Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic. Otherwise, I'd have Charlie all to myself! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA

My poor Charlie. You can see it in his eyes…he's hurting. Often I wish I could just hold him and kiss him and make it all go away. Peters stopped writing for a moment, gazing over the lake behind Albany. It was lovely the way it was frozen over. Peters loved Study Hall. He not only had a chance to write in his journal without suspicion, but he could gaze at Charlie, while saying he was really looking at the lake. After all, Charlie sat in front of the window directly in front of the lake. Peters sighed and resumed writing.

His darling teacher Mr. Keating came by a couple weeks ago and Charlie came to life! He called an immediate meeting of the Dead Poets Society and Mr. Crocelli – our Latin teacher – made a surprise visit, but was not condemning. And my Charlie…I read him the poem that was written for him. Told the guys it was for someone I could never have…they all thought Ava, but alas. It was for Charlie. Lovely, dark haired Charlie.

I long to hold him and soothe away his pain. But he doesn't look at me like that. He never will. Last night, I dreamt of him. I dreamt of his full lips kissing me, his body pressed closed to mine. I dreamt of him telling me that he too loved me and he was happy I had told him.

But reality isn't as romantic as dreams though. But this morning…it seemed to be. He didn't say he loved me or kissed me, but I woke up early and watched him sleep. God! He's an angel. He quietly…ever so quietly…snores. The best way for me to describe it…it's the sound a cat makes as it purrs. Never too loud. Never too soft. Just perfect. My heart leapt as he turned, facing me. His face was soft and there was a small smirk. How I love it when he smirks! If on…

The bell interrupted Peters' writing. He sighed as he gathered his things. He focused on Charlie, who was walking with the air of confidence that made men and women dizzy with delight. Peters smiled to himself, imagining once again, the feel of Charlie's arms around him, blocking out the world.

"Mr. Peters! I suggest you hurry up!" Mr. Harrington's voice echoed loudly. Peters hated their Trig teacher with a passion.

He slowly sat at his desk, eyeing Charlie. Ever since that night in the cave, when he read his poem, he found himself thinking more and more about Charlie. As he opened his book to their assignment, his journal fell and Dean Singleton picked it up. Peters held his breath, sure Singleton would hold it captive and read it. Then, his love for Charlie would be revealed and…"Here. You dropped this." Dean handed the journal back to Peters, without so much as asking what it was.

"Thanks." Peters took the book back and smiled.

"Gentlemen. Let's get started." Mr. Harrington bellowed.

Charlie sat in the cave, alone, reading by flashlight, when another figure entered the cave. "Thought I'd find you here."

Charlie looked up. "Hey, Peters." He pointed his flashlight at a rock. "Have a seat, if you want."

"Why are you here alone?" Peters asked as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the rock.

Charlie shrugged. "Not sure. I've got this feeling of regret and I can't figure out what it is. And I wanted to be alone."

"What are you reading?" Peters gently took the book from Charlie. "Whitman."

"Yeah." Charlie took a drink from a bottle. "Great poet, wasn't he?" He leaned back against the rocks. "'I SOUND MY BARBARIC YAWP OVER THE ROOFS OF THE WORLD!' YAAAWWWP!" Charlie's voice echoed loudly in the small cave.

"You drunk?" Peters eyes opened wide.

"Just a little." Charlie grinned. "Enough to forget this day."

"What happened today, Charlie?"

"Here." Charlie threw a sheet of paper at Peters. "Read for yourself."

Peters picked up the paper that fell on the ground. "You sure?"

"Read it!" Charlie demanded. "And aloud, if you don't mind."

"Okay." Peters heaved a sigh as he read the words. "Charles, I heard of what happened with your beloved Neil Perry and your expulsion. It has taken me a while to write because I've been super busy at the bank and with Karen and Lucy and find that I don't have time to concern myself with petty matters. And I also had to find the words to say to you. I know you've been through a lot, Charles, but you need to learn to deal with it. Not that I can say I'm sorry because you deserved everything you got, 'Nuwanda'. (Just where did that name come from anyway? Neil? Richard? Or was it something your sad little brain thought up? Regardless, it's ridiculous.) I'm just really sorry that you can't seem to find yourself…seem to see who you really are. You're nothing but a fake, Charles. You always have been. Father and Mother are disappointed in you. Why do you think they sent you to Albany? It is where Michael went when he failed out of Welton. At least he failed, Charles. You? You created trouble. You were trouble the minute you were born. Maybe that's why you're the last of us. You're nothing, youngest brother of mine. You always have been and you always will be. Our family would be so much better off if you weren't a part of it. We are all disappointed in you. Sorry about your troubles...but you made your bed, and now you must lay in it. And this shall be the very last correspondence you shall receive from me, for I am truly disappointed in you and all your endeavors and wish no part of your downhill run. We are all disappointed in you. I would hope that you see the dangers in thinking for yourself and will turn your life around and just follow the status quo and that you have a better life from it. Only, I think it already too late. Very sincerely yours, William Butler Dalton" Peters wiped a tear as he looked at Charlie, who downed another swig of whatever alcohol he was drinking. "Wow. Some family." He tried to joke.

"When I got expelled from Hell-ton, my father looked at me and said he was just waiting for that day to arrive. He was actually surprised I hadn't been expelled freshman year." Charlie rolled his head to look at Peters. "My brother Michael came here after failing out of Hell-ton, but he was a mouse. Always did what he was told, but he was not an academic like William was. William. Perfect William Butler." He looked at his friend. "Named after the Irish poet William Butler Yeats, my mother's favorite poet. Now, there was a scholar! He aced every class and never raised Cain. Always did what he was told, not one time did he ever question."

"And then there's you." Peters smiled.

"Yes, then there's me. The one who constantly disappoints." Charlie leaned in closer to Peters, making the latter's heart pound with want. "I was a disappointment from the very start because both Mother and Father wanted a little girl and here I came…a little boy."

Peters licked his lips, in an attempt to keep from kissing Charlie. "I'm not so disappointed in you."

"What you mean?"

"You taught me how to live…to suck the marrow of life." Peters smiled. "You taught me to find my own voice. To find my own self worth within me." Charlie's lips were tempting and Peters fought to keep from placing his on the lips of his object of affection. He knew Charlie was drunk and would, more likely than not, forget it happened, but Peters could not let himself take advantage of the situation, leaving the kissing of Charlie Dalton in his dreams.