todd, I don't know what to do." It was almost a whimper, quiet and defeated. "I know he won't listen to me, and I love acting so much." Todd watched him like a rabbit caught in the road, as a car charged toward it. " And tomorrow's opening night," Neil cried. "They can't just find a replacement, I have the lead part." He sunk down into himself again, tears flowing steadily. Todd had never seen another man cry, least of all his best friend. Neil was always so impassioned and alive, not broken like this. This wasn't Neil. Damn his father.
Todd didn't know what to say, so he did the only thing that made sense. He strode across the room and pulled Neil into a comforting embrace. The actor crumpled, curling up into a ball on the radiator, with his head against Todd's chest. He clung to Todd desperately, his despair and pain so great that a friend's arms were like food to a starved dog. He sobbed into the other boy's clothes, as Todd stroked over his back soothingly. The poet hadn't had another human being's arms around him in years, and he almost fell apart now. Neil felt like he was dying, and all he could do was cry and cry and cry. Todd allowed him this for a long while, but he eventually pulled away from Neil and took him by the shoulders.
"Look," he began, having no idea where the words were coming from. "You don't have to tell your father anything. This is your life, Neil. You can't live it for anyone else but you. He won't even be here, how would he know anyway? You already told him you were going to quit, right? So as far as he knows, you won't be there tomorrow night. Just do it, Neil. Screw your father."
"But if he catches me, it'll be hell," Neil countered, shaking his head.
"And what if he doesn't?" Todd suggested. "If you quit, you'll regret it forever. If you love acting as much as you say you do, how can you let your father win?" Neil didn't answer, only dropped his head from Todd's eyes, with a few sullen tears still falling. Todd grimaced, knowing the situation was as bad as it could possibly get for his best friend. Damn it all, if it wasn't for Neil's father, there wouldn't be any problem at all. He moved closer and let Neil fall against him once more, his hand stroking the actor's hair. Todd's arm slipped around Neil's back again, supporting him, while Neil held on to Todd's other sleeve. After a while, Neil's meek voice spoke up again, saying he would do it. Todd smiled to himself and squeezed him gently. Finally, he came away from the actor and began to get out of his tie, as Neil shifted on the radiator. The actor dried his face with his sleeve, as Todd unbuttoned his shirt, slipped out of his pants, and dressed again in his pinstriped flannel pajamas. He slid into his thinning bed, once he turned the lamp off, and settled in. Yet Neil remained standing in the moonlight, watching him.
"Todd," he called timidly. The poet gave a sound of acknowledgment from the bed covers. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" Todd rolled over on his stomach and looked at his best friend, who he knew was blushing fiercely, even in the dark. He smiled, however, and nodded. Todd moved over, his back to the wall, and Neil slid in beside him, more grateful than ever before. They exchanged whispered goodnights, their faces inches from each other's, looking more deeply into each other's eyes than they ever had before. In the next moment, those eyes lay closed, and both friends soon sunk into the slow breathing of slumber.