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Life was all about choices, and every decision led to a different future. It was maddening sometimes to get stuck in the what-ifs of those possibilities that will never come to be, she knew this; after the death of her parents and the ‘will they or won’t they’ situation with Escalus, she knew couldn’t do it anymore.
But Rosaline Capulet couldn’t stop thinking about how things would have been if she hadn’t met Benvolio Montague.
If she hadn’t stopped hating him, if she hadn’t gotten to know him…
…If she hadn’t fallen in love with him.
* * *
It was early in the morning, the only time she had to herself before her sister and her cousin woke up and dragged her along on their boy-chasing outings, and Rosaline was going to make the most of it. With the newest book she had started reading clutched in her hands—she was a little old school but preferred it over an e-reader—she closed the hotel door behind her and headed for the elevator at the end of the hall.
Lost in her thoughts as she went over her plan—breakfast at the beachside diner she had discovered their second night there, and then read on the rocks by the water until she knew Livia and Juliet would wake up—Rosaline almost didn’t hear someone calling to hold the elevator until the door began to close. She held out a hand to stop its progress just in time, and as the door opened once more to reveal the runner, Rosaline wished she had just let the door closed.
“You.”
Benvolio’s mouth had been open to give his thanks, but upon realizing who it was he blinked in surprise before smirking. “Capulet,” he said instead, shaking his head and chuckling as he walked into the elevator and it finally began its decent.
“Just what is so funny?” Rosaline gritted through her teeth; she didn’t want to have to interact with him but she didn’t want to hear his smug little laugh the whole way down either.
The hate between their families had started with their grandfathers, when they had started a business together and the Montagues had suddenly left and started their own rivalling company. Though it truly didn’t even have anything to do with them personally, it was something that had been passed down through the generations like an inheritance one just accepted.
Rosaline did so without question, feeling she owed her family that much; Benvolio thought it was ridiculous but simply went with the flow because it was easier.
“I was wondering why my uncle suddenly decided we should all go on vacation now, here, but now it all makes sense,” Ben answered, looking at her pointedly in case she couldn’t follow the pettiness of his uncle. “I’m beginning to think our uncles are obsessed with each other. Do you think they’re having an affair with one another behind all our backs?”
Rosaline snorted. “Don’t be stupid, though I understand that’s asking a lot of you.” She would have liked to see her aunt’s face on the very off-chance that was even conceivable, because the irony would’ve been too much. Benvolio dramatically clutched at his heart to show how much that jab hurt him and she rolled her eyes. “It’s just a coincidence. There’s no way for the other to have known they’d both be here.”
“No…” Benvolio agreed, though he trailed off as he thought back to something, hitting the portfolio in his hand against his leg. “But Romeo suggested this place to my uncle, who probably heard it from—”
“—Juliet,” Rosaline finished, frowning as she connected the dots. “You got the affair conspiracy right, but not the people involved.” It was going to be a long summer trying to keep an eye on their cousins.
“You mean you don’t you think it’s sweet, all these risks they’re making to be together?” he said in faux shock. To be honest, while he didn’t enjoy the impending doom that was sure to follow if—or rather when—they were found out, Benvolio was actually a little envious. To have a love like that… “A little foolish, but maybe their love can finally end the animosity between our families.”
Rosaline wasn’t sure if he was still being sarcastic or not. She never took him to be a romantic, but he certainly had his head in the clouds like she thought. “Or make it worse. Life isn’t that simple. And there’s a real reason why all of this started in the first place—”
“Aren’t you tired of all the hate?” Benvolio murmured, so quietly Rosaline had thought he was speaking to himself and she just happened to overhear. But then he turned his head towards her and the solemn expression on his face made her pause. “I know I am.”
The elevator chimed as it finally reached the first floor, but Rosaline was still staring at Benvolio in shock that she hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t until he bowed mockingly at her, saying, “Ladies first,” that she eventually moved out into the lobby and outside the sliding doors, where the breeze was still cool as the sun had yet to fully rise.
Rosaline turned to see Benvolio get into his car and drive off, and though her morning continued exactly as she had planned it, she couldn’t get Benvolio’s earnest face and haunting words off her mind and how it changed the image she had of him forever.
* * *
“Hold the elevator, please!”
She recognized that voice—it was déjà vu all over again. Looking up from her book, Rosaline considered just letting the doors close this time before sighing and sticking out a hand to halt the door’s progress.
“Thank—oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Benvolio was in the middle of running his free hand through his hair, the other once again holding a portfolio, when he realized who was in the elevator. Even with one foot inside, he had half a mind to just turn back around. “Forget it; I’m taking the stairs—”
“Don’t be difficult!” Rosaline hissed as she slid over to make room for him before they woke up the entire floor with their bickering, wondering if she lost her mind putting herself through this. “Weren’t you the one talking about all the hate yesterday? Besides, it’d actually take less time just waiting for the next elevator, but perhaps you need the exercise with the whole lot of nothing you seem to do.”
“I don’t need the exercise, trust me,” Benvolio reassured her, winking. “Would you like to see?” he teased, slowly pulling the hem of his shirt up.
“Would you like me to barf all over you?” she replied with a fake smile.
He matched her smile with a smug one of his own before he finally latched onto her earlier words. “Wait, you were actually listening to me? I thought it went in one ear and out the other.”
“It does most days; you caught me on an off day, unfortunately.”
Benvolio didn’t know what to do with this information. He was actually a little embarrassed he had even said anything yesterday—he was honestly talking more about his issues with his uncle than anything else—and had expected things to just go back to normal between them with it forgotten. “So…what? What is this? A truce?”
Rosaline didn’t know the answer to that herself—she knew something changed between them that day, but was almost afraid to figure out what. Instead, she sniffed loudly and made a point of opening her book again, even though they both knew she wasn’t reading anything as she spoke. “Don’t hurt yourself thinking about it, Montague. This is just me not throwing you down the elevator shaft. Don’t read too much into it.”
Ben squinted at her for a long moment before a smile slowly stretched across his face. “It is a truce, isn’t it?” His only answer was the loud shuffling of a page turning, and his grin only became broader. “Definitely not reading too much into it. I’m the dim-witted one, remember? Can’t read a thing.”
Despite herself, Rosaline smiled at his comment, and an almost comfortable silence enveloped the pair the rest of the way down.
It wasn’t the kind of truce that would end decades of fighting between their families, they were no Romeo and Juliet and they certainly did not love each other, but Benvolio found he didn’t want that sort of weight on his shoulders, anyway. It was enough to just be two people in an elevator together.
* * *
Their morning meetings in the elevator had become such a regular thing that it was natural for Rosaline to reach out to stop the doors from closing like clockwork, often doing it without looking up from her book anymore. One would’ve thought that he’d leave his room earlier to stop the daily sprint but Rosaline wasn’t about to try and understand the mind of that Montague. Honestly it was a wonder he even got up early at all—she always pegged him as a late riser.
That morning, though, when she did the same exact thing she did every day, she didn’t hear the breathless thanks that usually followed and Rosaline found herself moving her eyes straight ahead down the hall as if a door would open and he would appear. Was she supposed to wait for him? They never really discussed it. Maybe he was sleeping in today…what did he even do so early in the morning, anyway, carrying around that portfolio?
A beat passed before she shook her head and removed her hand, allowing the door to close. It wasn’t as if they were friends…right? Even after all this time she wasn’t sure what they were, if anything, and she didn’t know why it bothered her.
Trying to push it out of her mind, Rosaline went about the rest of her routine—‘the rest’, because she hated to admit it but their elevator ritual had become a part of her routine—and stopped short when she reached the diner she ate breakfast at.
Because sitting on the curb across the street of it was Benvolio, bent over the now open portfolio he always carried with him.
Out of no where relief washed over Rosaline before her grip tightened on her book and she stomped over to him, a sudden rush of irritation taking over. She had a million things she wanted to tell him, but “Are you stalking me?” was the first thing out of her mouth.
Startled, Benvolio looked up, slowly closing his portfolio shut—an action that unnerved her even more. “Seeing as I was here first, I’m pretty sure you’re the one stalking me, Capulet.”
“I eat breakfast here every morning, Montague,” Rosaline spat, exasperated that he was trying to put this on her; this was about him, not her.
“Oh,” was his intelligent reply as he stood up, dusting his pants off. “I didn’t realize. I just—” he cut himself off as if he was about to reveal more than he wanted.
It was little actions like hiding what he was doing, what he was about to say, just hiding himself period that was rubbing her the wrong way, Rosaline realized. If everything else about them was undefined, the fact that they were always open and themselves around each other was something that just happened with them. What changed? Why did she care?
“Right, well, it’s not like you owe me an explanation or anything. Goodbye!” With that, she turned on her heel and began crossing the street.
Benvolio stood dumbfounded for a moment, unsure of where the hostility was coming from—this wasn’t their usual playful sort, weren’t they past this by now?—before he smacked his forehead as a possible reason hit him. “Capulet, wait!” he called as he chased after her, but she either didn’t hear him or was ignoring him as she didn’t stop. So he tried a different method. “Rosaline, please—”
She stopped so suddenly that he almost walked right into her, and other than shuffling his feet as she spun around to face him Benvolio held his ground.
“What did you just call me?” Rosaline whispered as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs.
Ben’s eyebrows knotted together. “Your name?” Was this a trick question?
“My first name.”
“If you want to get into specifics…”
“You never call me by my first name.”
“Well you weren’t answering to your last name!” he snapped, feeling defensive, but after noticing that Rosaline seemed more stunned than furious he relaxed somewhat. “Surnames seems to be our thing,” Benvolio began to explain, and Rosaline tried to ignore the warmth that spread at ‘our thing’. “And I honestly didn’t know how you’d react, though I was expecting more yelling to be honest.”
She gave him her signature ‘not impressed’ look, and Ben grinned before it morphed into a tentative smile. “Besides, it’s not as if you call me by my name, either,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.
And it was then that Rosaline realized that maybe she wasn’t the only one who was confused by their dynamic, and that perhaps it didn’t matter what they were as long as they were. “Well, if you want to get into specifics,” she mimicked him, “Benvolio,” and she could tell the exact moment it left him breathless as she had felt it, too, when he had uttered her name, “Are you hungry?” she asked, gesturing at the diner they were standing outside of since they had crossed the street.
“Famished.” Grinning as she rolled her eyes at his choice of words—who even said that anymore, she thought—Ben opened the door and pulled out her chair once they reached their table.
A romantic and a gentleman? She was constantly learning new things about Benvolio that surprised her—things he wasn’t deliberately hiding from her, just things she never noticed before—and she found herself almost eager to find out what she would discover next. As she prepared the tea she had ordered, Rosaline asked, “So what did you want to say before?”
Benvolio was distracted for a moment as he poured packet after packet of sugar into his coffee, so he didn’t answer her right away, and he could feel Rosaline’s judging eyes on him. “I like it sweet.”
“You might as well pour the sugar straight down your throat and skip the pretence of a coffee all together.”
“Not everyone likes their coffee as bitter as your soul seems to be, Capulet.”
As if synchronized, they both brought their cups to their lips, smiling at each other before taking a sip.
“I wanted to apologize,” Benvolio began after swallowing. “You were mad because I wasn’t at the elevator, right? Did you miss me?” He jumped as she kicked him under the table. “Ouch! Someone’s touchy. I get it; I’d miss me, too.” This time he was ready for her next kick, moving his legs out of the way. “I forgot to tell you yesterday, but I assumed you knew the plan. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Coming where?” Rosaline asked after thanking the waitress for their meal.
Benvolio nodded his own thanks before reaching for a fork. “There’s a fair in the next town over, with fireworks at night. The evil minions wanted to go, and as their chauffeur I’m forced to go with them. Don’t leave me alone with them. I can’t be trusted, remember? I might leave them on the side of the road intentionally.”
Rosaline snorted at the code name he used to describe their cousins and her sister. She remembered Livia and Juliet mentioning something about it, but she just thought they were letting her know and that she’d have the whole day to herself. “Why don’t you just call them an Uber and take a day free of them like me?”
It was his turn to snort. “And have the lot of them kidnapped when the driver figures out they’re carrying children from two of the most powerful business families in the world? No thank you.”
“That’s…incredibly protective of you.” It wasn’t a problem back home, where they basically lived in a gilded cage, but they left that all behind when they went on vacation. It wasn’t something she thought of, and she was quite impressed that Benvolio did, if not appreciative of his thoughtfulness for her family and not just his own.
Feeling something swell inside her, Rosaline tried to push it down with another sip of her drink. “All right, I’ll watch over them with you. I’m surprised they haven’t already lost a limb in your care yet.”
“How do know they haven’t? I know a good surgeon.”
Rosaline shook her head and rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but laugh along with Benvolio as he started to chuckle.
* * *
The sun was a few minutes from disappearing beyond the horizon, and Rosaline had to admit it had been a pretty decent day spent with the five of them together. All that was left was the fireworks to top everything off.
Ever the rebel, Benvolio sat upon a picnic table top, feet resting where he should truly be sitting, once again bent over that portfolio of his. With Romeo, Juliet and Livia busy with one of the nearby game booths, Rosaline decided to join him, watching as he once again shut it close as she approached. “I found you hunched over this thing earlier today, too. What exactly do you do every morning? I thought you’d sleep till noon.”
“How long have you been waiting to ask that one?” Benvolio teased.
“You’ll never know, Montague.”
He smirked, but his eyes were searching, as if wondering if he should, could, trust her with an apparently important part of himself. Wordlessly, he handed the portfolio over to her, and after hesitating for a moment as if expecting him to childishly pull it away as she reached for it she took it.
Inside were beautifully done sketches; the one he was just working on was a landscape of the fair before them, the shadowing perfectly depicting the dying sunlight. There were other landscapes, a lot were of the beach that was near their hotel, but most consisted of building concepts, including the diner they were at that morning. There were a handful of portraits, one she recognized as Romeo and another man that looked familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Benvolio, these are…” Rosaline struggled to find the right words, as none seemed to do his talent justice.
“That bad, huh?” Ben joked, a little self-deprecatingly, as she failed to finish her sentence, rubbing his hands on his knees a little nervously.
“No,” she disagreed strongly, wanting, needing him to understand what she was trying to say. “These are amazing, and that’s a gross understatement. You have incredible talent.” Rosaline looked up at him so he could see the sincerity in her eyes. “Have you ever thought of doing it professionally?”
He shrugged, looking away as the feeling he found in her eyes was enough to drown in. “I thought of becoming an architect once, but…” he trailed off, lost in thought for a moment, before letting out a sigh. “It’s just a hobby.”
She was definitely missing something, and though it wasn’t her decision… “Well, the world is missing out on some beautiful buildings.”
Benvolio looked back at her, staring for a moment before he reached out and put his hand on her forehead. Rosaline frowned as he alternated between using his palm and the back of his hand several times. “What are you doing?” she huffed, getting annoyed after the fifth time he did it.
“You’re paying me a compliment; you must be ill. Perhaps it’s fatal.”
She swatted his hand away. “Don’t be a dumbass.”
“That’s my girl.”
Rosaline felt her heart stop and Benvolio’s eyes widened, but before either of them could react someone had come behind Ben and covered his eyes. Benvolio jumped, grabbing at the hands, and Rosaline moved her gaze to the perpetrator, recognizing them as the other person Benvolio had sketched before.
Finally prying the hands off his eyes to look at the person Benvolio light up and stood to pull the man into a hug. “Mercutio! What are you doing here?” he asked as he pulled away.
“Romeo called me since someone didn’t,” Mercutio replied, keeping a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “You didn’t forget I lived like 30 minutes from here, did you?”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“And I told you that you’re no trouble at all. Did you think about my offer?” Mercutio was pretty sure that was part of the reason Benvolio was avoiding contacting him, but it was important and he wished Ben saw that.
Benvolio hesitated, clearly looking for a way to avoid answering when his eyes landed on Rosaline. “Mercutio, you remember Rosaline—”
“—Capulet,” Merucito finished a little shortly as he regarded Rosaline, irritated at both the blatant change in subject and what the subject was changed to. He still hears about her from Escalus when his cousin drunk dials him, but he had to admit what went down between Escalus and Rosaline was not Rosaline’s fault. “I guess some things are different from the last time I was around, huh.”
It wasn’t a question, and Benvolio let out an awkward chuckle at the scarily neutral facial expressions the two of them were displaying. He was saved from trying to salvage the situation when Romeo came running towards them, wrapping his arms around Ben and Mercutio when he was within range.
“Hey, you made it!” Romeo greeted. “Did you bring me anything?”
“Am I not a good enough gift for you?” Mercutio retorted, having the gall to look affronted.
“Pft, cheapskate. I can see you anytime.”
“And yet you don’t.” Mercutio looked past Romeo to the game booths he had come from and the two girls who stood waiting there, waving shyly when they caught Mercutio looking at them. “Still chasing skirts, I see.”
As if it explained everything, Romeo said, “Well, you know how my father is,” and the three males present knew exactly what he meant. “And though I did learn from the best, my dear Mercutio, I’m only chasing the one skirt of my beloved Juliet—”
Benvolio and Rosaline groaned and rolled their eyes at the same time. “Please don’t get him started; he’ll never shut up,” Ben pleaded.
“Y’all just jealous,” Romeo grumbled before grabbing onto Benvolio’s sleeve and pulling. “Speaking of Juliet, I need to beat you at a game so I can impress her.”
Benvolio’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “How is getting your ass kicked going to impress her?” He was genuinely curious.
Romeo was two seconds away from stomping his foot. “I can beat you!”
“In the next century, maybe.”
“Just—come and let me win one, okay?” Romeo compromised, walking back in the direction of Juliet and Livia, pulling his cousin along with him.
“My honour will not allow me to throw a competition!” Ben said dramatically, trying and succeeding in annoying his cousin, and he allowed himself to be dragged along for a few feet before he looked back and realized who he’d be leaving alone together. “Uh, maybe I should—”
“Just go, Montague,” Rosaline told him, even though the last thing she wanted was to be stuck with Mercutio; she remembered him now as the one who was always with Romeo and Benvolio back in high school, the one who’d always get in a fight with her cousin Tybalt and anyone with their last name, really. She didn’t know how it was possible for Mercutio to hate the Capulets more than Benvolio did, and Ben was an actual Montague.
Benvolio hesitated, still unsure, and he slid his eyes over to Mercutio as if wanting to hear something more convincing.
“This isn’t Shakespearean times, Ben; I’m not going to kill her as soon as you turn your back.”
There were records that begged to differ. Why Benvolio expected to hear anything reassuring from Mercutio was beyond him.
Both flattered and exasperated that Benvolio was worried about them both, Rosaline tried once more to quell his doubts. “I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, all of this isn’t filling me with confidence—”
“It’s good enough for me!” Romeo cut in, tugging harder on his cousin’s arm. “We gotta finish before the fireworks start, c’mon!”
Clearly outnumbered, Benvolio resigned himself to his fate, but did sneak a few glances over his shoulder until they reached the booths. As soon as Benvolio was out of earshot, Mercutio spoke. “So, you and Ben, huh?”
Mercutio was never one to mince words, that was for sure. It figured he’d start there, considering what he had interrupted…whatever he interrupted. Even if she wanted to answer him—which Rosaline didn’t—she wouldn’t even know how to. “It’s…”
“Complicated? Undefined? I know how that goes.”
“…None of your business,” Rosaline finished sharply, glaring at him. It bothered her that he could accurately guess the very definition of her relationship with Benvolio so easily.
Mercutio matched her heated gaze. “Anything that concerns Ben is my business.”
“Must be hard to keep tabs on him from way out here.”
Letting out a dry laugh, Mercutio reached for Benvolio’s portfolio, thumbing through the pieces he hadn’t seen before; there were a lot more than he liked to admit. It bothered him that Rosaline could guess just how little Benvolio kept to himself in an effort not to worry him now that he was gone without even knowing it. “He shows you a piece of himself and you think you know him as a whole. You don’t understand anything.”
He looked up then to watch Benvolio, who was making such a show of losing spectacularly that it was painfully obvious—well, to everyone but Juliet. Livia looked torn between putting Ben out of his misery and letting her cousin live in blissful ignorance. “He protects everyone around him, but who protects him? I moved out here to help him, and if you cared about him half as much as you pretend not to, you’ll convince him to accept my offer.”
That feeling she had earlier about missing something came back with a vengeance. Protect him from what? What offer? Though it would’ve been easier to just ask Mercutio outright, half of her knew he wouldn’t answer her anyway, and the other half of her was too proud to, to admit that she didn’t know as much as she thought about the person they both cared about.
And how she hated that it took Mercutio for her confess to herself that she had strong feelings for Benvolio.
So instead Rosaline said, “If you think I won’t protect him then it’s you who doesn’t understand anything.” She was going to get to the bottom of whatever this was and do what he failed to do.
Mercutio shook his head—she acted exactly as he had suspected she would, but it was still hard to watch history repeat itself. “There was a time I vehemently believed I could protect him, too; for Ben’s sake, I hope you’re not proven wrong like I was.”
There was something in his voice that made Rosaline look at him only to find he was already staring at her, and seeing what she heard in his voice only made it worse. It wasn’t often that Mercutio was anything but exuberant and cocky and it was jarring to see him like this. Before she could say anything, though, the others were approaching them, carrying varying sizes of stuffed animals with Juliet carrying the largest of them all.
“Oh, good, you two are still in one piece. Did you behave yourself?” Benvolio questioned as he looked pointedly at Mercutio.
“You know I never behave myself, Ben,” Mercutio winked, smirking as Ben groaned and wiped a hand down his face; Benvolio could quickly recall exactly how Mercutio didn’t behave himself, some more pleasant than others.
“The fireworks are gonna start soon; there’s a better vantage point over there,” Romeo interjected as he pointed off into the nearby distance, knowing first hand that this conversation was one road they did not want to go down with three ladies present. “You staying?” he directed towards Mercutio.
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” Mercutio started, “though I think I’ll hang out with you and give these two a rest from babysitting.” Though honestly Mercutio probably needed to be watched more than the three teenagers did.
Romeo’s indignant, “We don’t need to be babysat,” could be heard as they moved forward first. Rosaline stared after them, but her view of them was soon obstructed as a small stuffed frog was shoved in her face, and she grabbed it as Benvolio reached for his portfolio from the table and they started following after the others.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a frog, y’know, ribbit,” Benvolio said slowly as if Rosaline was stupid.
Rosaline smacked him on the arm and tried not to smile at his frog impression. “You know what I mean.”
“A thank you for tagging along, I guess? And an apology for what I, uh, blurted out earlier before Mercutio came…”
Benvolio was making a conscious effort not to look in her direction, but Rosaline kept her eyes on him and could see the red that tinted his cheeks from the light of the moon, his jaw clenched from how tense he was thinking back to those three words he said. It slowly dawned on her that it wasn’t just her own feelings that she had been blind to, but Benvolio’s as well.
Rosaline had assumed he was confused about their dynamic—“Besides, it’s not as if you call me by my name, either”—because he was trying to sort through his emotions like she was, but it more like he knew what he felt and realized that she didn’t and he was just trying to stick with the status quo until she got with the program, if ever. “That’s my girl,” was his slip up from the act he had been putting on and god, how could she not have seen this?
They were complicated because of their families, and she could live with that, but they were undefined because they weren’t communicating, and that was something Rosaline planned on rectifying.
“…Your sister mentioned you liked the whole ‘kiss a frog and get a prince’ fairytale, so I thought you’d find it funny, but it was probably stupid, right—” Benvolio had still been rambling on during her epiphany, and Rosaline promptly cut him off by shoving her plush frog against his mouth. His expression was pure bewilderment, but she didn’t give him any time to voice a question once she removed the toy before she pulled him down and replaced it with her own lips instead.
Benvolio stood frozen for a moment, trying and failing to figure out how these turn of events happened, but he soon melted into her, pulling her closer to him.
“I guess it’s true,” Rosaline started breathlessly when they pulled apart for some much needed air. “You really do get a Prince Charming if you kiss a frog.”
He shook his head in utter astonishment. “Rosaline…what? Why? How…?”
“Benvolio, remember what I said about hurting yourself thinking too much?”
“…To stop?”
“Mmm,” she hummed before smiling as she pulled him down for another kiss.
Benvolio wanted to tell her that his brain always short-circuited around her, but figured that it was probably obvious by now.
They never noticed the fireworks that they were missing, but who needed to watch that when they were creating some fireworks of their own?
* * *
Their morning routine changed after that night. Benvolio still ran for the elevator and Rosaline still stopped it from closing, but instead of going their separate ways once they hit the first floor they had breakfast at the diner and hit the beach together; she reading her book and him sketching whatever came to mind.
(There was one morning where he had drawn her, with the shading of the morning light hitting her just right and her hair frozen on paper where the light breeze had blown it, and though Rosaline never exactly thought of herself as hideous it was something else entirely to get a glimpse of how she looked through Benvolio’s eyes.
When she started to cry he had attempted to take it back and rip it to shreds but she held it away from him and threatened to scalp him if he tried before initializing a kiss that Benvolio turned into steamy make out session. Figures it took that much for him to understand that she didn’t hate his drawing—in fact, just the opposite.
Livia had practically screamed when she caught sight of it when Rosaline returned to their room later that morning, trying to file it away before anyone saw. “I guess he’s all right for a Montague,” Livia had said once she finally figured out who the artist was. “It’s a shame he doesn’t get paid for doing this, though. Do you think he’d do one of me?”
Rosaline may have said no…just because.)
It was always a reoccurring thought, though, why Benvolio never pursued it as a career, in between the times she wasn’t busy trying to uncover what Mercutio had brought up that night.
But maybe it was just a hobby, and maybe Mercutio was just blowing smoke to mess with her—
—Until one night when she got all her answers at once.
Rosaline checked her watch for what seemed like the nth time as she leaned against the side of Benvolio’s car. There was a movie playing at a drive-in theatre on the other side of town that the two of them were supposed to go to—supposed to, because he said he had forgotten something in his room, went up to get it, and never came back down; if he took any longer they’d miss it.
“Your hair is fine, Montague,” Rosaline spoke aloud to herself, jokingly thinking that maybe he had caught a look of himself in the mirror and lost track of time. With a sigh, she pushed herself off of the car and headed back inside—if he really couldn’t find whatever it was, maybe she could help.
As the elevator arrived on their floor and she stepped out Rosaline could already tell that something was wrong. She could hear yelling coming from somewhere, and the closer she moved towards Benvolio’s room the louder the shouting became. She kept trying to tell herself that it was a coincidence, that the commotion could’ve been coming from any of the rooms in this direction, but when she reached his room and found the door ajar and the voice booming that hope went out the window.
“…think that I would pay someone to tell you what I can do for free, you are out of your mind!”
There were sounds of something ripping, and Rosaline tensed outside the door. That was Damiano Montague’s voice—Benvolio’s uncle. Before she realized what she was doing, she slowly eased the door open and slipped inside; both Benvolio and his uncle were too preoccupied to notice her. At first she had thought it was a burglar that was inside holding Benvolio up, and it was messed up how badly she wished it was, because what she laid eyes upon was so much worse.
Benvolio’s sketches littered the room, not one paper left intact save for the handful his uncle had clenched in his hands—though those, too, were soon torn to pieces and thrown away like they were nothing. Benvolio himself was on his knees before his uncle, and though he was facing in her direction his attention was down at a tattered drawing of house that was his childhood home where he had lived before his parents died. Though he remembered very little of them or his time there, he liked to believe it was a happy place full of good memories.
Wanting to create buildings that would be the same for others had been Benvolio’s inspiration in wanting to become an architect, and to have that dream tarnished like this…
“No university would accept you on this chicken scratch, and any that would aren’t worth the paper they print their degrees on. The only talent you have is drinking and whoring the night away and sleeping it off during the day, and when I tried to put that to good use with an arranged marriage with Minola’s daughter you managed to, ironically, fuck that up, too.”
When his nephew failed to respond, Damiano looked down to see him focused on one of his ruined drawings, and, incensed that he didn’t have his attention, stomped on the hand that was reaching for the paper. Rosaline covered her mouth in an attempt to muffle her shout—it was Benvolio’s drawing hand—as Benvolio yelled out in pain, her eyes wide in horrified disbelief as his uncle grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and forced him up to his feet.
“Are you listening to me, boy?” Damiano hissed, shaking his nephew harshly.
The problem was that Benvolio did; he heard his uncle in his ear even when he wasn’t around—the demeaning comments that ate away at his self-esteem, the hateful, incorrect judge of his character that made him question who he was.
Staring into the distance in an effort to separate himself from what was being said was a habit of his, and as Benvolio did just that his eyes locked onto Rosaline’s. She could see when his resigned, pained look turned to shock and horror just as he could see when her stunned, disbelieving expression turned to fury and abhorrence.
“Rosaline,” Benvolio breathed like she was both his salvation and damnation, and a second later he wished he hadn’t said anything as two things happened next: his uncle spun around, realizing they had an audience, and Rosaline rushed forward, ready to rip the man’s head from his neck.
“You bastard!” Rosaline spat, arm reaching back to wind up for a slap that would’ve given Damiano whiplash had it connected—but it didn’t, as Benvolio was soon standing between the two of them, gently but firmly moving her backwards and away from his uncle, stupidly or bravely leaving his back open towards Damiano.
“I know people like you,” she started as she struggled against Benvolio, “You try to drag people down to your hell so they’re as miserable as you are because you have no one. But Benvolio is witty and selfless and good in spite of you, and he will never be alone! One day his buildings will cover every skyline in the world and you will be begging him to draw you a toilet!”
Though Benvolio had stopped moving them away from his uncle, he still stood between them like some sort of shield, and it both broke her heart and enraged her all at once. “Why are you protecting him?”
It took a moment for him to gather the ability to speak because that was what Rosaline’s words did him. It was different from when Romeo or Mercutio defended him; it was second nature to them, like breathing. It was no question that they would be there for him. But with Rosaline...to be honest, a part of him expected her to leave him at any moment, simply because she was her and he was him, and he wouldn't have blamed her. Every day she stayed with him was a miracle that he never took for granted, and now he was realizing he wasn't giving her or himself much credit.
“I’m protecting you,” Benvolio corrected her, his uninjured hand skimming around her waist in an effort to calm her. I’m here, I’m safe, the action told her. “He wouldn’t hesitate to get you thrown in jail for assault if you hit him.”
“Mercuito learned that the hard way, didn’t he?” Damiano added without prompt, and Rosaline still wanted to beat the smugness out of his voice; it would’ve been worth it. “And when he found out how much worse he made it for you after…well, he couldn’t leave town fast enough, could he?”
Rosaline’s blood ran cold as Mercutio’s words came back to her, and she watched over Benvolio’s shoulder as his uncle pointed a finger at her.
“But I never expected you capable of getting a Capulet to feel sorry for you; I’d be impressed, nephew, if I actually thought you’d try to get some information out of her. You better make sure she keeps her trap shut or I’ll silence her for you.”
Just as Rosaline was wishing she was recording the conversation—that threat had to be enough to get him locked up, wasn’t it, if not his entire admission of everything he’d done to Mercuito and his own nephew—Benvolio had turned and stalked towards his uncle, who was still running his mouth off.
“…And if you thought what happened after Mercutio found out was bad—”
Damiano was cut off as Benvolio punched him so thoroughly his uncle had to spit out blood, looking a little shocked—Ben wasn’t a little kid anymore, and his uncle took his compliance as an inability to fight back and he couldn’t be more wrong. Benvolio grimaced and bit back a yell—if his hand wasn’t broken before it sure felt like it was now—but let adrenaline and his years of contained anger dull the pain.
“I let you treat me like shit because I’ve convinced myself that I deserve it, that maybe if I take it you wouldn’t do the same to Romeo, or Mercutio, but you are the one who’s out of their mind if you think I’m going to just stand here and let you treat Rosaline the same way.”
His uncle dared to try and glance at Rosaline, and Benvolio stepped to the side to block his uncle’s line of sight, shaking his head. “No, don’t even look at her. You’re done making my life and the lives of everyone around me hell. I want you to know that I’m going to leave this room and never look back. I will never let you occupy my thoughts again, but you, I’m sure, will think about me every single day for the rest of your life.”
Benvolio crouched down and revelled in the way Damiano tensed as he leaned in. “And if you dare touch a hair on Romeo’s head just know that he is the only reason I’m letting you live outside the bars of a cell; there are no statute of limitations on what you’ve done to me, uncle.”
With that, Benvolio rose to his feet, grabbed his duffle bag and his now empty portfolio and returned to Rosaline. “Are you okay?” he asked her softly, lifting his uninjured hand to cup her cheek, his thumb gently caressing the skin there.
That’s what Rosaline wanted to ask him, but she knew that he was only keeping it together for her and to stay strong in front of his uncle. So she nodded silently and allowed herself to be walked out as Benvolio wrapped an arm around her. Unable to help herself, she looked back at Damiano, and without saying a word—honestly, Benvolio had painfully earned every syllable he said and then some—flipped her middle finger at him as they turned the corner out the door.
It wasn’t until the doors closed on the elevator that Benvolio practically collapsed against the wall, and Rosaline wrapped her hands around his shaking body. She kissed every inch of skin in reach—his lips, up his jaw line, his temple, the hair atop his head—and whispered what she hoped was comforting babble. Once they reached the first floor, she held out her hand for the keys to his car, unwilling to let him drive with a busted hand.
Speaking of—she texted Livia to meet her at the diner with a first aid kit before getting in the driver’s seat and driving them over there. Once they were settled at their usual table—she made sure to ask for some ice—Rosaline reached over and grabbed undamaged hand. “You were so brave; I’m so proud of you.”
Benvolio laughed weakly, shrugging sheepishly. “I wasn’t. I just—the thought of him hurting you—” He took a deep breath and sighed. “I wasn’t there when Mercutio confronted my uncle before. I couldn’t stop him, protect him. I wasn’t going to fail you, too.”
“You could never fail me, Ben, and I know you never failed Mercutio, either. I have a feeling he thinks he failed you.”
Benvolio’s eyebrows shot up high at her words. “First you call me ‘Ben’ and now you know what’s going on in Mercutio’s head. You two sure bonded that night.”
It was Rosaline’s turn to shrug, taking the ice as the waitress delivered it to their table and wrapped it up in the cloth napkins that were on the table. She grasped his other hand and gently placed the ice atop it. “We have someone we both love; that tends to bring people together.” She frowned as she recalled something else Mercutio had said that night. “What is he offering you?”
Benvolio was gaping at her for a moment—did she not even realize that she basically said she loved him—before he hissed as the ice touched his skin, managing not to move away. “He wants me to move in with him, enrol in the architecture program at the university near his place.”
“He what? Why aren’t you taking him up on it?”
“I couldn’t leave Romeo alone, and then we…” They held each other’s gazes for a long while before Benvolio broke contact, looking down at his injured hand. “Besides, I don’t want him to have to pay for me.”
“Mercutio doesn’t seem the type to care about debts like that.”
No, Mercutio wasn’t the type, especially not with him, but… “‘You have nothing that isn’t mine.’ My uncle told me that once. Kinda messes with your head. Ever since we graduated high school I’ve been working at a bar trying to save my own money, buy my own things; or, as my uncle likes to believe I do: drinking and whoring the night away and sleeping it off during the day.”
Benvolio smiled wryly and Rosaline felt her heart drop. She had assumed he was a late riser herself because of untoward things she saw from their time in high school. “Ben, I am so sor—”
He waved his free hand through the air, brushing aside her apology. “It’s an image I’ve grown into, and with Mercutio and Romeo it wasn’t that hard to do. It’s not your fault. Seems like you can relate.” At Rosaline’s questioning look, Benvolio continued. “‘I know people like you’?” he repeated her words.
Rosaline was surprised Benvolio could remember what she said at such a chaotic time; she barely remembered even letting that slip. Then again, it seemed Ben was unfortunate enough to recall everything his uncle ever said to him, for better or for worse. “My aunt’s not going to win ‘aunt of the year’ anytime soon; she thinks me less than dirt she walks on, ignores my existence for the most part, makes my life difficult indirectly until I become particularly annoying, then…”
She touched her cheek absentmindedly as she remembered one specific slap she got after calling her aunt out of actually being in love with her father but marrying his brother instead. For a woman who didn’t lift a finger to work she sure had a heavy hand. “It’s not as bad as your—”
“Hey,” Benvolio cut her off, covering the hand she had on her face with his own. “This isn’t a competition; no one would want to win this. It’s bad for you, and you should never be treated like that.” He gave her a small smile that she returned. “Ros, would you…I mean, if I left would you come with me?”
For a moment warmth spread through Rosaline as he used a nickname for her, but panic soon surged through her, not at the suggestion of her leaving but at him staying. “Ben, you can’t possibly be thinking of going back to that man!”
Benvolio removed his hand to run it agitatedly through his hair. It felt good in the moment but now that reality was setting in maybe he had acted to brashly. It was ironic that now that he had freedom within his grasp it was terrifying in its uncertainty—at least with his uncle he knew what to expect. What if his uncle was right? What if he didn’t have any talent at all and— “I still have people I love here; Romeo, and you—”
“You can’t stay on my account.”
Benvolio and Rosaline looked up to see Romeo, who had spoken, and Livia standing there; Romeo looked calm on the surface but they could see the fire in his eyes, and Livia clenched the first aid kit she held, watching them worriedly. When it seemed like no one was going to break the silence first, Livia shuffled forward.
“I’ve only finished my first year of nursing, but…” Livia trailed off, gesturing to Benvolio’s hand, and he started, repositioning his legs so that she could slip in to the seat beside him.
“Yeah, no, of course, thank you,” Benvolio stumbled over his words as he moved the makeshift ice bag and placed his hand in both of hers. He watched as Rosaline moved to the empty chair beside her so that Romeo could take her seat in front of him.
Romeo didn’t say a word for a long moment before he nodded at Benvolio’s hand that Livia was examining. “He did that?” His cousin didn’t answer, but Ben’s gaze moving downward was answer enough for him. Romeo sucked in a deep breath, burying his face in his hands for a minute; his expression was a resolved one once he emerged.
“I know Mercutio and I used to joke about what my dad did ‘this time’ because it was our way of coping about not being able to do shit, and it made you smile because you didn’t want to talk about it, and—” Romeo stopped himself as he realized he was speaking too fast. “I know you’ve been protecting me, Ben, and that’s a debt I could never repay. I’m sure as hell gonna try, though, and it begins by telling you to let me go and protect yourself for once.”
Benvolio opened his mouth to protest and Romeo held his hand up to stop him. “I’m gonna be a freshman in college in a couple weeks, Ben, you know that.” His cousin nodded slowly, wondering where Romeo was going with this. “What you don’t know—hell my dad doesn’t even know yet—is that I applied to stay in a dorm on the off chance that you’d finally accept Mercutio’s offer. He was pushing you especially hard lately because I wasn’t going to leave you in that house alone with my dad, Ben, I can’t.”
Romeo could feel his eyes water as Benvolio’s did, and he let out a wet laugh—what a mess they were. “If you really want to stay, then I’ll stay with you. But if you won’t leave for yourself then do it for me; I’m pretty hyped for getting Juliet to visit me—high school girls dig college guys.”
Everyone at the table knew that wasn’t what Romeo actually meant by doing it for his sake, but that didn’t stop Romeo from winking, Benvolio from laughing and Rosaline and Livia from slapping Romeo on the arm.
“I really taught you well,” Benvolio said once he caught his breath, wiping his eyes from the tears. “Thank you,” he added sincerely.
Romeo tried to shrug it off. “I may go to the school he wants and will take over his company one day like he wants, but that doesn’t mean he has to get it the way he wants, either. He doesn’t get to win everything; not this.”
They stood up for a manly one-armed hug seeing as Livia was still working on Benvolio’s hand, but soon after they sat back down she was done wrapping his hand in an ace bandage “It’s not broken,” Livia started as she packed up her kit, “but it is fractured. The bandage is usually enough as long as you restrict movement, which you will do unless do you want a broken hand. I’d suggest a cast, but…”
But that involved more questions than he was willing to answer; Benvolio nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Livia. You didn’t have to do this, and I know you’re only here for your sister, but I really appreciate it.”
“I may have come for my sister, but I stayed for you.” Livia gave him a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Benvolio. I wish you all the luck in the world.”
Giving her a small smile, Ben glanced at Rosaline—one way or another, this was going to be a goodbye—before walking off to the side with Romeo, leaving the sisters alone.
“You don’t have to stay on my account either, sis,” Livia said after a moment of them silently watching the two boys goof around. Feeling Rosaline’s eyes on her, she smiled softly before locking gazes with her. “I know you took the brunt of Auntie’s ire all these years and are thinking of pulling a Benvolio, but you don’t have to worry about me. You deferred college to support me, it’s about time you start living your dream. And Isabella’s been offering me a room at her penthouse. I think I’ve made her wait long enough.”
Rosaline’s eyebrows rose at that comment. “Isabella? As in Escalus’ sister who is also my best friend Isabella?”
“You have your interests; I have mine.”
Rosaline let out a laugh—she hadn’t seen that one coming, and yet at the same time it wasn’t surprising, either. At least she knew her sister would be in good hands. “Well, you know I know how to handle a Prince, so if she gives you trouble…”
“You’ll be the first person I call,” Livia promised before hugging her sister. “I’ll definitely come to visit, so this isn’t goodbye, all right?”
“Right,” Rosaline agreed before they walked arm in arm to join the boys.
“…every break I am hanging out at your place, so be ready,” Romeo was in the middle of saying once they were in earshot. Upon seeing the girls, they embraced one more time before pulling apart. “See you Thanksgiving!”
Shaking his head as Romeo and Livia went back to their table to wait, Benvolio smiled tentatively at Rosaline, picking at his bandage, to which Rosaline hit him softly to stop him. “So…date night was a bust,” he started to break the silence.
Rosaline let out a laugh as she stepped into Benvolio’s space, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Maybe, but it wasn’t all bad.” At his look that silently told her he was questioning her sanity she smiled and added, “I mean, you did say you love me.”
“I did, didn’t I? Though I recall you saying it first,” he pointed out as he placed his arms around her waist.
“Ladies first, right?” she echoed from their first conversation in the elevator all those months ago, and Benvolio’s smile widened as he leaned down to kiss her. “Do you still have room in your car for one more?” Rosaline asked once they parted.
Benvolio answered her with another kiss.
* * *
They had been driving for a few hours, wide awake despite the rollercoaster of a night they had, and the sky was slowly brightening as the sun began to lift above the horizon. Rosaline’s hair whipped around her face from the breeze that came in from the windows they had opened, but her mind was elsewhere to really feel bothered by it.
Life was all about choices, and she couldn’t stop thinking about which ones had led her here. What if she had decided not to open the elevator doors, or invite him to breakfast or join him on the picnic table or go up to see what was taking him so long to come back from his hotel room?
Where would she have ended up? Where would he?
It was a one in a million chance that every decision would align to bring them to this exact moment; probably even greater.
But as Rosaline turned her head to glance at Benvolio as he drove, one hand on the wheel and his bandaged one clasping her own, a smile spreading across his face as he felt he was being watched, she realized it didn’t matter what happened to bring them there.
All that was important was that it did.