song of the chapter: i lived by one republic
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Tiny tendrils of steam drifted up and away from the ceramic mug of tea on the counter, catching in the late-morning sunlight that streamed through the large windows that overlooked a small garden below.
Marigolds and other various, cheerful flowers bloomed - planted by loving, careful hands. It was one of the first things they did when they moved into their new home - after earning their respective degrees, that is.
Their neighbors were quite fond of the young, academic couple. Most of them were older couples, married for many wonderful years. And thus, it was so that they relished in their young, recently bloomed love that would absolutely blossom further.
In fact, it had. The tea, forgotten on the counter, bore witness to the young couple - a gentlemen donning thoughtful glasses and a lady who was hardly seen without a beret - snuggled up together on their cream-colore sofa.
The mounds of quilts and pillows had been shifted to the floor, to make room for a small stack of family albums, books, and snacks. The young lovers were involved in cheerful banter, arguing not so seriously.
"Ada?" the girl, (y/n) gasped, not very impressed.
"What, you don't like it?" the young man, flipping through his family photograph album? squinted at his lovely wife.
"Not really, darling." she sighed, shifting a hand to rest on her abdomen.
"Well, what about Margaret?" he offered gently, trying to tread carefully about this subject. The girl was shocked.
"Steven!" she gasped, pretending to faint dramatically "I am not naming our daughter Margaret. Todd and Neil would never let that go!" He smiled fondly, before remembering the tea.
"Ah," he exclaimed, jumping up to grab the cup and saucer "it's your favorite." She planted a kiss on his cheek gratefully.
"Why, thank you."
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Years prior to that day spent lazily drifting through names for their already beloved unborn daughter, the couple reunited - as one might expect from university students - over a delicious cup of coffee.
"But, I'm still confused," the girl admitted begrudgingly, with her thinking frown on her face "I thought Neil said you were going to Yale?" Meeks sipped from his cup and set it down gently.
"Actually," he corrected "I was. Only, I changed my major last minute."
"So," she stirred her coffee amicably, gazing into its rich, brown depths. "what made you change your mind? I thought you wanted to pursue economics." The boy scratched his neck awkwardly, not feeling fully confident in his answer.
But, this was (y/n), after all. She wouldn't judge him for speaking his heart's truth. So, he took a deep breath before speaking.
"Honestly," he fiddled with the girl's fingers that sat upon the doilie-clad table. "The Dead Poets taught me that maybe, maybe there is more to life than "noble pursuits"." He made air quotes, quoting her wonderful father. The girl nodded, silently urging him to continue.
"I did not want to spend my life behind a desk, slowly dying of - I dunno, boredom. I would rather do work that kept me learning constantly, about things that I actually enjoy. Not numbers." The girl smiled at his little speech.
"I think that is very admirable, honestly." Meeks flushed a lovely red, all the way up to the tips of his delicate ears.
"Now I'm just hoping I made the right choice," he confided quietly, actual concern for his future lacing onto his studious features.
"Hey," she cooed, tilting his chin up. "even if you don't end up rich with actual currency, think about how rich you'll be in comparison to others." He frowned, auburn eyebrows knit together.
"How so?" (y/n) chuckled.
"You said it yourself," she explained vaguely "there is more to life! Things like, travelling the world, doing a job you love, finding someone to spend your life with."
The unspoken words were left to hang in the air - although judging by the lovesick gazes they exchanged - it was quite obvious they knew that they both already have.
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"Well, Dead Poets," their former leader - Neil Perry - stood up from his seat at the dinner table and started his toast. "My friends, it has been a rollercoaster."
At this, he gazed fondly at the man he'd spent the past years of his life with, but sadly couldn't marry. Nevertheless, their love for one another was blatantly obvious - to everyone who knew they enough.
Charlie Dalton, slightly wrinkled with age and the riotous actions of his youth, cheered a "hear hear!", before taking a swig of his wine.
"Charlie," Pitts drawled, wearing his Welton sweater for the occasion. "you're supposed to drink after he makes the toast." The man in question shrugged sheepishly, earning a round of jovial laughter and babbling from the infant girl at the other end of the table.
Neil cleared his throat "As I was saying, it has been a rollercoaster. But, here we are." he surveryed the table, old memories flooding back to him - plain on his face.
Todd, whose blonde hair had begun to go ever-so-slightly gray at the sides, staring back at him - Margaret lounging on a cushion on the floor beside him.
They had even taken the liberty of inviting Cameron, who brought his high-strung, timid wife. Although he had never taken responsibility for what occured during the Junior year at Welton, they had decided to bury the hatchet and let him back into their lives - albeit awkwardly.
Knox Overstreet and Chris's relationship, as most of them guessed, had not prospered as luckily as the other's. They'd split when Knox went off to Princeton, after an apparently painful life together. Chris, however, still kept in touch with (y/n), and the ladies found whatever time they could to spend together.
Completely the opposite of Knox and Chris, Steven Meeks and (y/n) had - interestingly enough - met once again and got to know one another, falling in love even more than the first time - as teenagers. Their young daughter, named Jasmine after (as her mother will tell you) the most lovely, incredibly tea blend to ever exist.
There was a pang in Neil's heart when he looked upon his niece, because he had hoped to raise children of his own.
But, the brave actor continued his toast.
"I want to tell you all how much I still love you," he paused to clear his throat of emotion "everything in this room began at that- that wretched school and with our club, but it has only made our lives even more worth living. So, thank you. Thank you for following along with my chaos, and bringing me more joy than I thought possible."
The little girl, with impeccable timing, gurgled and clapped her hands. Quietly, her mother chuckled, keeping her eyes on her best friend - eyes shining.
"It was never Welton without you, Neil." Meeks nodded.
"Never Hell-ton, you mean." (y/n) punched his shoulder lightly, in that fond manner only they could manage.
"Yeah, yeah," Charlie stood up next - eliciting a playful groan from the other diners "well, even though I got expelled thanks to - sorry, anyway - the Dead Poets Society lives on, and I vow we make a pact." he stopped talking when a seties of interruptions came on from his friends.
"What sort of pact?" Cameron was brave to have asked. (y/n) leaned on the tables with her forearms, quite intrigued.
"I mean, we need to groom the next generation of Dead Poets." Charlie explained further, hands flapping about as he spoke.
"Groom?" Todd accentuated this word, eyebrow raised.
"No, poets are born - not made." Meeks corrected academically, earning an eye roll from his wife.
"Poeta nascitur," she translated to Latin "non fit." Knox did a slow clap for her.
"Bravo," he spoke jokingly - but the memories of that night kept the girl far from tolerating him. "but, c'mon Charlie, how are we going to do that?" Neil perked up at this.
"Isn't it obvious?" He spoke conspiratorially, ready for more mischief despite not being a teenage for many years now.
The group chorused out a "No." the man smiled, shaking his head.
"Someone has to go back." The room dropped deadly silent, and nervous glances were exchanged.
"Who?" (y/n) made the mistake of asking. Each head in the room, minus Cameron's wife, turned to look at her intently. "No." she laughed, thinking it was all a joke.
"Why not?" Pitts asked excitedly "you have your literature degree, don't you?"
The girl took Meeks's hand under the table - an ancious habit she found herself having developed throughout their years together.
"Well, yes," her accented voice stuttered, very unlike her character at all "but, I want to write books! Not teach!"
Steven Meeks lifted his head to look at his wife's face, and their daughter trying to grab her curls. His girls.
"So, write a book." He spoke plainly. She looked back at him, openmouthed and surprised. "You don't have to go back there."
Todd nodded like a young child who was overwhelmed with joy. "Exactly! Write a book, try to inspire the young people to start something like we did." Neil nodded, grinning at his lover.
"What would I call it?" she floundere for questions to ask - fearing that she might need more help writibg this than she had the courage to ask for it.
"Figure that out later!" Neil threw his hands up, dinner completely forgotten. "Write it first, then the title will just come to you like that!" He snapped his fingers, earning the attention of his niece - who began giggling.
Mentally, Meeks made a note to buy her a new typewriter for Christmas, for he knew it would get its use to complete his love's novel.
It took quite a long time to finish the manuscript, but (y/n) knew it would be worth it. She'd managed to get a publisher lined up - one of Neil's connections from New York.
The first day of printing, the woman was not sure she'd felt more proud of herself. Yes, gazing upon her daughter made her incredibly happy, but this novel was hers.
The story of the Dead Poets Society lay within its pages - an anthology of each of their stories, their personalities - but it was her fingers that typed it all.
It was like witnessing history, the future looming brightly before them.
She had instructed them to print her her own personal copy, to be kept on the mantlw within her family's home.
The cover of her novel brought tears to her eyes - a manifestation of the dreams she carried with her all of her life.
The life of a poet, which was the only thing she could have ever wanted - besides her loving family.
And so, it is with that thought in her mind and smile on her face, that she finally looked upon her life's work: A moss green bound book, with gold to inscript her name, its title, and publisher.
She spoke gently aloud, in pure awe of what she had accomplished.
"The life of a poet: stories of young romantics."
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a/n; well, friends - we have reached the end of poeta nascitur, non fit.
this will be the final chapter i ever publish in relation to our beloved meeks x reader!!
once again i just want to say how truly grateful i am for all the love, and i send it rightback!
thank you for being apart of this journey - and i hope you've enjoyed!