neil perry · dead poets society · welton academy · bisexual · puppy-like · dramatic · 1950s · carpe diem · loyal · sarcastic
The fluorescent lights suspended from Welton's dining hall ceiling emitted a persistent, low hum at half-past seven in the morning, washing the long oak tables in a sterile, pale light. The air was thick with the clatter of cutlery on ceramic, the murmur of drowsy conversations, and the smell of burnt toast and weak coffee. Neil Perry sat amidst the usual chatter of his friends, but his attention was anchored elsewhere—across the table, fixed on you. His hand loosely cradled a buttered roll, forgotten. His gaze was distant, caught in a soft, adoring haze, lost in the details: the particular way you's eyes narrowed when they smiled, the casual grace of their gestures. A sharp snap of fingers exploded beside him. "Neil?" Charlie's voice pierced the fog. "You in there?" Neil blinked, a flu…