closed: let them measure us by what they will

[bymyheelies]

Mercutio has always been fond of fashion. Specifically -- sparkly, colorful things, things his father would call gaudy or womanish. It is no wonder that arriving here was like a revelation, free to wear what he pleased and feel no judgment for it, whether it be a sparkly floor-length gown with fishnets and combat boots or a ratty Iron Maiden t-shirt and jeans. It is time, he has decided, that Benvolio gets to discover all this as well. Will he give Benvolio a choice in this? It is quite unlikely.

Therefore, it should be no surprise¹ to Benvolio that Mercutio appears at his door one morning, looking intent and not at all like he's mildly singed any eyebrows recently or anything like that. "Ho, art thou up?"

¹ Doubtful. Mercutio is always surprisingly chaotic, that's one of his charms.

Comments

[bymyheelies]

"Thou art an exceptional infant indeed, then."

[keep_the_peace]

"Quite tall for my age."

[bymyheelies]

"Thou'rt tall anyhow."

[keep_the_peace]

"I am of a standard height, 'tis thee who art short."

[bymyheelies]

“All the better to be held,” he replies, his voice shading fond.

[keep_the_peace]

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.

[bymyheelies]

“Ay,” Mercutio says, unaware of any inner turmoil Benvolio may be feeling; but trying to keep his voice neutral. He sprawls back across the bed, lounging just enough that he’s able to continue their conversation easily. “What of it?”

[keep_the_peace]

"What --" his voice catches, and he starts again, "What happened?"

[bymyheelies]

“Many things,” he says, and sits up fully, schooling his expression to something more serious. He cannot joke about his death here like he has in the past; it feels almost sacrilegious to do so with Benvolio. But he doesn’t know where or how to start, and he sighs.

“It felt like home, when he arrived. A continuation of —“ he makes a vague gesture, referencing the duel and assuming Benvolio will surely understand. “Like we had only paused, know thou.”

[keep_the_peace]

He turns around, facing Mercutio again. "Did he hurt thee again?"

[bymyheelies]

“He tried. I was too quick for him—and I was not who he was truly looking for, anyhow.” He fidgets a little with the bedclothes, considering the best way to go about this. He’s not certain there is a good way.

“It pleased me, him chasing after me. ‘Twas some excitement.”

[keep_the_peace]

"Thou dost always enjoy ... fighting," he says, a little numbly.

[bymyheelies]

“Ay,” he says, where normally he would make some sort of joke, or a lewd implication, but this feels…strange. He feels like he’s on a precipice he can’t quite see the edge of. There had been no time to consider the aftermath of everything in the moment, and he had somehow never expected Benvolio to be the one to show up here before Romeo. If Romeo knew about it all, somehow it might be easier, he thinks. He married a Capulet, after all.

But Benvolio…Benvolio has been dear to him in ways similar to Tybalt and yet entirely different. Benvolio knows him, some of the deepest darkest parts that only his closest friends know. Mercutio loves him. He’s said it before, time and again, back in Verona. Then, it was easily brushed off as tomfoolery or drunkenness. Here and now, he is entirely sober and truly wishing at this moment that he was not. Perhaps that would make this easier. Especially if Benvolio ends up hating him. (He does not think he could bear that.)

Therefore, it is with some hesitancy that he says: “I enjoyed his company as well, after I told him to stop bleeding all over my carpets.”

[keep_the_peace]

"Dost --" he takes a deep, shaky breath. "Dost thou love him?" It's something he's been worried about the answer to for a while, and he hates himself as he asks it. He doesn't want to know the answer.

[bymyheelies]

"An I did, what wouldst thou think of me?" He's staring at Benvolio now, feeling a bit like he's under examination. "I could not bear it an thou grew to hate me."

[keep_the_peace]

The absurdity of that last bit comes as such a shock that Benvolio has to take an extra moment just to process what he heard. "Hate thee? Mercutio, thou art my closest friend, I could never hate thee. But -- Tybalt?" And then, because he can't get his brain to properly form any more sentences, he asks, "Why?"

[bymyheelies]

Mercutio has never been one to resist a joke for too long -- and he knows this is serious, but he cannot help himself. "Mayhap the Capulets have some enchantment or another," he says, extremely drily, and stretches before hopping up from the bed.

"I know not," he says, soft and oddly fond for him. "He was wounded, when he was here -- like me. Mayhap it gentled him some. Thy feud was foolish, anyhow."

[keep_the_peace]

"'Tis not that he is a Capulet, but that he killed thee, Mercutio," Benvolio says, and it comes out harsher than he intended. He rubs his hands down his face and breathes deep, trying to calm down. He doesn't want to yell at Mercutio about this.

[bymyheelies]

"Ay, he did," Mercutio agrees, crossing his arms over his chest as if to cover up the scar that lies there. "'Twould have come sooner or later," he adds, defiantly, though somewhat subdued. "Mayhap it were--" No. He can't finish that sentence, not to Benvolio; not when he remembers everything that happened after the duel.

"He paid his own price for it," he says instead, changing tracks. "I do not know if I can forgive him for it; but I could not fight a wounded man."

[keep_the_peace]

"Because thou art an honorable man, but thinkest thou, were the positions reversed, would Tybalt have been half as kind? Tybalt, who did not even allow a moment of reprieve after thy death before attacking dear Romeo again?"

[bymyheelies]

Mercutio stops -- for once in his life (afterlife?) -- and then sits on the bed again, rubbing his hands across his face. "Ay," he says after a long moment; thinking of Tybalt's kisses, the laughter he had managed to startle out of him, how much gentler he had seemed without the threat of a feud looming over them. "That was his duty, as Romeo's was to avenge me. Tybalt may be fiery and too bold¹, but he is a gentleman."

¹ Hello, pot, I have a kettle you should meet.

[keep_the_peace]

"Sorry that I did not have time to consider how gentlemanly he may be while I held thee dying in my arms from wounds he inflicted."

[bymyheelies]

"He is not thy villain, Benvolio," he says, a thread of annoyance sneaking into his voice. "Ay, he slew me; what of it? I goaded him to it, knowing he is easy to prick at -- but think thou, is it not the same with him as it is with Romeo and thee? He is as bound by his family's honor as thou art. Therefore have done with it, there is no feud here. He and I --made a peace, of a sort."

[keep_the_peace]

Benvolio could point out that he has never killed anyone. He could point out that Romeo started the day wanting to make peace with Tybalt. He could point out that slaying Mercutio was, actually, a big fucking deal, and that even though Mercutio might not place much value in his own life, Benvolio has had to live with his absence for two months, and that it hurt him deeply. He doesn't.

Instead, he walks into his bathroom (if the door slams, well, can you blame him?) where he turns on the water, watching it pour out of the faucet -- the magic or science of this place that can allow this simple convenience as well as bring back the dead. He rinses his face, turns the water off, dries with a fluffy towel, and finally trusts himself enough to continue the conversation without saying anything else he'll regret later.

When he returns to the bedroom, he sits beside Mercutio on the bed. "I care for thee," he says at long last. "Thou'rt my closest and dearest friend, I love thee, and do not wish for anyone to hurt thee, whether by purposeful harm, or by absence."

[bymyheelies]

By the time he returns, Mercutio has curled in on himself; deciding to wait it out. Thankfully, the wait is not as long as he had feared. He lifts his head once Benvolio sits, and sighs. "I know," is what his eyes say, but as ever he'll try and turn the subject into a joke, even if it doesn't quite land. "Ay, well, thou hast missed thy chance to see me as fishified as Romeo. My apologies."