Hey it's me! But this time, I'm writing a non-MAR FF! I'm so nervous! And excited! For those who don't know me, call me Reg!

This story contains scenes involving two boys doing grown-up things. If you don't like Yaoi, you can't say I told you so! I also had to do this story in three "acts"... Not chapters... "Acts"

BTW, I wrote this in modern-day English for the sake of your and my brain. I imagine them to be in their late teens - no younger than 16. This is set sometime before the duel between Hamlet and Laertes.

Inspiration for this story came from "Hamlet a novel" by John Marsden.

"ACT I"

The night was bitterly cold. It made people freeze in their beds to their sheets. It covered the ground with hard crunchy frost.

The moon, full and bright, had surveyed the Kingdom silently from its safe velvet pillow in the sky for the past few months; sorrowful for the events that had unfolded. It sent its false light in hope of warming the frost-bitten ground and shivering guards that paced the castle's battlements. It cut beams of silver into the castle windows, invading the darkness within.

A slice of pure silver had found its way through a gap in heavy velvet curtains that were drawn across a lonesome window, cutting through the dark abyss beyond. The icy room was silent and still, not a sound broke the ancient spell except the soft sounds of sleeping. The beam of moonlight lit one thirtieth of the room, making parts of the floor and bed visible.

Hamlet, the Prince of Denmark, lay seemingly asleep in his bed, the band of light shining across his face. His face twitched. The light made his pale, sunken face seem demonic and ghostly. His eyes snapped open, looking steely in the light.

He sat and squinted around the darkness, dazzled by the light. He located the source of light, got up, crossed the room and roughly tugged the curtains all the way across the window.

Hamlet sat at the end of his bed, wide awake now, hot sick boiling in the pit of his stomach. He was weary, not because he had just awoken - he hadn't been asleep at all - but because of his troubles and worries.

Looking back on it all now only made him feel even more sick and tiresome. He felt older than he really was; a feeling that he knew too well. He inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to get rid of his sickness. It seemed that all these days acting crazy really was driving him mad.

His father died, and just a few weeks later, his mother married his uncle. If this wasn't stressful enough for the poor boy, he was visited by the spirit of his father who declared to him that murder most foul was responsible for his death. Hamlet swore revenge and began to plan the death of the new King. In an insane rush, he accidentally murdered Polonius and his dear love (daughter of Polonius) Ophelia went mad and drowned.

Now he was alone. Alone in his plot against Claudius. No one could help him. Not even his best friend Horatio.

As if called by his thoughts, there came a knock on the door. Startled by the time of the night they had chosen to visit, Hamlet went to open the door. The moonlight lit up Horatio standing before him, wearing a thick coat and having no need for a candle because of the brightness of the moon.

Hamlet blinked and stood, staring at his friend in mild surprise.

"I thought you would be awake," Horatio whispered.

"Look at the time," Hamlet replied weakly, standing aside to let the blonde into his room. He closed the door with a snap and turned around. "Why are you here?" he demanded.

"I'm worried about you," Horatio answered, sitting on his bed. "You haven't been yourself lately."

"Who have I been then?" Hamlet sighed, sitting next to his friend. "You're right to be worried. But that's all you can do."

Horatio sighed as well and looked away. "I knew you'd something like that."

"You know me too well," Hamlet muttered. "But not well enough," he added softly to himself. He would never know the full extent of how he felt. He was no Crown Prince. Horatio turned his head and surveyed him through the gloom.

"How are you going?" he cautioned, not wanting to sound too rude. He may be his best friend, but Hamlet was still a Prince.

"You come to me at God-knows how late at night to ask me... How I am going?" Hamlet asked, stifling laughter.

"Well, I have a good reason to ask you!" Horatio said, his face burning. He hated being proved an idiot. He was a scholar after all - the top in his class; in the same league as Hamlet. "You've just lost your girlfriend. Plus, I was told to stay away from you. Apparently you've gone mad."

"As mad as a hatter," Hamlet murmured. He smiled over at Horatio, but his face fell. He didn't want to hide behind his mask anymore. He was too tired now. Horatio was his best friend, he wouldn't care.

He lay back and stared at the ceiling, breathing deeply in and out, listening to the silence.

"You worry too much," Horatio commented sympathetically. "You have such a burden on your shoulders... It would drive anyone mad."

At the sound of the last comment, Hamlet sat up and faced his friend, gazing into his eyes. He remembered all the times his friend understood him, all those times that he made him feel better. He remembered when they were younger and curious. They had experimented by kissing each other. It felt good, but Hamlet wasn't interested. He had Ophelia... Not anymore.

"Hey, Horatio?"

"Yes?"

"Can remember when we kissed?" he asked, studying the boy closely. Horatio blushed. Of course he remembered that kiss. It haunted his dreams and his thoughts to know that once he had kissed a Prince and liked it. If this didn't make him gay, he didn't know what did. He kept quiet, blessing the darkness that hid his embarrassment.

"Why do you ask?" he fired back instead.

"I ask because I was thinking about it. As I thought, I wondered, 'I wonder if Horatio remembers it,' and so I asked you," Hamlet replied. "I asked you because I wanted to know how you felt when we did it. Answer accordingly and you shall make me happier than I have ever been for a long time."

Hamlet peered at Horatio, trying to distinguish the boy's facial expression. 'If he likes it, I shall give him more. I'll see what he thinks and let him comfort me.'

"Do you recall the taste of passion, unbidden, lingering on our lips? The luke-warm hotness that awoke in our bodies?" He leaned forward and stroked Horatio's face with a finger, surprised at the silky baby-smoothness of his skin. "Answer me, please my dear Horatio. If you didn't love me, why would you come to me, worried, in the middle of the night?"

Horatio felt like a mouse being backed into a corner by a tiger. "Love and loyalty are two different things," Horatio answered, but not pulling away as Hamlet moved closer. He cleared his throat, looking away from the advancing Prince. He felt awkward and startled as Hamlet rested his head on his shoulder.

END OF ACT I