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Mercutio arrived late of course. He didn’t care. He didn’t even bother walking faster when he saw Romeo and Benvolio standing at the bus stop, Benvolio tapping his foot in annoyance.
“Hi!”
Mercutio clapped his friends on the back. Benvolio played exasperation but Romeo couldn’t even fake anger thirty seconds.
“Hey!” he smiled. “Nice coat!”
Mercutio grinned. Romeo always had something nice to say. Mercutio didn’t really take it seriously but being complimented by the finest guy he knew always felt good. Romeo was stylish and fashionable, Mercutio always nonchalantly wore black.
Mercutio resisted answering “nice face” and instead went for “where’s the vodka at?”
Benvolio showed his backpack.
“So...” said Mercutio, “what are we waiting for?”
“You!” answered Benvolio. “We were waiting for you!”
Mercutio rolled his eyes but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Annoying Benvolio was such a great pastime.
*
When the three boys entered the club they were already quite drunk. They left the empty backpack on an isolated couch and proceeded to drunkenly move in rhythm to the music.
Mercutio could guess how much Romeo was drunk at the frequency of him touching his hair, bringing it back in a more or less fluid motion. Mercutio knew his own drunkenness at his noticing this and his urge to touch Romeo’s hair too.
Benvolio had showed he was drunk even before the club. He had asked Romeo – the great expert on the matter – how one recognised love.
“I don’t know...” started Romeo amidst Mercutio’s “you’re so drunk!” “smashed!” “hammered!”
“It’s a... yearning?” he tried, “a yearning for everything about someone.”
Benvolio was probably going to regret initiating this conversation at some point but – although it was a hilarious moment – Mercutio already regretted it happening. He understood and had understood for so long. Romeo could do or say anything; Mercutio would always crave every inch of his body and soul.
Ben gestured towards the bar and the others nodded. This too would probably be regretted at some later point. Mercutio walked behind Romeo in the crowd, intent on catching everything he could of that perfect, forbidden silhouette.
When they arrived at the bar Benvolio had already managed to order shots. Mercutio fished for coins in his pocket and – finding a hair band – he proceeded to attach his hair. It was long and curly and on such occasions tended to get into mischief. He brought the top part of the hair together in a relatively low bun and let the rest flow freely. At that moment shots were presented to them.
“Bottoms up!”
Mercutio drank and then slammed his glass on the counter rather harder than he wanted.
“Fine as fuck,” drunkenly articulated Romeo.
Mercutio stared into his face. He apparently had just noticed the hair change. Mercutio was so drunk he couldn’t see the expression of his (perfect) features.
“That’s it,” said Mercutio, “I’ve had enough.”
He drew closer to his friend, who looked really confused. If only Romeo could shut up he could’ve spared this to himself. But as it was... Mercutio gently placed his hand on the back of Romeo’s neck to bring his face down slightly closer to his. Romeo’s lips had parted. Mercutio smiled and kissed him.
He’d never put such intent or effort in a kiss. This kiss had been forged by years of longing, of jealousy, of very near declarations. It was the only thing that mattered. Romeo’s lips were all sugar and alcohol, an addictive mix Mercutio could hardly detach himself from.
When he did he opened his eyes to Romeo’s dazed face.
“What...”
Mercutio smiled; he let his hand fall from Romeo’s hair.
“Sorry, he said, you’re the finest.”
“No...” whispered Romeo.
His lips were the most terrible temptation.
“Tell me to fuck off right now” asked Mercutio “or I’m doing it again.”
Romeo opened his mouth slightly but didn’t say anything.
"Have it your way,” grinned Mercutio.
He stepped even closer to Romeo so that their whole bodies touched.
“I love you finest bastard” he whispered.
Without waiting for Romeo’s answer he reached for his lips.
When they parted Romeo put his hand lightly on Mercutio’s shoulder.
“Can we like talk about this sober?” he asked.
Mercutio smiled.