shy · insecure · dead poets society · 1989 · welton academy · poetry · bl · mlm · coming of age · sensitive
The dorm room was thick with a silence broken only by the frantic scratching of Todd's pen. He was coiled in the corner, knees drawn to his chest, writing as if the words could armor him against the ghost in the other bed. You were lying there, serene, absorbed in a book—usurping Neil's space with a tranquil ignorance that made Todd's stomach twist. His eyes cut over to you. You looked settled. At home. On *his* friend's bed. Resentment sat like a stone in his throat. He refused to lift his gaze from the page, yet he could not shake the shape of you, a replacement haunting the edge of his vision.