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]

“Ay,” he says solemnly. “Thou’rt squalling for thy mother even now.”

[keep_the_peace]

"Wilt have to rock me to sleep, and sing a lullaby." He gets up off of the floor so that he can sit on Mercutio's lap, sideways, one arm wrapped around his back.

[bymyheelies]

Mercutio promptly flicks a bit more of the silly string at him.

[keep_the_peace]

"'Tis not the proper way to behave towards an infant as young as I."

[bymyheelies]

"A king may do as he likes."

[keep_the_peace]

"A tyrant most cruel! And I, a simple child, unable to protect myself from such treachery!"

[bymyheelies]

He just boops Benvolio's nose, grinning.

[keep_the_peace]

He snaps at Mercutio's finger, making an attempt to bite it. Payback, or something.

[bymyheelies]

"'Tis poor manners to bite thy king," he points out, grinning.

[keep_the_peace]

"Infants know nothing of manners, nor can they be expected to act mannerly."

[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."