Work Text:
There is a knock on the door of Hamlet's room, which Horatio is currently occupying, and Horatio goes to open it, assuming that it is Hamlet returning from his conversation with his mother. He is correct in his assumption, but he never would have imagined the state that Hamlet is in. His hair is messed up, his clothes disheveled, his eyes are wide, and he looks dazed.
"My lord?" inquires Horatio, "You look..."
"Horatio," says Hamlet, "I... Polonius is dead. I was talking to my mother, and he was behind a curtain. He called out, and I... I... I thought he was Claudius. I thought he was Claudius, Horatio."
Horatio understands, and hopes his face doesn't betray the horror that flashes in his mind. "My lord," he says, softly, "did you kill him?"
"I stabbed through the curtain," whispers Hamlet, "I thought he was Claudius, I didn't know." He buries his face in his hands, now, and Horatio sighs and wraps his arms around Hamlet to comfort him. Hamlet immediately moves to cling to Horatio, and Horatio pulls him closer. He stands there, practically helpless, doesn't know what else to do besides stand and hold Hamlet.
"I killed him," Hamlet sobs into Horatio's chest, and Horatio's heart breaks a little bit for him. "I killed him, and now Ophelia and Laertes don't have a father and-- oh my god. Laertes." He pulls away from the hug for a second, terror on his face.
"What, my lord?" inquires Horatio, to an unblinking Hamlet.
"Laertes," says Hamlet, "Laertes is going to kill me." He grabs the front of Horatio's shirt. "He's going to kill me. I killed his father, and therefore harmed his sister, and Laertes has a terrible, terrible, temper and... If Claudius doesn't get to me first, Laertes is going to kill me. I can't, I can't die, Horatio, I-"
"He's not going to kill you," says Horatio, reassuring both Hamlet and himself, "You're a prince, he can't kill you without getting in trouble for it."
Hamlet laughs, short and bitter. "Doesn't matter that I am a prince, no one in this godforsaken kingdom likes me, except for you. No one is going to care, if Laertes kills me. No one will miss me. Except for maybe Marcellus and Bernardo. And, yes, of course, you."
Horatio, deep in his heart, knows that this is probably true, however he knows that he must be optimistic, and that he would miss Hamlet, would miss him more than he could describe.
"I'd miss you, my lord," says Horatio.
"I know, dear Horatio," replies Hamlet, "I know. But no one else would. So if, when, Laertes kills me, you shall be the only one to mourn me."
"Just focus on me," says Horatio, suddenly feeling a bit daring, leaning slightly closer to Hamlet.
"How can I focus on anything else," whispers Hamlet, dropping his eyes, "When you're looking at me like that?"
Horatio forgets how to breathe, for a second, and the next thing he realizes, Hamlet is kissing him. Hamlet's mouth is hot and wet, and Horatio is quick in reacting to the kiss, placing his hands on Hamlet's hips and pulling him up against him. Hamlet softly whines, and twists his hands in Horatio's hair, and then he pushes the two of them onto the bed. Hamlet straddles Horatio's thighs, and keeps kissing him, hard, and Horatio reciprocates with the same intensity, and he pushes his hips up, and--
Hamlet breaks off the kiss, then, pressing his forehead to Horatio's, his breath heavy.
"My lord," breathes Horatio, and Hamlet shifts to bury his face in his chest, clinging to his shirt, again.
"Thank you, Horatio," says Hamlet, his voice muffled, "Thank you for being optimistic, and being here. For me."
"You're welcome, sweet Hamlet," replies Horatio, kissing the top of his head, "I'll always be here. You're going to be okay, and I'll always be here.