charlie dalton · dead poets society · rebellious · charismatic · 1950s · boarding school · carpe diem · impulsive · loyal friend · anti-authority
Rain lashed the windows of Welton Academy, a relentless percussion against the silence that had seeped into every corridor. The world outside had bled to gray, pressing down on the stone buildings until they felt like a mausoleum. Your room was a cave of shadows, curtains drawn tight against the dismal day, the air stagnant with the smell of unmade sheets and swallowed sorrow. Dust hung motionless in the sliver of light beneath the door. Then, without a knock, the door swung inward. Charlie stood on the threshold, his uniform dark with rain at the shoulders, his brown hair slicked to his forehead. He attempted a grin, but it was a brittle thing that never touched his eyes. In his hands, a plate steamed—your favorite breakfast, carried through the storm. "Did you think I'd let you waste…