A/n: This is cheesy and corny as hell, but Romeo and Juliet has always been a bit of a guilty pleasure for me. It's like Jane Austen novels and Wuthering Heights. It's sappy and sugary and gross, but I just. Can't. Stop.
As for when this is set, it's between the marriage proposal and the balcony scene—about a day after that. Before anyone points out that the entire story takes place in 3 days-to-a-week (which I already know, thank you very much. School made sure of that many times), this is a fan-created work and therefore timeline fudging is allowed. I don't write much outside the world of anime, but the classics need some love too.
Disclaimer: This play belongs to a dead Englishman and is not my property. This oneshot however is mine, and I will be damned if Shakespeare thinks he can steal it from me.
Romeo crept against the wall, the moist dampness of his breath brushing against his lips as he pressed himself against the stones, the shadows of the streets washing over him. 'Capulet?' he wonders, holding his breath against his rapidly pounding heart as he waits for the possible enemy to pass.
Briefly, he entertains the idea of going home and running back to the safety of his room, of the warm glow of candlelight and his opulently-furnished room, when an image of her flashes before his eyes. She has called for him, and her form conjured in his mind is bewitching with all the delights of man and heaven combined. Juliet has asked for his presence, and his feet fly through the darkness on the promise of seeing her.
The shadow passes and the sound of an ox bellowing breathes from him a sigh of relief. Merely a merchant on his way out of town, nothing more.
Following the light of the moon, he traces paths against the clammy, moist stones underneath his touch. His back to the walls of homes and ancient buildings, he steals a path to the church. She is there, his mind tells him; that is their assigned meeting place, and his heart is already pulling him there before his feet can. Anxiety wraps cords around his lungs and he is dizzy at the prospect of seeing her in this night. The sanctity of the church is the perfect home for the sanctity of their meeting, and it is not long before he goes down the steps to the hidden basement where she waits for him.
And when he does find her, he feels the tightly wound breaths locked in his chest rush out of his body. The fire of the torchlight flickers around her, and though she has covered herself with a cloak, he can still see how the light plays on her chestnut hair. Hearing footsteps, she turns to look, her eyes large and glistening as though the vastness of the universe were held within those orbs, lock on his being and he feels acutely the weight of his mortality weighing down on him. She is a goddess on earth, and he is a mere mortal and unworthy of such sights.
Her eyes search his figure. Shadows play on his body, and for the briefest of seconds, confusion clouds her gaze and he holds his breath for her to remember him, remember this man unworthy of her gaze. But then she recognizes him; his worries are unfound, and a smile spans her face as bright as the sun. Relief washing over him, he sighs audibly as he runs to catch her and it feels as if all the stars have aligned for him to find her.
"I've missed you," he whispers, though he had only seen her that morning. Juliet only buries deeper into his chest, the ache of her loneliness seeping into his body and telling him what words could not. Suddenly, she pulls away and he watches as a slow, horrifying realization dawns on her.
"This isn't what I called you here for," she whispers, pained with tears in her eye. The pain that tears through him is worse than that of any enemy arrow and he rushes forward to soothe, only for her to pull away.
"Then what did you call me for?" he asks, keeping a respectful distance. He knows she does not wish to be touched.
"I can't—we can't—I can't do this, Romeo. I'm sorry. We can't be together."
Her words are like a knife to his heart. He can see how much it pains her to say them, but he cannot recognize anything than the gaping emptiness in his chest.
"Why?" he asks, the only thing he can say in his fog of hurt and confusion. Her sharp, muffled sob is the only sign that she still cares.
"I—I cannot say. I am sorry for misleading you. Farewell," she says stiffly, already bidding a hasty retreat, but he refuses to let it go. If she wishes to spurn his affections, that is her right, but she has not looked him in the eye since she broke their embrace. Her voice, starched and cold, is foreign to him. She is not his Juliet—not the bright, loving, warm woman he knows—and he refuses to let this imposter steal her face and rob her image to smash his heart. Running forward, he grabs her hand, stopping her in her tracks.
"Let—Let go!" she shouts, batting at his hand enclosed on her wrist. It is a futile fight; that much is obvious. His strength is much greater than hers, but Juliet would rather entertain the idea she might win. She continues to shout at him to release his grip on her, and not for the first time that night, he is glad the friar is a sound sleeper.
"I said let me go!"
"Not until you tell me why!" His harsh demand stuns her into silence and he is immediately regretful for his tone. It is apparent in her eyes that his mere presence brings her pain, but his pride is such that he will not let her go without an answer. Steeling herself, she matches his gaze. With their height difference, had it been any time other than this, he would've laughed.
Suddenly, her hand sails out and he is caught off-guard as her flesh connects with his face, the slap echoing off the walls and into the silence. The pain brings him sharply back to reality, but his utter shock numbs him to the pain. She slapped him. She, a mere woman. Anger and indignation rise in his chest. As much as he loves her, his pride will not allow such shamefulness and he tightens his grip, readying for a strike only to find her with tears pouring freely down her face.
"Have you ever really thought about this?"
Her angry, biting tone stuns him into submission. The anger melts away into confusion as he watches each crystalline drop fall down her face. It is a beautiful sight to watch her cry, and he decides that he has found a new guilty pleasure besides stealing into the night to see her.
Seeing her slightly narrowed gaze, he decides it would be wise to answer. "About what?"
Briefly, a look of utter shock flashes over her features and her eyes stare up widely at his before narrowing into slits and she is batting at his chest to get away from him.
"Stop this foolishness," he demands.
"No!" she cries petulantly.
"Stop it!"
"No!"
"Juliet!" He grabs her shoulders, shaking her. She stills and looks up at him. "Tell me what is the matter. Tell me why you've changed your mind."
She opens her mouth to answer, but at the last minute, she changes her mind. Her answer is lost, swallowed by her throat.
He finds himself staring down at her. She refuses to look at him and he knows that shaking her will do nothing if she does not wish to speak. He feels anxious and annoyed, and the two emotions fight for dominance in his body. Surprisingly, it is his stubborn determination that wins out.
"Do you still love me?"
It catches her attention because her eyes immediately fly to his face. "Of course I do!"
"Then why are you doing this?" he asks—pleads and immediately, her strong front begins to crumple on itself.
"Because we can't do this. Our parents will never allow for our union together." She says this quietly, a soft admission of defeat to their fates. But Romeo does not believe in such things. He is the son of the House of Montague, and he will fight both heaven and earth to find his way to her.
"Is that all?" he asks, relief washing over him that this is the only inconvenience. But Juliet's narrowed gaze and the tenseness in her jaw tell him this was the wrong thing to say.
"Is that all?" she shrieks, the piercing sound rattling his mind with its volume. His grip on her arms lessens. "Do you realize our families have been fighting for generations? Tybalt would kill you if he had the chance. And don't tell me our love will conquer in the end. These type of things have happened in stories and they never work out. The parents will win and I just—I just—I can't do this. I'm sorry."
She turns, pushing at his arms to let her go, and he lets her, too stunned by her words to stop her. The walls of heritage and fate tower over him, bathing him in their mocking shadow. Never more has he scorned the name of Montague.
This realization burns him, crushes his spirits and leaves him to sink into his unrelenting despair. He begs for her touch, the warmth and consolation that can only be found in her embrace, but when he closes his arms he only feels air. Like a nymph, she has escaped his grasp and he finds her near the mouth of the stairs.
"Juliet, wait!" He grabs her hand. "Please. I can't live without you. Please reconsider."
At his pleas, she turns with a pained, bitter smile. "What is there to reconsider? We can't win, Romeo. We can't. Even if we do marry, my parents will kill you if they find out and I don't want to see you dead. And what if I became pregnant? I can't hide a child from my mother. And—"
Grabbing her, he crushes her into his chest. Her fears are not without reason; if they want a future together, that is what they must deal with, as much as he disdains a marriage that cannot see the light of day. However, he is helpless to allieviate her worries. He is a mere boy-child, still suckling from the riches of his family. He has no power, no wealth of his own, but he does the only thing he can do in this situation and embraces her, chasing whatever demons he can.
She sinks heavily into his embrace, the shadows of defeat and anxiety weighing heavily on her small frame. He hushes her, soothes her as best he can as he waits for her small, subdued sobs to stop. Under his touch, he can feel the slight trembles of her back.
"I can't live without you either, but I'd rather us be apart than have you killed for my sake. I'm afraid, Romeo. I want to be with you, but it seems fate has conspired against us. There is no way we can win," she told him, her voice tinged with notes of despair. As much as she loved him, she feared losing him more, and the unknown stretched ahead of her like a great leviathan waiting to engulf her happiness whole. With tears in her eyes, she buried herself further into his embrace, smiling to herself when she felt him lift her face up to kiss her eyelids and offer what comfort he could. "What will we do?" she asked him softly.
Eyes unwavering from hers, he gave her his answer with all the determination he could muster. "We will bridge our parents' hatred, or we will die trying."
Juliet seemed shocked by the idea, but Romeo knew no other way. Their families' feud was as old as Verona itself and if they did not sway their parents' affections, their families would tear them limb from limb, regardless of their attachments. The idea of eloping—of stealing her away on a night like this—passed through his mind briefly, but he knew he could never bring himself to do it. Not only would it shame his honor, he knew what a loss it would be for her family to lose such a wonderful daughter as Juliet. He could not rob her family of this beam of God's personal light for his own selfish desires. What was more, he wanted for there to be one day that their child and their marriage could shine in the sun as brightly as she did, for everyone to gaze upon and envy because there could be no love purer and deserving than theirs.
He tried to show Juliet this and though a brief look of confusion and hesitation met on her face, she eventually understood and smiled her agreement, though a brief skittering of fear still crossed her face.
"We will convince them. I promise you," he said placing a kiss on her forehead. Juliet nodded solemnly, and with a chaste kiss between them, they parted towards their respective houses under the cover of a starry night.