secret admirer - dead poet's society

Chapter Two

Keating's class wasn't like the others at Welton. Walking into the classroom felt like a warm embrace and Keating himself stoked the fires of his students' creativity.

But not today—not for Y/N.

They had never been so distracted in their life. Just walking into the classroom, Y/N debated asking Keating for a pass to the infirmary. Knowing they were being observed is one thing, but knowing exactly when is a whole other scenario.

Especially when they have no clue who's eye they're under.

Despite their nerves, Y/N took their usual seat. Two rows from the front, on the farthest row to the left. Not too close to be the center of any teacher's impulse, but not too far away to get distracted by the rest of the class. Today was different, though. The only thing Y/N could bring themselves to care about was their classmates.

Y/N angled themselves in their seat in order to take in the classroom as students trickled in. In honesty, Y/N should have realized sooner that the culprit was in their English class—the amount of passion their classmates had shown throughout the year had never failed to take them by surprise. After all, Welton was not a place for passion.

Their eyes landed on a group of boys huddled around Knox Overstreet's desk. Memories of the boy reciting a pathetic—albeit sweet—love poem to the class flooded their mind. The group of boys did always seem to be more enthusiastic about the class than most.

Despite telling their roommate they didn't want to play detective, Y/N themselves straining to hear bits of their conversation—something about a book and finding a new meeting spot. They didn't hear much as Keating entered the room and made his way to the front of the class. Charlie Dalton caught their eye as the group disbanded, sending them a wink and making a finger gun gesture at them.

Y/N couldn't help but roll their eyes.

Dalton was a mere annoyance on a good day.

Todd Anderson walked to his seat in front of Y/N, and gave them a sheepish smile as he shrugged a shoulder in a "what can you do" gesture.

Y/N decided that was enough detective work for the period as Keating began a boisterous speech on Romantic contemporaries. All they wanted to do was lose themselves in Keating's whimsy for the next hour, but a familiar envelope laying inside their desk compartment stopped any hope they had of forgetting about their admirer.

Moving as discreetly as possible, Y/N pulled out the letter along with their notes and textbook. The whole world muffled as they read:

From afar, I gaze,A silent, secret admiration,Your light shines bright,In my quiet contemplation.And when you laugh, a melody,It dances in the breeze,I cherish each sweet note,With every sigh, I'm at ease.Oh, how I wish for closeness,To bridge this gap in fate,To hold you near, not distant,To share life's love, not wait.

x, Yours.

Y/N couldn't help the smile spreading across their face, nor the blush that accompanied it. They were so engrossed in the feeling that they didn't notice the satisfied gaze they were receiving from afar.

The rest of the period passed in a haze, and Y/N was thankful Keating wasn't a fan of pop quizzes. Y/N could barely focus on where they were, let alone absorb anything meaningful from the lesson.

Their eyes locked on Steven Meeks—thank God Keating had called him by name that period—who was shoving his notes in his backpack.

They had to act, and it was now or never.