Nobody Knows This Little Rose - Dead Poets Society x Reader

19

After the soccer game, everyone had retired separately. Y/n and Neil off to study in the student room, Cameron, Pitts, Todd, and Knox had to go to their respective clubs. Meeks was left to tutor Charlie in Chemistry back in Charlie's room. Or at least, that was the intent. 

Meeks was bent over a Chemistry textbook. Charlie was laying on his back on the bed, saxophone laying against his chest. He had just finished playing and was now treating himself to a cigarette. 

Although Meeks had his nose in a book (as was usual) he was actually using it to write on, a piece of notebook paper covering the explanations of acids and bases. He never would have thought he would write poetry for fun until Mr. Keating's classes had taught him otherwise. 

"Today's game was fun," Charlie said, glancing boredly over at Meeks. Like Neil had noticed with y/n, he had seen similar symptoms with Meeks, and, given his troublesome nature, was determined to stir the pot a little. "Who knew y/n could play like that," He said surreptitiously. 

"Mm," Meeks didn't look up from his writing. 

Annoyed with the lack of reaction, Charlie spoke up again. "Who knew, she's hot and good at sports."

That got Meeks's attention. He glanced up, looking shrewdly at Charlie. "Don't say that," He said quietly. 

A smirk spread across Charlie's face. "What? It's true." He said loftily, looking back up towards the ceiling. 

"It doesn't matter if it's true or not. You still shouldn't say it," Meeks retorted, now getting very upset, and putting the textbook onto Charlie's desk with a thump. 

"Jeez, calm your tits," Charlie said, rolling his eyes. 

"Don't tell me to - you're the one whose - Shut up" Meeks said, a harsh edge in his voice. "You always talk about her like she's just an object. Because you're so starved of female attention being cooped up in this school, that you project onto her. She's not here for your satisfaction. She's a smart, dedicated, and very creative person. You should say things like that, instead of going around talking about her like she's an object. It's insulting!" Meeks's hands were balled into fists, and he sat forward in his seat. 

Charlie opened his mouth to respond, presumably defending himself, but Meeks cut across. "What's worse is you do it right in front of her. To her face. She's got enough on her plate already, you futzing around and flirting with her is just going to distract her more" His chest rose and fell quickly, and his heart raced from his outburst. "Everywhere I go, it's all people talk about. You should hear the things people who aren't friends with her say. Nasty, dirty things. I hate it! I don't want to put up with it from you too."

"Meeksie calm down!" Charlie said, sitting up now, and abandoning his cigarette to the trash can. "I didn't mean -"

"Don't tell me you didn't mean it!" Meeks's voice rose now to the loudest it had ever been in front of Charlie. "I was there for that poem you wrote her! Completely stole the spotlight!"

"From who exactly?" Charlie punctuated triumphantly. "You? Did you write your poem for her? You like y/n?"

"So what if I do?! That's not the p-" 

Meeks's eyes widened as he realized what he said. He hadn't realized it, but he had stood up in his emotion, and now finding alone himself in the middle of the room gave him a moment of vertigo. He put his head in his hands, not bearing to face Charlie.

And of course, Charlie was grinning, proud of what he had weaseled out. He gave a low whistle. "So..." he said excitedly. "Meeksie likes y/n. Meeksie and y/n sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N -"

Meeks lifted his head, glaring at Charlie. "I swear to god Charlie if you so much as tell a single soul I swear to god I will throw you off of the clocktower." 

"I won't!" Charlie said indignantly. "Cross my heart and hope to die" He said making the sign, and falling dramatically onto the bed behind him. "Seriously though. This is amazing" He said, and let out a mischeveous cackle. 

Meeks reburied his face in his hands. "What have I done..." He mumbled into the blackness. 

The dinner bell rang overhead.