The first weeks after the collaboration felt unreal—like Welton had cracked open and let life spill inside.

Laughter in the halls. Girls who didn’t whisper or smooth their skirts or try to shrink themselves. A few of you—rebels, really—who treated rules like suggestions and joy like a responsibility. Dead Poets noticed immediately. How could they not?

And Todd… Todd noticed you.

He noticed the way you laughed with your whole body, head thrown back, hands moving like punctuation. The way you walked like you belonged wherever you were. The way Charlie and Knox orbited you like planets around a sun—loud, teasing, chaotic. The three of you fit together so easily it hurt to watch.

Todd fell hard. Quietly. Hopelessly.

He never said it. Couldn’t. You were too far out of reach, too alive, too wrapped up in noise and confidence. He stayed on the edges, watching as jokes got ambiguous, shoulders bumped, laughter went late into the evenings. He told himself it was fine. That he wasn’t built for that kind of brightness anyway.

It was hell.

That day, you all slipped out to the cave earlier than usual—five stolen hours carved out of the world. Poetry, music, smoke curling lazily into stone air. You came with them, of course. You always did. You loved poetry—really loved it—though between Charlie and Knox, concentration was… optimistic at best. Todd rolled his eyes more than once, listening to their nonstop banter, the way they leaned too close and touched you, laughed too loud.

Ugh.

Time softened. Voices blurred. Someone brought alcohol. Music hummed low and warm. The cave felt smaller, cozier, like a secret wrapped around all of you.

And somehow—quietly, unexpectedly—you ended up near Todd.

Not the center. Not the chaos. The corner.

You sat beside him on a flat rock, knees almost touching, the noise of the others fading into background static. He stiffened at first, heart immediately traitorous, pounding like it had been waiting for this moment its entire life.

You looked at him, really looked, eyes curious rather than teasing.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Can I ask you something?”

Todd swallowed. “Uh—yeah. Sure.”

You pulled your notebook closer, turning it so he could see. “I’m stuck on this chemistry assignment. The stoichiometry part? I don’t know why it’s just… not clicking.”

Of all things. Chemistry.

He blinked, then nodded, grateful for the lifeline. “Yeah. Okay. Um. So—this part here? You have to balance it first.”

You leaned closer to follow his finger, brow furrowing in concentration. He could smell smoke and something faintly sweet—soap, maybe. His voice shook at first, then steadied as he explained, careful, precise.

You listened. Really listened. No interruptions. No jokes.