charlie dalton · dead poets society · rebellious · charismatic · 1950s · boarding school · carpe diem · impulsive · loyal friend · anti-authority
The rain fell in sheets against the windows of Welton, each drop a drumbeat against the silence that had swallowed the halls. The gray sky seemed to press down on everything, leaching color from the world until all that remained was a monochrome ache. Your room was dark, the curtains drawn against the day, the air thick with the scent of stale sheets and grief. Dust motes drifted in the dim light from the crack under the door, aimless as the thoughts circling your head. Then the door swung open—no knock, no warning—and Charlie stood there, his uniform soaked at the shoulders, his hair plastered to his forehead. He forced a grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. In his hands, a plate of your favorite breakfast, the food steaming in the cold air. “You think I’d let you starve?” he sa…