"Oh."
Benvolio instantly registered the soft exclamation, the voice of the whisperer unsettlingly easy to identify. He turned, unable to muster any sort of astonishment.
"Ah, Mercutio. Hail fellow, well met!" the Montague intoned somewhat sarcastically; he was not feeling nearly as congenial as his greeting suggested.
"Marry, your tone does not agree with your words, dear Benvolio! Art thou angry?"
"Nay. Well, not at thee." Benvolio sighed, sliding to the side as if inviting Mercutio to sit down next to him. The other recognized the motion and settled himself down comfortably, his willowy body folding up as he rested against the trunk of the tree Benvolio sat under.
It was odd that they should meet in so similar a place at such an unusual time, but then again, they always had an odd way of finding each other. Darkness had long since fallen, cloaking Verona in the inky bluish-black of night. The stars were clear and twinkling, begging to be gazed upon by any restless soul with a bit of free time on his hands and a lot of thinking to do in the middle of the night. And restless were both Benvolio and Mercutio as they sat in silence and cast their eyes to the sky.
"If thou dost not mind my asking," Mercutio uttered quietly, breaking the silence, "Why art thou troubled?"
"Oh, Mercutio, why am I ever troubled? It is dear Romeo again, lamenting yet another unrequited love, reciting poetry detailing the delicate beauty in yet another maiden's face. And this day I did not have you to shame him into silence and good humor with well-worded jests," Benvolio heaved a soft sigh, an airy chuckle tumbling out after it. He didn't mention the persistent and confusing ache in his chest, keenly felt, even now. Especially now.
"I would that I had been there to aid you. Perchance it was not such a good idea, methinks, to provoke Tybalt into another brawl. He is skilled by the sword, though his fists are sluggish." the Prince's kinsman snorted, recounting the fight in his mind.
Both he and Tybalt had disarmed each other, resulting in fisticuffs that could have gone much worse for Mercutio. He had only gained a substantial bruise now purpling on his left cheek; Tybalt, however, looked as if he had slammed his head into a wall of stone multiple times. The hot-headed Prince of Cats had not guessed Mercutio's fists to be as quick and poignant as his words. Both men were forced to flee when a few furious citizens threatened to contact the authorities, which left Benvolio the task of dealing with yet another bout of Romeo's acute lovesickness alone.
Mercutio had felt quite peculiar since his departure, his mood suffering severely for the rest of the day after having been forced to abandon his good friend. Well, friends. Though there were two, Romeo was, more often than not, out of his mind with love these days. Benvolio liked to blame the personality shift on the mild weather of spring, but Mercutio felt it had more to do with their youngest friend's crazed hormones. Well, at least Benvolio would always be himself. Sometimes he was the only constant in Mercutio's whirlwind of a life.
"His fists cannot be too slow. He hit his target at least once." Benvolio spoke, blue-green eyes flickering to the splotch of purpling flesh spread upon the blonde's thin cheek while full lips tilted into a sly smirk.
"Aye. Though well met by moonlight, Benvolio, thine eyes art surely ill to be met with my face, especially by the light of the moon." chuckled Mercutio.
"Oh, it is not so bad. A mere bruise can do little to mar such fine features." muttered Benvolio, voice deepening to mumble almost inaudibly, gaze directed at the expanse of sky and stars above them. Mercutio blinked once, rather owlishly. He glanced over at the other furtively, trying to search Benvolio's face for insight into what he meant. Had he been speaking sarcastically? His gentle voice had not held a hint of teasing, so perhaps… No. No, he need only look over to see the glint of a jest in his companion's eyes…
Well, he could not exactly see Benvolio's face. It was obscured by night-darkened brunette curls that coiled around it, hiding any hints as to what he really meant that might have been found there. Well, that was a problem, indeed. One Mercutio knew how to solve easily. Unthinkingly, on a sudden and intense impulse, he reached out towards the other and let his long, thin fingers weave easily into brown locks, drawing them away from the Montague's face and tucking some behind an ear pinkened with the slight chill of the night air. He withdrew his hand slowly, only registering what he had actually just done when his hand was resting on the cold, grassy ground in between them.
It was Benvolio's turn to blink owlishly now, and he turned his beryl-colored eyes to the man sitting next to him. Mercutio drew in a breath.
A minute passed, and then two. It seemed that time had stilled momentarily, as though even the gentle breeze rustling through the trees paused to watch the scene.
"Perhaps thou should'st…" began Benvolio, only to trail off, mouth slightly ajar. For all of his avid reading, he could not seem to make himself dredge up the correct words from his hopelessly jumbled thoughts.
Mercutio's glance darted around nervously, and then he stared into the black, diamond-dappled sky, grey-blue eyes focused intently as if searching for his own words in the stars.
"Perhaps," began Mercutio, "I should'st explain." He said, taking the unspoken words from Benvolio's still-parted lips; words he hadn't even known he was trying to say. The curls tucked behind his ear felt heavier all of a sudden, and the ghost of Mercutio's touch prickled across the path his slender hand had taken.
"Yes."
There was dead silence for a few eternal seconds.
"I could not see thy face." Mercutio finally said.
"Oh." Benvolio answered, as if that was all there was to it. His clear gaze never left Mercutio. He could not will himself, for some reason, to pry his eyes from the other.
"I… I wished to discover thine intentions." Mercutio admitted.
"Intentions?" Benvolio inquired, eyes searching the side of the other man's angular face, his level gaze trying hard to nudge its way into the periphery of Mercutio's vision.
"Your words," spoke Mercutio, "I willed to discover whether they were spoken in jest. They were, I gather." He met Benvolio's intent stare. When had he become the subject of such prying scrutiny?
Benvolio was silent for a long time, and each second was like an eternity Mercutio spent sinking into fathomless blue-green pools of equally unfathomable emotions.
"No."
The word was spoken softly, tenderly, as if anything louder than a quiet murmur would shatter the obsidian glass of the sky above the two and the white-hot diamonds encrusted in its surface would come screaming down to meet them.
"Oh." Mercutio swore he could feel the bottom drop out of his stomach. For some reason his breath was sticking to the walls of his throat, while a giddy feeling was beginning to bubble to life in his stomach, scrabbling its way up into his chest. What was happening?
"I do apologize for my… I believe that… Perchance I should'st hie home." Benvolio was flustered, suddenly, but as he moved to stand a weight landed on one of his crossed legs, warm and firm and unyielding. In a sudden flash of impulse and a reluctance to let Benvolio escape, Mercutio had latched his hand onto a tensed thigh.
"No, soft, Benvolio, thou canst not-!" Mercutio blinked, something hot and heavy flaring to life in his chest as he bore his eyes into Benvolio's. The Montague could feel his cheeks warming, could feel his heart catching in his throat in anticipation, but anticipation of what? Suddenly the ache in his chest that had been plaguing him for weeks, strong when he was alone but even more powerful in the presence of his friend, his dear friend Mercutio, seemed to burst into something searing.
Ah, thought Benvolio with sudden clarity, It was longing.
"T-thou canst not…" Mercutio's words died on his tongue. He floundered within himself, his confidence seemed to have fled and taken his quick wit and right mind with it, and all he was left with was the breath caught in his throat and hot sensation of the burning in his chest mixed with the roiling in his stomach. He began to lean closer to Benvolio, as if pulled by some sort of gravity.
But that was just it wasn't it? Benvolio was a sun with his gravitational pull and Mercutio revolved around the curly-headed, book-reading Montague. Admittedly, he liked it too much to be considered decent when he saw blue-green eyes light up with mirth, curiosity, or excitement. He loved the way those soft-looking brown curls fell haphazardly about such a handsome face. He enjoyed making those expressive eyebrows disappear behind curly bangs in surprise. But nothing made Mercutio happier than drawing a laugh from those pink lips, making them quirk into a smile or twist oddly to hide one.
And, speaking of lips, suddenly Benvolio's were centimeters away. Warm air ghosted over his own lips, and they shuddered minutely.
"Benvolio… Thou canst-" Mercutio's gaze flickered up from his friend's lips to meet with dewy blue-green eyes. Mercutio nearly started at the amount of emotion in them, so unlike the usual serenity in the Montague's eyes. Benvolio moved a fraction of an inch closer, his brown curls brushing against Mercutio's forehead, merging with blonde hair. Benvolio knew they both wanted something, could feel his own desire spreading and climbing and slithering through his body with fiery tendrils, wrapping around his thoughts and his heart and every nerve in his body.
"I canst what, dear Mercutio?" Benvolio whispered, his full lips barely brushing the blonde's thin ones. Each syllable spoken sent a shock through Mercutio's spine, the heavy breaths the other expelled mingling with his own.
"If you would, thou could'st lean in…" he paused to exhale a slow breath that rolled off of Benvolio's parted lips, "a bit, hm, closer."
Benvolio seemed to consider it, open mouth pulling up a bit at the corners. Then, in one fluid motion he tangled his fingers into the straight silky blonde of Mercutio's hair and tugged him in. Their lips collided and for a moment it seemed as if they really had broken they sky, shattered it into a million pieces and didn't even have the decency to care as a million stars fell like rain around them, bathing them in a light they couldn't even see because their eyes were squeezed shut in ecstasy. But they could feel it. They felt the warmth of all the stars in the sky, and Mercutio felt the warmth of the sun, his sun, and Benvolio felt the warmth of Mercutio's golden hair tangled in one hand and his ivory skin underneath the fingertips of the other.
And it was perfect.
In the chill of the evening air on a night in Verona, no two people could ever have been better met by moonlight, excepting, perhaps, Romeo and Juliet.