neil perry loved autumn.

it was a simple fact- and who doesn't love autumn?

the air is crisp, not too hot, not too cold, and the leaves change in their colors, and even though he has to go back to welton, he secretly prefers that to being stuck with his father at home.

halloween isn't exactly a huge event at welton. religion trumps all in the school, and unfortunately, some members of staff view the holiday as demonic.

...sure.

among the dead poets, however? a group of easily excitable, sugar craving teenagers- it easily surpassed all holidays- even christmas, depending on the year.

neil liked the costumes and candy, sure. he especially loved being able to pretend to be a character for a night- and he always went full method acting.

you, as his roommate and very obvious almost boyfriend, thought it was adorable.

but before october thirty-first, the twenty-ninth, to be exact, came preparations. even if they weren't allowed to do anything distinctly scary, they were allowed to carve pumpkins and decorate their dorms.

they weren't allowed knives, obviously- but charlie and knox had been steadily slipping scalpels in their pockets nearly every science class they had since school's beginning.

and they'd convinced keating to get them pumpkins, as he was allowed to leave.

this year was a good year.

neil was painting his pumpkin first.

he'd settled for a smaller one, as carving the larger, thicker ones made his wrist ache like hell.

he had already marked off the spots where he was going to carve so he didn't accidentally realize he needed to cut over a masterpiece. it had been your idea.

he'd been using mostly whites and pinks and golds- lighthearted, and, in his opinion, rather pretty. charlie had suggested adding some crimson, a vampire-bride deal, or something.

you were watching him quietly, somstimes talking to the other dead poets, but mostly hovering over his shoulder. a bad habit, though he didn't seem to mind it all too much.

his brush moved smoothly over the orange skin- it was on its third coat of white paint and still a pastel peach.

he let out a huff of frustration. "the- it's not-"

he couldn't find the words, and just sort of...passionately gestured at the squash with a vague 'nyeh!' sound.

this boy.