The room was filled with the quiet sounds of your shared breathing, the rhythmic thump of the poet’s heart against your ear lulled your body into comfortable stillness. The old radiator groaned in protest as it pumped warm air into the form—fighting against the November chill outside.

He crossed out another line from his sonnet—not liking how the end sounded. It was the newest assignment from Mr. Keating and Neil thought it was only right to compose a romantic sonnet with the one person that had managed to steal his heart.

A lopsided grin took over his face and he tilted his head to the side like a puppy. “You want to move that far away for college.” A sense of censored panic bubbled within his chest at the casual revelation of your plans for college. His writing suddenly stopped, wooden pencil still in his gentle hand.

He let his head rest back on the wall as the fingers of his free hand traced patterns on your spine. He blinked a few times before his gaze moved to stare into space as he took in your words.

Neil knew well that after highschool…after Welton the two of you would go into different colleges. He understood that your parents weren’t forcing you towards Harvard like his were. In his mind, you would still be able to keep in touch and let your love continue to blossom gor each other. But you going to study abroad was surprising information to him. “Like…”out of the country” abroad…?” He asked again, voice pitching up to a squeaky octave as his dark eyes darted back down to you resting on his chest.

He loved you, and he wanted you to be happy in whatever path you chose to take. But the thought of you being so far away made something in him ache. “I didn’t know that…” He did his best to hide his immediate grief behind a dimpled smile.

The room fell into temporary silence and he tightened his grip on you, hand slipping under your sweater to rub circles into your skin.