A few days have passed since the school's inquiry into the mysterious Dead Poets Society.

Luckily— just as I suspected— they found nothing.

I mean, we were a small group who snuck out at midnight and read poetry... I'd hardly call us a group of bandits.

Although... Charlie might beg to differ

With that behind us— for now at least— we celebrate with another meeting.

I practically skipped to the old Indian cave, my hand held tightly by Charlie's. Him and Neil had made up— although I knew they could never stay angry with one another.

Thus, I had nothing to be upset about and everything to be happy for. And my skip was proof of that.

"Whoa— slow down," Charlie teases.

Glancing over my shoulder, I realize I had been practically yanking on his arm, forcing him to keep up with my prance.

"Sorry," I mumble, blushing slightly. I was excited—we hadn't had a meeting in a while— and life was currently good.

And that never lasts— so I wanted to enjoy the feeling while I could.

"I'm excited too, but I'd like to get there with my arm still attached to my body," Charlie says, rubbing his shoulder for dramatic effect.

"Besides—" he begins, his arms wrapping around my shorter frame, pressing my back closely against his chest.

"What good am I to you without both hands?"

I glare playfully at his suggestive remarks and— although I can't deny the effect his words have on me— I release myself from his protective embrace, and jog forward slightly.

"Where are you going?" Charlie shouts, now a few feet behind.

"I'm racing you!" I yell over my shoulder— my movements now much quicker.

"You can run off some of your... tension," I smirk.

A massive grin forms on Charlie's face, before he catches up to me, softly tackling me into his arms— the place I felt I most belonged.

The rest of the evening was equally playful. We ate stale leftovers from tonight's dinner, read old and new poetry, talked about life, love, the future. It was wonderful— and I retire to my room with a silly grin on my face that I just couldn't seem to shake— nor did I want to.

~ ~ ~

At the earliest hours of the morning, I hear a gentle knock on my door. I pull the covers back, glancing at the clock that sat atop my nightstand.

It was well after midnight.

Charlie.

I roll my eyes, slipping into my robe and heading towards the door.

It was likely one of his poorly-veiled attempts to sneak into my bed after hours. Although most nights I let him...

Once he said that his room was too cold, another night it was too hot— or my all time favourite— he saw a spider.

At night... in the dark...

But I wanted to take things slow with Charlie— and he respected that. No matter how much he wanted otherwise.

"Your advice was shit," Neil states matter-of-factly once I open the door.

I couldn't quite pin his emotion. Anger? Despair?

No— he just seems... lost. And despite my presence directly in front of him— he seems alone.

"Screw him, remember?"

I slowly nod my head at his words, remembering our conversation. I don't speak though, deciding it best for him to guide the conversation— at his own pace.

"Tonight, after the meeting, and last night's conversation, I called my father. I told him that I was going to live my life— not his. He told me if I didn't get my act together he was pulling me out of Welton and sending me to a stricter boarding school."

It took everything within me to steel my features into maintaining a neutral expression. Part of me wanted to gasp, cry, even scream. The other part felt incredibly guilty— although Neil's tone wasn't accusatory— I still felt at fault. It was my advice that prompted him to stand up to his father— and look where that got him.

He could lose his friends—his family.

"If he takes me away from you guys, I'll have nothing— I'll be nothing."

His voice is completely hoarse—broken. I've never seen Neil like this. He was a beacon of hope— bright and glowing. But as he slouched beside me, his light was dim— if not completely shut off.

"Neil, that's not true— you always have us, no matter where in the world you are."

"I'm not happy, Vi," his voice broke— no— shattered.

If I thought it was broken before, now it was completely destroyed.

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes— and regardless of how desperately I tried to will them away— they fell rapidly down my cheeks.

"I have you, I have the boys, I have poetry, I-I—"

He pauses briefly, taking a deep yet shaky breath, attempting to steady his weakened voice.

"—Why can't I just to be happy?"

His eyes bore into my own as though he was searching for the answer. An answer I couldn't give him.

"I-I don't know, Neil." My hand finds his own, holding it tightly and securely. For my sake or for his? I'm not completely sure.

I believe there is happiness in everything. In the rain, the sunrise, the moments with those you love, in our passions, our hobbies, our favourite books, foods, and movies— you just have to be willing to find it.

But what happens when someone has been so beaten by life, they can't find it?

I always knew Neil to be strong and level-headed. But as he stood in front of me now, he was merely a shadow of himself. His pain radiated off him. I could see it in his eyes— it was deep and it was all-consuming.

"You know, Charlie would write me these letters," I begin— although Neil glances at me sceptically— wondering how this story will give him the key to happiness he so desires. Even though I wasn't sure there was one. Life would be too easy.

And wouldn't it be nice.

"I remember in one of his letters, he wrote:

'without joy, everything becomes bitter. The sunrise is depressing, rain is devastating, and something as simple as eating candy brings guilt. But with it, the sunrise means a new day—new adventures. Rain is refreshing—cleansing. And candy is sweet.'"

I recite Charlie's poetic words, instantly feeling a pang of guilt impale my chest. I ripped those letters into a million pieces after we broke up— a dramatic symbolism of how my heart had felt. But now, they would only exist in my memories.

"I think what he's saying— in Charlie fashion— is if we let it, happiness can be found in all the small things in our lives. You don't need a lot to be happy— you just need a little."

"Is that why rich people are the least happy?" Neil smiles— and if it wasn't the most welcomed sight I had ever seen.

"That's exactly why," I laugh lightly. The heaviness of the situation still very apparent, but the joy of seeing Neil smile taking over all my inhibitions— my worries.

"I love you, Vi. Just—just always know that, okay?" Neil's eyes harden once again— desperately searching my own for a response.

"O-okay." I stare back bemused.

"I love you, too."

And with that, the subject was never revisited.

: sorry for the slow updates :((( I will post the last few chapters as quickly as possible!! With the quarantine & schools closing, I should have it up & finished very soon!! Stay healthy ❤️❤️❤️