Held. Images of holding a lifeless Mercutio in his arms flash in his mind, overlaying with the real Mercutio next to him. He can somehow feel both the slight chill of the Mansion's air conditioning as well as the oppressive heat of early Verona summertime, he can smell the dirt and sweat of that day, he can taste the saltiness of the tears that made their way into his mouth -- but when he lifts his hand to cup the side of Mercutio's face, just as he did the day of the fight, there's no blood left behind on Mercutio's cheek, and they're on his bed instead of the hard ground, and Mercutio is breathing, and he's alive, and he's alive.
Benvolio blinks, realizes he's sitting on Mercutio, with his hand gently resting on his cheek, staring at his face... so he hops up and goes over to his dresser, pretending to look for something. "I heard Tybalt visited. Some time before my arrival," he says. Why does he say it? As the words are coming out of his mouth he hears them and he hates himself for saying them, for bringing this up.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2025-05-19 03:02 am (UTC)Benvolio blinks, realizes he's sitting on Mercutio, with his hand gently resting on his cheek, staring at his face... so he hops up and goes over to his dresser, pretending to look for something. "I heard Tybalt visited. Some time before my arrival," he says. Why does he say it? As the words are coming out of his mouth he hears them and he hates himself for saying them, for bringing this up.