Title: Spectacle

Disclaimer: I do not own Dead Poet's Society of any of its characters.... although they are very pretty. *droool*

Summary: Possibly the shortest fanfiction ever.... it's Todd/Neil. Todd receives something from Mr. Perry, prompting nostalgia.

Warnings: Rated PG-13 for mild icky-ness and slash references. Don't read if you don't like slash, because this fic is filled with it. So shoo you homphobes... *whacks with giant fly swatter*

Mr. Perry thinks it important that I reach closure with Neil's death. It has been days since the incident, and I of all of Neil's close friends and family am still the most vulnerable and shaken. I scream, frightened by nightmares while trying to slumber, and act distracted, distraught during the day. Mr. Perry thought it best that he send me the last picture of Neil -- taken by the police. Yes, he sent me a picture the investigators took of Neil's body, which both disturbed and soothed me, adding to the whirlpool of emotions I was recently damned with.

The blood and gore was everywhere. It covered his smooth, white chest that I had run my hands over so many times and kissed so lovingly. His hair was matted down with the substance, but I could still feel the silky texture of his straight locks running through my fingers. His charming blue eyes were closed forever, and I longed for those intense moments where I stared into those bright cerulean orbs. And on his soft, luscious lips a content smile lingered, hiding his secretive motives in a deathly silence. Those lips that not long ago were heatedly pressed against mine in the privacy of our room, that mouth which delivered inspiring and encouraging words that prompted me to reform and improve myself. The breath that escaped from his lips and tickled my neck as we lay tangled together after a passionate night together.

Gazing at the deceptive photograph, my heart wrenched and weakened, soft with the mourning of his unjust death. I folded the offending paper, slipped it into the bottom of my trunk, and trudged into bed. I turned off the rusty, dimming light, departing from the warmth of my partner to settle for a night of curling up against a stiff, starch pillow.