Chapter Text
“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” said Allison, pacing agitatedly across the room, “that a single woman who has her hair dyed – rainbow, no less! – must be gay.”
Neil had been prepared to ignore Allison until she got bored and left his dorm room, leaving him to the blissful solitude of his overworked desk fan and set of math problems, but he couldn’t help snorting at her conclusion. Shit. She’d been pacing and ranting for the last fifteen minutes, so the prospect of the subject miraculously dropping had already been slim, but now he’d sealed his fate. He tried to pass it off as a cough—she glared—and he closed his textbook in defeat, swiveling around in his desk chair to face her.
“Is… literally anything you just said universally acknowledged?” he asked.
“Yes.” She gave him a bland look before moving to Neil’s dresser and beginning to rifle through the drawers. “You’re not cute, you know.”
“And you just want to complain.”
“Ooh, feisty,” she said, looking back over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. She turned back to her work for only a second before visibly recoiling, holding up a faded sweater that had once been red. “Really?”
“What?”
“This is going.”
“Wh—no! It’s fine. Get out of my stuff!”
Allison stuffed the threadbare sweater into her oversized purse—camp, she’d called it—and moved on to the drawer where he kept his pants. “Anyway, I know how it sounds. ‘Renee Walker?’ you say. ‘Isn’t she, like religious? No way, Allison—even if she is super hot and secretly has biceps of steel that could carry a man up a mountain, give it up!’”
“Wow, I can’t believe I said all that,” said Neil drily.
“You said it with your eyes. But I reply, not with my eyes but with my mouth, like a regular person who does not have the emotional intelligence of a clogged toilet—what was I saying? Oh, yeah—I reply, Neil, think of the rainbow hair.”
Allison had been obsessed with Renee Walker for going on a semester now, but had never mustered the courage to go and talk to her. The image of Allison Reynolds nervous was unimaginable and hilarious—Allison, with her platinum blowout and never-ending carousel of designer clothes and take-no-shit attitude, nervous, quiet, maybe even meek. Endearing as it was, Neil had some qualms about the whole situation, rainbow hair or not.
“If you want me to play devil’s advocate so bad, I will,” he said. “How about this? Allison, she’s literally dating Andrew Minyard.”
Allison froze, a pair of Neil’s baggy jeans held up to the light. “You’re an evil little hobbit,” she said venomously, stuffing the pants into her bag with more force than necessary. They were Neil’s favorites, but it wasn’t the time to protest. He’d steal the bag back before she managed to trash it, anyway, just like always. “I hate you. And you better watch that fat mouth of yours, because the lady-loving population of this campus would have your throat if you tried to tell them Renee was unavailable. And it’s not…” she let her eyes wander, voice dipping low and vulnerable, “confirmed that they’re together, anyway.”
Neil shrugged. “Okay. You’d know better than me.”
“True,” she said with spirit, all hesitation gone. “Besides, Andrew Minyard is such a little creep. They’re not dating, trust me. Girls like Renee don’t go for murderous little dwarves wider than they are tall.”
This wasn’t a hill Neil was going to die on, so he didn’t say anything for a long moment. Mostly because the relationship between Renee and Andrew—whatever it was—completely baffled him. Renee was kind in that quiet, overwhelmingly genuine kind of way. There was something in her eyes, though—there was more to her, a side of her that was antithetical to the outward-facing image that had gained her such a squeaky-clean reputation. And even besides that—what the hell was someone like Renee doing with someone like Andrew Minyard? Andrew might have been the only one at Palmetto State whose associated rumors could have rivaled Neil’s. Andrew Minyard was a delinquent. Andrew Minyard was crazy. Andrew Minyard was a murderer. Andrew Minyard and his twin brother were loaded to the fucking gills. That kind of thing.
He was brooding and insular, keeping without exception to his small circle—a circle that inexplicably included Renee. They weren’t together all the time, but that they were together at all was notable considering who they were. A delicate-looking girl—although Allison insisted this wasn’t true—with rainbow hair and a sturdy, stony-faced maybe-murderer that barely cleared five feet. Neil couldn’t wrap his mind around it.
“Allison,” he said finally. He spun his desk chair in lazy circles so that he could only see her in increments.
“Yes, darling?”
“Why are we talking about this?”
Allison made an affronted noise. “You’re an asshole, you know that, Neil Josten?”
Neil grinned up at his ugly popcorn ceiling. “No, I mean—you’re a problem solver. You don’t usually complain just to complain. If you have something to say, spit it out.”
“Okay, Jesus. I forget there’s actually a light on in that attic of yours.” She stuck a heeled boot out and forced his chair to a halt, looked down her nose at him. “Well, in the spirit of bluntness—there’s an academic achievement banquet that the school’s throwing tonight, it’s my only chance to see Renee outside of class, and… well, we’re going.”
“You’re going,” Neil corrected, cocking his head.
“We’re going.”
“…No?”
Allison rolled her eyes before wheeling around, resuming what little pacing the small room would allow. “Yes, you are, because you know that you’ll never have to hear me talk about it again once I get a read on Renee tonight. You’ll have your little hobbit hole all to yourself to do all the math your little robot heart desires, or—I don’t know, make out with Matt or whatever it is you two get up to on your ‘movie nights’—”
“Movies, mostly,” Neil said, squinting. “Why the hell would I make out with Matt?”
“Whatever. Are you in or not?”
Neil was spared answering for the moment; as if on cue, the door opened, and Neil’s roommate bounded into the small space like a six-foot four golden retriever coming back from a walk.
“Neil!” Matt said, eyes bright. He clutched an overstuffed shopping bag in each hand, and sweat beaded on his forehead like he’d ran up to the room. “You’ll never—oh, hey, Allison.”
“Boyd,” Allison said in greeting. Neil waved hello.
“You doin’ math?” Matt asked.
“Nope,” Neil said. “We’re talking about Renee Walker.”
“Again?”
“Don’t be condescending,” Allison sniffed. “You were insufferable when you and Dan were in the will they/won’t they phase, so I don’t want to hear it.”
Neil hadn’t been around to see Matt and his girlfriend Danielle Wilds get together—he could imagine Matt stuttering and making a fool of himself just fine, but he couldn’t quite picture a world where they hadn’t just… always been dating. Matt, Allison, and Dan were all several years older than Neil, and their dynamic had been long established by the time they welcomed the quiet freshman trailed by rumors and secrecy into their group—the Butcher’s son, who helped put his father behind bars. Neil couldn’t believe that was only last year.
“Apologies to the lady,” Matt said, dropping the grocery bags and holding up his hands in surrender. Allison appeared mollified, and he grinned. “What’s new with you and Palmetto State’s hottest lesbian bachelor, then?”
“You know the banquet tonight? She’s going to be there, I’m going to be there, and it’s going to be our Cinderella meet-cute moment. Except I’m not poor, I have no intentions of leaving at midnight, and hopefully she remembers more about me than my shoe size.”
Matt hummed and began to unpack his grocery bags into what the school thought constituted a kitchen—two cabinets, a microwave, and a mini fridge.
“You got pineapple spears,” Neil noted, pleased, watching them disappear into the fridge.
“Hmm?” Matt was silent for a moment, still lost in thought, before he perked up. “Oh! Yeah, that’s what I was going to tell you when I came in. They’re back in season, so now you have no excuse not to eat breakfast!”
“Real nice, Matt,” Allison said, looking meaningfully at Neil. “You’re a great boyfriend.”
“Huh? What does Dan have to do with me getting Neil pineapple spears?”
“Nothing.”
“Wait, Alli,” Matt said, coming up short. “Don’t be mad, but you know it’s an academic achievement banquet tonight, don’t you? I thought you had to be on, like… the President’s List to get an invite.”
Allison tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Fuck you, first of all. Asshole. Second of all, my achievement at this school is being rich and making them look good. Don’t worry about it, I’m invited.”
“Right.” Matt grinned sheepishly. “Of course. Well, I’ll see you there, then! Dan’s going, so I’m gonna be like her first lady for the night.”
“Cute. And Neil will be mine.”
“Hey,” Neil said indignantly. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t agree to that. Actually, I’m pretty sure I said no. Like, definitively.”
Matt laughed, open and boisterous. “You’re trying to get Neil to go with you? To a banquet? Allison, this thing is black tie; you might as well give up now.”
Neil looked at him gratefully, but Allison only waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it,” she said airily. “He’ll go.”
“He’s right here,” Neil said, slumping down in his chair.
“Wait,” Matt cut in. “I know you’ve been talking about Renee all semester and she’s perfect and you want to have her babies—”
“You’re putting words in my mouth, Matthew Boyd. As if I’d ruin this body for a kid.”
“—But I kind of thought it was a—not a joke, but I mean… are you sure? Renee seems nice—like, really nice, but she’s always with Andrew, isn’t she? They’ve got to be dating. And god, I mean, the things you hear about that guy. That’s no joke. Someone told me he beat up a teaching assistant for giving him a bad grade. Put the guy in the hospital.”
“Someone also said he runs a dogfighting ring in the dining hall after hours,” Neil felt it necessary to add. He wasn’t sure if he was adding fuel to the fire or defending Minyard against people’s tendencies to let rumors escalate into the ridiculous.
“Point,” Matt said.
“Minyard’s a freak,” Allison agreed, “but isn’t that just another reason to get Renee away from him? She deserves friends who don’t look like they’re constantly on the verge of stabbing her. Or, you know, a loving girlfriend who appreciates her for who she is—”
“What, for her arms of steel?”
“—rather than someone that only Renee Walker could tolerate. Just… please, Neil? I can’t go alone. You won’t have to babysit me—god knows—and if I could ask anyone else, I would. But I can’t, so that leaves you.”
Neil was silent.
“I’ll run with you?”
Silence.
“I’ll cut your pineapple for you when the grocery store runs out of the chunks?”
Neil’s eyes flickered up.
“I reiterate: I will be silent on this issue for the rest of your life.”
Neil groaned. “Fine! Oh my god, fine.”
Allison twirled and clapped, and Matt, caught up in the moment and always looking for reasons to be cheerful, celebrated with her.
“Neil, you beautiful bastard, I love you. Thank you!” Allison squealed.
“You can hang out with your roommate and bestest buddy if it gets too stuffy in there,” Matt offered brightly.
Neil tuned them out. This was beyond stupid. A black-tie banquet wasn’t his scene under the best of circumstances, but the ostentatiousness of it all was practically a beacon to—well, to anyone who cared to find him.
There’s no one left to come find you, said a voice in his head. But that couldn’t be true. You didn’t live your life like Neil had lived his and then just get to be normal. A stronger voice that sounded a lot like his mother’s overtook the first, and he sunk gratefully into the familiarity of the sentiment: His father may be out of the picture, but Neil Josten would never be free. He needed to be ready to run.
Too bad that the years without his mother had turned him into a pushover. This was exactly what Mary had been afraid of happening all those years on the run: that letting Neil make bonds with people—however few—would soften him, rearranging his priorities from survival first to… being a person first. Or something. Neil knew that the fact that, thanks to his testimony, his father had been well and truly taken care of since his freshman year wouldn’t have mollified Mary. His mother, who had lived her entire life in the company of high-ranking criminals, knew that her gory bloodline rendered her son unfit for normalcy. For staying still. For banquets.
She was right, in a way. The resulting media circus from his freshman year followed Neil around, even now. Luckily, he had found perhaps the only people on campus with bitter enough backgrounds to understand that a person was more than his situation. Saying no to Allison wasn’t an option—her persistence aside, Neil owed her in so many ways. But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.
He swiveled around in his chair and opened his math book again, yanking out a sheet of graph paper from his notebook with more force than necessary. He found the problem he’d left off on and began setting it up.
“Oh, and Neil?” Allison said.
He didn’t move.
“You’re going to need to come with me to get fitted for a suit.”
The pencil lead snapped against the paper.
*
Matt had left to hang out with Dan, and Neil had kicked Allison out of his room on the grounds that surely—surely, by now—she knew his measurements by heart. Neil was finally, blissfully alone. He wished he could enjoy it. Even his math homework, the formulaic comfort of it all, wasn’t enough to drown out his overactive thoughts. Problematic, because Neil was usually very good at compartmentalizing.
After a couple minutes, and several aborted attempts at linear optimization, he pushed agitatedly from his desk and grabbed his running shoes. Running allowed more opportunity, perhaps, for overthinking, but at least he could feel like he was doing something about it. Ah—there was that suppression he was looking for. Nice. He still had it.
He chose the path that led off-campus and toward the nearest interstate, zoning in to only his pounding feet on the concrete until he was just a spring, perpetually compressing and launching into motion. This lasted approximately four—possibly even five—strides, before a large shape blocked Neil’s path. Not a problem—Neil darted to the side, but the obstacle moved, too. Neil looked up, irritated, and skidded to a halt.
“Oh,” he said. The president of Palmetto State University stood triumphantly before him, arms spread slightly as if he were prepared to lunge.
“Neil,” said Charles Whittier in lieu of hello. He wiped his sweaty brow. “Bit hot out for a run, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Neil honestly. He was more comfortable, in some ways, being uncomfortable. Whittier waited a moment, hoping Neil would elaborate, before smiling tightly and forcing himself to laugh.
“You’ve always been hearty,” he said. Whatever that meant.
“Okay.”
Now Whittier let his smile drop a little. “It’s been a while—walk with me, won’t you?”
See, this was a trick question, because it was not a question, it was a command. But Whittier needed it to sound like a question so he didn’t look like an ass, which he was, and the whole charade was very tiring but also, again, not optional. So Neil said, “Okay,” and began to walk. He was gratified that Whittier had to break into a light jog to catch up.
His dealings with Charles Whittier had begun his freshman year after he’d been kidnapped, a little bit—well, he didn’t like to get into it, really. His dealings with Whittier began after his father’s crimes had been thrust into the public eye. And also killed. Back then, there had been questions of whether or not Neil was worth the cost—he was a liability, a stain upon Palmetto State’s inoffensive and unexceptional reputation. But he’d laid out as much of his situation as he could bear to do, and they’d ultimately decided that it was a bad look to kick out the newly orphaned student making national headlines. Besides, Nathaniel Wesninski was the hardened son of a criminal; Neil Josten was a harmless theoretical mathematics major. That was supposed to have been the end of it; Neil wished that was the case. He wished he didn’t know why Whittier was here, again, to see him.
But he was next to him now, and the familiar speech began.
“You know,” Whittier said, slightly out of breath, “I don’t think I need to tell you that the Board of Education—and myself, of course—well, we’re all pleased with how your second year’s been treating you compared to your first.”
Yes. Neil had not been kidnapped once this year. Remarkable, really. He hummed.
“I mean, it’s inspiring. Everything that you went through—and so well-adjusted now—I mean, you’re really making the most of your time as a fox.”
“Wow,” said Neil, not smiling. “Thanks.”
“Well. We took a risk on you, you know. It’s always rewarding to see a risk pay off in the form of a happy, stimulated, thriving student. But you know all this, of course—we know this. I just wish you’d let us share your inspiring story. I think a lot of people would be very interested, Neil.”
And there it was. After it had been decided that Neil could remain at Palmetto State, as Neil no less, he’d been pulled aside and told the exciting news: they had arranged for him to join Kathy Ferdinand for an hour-long special on his rough upbringing, the horrors he had endured, and ultimately the nurturing and electric environment of Palmetto State University that inspired him to break the cycle and liberate himself. (Through… getting kidnapped? he had asked. They didn’t answer.) He had refused back then, and every subsequent time they’d sicked Whittier on him. It would make money for the school, to be sure—the perfect branding opportunity, the most effective advertisement in school history—but Neil was unwilling to put a target that size on his back.
Neil sighed, and prepared himself for the upcoming battle. “I’m honored, President Whittier. But...” Why mince words? “No.”
Whittier’s eyes gleamed. “Hmm. Well! No use trying to change your mind, then! You know, fortitude—some people would call it stubbornness, but I call it fortitude—is a great quality in a student. You really are the future.”
Neil felt his eyebrows creep into his hairline. This was far too easy. “Thank you,” he said after too many seconds of silence had passed. He was startled enough that it almost sounded sincere. Whittier put a friendly hand on his arm, which Neil stepped immediately away from. It dropped.
The president took the opportunity to clean his glasses on his button-down shirt. Still looking down, scrubbing meticulously at the lenses, he said, “There’s another thing I wanted to talk with you about, while I have you.”
“Okay?”
“As you know, Neil, we pride ourselves on excellence, and our student housing is no exception. There is no shortage of foxes vying for space on-campus. When you registered for your current dorm in August of last year, it was under the name ‘Neil Josten,’ and all the—ah—personal data that came with it.” Neil said nothing—looked straight ahead—so Whittier hedged, “Your forged social security number, for instance?”
“Respectfully,” said Neil, “do you have a point?”
Whittier muttered, “Fortitude,” before fixing Neil with a bland smile. “Well. I don’t need to tell you that this is a serious crime” —Neil opened his mouth to protest but the president held up a silencing finger—, “a serious crime that we were willing to overlook in light of your extraordinary circumstances. But the fact remains, Neil: the privilege of student housing has been granted to a student who does not legally exist.”
Hatred thrummed dully throughout Neil’s body, but he forced it behind a mask of indifference. Whittier only had him on a technicality. “I thought that you and the Board were aware that I’m in the process of trying to get the… the legal aspect of my situation finalized.”
“Yes.” Whittier’s eyes were small and bright behind wire frames. “We’re also aware that you’re not on track to legally establish yourself as Neil Josten until the registration period for next year’s housing has long closed. Certain doners who are—ah—pivotal, shall we say, to Palmetto State University’s continued success have suggested that allowing you to stay in on-campus housing shows unfair, and frankly undue favoritism.”
“Undue favoritism,” Neil echoed disbelievingly.
“It pains me to say it, Neil.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“It does—if I had my way, you would be fitted with every possible comfort. My heart bleeds for you, really; the Board constantly admonishes me for the leniency I employ regarding students. At the end of the day, though, they have this institution’s longevity at heart. And you must admit how it looks: the elusive Neil Josten, who has refused to make any public statements, wants special privileges and—well, it just doesn’t look good. Not good at all.”
Understanding dawned on Neil all at once. “Ah,” he said, tense confusion liquifying into apathy. “A PR issue. Of course. Conveniently could be fixed by—oh, I don’t know—appearing on Kathy Ferdinand’s show?”
Whittier at least had the decency to look embarrassed by the transparency of the whole scheme, but even that was dwarfed by the glow of self-gratification. To finally have the obstinate Neil Josten backed into a corner—it was a big day. He cleared his throat to hide the smile that threatened his carefully composed mask of professional severity. “Well… yes. Transparency, you know. The backbone of any school worth its salt.”
“So if I agree to do the special right now, you won’t kick me out of my dorm?” They had walked in a large circle by this point, around the patch of greenery that fronted Neil’s dorm, and paused now, back where they had first crossed paths. The path Neil knew would take him off campus and to the highway stretched into the distance, beckoning him, but he tore his eyes away from it to Whittier’s carefully scandalized face.
“Kick you out of your dorm? Neil, be reasonable. You’re welcome either way to finish out this year with your current housing situation—your dorm with Matthew Boyd, if I’m remembering correctly. Fine young man…” He appeared lost in thought for a moment before snapping back to attention. “However, I can’t deny that your, ah, acquiescence to sharing your story would alleviate the issue of secrecy and perceived favoritism—no one could have qualms about granting you some special privileges if they knew what you’d been through, and, of course, all that this school means to you.”
“And if I don’t?” Neil asked hoarsely. Dammit. He cleared his throat.
“If you choose not to, then you’ll be expected to procure your own housing off-campus in the exciting setting of downtown Palmetto.”
“And I assume the housing part of my scholarship wouldn’t cover that.”
“Unfortunately not—it stipulates that you’re—well, that Neil Josten is entitled to on-campus accommodations only.”
Neil was not panicking. Or anywhere close to panicking, for that matter, because—no, listen, because he’d been homeless before, right? In fact, this comfort and security had been a very recent thing—he’d spent most of his life homeless. And there was just no fucking way he was going on live television, so… so that was that. He wouldn’t bother Allison, Matt, or Dan about it, either. This was nothing—less than nothing! Because he could leave, if he wanted, pack up and be gone the next day. Just because they weren’t ideal didn’t mean he didn’t have options. He had gone soft.
He realized he’d been silent for a minute or longer. As he settled into a begrudging acceptance of the situation, discomfort morphed to red-hot irritation. Whittier was a coward, and for all his placations and sniveling, Neil knew he would have delivered him to his father with a bow if it would have granted him a Butcher wing of the Palmetto State library. It must have shown on his face because any lingering triumph melted off of Whittier’s face.
“Right,” said Neil. “Right, yeah. Okay. Makes total sense—it would be convenient, yeah? To have a dog that jumps when you say so? I mean, you’re used to doing that. I know you like getting scratched behind the ear by the Board of Education, rolling over when they tell you to, but I actually don’t care if they think I’m running a meth lab in my dorm room—they can have it, because like I’ve told you fifteen thousand fucking times, I’m not doing your show, I’m not using my father’s death to promote your school, and I’m not going to be your fucking pet.” Whittier looked at him. His lips were pressed together so tightly that they turned white, a stark contrast to his rapidly reddening face. Neil spun away, and threw over his shoulder, “Have a great day, President Whittier.”
Whittier made a strangled sound. “Neil, come on, now—this isn’t personal, you know—you’re certainly going to regret—”
But Neil was already out of earshot, down the adjacent path, disappearing into the South Carolina spring heat that stretched up like a shimmering wall in front of him.
He ran until Palmetto State’s campus was far behind him, the school’s eclectic mix of stone-and-ivy and brutalist concrete architecture fading into trees upon trees upon trees, until the world closed in to just his pounding feet on the hot asphalt. When he finally stopped, he had no idea where he was. It was a lonely, tree-lined arterial through which no cars passed. He sat down on the side of the sunbaked road to let his ragged breathing calm, closed his eyes and listened to the cicadas.
He was ready to leave any trace of his conversation with Whittier miles away on Interstate-20. He was ready, for now, to return to campus, knowing that if things got too hard, he could disappear.
The time hadn’t come yet. He had some business to complete: it was time to go to a banquet and deal with the five-foot delinquent that stood between Allison Reynolds and the love of her life.