secret admirer - dead poet's society

Chapter Four

Y/N didn't receive another letter that week. Doubt was swirling in their mind—what if their admirer had lost interest? Maybe they met a real, feasible person and forgot about them. The endless swirl of scenarios was eating them alive. They needed a distraction, but they knew it wouldn't do much for them. Their mind bounced straight back to their poet during any moment of silence.

They had taken Meeks and Pitts up on their offer to study with them, and they found themselves growing increasingly fond of the two boys. Y/N would be elated if their poet turned out to be anything like them.

Passion was a rare commodity at Welton, and dissent was especially hard to come by. Y/N had been beginning to feel as though they were the only person unhappy with being forced into conformity—or, at least, the only person willing to vocalize their discontent.

That changed as they got to know Meeks, Pitts, and, in turn, the random assortment of boys that popped in during these study sessions. They had forgotten how good it felt to speak their mind to non judgmental ears. Hell, even the ever-bashful Todd Anderson was slowly coming out of his shell in their presence.

The only issue, of course, was Charlie Dalton.

There was just something about the boy that got under their skin.

The line between confidence and arrogance was extremely thin, and Charlie was constantly teetering along that threshold.

If there were a social hierarchy within the group, Charlie was at the top of it—and the boy was well aware. The other boys were often onlooking Charlie's antics with a noticeable level of admiration.

Y/N knew that there had to be another layer behind—far behind—the boy's often pompous attitude. After all, at every teenager's core is a half-child that wants nothing more than to feel a sense of belonging. A level of vulnerability that most teenage boys don't want being observed.

A level of vulnerability that Y/N didn't stick around long enough to see in Charlie Dalton.

The boy in question was currently reciting an excerpt from Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew.

"Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,But that our soft conditions and our heartsShould well agree with our external parts?"

Y/N couldn't help but think that his voice was quite nice—velvety and assured.

They shook the thought from their mind and opened up their desk. A gasp was suppressed at the sight of a neatly folded piece of stationary atop their mess.

Eager hands unfolded the parchment as discreetly as possible.

Darling Y/N,

Did you know that you get this adorable wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're frustrated? I enjoy seeing it almost as much as I love seeing the dimple of your cheek when you smile.

In shadows cast by moonlight's gentle gleam,A heart entwined in love's elusive dream.Captivated by a smile so divine,Another's joy, a radiant sign.Each curve and grace, a sunlit dance,Ignites a flame, a tender trance.In stolen glances, a world unfolds,Where every story of passion is told.A symphony in the heart's soft sigh,A love that blossoms, soaring high.With every grin, a melody sweet,Two souls in rhythm, destined to meet.I hope to see that smile again soon.

x, Yours.

Y/N's entire body was buzzing as they flipped to a blank page of their notebook.

In crowds unknown, a face concealed,Yet a whispering heart, its fate revealed.Mystery veils, like a silent star,In the vast unknown, I find you, afar.No words exchanged, no history traced,Yet in your presence, a love embraced.Falling in realms of the unseen,An enchantment, profound and serene.

Y/N ripped the page out and left it on top of the clutter within their desk. They didn't look back once when the class was dismissed.

_________________________________________

"We should probably head back to the dorms if we don't want to get reamed for missing bed checks."

Y/N and Meeks were the only members of their study group left conscious. Charlie was long asleep—spread across the seats of four chairs.

"That's too bad," Y/N grinned, "this is the first time I'm actually enjoying Dalton's company."

"You always enjoy my company, Y/N," Charlie muttered with his eyes still shut, "don't lie to poor Steven."

"Whatever helps you rest easy."

Meeks just shook his head. the ghost of an amused smile threatening his lips, "you live in the East wing, right? One of us should walk with you."

"I think I'll survive, Meeks," Y/N said on a laugh, "you need to be getting back to tuck Pitts in, anyway."

The two exchanged good nights and good lucks on the Latin oral the next day before Y/N left Meeks in charge of rousing Charlie.

_________________________________________

It was uncharacteristically warm for late January, and Y/N decided to take the slightly longer scenic route back to their dorm. They would happily be chastised for getting back slightly after curfew if it meant they were able to be outside for a while and still be able to feel all their limbs.

A hushed giggle floated across the courtyard, snapping Y/N out of their thoughts. They spotted a familiar head of shaggy brown hair accompanied by another with perfectly curled blonde locks.

"Knox, really," another giggle, "I have to go."

"C'mon, Chris. Just a couple more minu—" his head snapped toward the sound of Y/N's soft footsteps. The panic in his expression quickly melted into relief and a sly smile.

"Hurry, Chris! Hide," he gently pushed the girl behind him, "we have a spy on our hands."

Y/N stuck their hands in their coat pockets, feeling as though they were the one caught instead of the couple before them.

"Just an innocent bystander, I swear," Y/N shot them a sheepish smile.

Chris nudged Knox, looking much more anxious than the boy.

He startled, glancing between Chris and Y/N with a soft, "oh."

"Chris, this is Y/N—a friend of the poets," poets? "Y/N, this is Chris, my girlfr—"

"His friend," Chris interrupted, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N."

Knox held a hand over his heart, feigning offense, "she's just in denial. Girlfriend."

"Denial is probably the safest option here. Smart woman," Y/N smirked at the boy, "I should be getting back. I'll let you two...finish up here."

Y/N barely registered the pair's goodbyes as they walked away. Their thoughts were in overdrive.

I guess it's not Knox. I should have realized that sooner. I guess that pathetic poem really wooed Chris. Y/N laughed lightly to themselves. What did he mean, "a friend of the poets"?

The more Y/N found out, the more confusing it all felt.