A/N: I wrote this a really, really long time ago when I couldn't sleep and planned to make it chaptered but this really is the end now. It's written a bit oddly, I meant to do that. It's supposed to be sort of going around in circles like I thought the boys' minds would be, so... yeah. Where it stops wasn't originally going to be the end of the chapter, but I ran out of inspiration and it just seemed sort of final so I left it. Okay, done rambling. Please review!

Benvolio lie awake that night, unable to sleep. After a quick, mumbled apology, he had begged for Romeo to forget that the kiss ever happened. However, Romeo had looked so dazed afterwards that Benvolio thought he might not have even noticed. Could it be? Benvolio wondered. After all this time I've waited for the right moment, summoned up the courage, only to have him so in love with Rosaline that he did not even notice the kiss?

Then again, perhaps it was better if he had not. If both being men weren't enough, the two were cousins! He must have been mad, he told himself, to attempt to show Romeo how he felt. Had he noticed, he would have cried out and called for all of Verona to punish Benvolio for his sins. It was impossible, then, for him to have noticed. He had said nothing, just continued on as if nothing had happened. He could not possible have noticed the kiss.

Romeo had noticed.

That night, he made his way through the woods after speaking with Juliet, unaware that his cousin was awake as well. The kiss had frightened him, and he knew not how to respond. Was Benvolio truly trying to comfort him, to help him forget Rosaline? That must be the reason, he thought. Kisses just didn't happen for no reason at all, so there must have been some sort of motivation. If it hadn't been to make Romeo forget Rosaline, then what else could it be?

Love, a little voice whispered to Romeo from deep inside his head. One kisses another for love. But that, he knew, was impossible, so he shoved the thought from his head. After all, they were both men. Men did not love other men. The two had grown up together—cousins raised nearly as brothers. It was not a family sort of kiss, Romeo knew that much. It was a kiss like one might give to a lover, and cousins could not be lovers. Therefore, the kiss was to show Romeo that there were others besides Rosaline. And he had been right—Juliet, the most beautiful woman God had ever created, and one that loved him back! Benvolio was right, he was always right, and he had been proving his point. Benvolio could not possible be in love with him.

Benvolio was in love with him.

He had tried to make it go away for as long as possible. He had reasoned with himself—the love he felt for Romeo was brotherly, he was upset when Romeo pined over women because he didn't want his cousin to get hurt, he let his eyes linger over Romeo's attractive figure because he was jealous of it. He had prayed about it for years, begging the Lord to take the sin away because he wasn't strong enough to fight it.

Eventually, he had given up. It was impossible to make a love this strong just go away, he knew. After that, he hid it. He accepted that it wouldn't go away, and he hid it. He tried very hard to help Romeo with each new "goddess of beauty," out-loud-hoping that Romeo's luck would improve, deep-down-begging it wouldn't. He was not a talented actor, and on more than one occasion Benvolio's cousin had sensed his unhappiness. Benvolio always managed to brush it off, but now he wondered if Romeo had ever wondered why. And he was smart, so if he had wondered he would have known. All of the times he had half-heartedly pretended to help… his falseness had shown through. Romeo, at some point, must have suspected.

Romeo had never suspected.

Now, however, that he thought about it, he did have to wonder. Benvolio had never been the best at hiding or lying about his feelings—true, he would lie, but it was never believable. Romeo could always tell when he was upset. Usually, he was upset when Romeo was deep in depression over a woman. And, looking back, he realized that he had never actually looked into it, or cared. He would ask because he felt that he needed to, he would be able to tell that Benvolio was lying, but he would never press the matter.

Benvolio was a terrible liar, he realized… he could not act if his life depended on it. But the kiss had been so believable. What if… but, no, he'd already firmly told himself that Benvolio was not in love with him. He cares enough about me that my sadness upset him as well, and he was so absorbed in making me feel better that the kiss had seemed real. But even as Romeo told himself this, he knew he was lying to himself. What he was saying didn't even make sense. But, as the early morning sun rose, he decided that he could lie. The truth would be much harder to face. He could handle lying to himself.

Benvolio could no longer lie to himself.

He couldn't keep pretending that there was hope. Romeo could never love him back.