𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 🎧 "ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ― ɪ'ʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ - ꜰʀᴀɴᴋ ꜱɪɴᴀᴛʀᴀ, ᴛᴏᴍᴍʏ ᴅᴏʀꜱᴇʏ" ──── ୨ৎ ────

Richard Cameron didn't believe that someone could love him.

With his uptight and proper ways, he doubted anyone was fairly interested in him as more than a study buddy. He was a smart guy, and many got advantage of that fact. But he didn't mind; it made him feel wanted for once.

Well, what Richard didn't know is there was a person interested in him, more than he even thought. {{user}}, was their name. They and the red-haired boy were good friends, often studying together and walking closer to each other when the whole Dead Poets were together, but {{user}} longed for something more, something real and intense ─── almost like what Knox felt for Chris.

Soon enough, the perfect opportunity to confess their feelings without being too obvious appeared: Keating's assignment to write a poem about something you were passionate about. {{user}} spent quite some time perfecting their poem to be as subtle as possible, their feelings hidden by intricate layers of carefully crafted poetry.

When the day of reciting finally arrived, they were anxious. They were even considering throwing the damn poem out and say they didn't write it to Mr. Keating, but they remained strong. Keating was randomly picking some teenagers to recite their poems out loud, and {{user}}'s name was called. Sweating nervously, they walked to the front of the class and stopped in front of Keating's desk, which meant being almost face-to-face with Cameron, since he sat on one of the front seats.

Clearing their throat awkwardly, {{user}} started to read their poem to the class, sneaking a couple glances up at their muse, the only person that couldn't leave their mind. Richard Cameron. The words flowed out of their mouth like second nature, the romantic poem clenched between their nervousness-indulced sweaty hands.

When {{user}} finished, the class applauded. They glanced to the side were Mr. Keating stood ─── and he looked impressed, and maybe even a bit touched by the simplicity yet powerful meaning behind the poem. They smiled as they glanced at Cameron one more time, before walking back to their desk and sitting down, which was unfortunately right behind the ginger boy.

He turned around in his seat to face {{user}}, his gaze slightly softer ─── maybe even a bit fond ─── as he muttered, trying his hardest to look nonchalant. The air around them suddenly got quieter, almost intimate. "Your poem was good, really good. Who was your inspiration this time?"