Chapter Text
The thing about having your entire life planned out from the moment you're born is that you'll never quite enjoy it, not really.
No matter how your eyes crinkle and your cheeks ache and your eyebrows fly, there's still a moment after, when it all crumbles, and you think, I'll miss this. No matter how you spend your days, laughing and dancing and maybe even allowing yourself a little whoop, in the nights, you're still reminded that it'll never be enough. Your smiles will fall as you walk from your friends, and your head will fall as you study, because your muscles are tired and so are you. You'll do anything for control, working yourself to the bone because they can't be upset if you do more, and you'll tear your skin just to remind yourself that you are awake. You'll worry that they can see it in your eyes, because the mirror certainly can, and you'll tug your clothes to cover cuts that aren't there. Your name is Neil Perry, and you don't quite enjoy life, not really.
You'll dread each day, and your stomach will sink as your father sees your face, because if he can't find you, he can't find anything wrong with you. You'll turn seventeen, and you'll start a new year, and you'll still think, I can't wait until I'm a senior, as if you're a child, and not some months away. You'll march as a star student to show the others how it's done, and the entire time, you'll glance at those beside you, and they'll glance back, because no one really knows. You'll sit in the same seat, hear the same speech, and chant the same words for the eleventh time in your life, and it'll be just as miserable as the past ten. Welton never changes, you know this too well.
However, you'll remember that Mr. Porteus retired last year, and you'll scan the row of teachers, hoping you don't find white-haired wrinkles. You'll start a bit when you land on twinkling eyes and an amused smile instead. Mr. John Keating, he'll be introduced as, and you'll think, God, I hope he's alright, because your other teachers certainly aren't.
You'll mouth along to the rest of the speech, as you do every year, because the only thing that ever changes is the number of graduates. Your father will hiss to watch your manners, boy, and you'll murmur an apology before stiffly striding to the administration's table. This year, you'll be getting a new roommate. Your last one was expelled after he was seen kissing a boy.
You consider yourself lucky that they didn't see the one kissing him. Your father would have been furious.
"Todd Anderson," the man behind the sign that reads "rooming" will say, after leafing through a thick binder, licking his fingers with each flip of the plasticized paper. "That's your new roommate's name. Let's hope this one's not like the last, eh?" He'll continue, and you'll put on the charming face of Star Student Neil Perry as you agree. "I really must have the worst luck, sir. This'll be the third time I've gotten a pervert for a roommate."
And the man will laugh, and you'll smile along, but your back will stay slightly too stiff, and your eyes will deepen and dull, because you know that you've been the reason for all three.