For Leonie - my friend and fellow dps fangirl.

After high school and college and several more years of life, nobody sticks around.

Pitts and Meeks move in together somewhere farther down the east coast, trying in vain to invent something worth patenting. They don't, ever; Meeks accepts this and becomes one of the most well-liked science/engineering teachers at a community college. Pitts is less ready to give up his dream, and spends the rest of his life digging through scrap piles and supporting himself by working a minimum wage job.

Todd disappears completely after Welton. Nobody can figure out where he's gone until his poetry becomes best-selling, a chart-topper. Charlie picks up a copy at a bookstore, in passing, and reads the bio in the back. He lives in the mountains with his cats and spends his time playing tennis and skimming through Whitman's work. The dedication is four simple words: to the dead poets.

Knox stays the nearest of them all. He settles down with Chris, still stupidly in love with a girl he hardly knows. Charlie makes bitter bets with himself about how long it will last – Knox is too sappy and Chris is too dramatic. They fight and make up, only to fight again and again and again. He's pretty sure that neither of them realizes there's going to be an end to it one day.

Cameron's face appears on the television regularly; he does ads to support himself. Charlie doesn't know where he is or how he's doing – and, to be quite honest, he doesn't really give a shit.

Charlie himself – after another year at a private school near home, he follows his father's wishes and becomes a banker. He pretends to look at pretty girls with colleagues he hates and drinks whatever he can find like it's the cure to his affliction. He lives in a little crappy apartment in Delaware and doesn't bother pretending that things are okay when he's alone.

He scratches out bits of poetry with a pen on the dirty wall above the couch. He sits on the back, feet dangling, and writes as much as he can before he falls back into the cushions, too wasted to stay upright anymore. When he wakes up, there are memories above him that make it even worse, that make him want to get drunk all over again just to make it stop.

Charlie drags himself through each day with snippets of Byron and Thoreau dancing in his head. Pictures of a boy with brown hair, too young to be remembered in such a way as with lies of who he was and who he would become, spoken from a podium next to his coffin. Charlie remembers him dressed in his nicest suit, his hair parted wrong and his shoes too polished.

He gets sloppy, eventually, loses track of how many bottles he's consumed. Luckily, he's in a bar when it happens, and he's rushed to the hospital with alcohol poisoning. They pump his stomach, and Knox arrives, eyebrows raised. "You put me down as your call," he says, and Charlie just closes his eyes.

He goes home with Knox, is ushered into the guest room of their cliché cottage home. He just stands in the doorway for a while, staring at the ugly quilt on the bed and listening to Chris prepare tomorrow night's dinner in advance downstairs. Finally, he decides there's nothing better to do than sleep, and crawls into the bed. It creaks and moans underneath his weight, as if nobody's slept in it for years – if ever – and curls around one of the pillows.

For the first time in too long, his sleep is not alcohol-induced. He dreams.

It's more of a memory, actually. It's freshman year at Welton and he's waiting in his room, lounging on his new bed with a package of cigarettes, unlit. He has to wait until the door is shut, until all of the rats and the teachers and the parents disappear.

Then a kid walks in, throws down his bag, and says, "Hey, Charlie."

This is not the Neil Perry – scrawny, bony, awkward – of freshman year, though; this is the Neil Perry as Charlie last remembers him: on that stage in Henley Hall, looking as happy as anyone had ever seen him. He's wearing his Welton uniform, though; and instead of rejecting a cigarette with a polite thank you, as he had all those years ago, he gives Charlie that snarky smile and pulls the roll right out from between Charlie's lips.

Charlie falls in love all over again.

He wakes with a start, breath coming out in ragged gasps. He takes a second to remember –

– watching Neil as Puck, so happy, and forgetting for a moment that the smile was all just an act, a fleeting emotion –

– saying "Is it okay if we walk back? Captain?" and not realizing that that was the last time he would see him still breathing –

– being woken by Mr. Keating at some ungodly morning hour, and feeling his heart plummet and his stomach twist because no no no Neil cannot be dead –

– standing in a crowd of singing students with his friends, just letting the tears run down his cheeks because it's no use hiding it anymore, there's no reason to go on pretending that there wasn't something between them because everything's done, anyway, everything is hell and hell is everything –

– screaming and swearing at Mr. Keating, even though it's not his fault that he's not allowed to go to the real thing, not allowed to say goodbye to the only person he cared about more than himself; and having Mr. Keating grab his shoulders and shake him until he stops yelling, saying "It's not fair, it's not fair, I know, but you have to be strong," –

– sneaking out anyway, leaving right between science and history and walking right out the front doors, taking one of the bikes and flying down the street to where he knows the funeral is, not caring about the shit he's going to get back for his absence –

– looking down at Neil, cold, lifeless, finally succumbed to his parents; brushing his fingers across Neil's mouth and his cheek because the last time he they had kissed, it had been a goodbye, and leaning down to kiss him one last time, despite it being disgusting and illegal and in front of hundreds of people –

– waking up the next morning with his heart broken and his mouth dry, and burrowing under the blankets because a life without Neil is not a life that should have to be faced, ever –

– punching Cameron in his stupid fucking face because he blamed Mr. Keating for everything, blamed him and had the administration behind him; feeling a sense of joy seeing the blood running down his face even as he says "You just signed your expulsion papers Nuwanda" –

– being expelled and sent back home, then shipped off to another school in some godforsaken little town down south, getting drunk to numb the pain and just doing the work because if Neil didn't get to live free, he shouldn't be allowed to, because at least Neil's life was worth something –

Knox comes in around nine with a hand painted breakfast tray and a plate of toast. Charlie pulls himself up and leans against the headboard, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes before stretching his arms above his head.

"How are you feeling?" Knox asks, and pushes the food toward him. Charlie accepts it, but doesn't eat. He shrugs.

"I dreamt about Neil." He tries to say it as casually as possible, but his voice breaks halfway through. He knew that Knox knew what had happened between the two of them for two years, even though they'd never actually spoken about it outright.

Knox picks at one of the patterns on the ugly quilt and doesn't make eye contact. "Is that why you've been drinking? So you don't think about him?"

Charlie laughs bitterly and starts tearing off bits of toast, dropping them back on the plate when the pieces were small enough. "Look at us. Pitts and Meeks are trying to be the next fucking Einsteins; Cameron's face is all over the tv, and nobody can even get in touch with Todd. You're living like the Stones with your white picket fence and your ugly ass quilts. And I'm the drunk that you have to check in with every so often to make sure I didn't plant my face on the asphalt in the middle of the street. Did you ever expect to be here? If Neil was alive, is this who you would be?"

Knox doesn't respond for a moment, then bursts out laughing, a little manically. "These quilts really are shitty, aren't they?"

Charlie grins. "They are."

He exhales slowly and looks up at the curtains Charlie hadn't even realized were there. They're hideous as well, and he silently questions the taste of these people. "Remember what Keating said? About carpe diem and sucking the marrow out of life?"

"That's what got Neil killed, though." Knox looks at him incredulously, and Charlie shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. "That's not what I meant." He tries again: "You know how he was. He ran his mouth and complained, but never did shit about anything. And then Keating – I don't want to say he enabled him. But he made him realize that he could actually do something more than bitch about his dad."

"He acted too soon." Knox nods, as if he hadn't run this over in his head a million times. If he's half as obsessed as Charlie, he had to have thought about it more than once. "He had one more year, and he could have left…" Knox pauses. "Would you still have become a banker? Would you have given up whatever your dreams were so that he could become an actor?"

"I would have done anything for him." Charlie feels an ache in his chest and closes his eyes. They're both aware that this is the most honest he's been about Neil out loud, and he feels reality crashing down. "After school, I could have taken him and my father's money and gone anywhere he wanted. New York and Broadway. Chicago and Off Broadway. Hell, I would have gone with him to the middle of the freaking Africa so he could teach underprivileged minorities Shakespeare. I would earn the money and deal with a work life that's hell if it meant coming home and seeing him happy because he gets to get on that stage and perform."

There's a dead silence for a moment. Finally, Knox breaks it. "I didn't realize how much you loved him."

"I didn't realize how much you loved Chris." Charlie tries to hide the fact that there are tears in his eyes by laughing, reaching across the bed and shoving Knox in the shoulder. "I thought it was going to be like the three years before, where you met a girl somewhere and didn't stop talking about her until you met someone else. What was freshman year? Uh – Kaitlin, Katie, Kayla…"

"Karmen." Knox shakes his head, but he's smiling. "Then it was Summer and Doris. And then Chris. But you know – it was senior year. I was ready to make a commitment that I wasn't ready for with the others."

"I think you might feel about her the same way I feel about Neil. You'd follow her anywhere, right? Do anything for her. Sacrifice yourself so she could still be happy. I don't know if that means we're their bitches or we're just too far in love to figure out if it's healthy or not."

"Alcohol poisoning makes you philosophical, Charlie." Knox grins widely and rubs a hand across his face. Then he half groans, half sighs, like he's tired or rushed or just sick of life. "Have you… visited him?"

Charlie shakes his head and eats a bit of the toast. It's wheat, probably grocery store brand. He'd been expecting Wonderbread; the fact that these two aren't too perfect makes him feel a little more comfortable. This is the Knox Overstreet he knows and loves and trusts.

Knox leaves him with a spare pair of jeans from the dresser and a shirt that says OVERSTREET & SON in large, blue print. Charlie makes the bed after dressing, mostly because he's so thankful. He doesn't even make his bed at home.

When he goes downstairs, Chris is sitting at the table doing the newspaper's crossword puzzle and Knox is polishing his shoes. They both look up when he walks in and smile widely.

"How are you feeling today, Charlie?" she asks, setting down her pencil. "You gave us a real scare last night."

"I'm okay." He knows he should thank her, but his mouth won't actually produce the words. So he just stands awkwardly in the doorway until Knox puts down the polish.

"Ready to go?" He nods, and Knox stands to kiss Chris on the forehead. "We'll be back soon."

"Drive safe."

Knox has the same car he did in college – sleek, red, safe. It's sexy as far as cars go, and Charlie thinks almost bitterly of the Nash Metro he himself had driven until he hit a streetlight and totaled it.

They stop at a grocery store a few blocks away, idling outside the front doors.

"What kind of flowers should I get?" Knox asks quietly.

Charlie stays silent for a few seconds, fingers bridged close to his mouth, thinking. He knew ridiculous things about Neil – how he took his eggs (scrambled on week mornings, poached on weekends), what kind of reading glasses he wore (Emo), what books he had on his bookshelf (lots of mystery, lots of historical fiction – and, later, poetry), and even what the marks on his socks meant (he used a Magic Marker on the arch to differentiate between his and his father's socks) – but he had never thought to ask what flowers he preferred. His funeral had been decorated with lilies, but it seemed too regal, too stiff.

"Get flowers that you would give someone coming off stage." Charlie tries to smile, but he's aware of the tears in his eyes. Knox nods and ducks out, leaving the car running –

– sitting in an empty hallway during dinner, trying to figure out something in algebra, and Neil dropping down next to him out of the blue, pointing over his shoulder, smelling faintly of the aftershave he doesn't need quite yet, and saying "No, x is supposed to go here, not there" –

– whispering "Do you want to piss off your father?" and Neil saying yes, of course, always; sliding his fingers across the lines of Neil's face and leaning in until Neil's bottom lip is between his teeth –

– standing at the table during prayer, sneaking glances up at the boy across from him, who is doing the same, eyebrows raised and expression mischievous –

– waking up to a warmth in his side as Neil burrows closer, feet still cold from making the journey between their two beds, his mouth hot and sleepy against Charlie's throat–

– lying in bed while Neil hums out a melody, taking more time than necessary to shrug out of his blazer and unbutton his shirt, his hips gyrating like Presley; grinning when Neil collapses to the ground, laughing at how absurd this is, his undershirt and everything below still on his body –

– hearing the lock being jimmied and seeing Neil duck beneath the blankets; turning to see Knox in the doorway, a calculating expression on his face, and saying "Knox. Door;" watching the expression on his face when Neil reappears, trying to explain it was a nap, just a nap, and it was –

– grabbing Neil before he can crumple to the ground, let down again by a father who cares too little – or too much – about his son; running his hands through Neil's hair until the crying stops and the light breathing of sleep takes over –

– trying to concentrate on his schoolwork but being distracted by the glasses sliding down Neil's nose; promising himself he will never admit how two pieces of rounded wire make the butterflies in his stomach erupt –

– sitting by the lake, watching the birds fly in flocks farther down south; wishing they could wind their fingers together, but settling on resting his hand close, pinkies barely touching –

– summer passing without any letters because Neil says "The heart grows fonder," and Charlie will do anything that boy says; it's true, too, because by the time he heads back to Hellton he wants to lock the doors and spend hours and hours just touching him, holding him, kissing him –

– Mr. Keating giving Neil that inspiration that he had been looking for forever, and how his eyes shine and his smile grows wider and his kisses are sweeter and –

– Neil, in between kisses, whispering "I think Todd likes me," and Charlie just rolling on top of him, trying to block out "I think I like him back" –

– letting Neil go, watching him fall in love with his new roommate, because he remembered, once, hearing "If you really love him set him free" –

– flirting, still, and being a follower of Neil Perry because even if he could not have him he could still be his friend, still be his classmate, still be his worshiper –

Knox slides back into the car, setting a bouquet of flowers between them. Charlie doesn't look at them, just watches the road pass outside his window as the car starts to crawl forward. The silence is broken by Knox drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Do you mind… I mean, it's a little far into the future, but…" He takes a deep breath. "Me and Chris… can we, I mean, do you mind –"

"Spit is out," Charlie interrupts, and Knox almost grins. This is the Charlie Dalton he's so used to being around. His smile fades, though, when he goes back to the question; he looks slightly pained.

"I want to name my son Neil."

Charlie stays quiet for a long time, aware of how nervous Knox is next to him. Finally, he says, "Why are you asking me?"

"I want you to be the godfather." Knox squints, as if he's trying to figure out why. He's not the only one. "I know it sounds crazy, but I don't want you to look at him and think all of these shitty thoughts about, you know – and just completely spite him. Or the opposite, and worship the ground that he walks on like he's some sort of god."

"I wouldn't do that." Charlie rubs a hand across his face. "Look, I just – when I hear the name, of course I think of Neil. But yours – he's going to be an Overstreet. He's going to have your puppy-dog face and Chris' blond hair and he's going to be a baseball player or a musician or a farmer. He's not going to be Neil. You know?"

Knox looks pleased with this answer and grins, wide. "Yeah. I do."

They reach the cemetery Charlie has passed so many times, too afraid of what would be confirmed if he was to go inside. Knox parks close to the entrance, but doesn't get out of the car.

"You don't need to do this, you know."

"Do what?"

"Stop living." Charlie looks down at his hands. "Look, Charlie. I know it sucks, because it sucks for all of us – Meeks is still really torn up about it, too. But nowhere near whatever the hell you're doing. You gotta stop it, Charlie. Before you hurt yourself."

"What's my life," he whispers, and closes his eyes, "without Neil?"

Knox drops his voice as well; it seems fitting. "Didn't you have any dreams? Didn't you want to… do something? Something amazing, something that impacted the world?"

"I met Neil in grade nine." Charlie scrunches up his face, both remembering and trying to stop the tears. "Thirteen, fourteen – I didn't give a shit what was in the future. When Neil and I got together in grade ten, I knew that whatever it was I did, I wanted to be with him. Nothing else mattered. The last two years were the same. And then he killed himself, and I didn't know up from down. I had no desire to do anything. Ever. Why the hell should I be allowed to live when Neil barely had the chance?"

Knox nods, but takes a few beats to reply, as if he's measuring the words in his mouth. "It was Neil's choice," he says carefully. "He chose to do that to himself."

"I know that," Charlie said brashly. "I'm not denying that. I'm just trying not to feel it."

"You're gonna have to deal with it one day."

"Don't you think I fucking know that?" Charlie shouts, and hits the dashboard. "I'm trying to deal with it, but Neil is six feet under and there is not one day that goes by where I don't miss him, and not a day goes by where I don't drown the memories with whatever I can get my hands on because if the ghost stays with me I'm going to kill myself."

"We all miss him, Charlie." Knox's hands flex on the steering wheel. "Don't you know that? You weren't his only friend. You weren't the only one who loved him."

Charlie bangs his fists on the dashboard because he doesn't know what else to do. He's not angry at Knox; he's angry at the world, a little bit angry at Neil for doing himself in. When he tires, he leans back in the seat and stares at the ceiling.

"There is not anything in this world I wouldn't trade to have him back," Knox whispers.

"Even Chris?"

Knox closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Even Chris."

Charlie gets out of the car, shuts the door carefully behind him, and sinks down against the side of the car. A moment later, there's a shoulder pressing against his own.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"For what?"

Charlie gestures to nothing in particular. "For everything. For taking me here and calling me out and accepting us. You could have left me to drink myself to death, but you didn't. You could've told Mr. Nolan, but you didn't."

Knox leans against him for a moment. "The way I see it, we're all people. It's just human nature to prefer one thing to the other. And you and Neil… you made each other happy." He smiles a bit sappily. "There's just something about seeing your two best friends so… alive that makes it okay."

"Well, thank you." Charlie taps his fist against his knee and stands up, offering his hand to Knox. "You ready to go in?"

– seeing the boy, already in his Welton uniform, pressed and crease-free, smile and hold out his hand, saying "I'm Neil Perry."