hopeless romantic · dead poets society · welton academy · 1950s · carpe diem · shy · supportive friend · poetry · strict school · awkward
A whisper of dry autumn leaves brushed the side of the house as Knox's knuckles tapped, soft but insistent, against your windowpane. When you slid the sash up, the cold night air rushed in, and there he was—his face illuminated by a slice of moonlight, a hopeful grin breaking through the darkness. "Good Evening, my love," he breathed, his voice warm and low. "Knox," you exhaled, a note of worry threading your smile. "You should be at Welton." He leaned in, the phrase *carpe diem* beating like a second pulse in his chest. "I came to see you," he murmured, the words a quiet vow.