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The slow hobble down the twisting paths of Verona doesn't leave much space for distractions; there is only that moment, and Mercutio can only stay within it, even with a bloody nose and a swollen lip. It's like someone or something is clutching at his ankles and dragging him down, making each step meticulous, and he has to force himself to continue. He can't think, and yet, all he does is think: about why Tybalt decided to fight him, about what Romeo is doing this time of night, about how bad his injuries are.
His first question is easy enough to answer: the king of cats has had it out for him ever since the Capulet party, and Mercutio hasn't exactly done anything to keep the man's attention away. He remembers drunken whispers in a fountain and angry shouts over a wall and Mercutio has no doubt in his veins that Tybalt heard all of it. The idea makes his skin crawl; if Tybalt knows all of his secrets, what could he do with them? The most ominous of all hung over him for the duration of his walk, clinging onto his shoulders and yanking them down to the ground. The ways in which his eyes strayed away from the porcelain cheeks of girls and instead…. well, if Tybalt knew that much, Mercutio doubts he'll make it another two years in Verona alive.
He skips around the Romeo question and instead focuses on the sharp pain echoing around every part of his body. His nerves are screaming at him to stop moving, but he can't, driven by some unseen force to places he knows not yet of. So instead, he tries to categorize the injuries. His nose is broken, twisted at an odd angle to the left. His lip is definitely busted, and he can feel the blood drying on his chin. His head is still sending shockwaves down his whole body, and it's like there's something pressing at the sides of his skull, begging to be let out. And, finally, he can still feel the middle of his neck aching where Tybalt had pressed down, and Mercutio doesn't doubt there's a bruise forming, wrapped so harshly across his throat. He feels odd about the fact that Tybalt only hit where others could physically see it; he can't help but draw a comparison to being used to set an example.
And then, suddenly, his feet stop moving, and he forces his head up from it's hanging position. There, in front of his eyes, is Romeo's house: quaint, far too large, and the most welcoming sight Mercutio has ever seen. A force pushes him towards Romeo's window and it's like he's never had self control in his life, because he raps his fist on the glass window and sends a quick prayer up to the sky for Romeo to be awake, for Mercutio not to be stuck in the middle of Verona broken and bruised and vulnerable to whatever may lay before him.
Mercutio sucks in a breath as soon as Romeo appears in the view of the window, as if he hadn't been able to breathe before that moment. Romeo clearly had been working on something; his hair sticks up as if he'd been running his hands through it, and his lips look as if they had been chewed half to death. The other man glances wearily out the window, half-hazardly checking, before he does a double take and his eyes widen at the view of Mercutio. His hands dart up to the clasps for the window and he unlatches them in quick succession before yanking up the window. His face is the perfect picture of concern, with furrowed eyebrows and confused eyes, and Mercutio has to resist the urge to grab onto that face. Romeo is deafeningly silent as his eyes trace across Mercutio's face, before they settle uncomfortably on Mercutio's neck. He steps back hesitantly, leaving room for the other man to climb through the window. Mercutio does just that, twisting his way through the limited space into Romeo's bedroom.
As soon as his feet find purchase on the floor, Romeo lurches towards Mercutio and grabs his face between his fingers, turning his face towards the other man's. The world suddenly descends into stillness, time resisting movement as Mercutio's heartbeat stutters and his lungs forget how to work. His face heats up as he twists his fingers around, trying to figure out what to do in this situation. His eyes dart from Romeo's eyes, then down to his lips, and then back up to his eyes. Romeo's eyes follow a similar path, but in much slower succession, eyes clearly tracing the extent of Mercutio's injuries. His thumb gently brushes against the other man's lip, where the blood still trickles out, and Mercutio feels as if all the air in his lungs escapes and he's stuttering on this moment in which the tender touch is all his senses can focus on. And then Romeo's thumb moves away, but his eyes still feel invasive on his skin, hot and cold all at once. Until, finally, their eyes meet, and Mercutio can hardly feel the pain that had surrounded them moments before. It's like a barrier has been created around this moment and no sound penetrates it. Romeo's eyes drift, softer than before, down to Mercutio's lips and back up again, and Mercutio can't help but feel as if he's hanging on the edge of a precipice, waiting for something to happen.
But instead, Romeo asks, in a dangerous tone, "who did this to you?"
It takes Mercutio a few seconds to find words, and a few more to place them on his tongue. "It doesn't matter."
Romeo's hand minutely tightens. "Mercutio, if someone's hurting you, I need to know."
Mercutio sighs, and slowly reaches a hand up to Romeo's wrist, prying it off his face but not letting go. "Romeo, please, don't ask me."
"I'll find out myself eventually." Romeo grabs Mercutio's wrist back. "Please, let me hear it from you."
And Mercutio, suddenly, feels a broken sob pass his lips, and there's a gentle tear trailing down the side of his face. The world weighs on his shoulders and his knees buckle beneath him, sending him towards the ground. Romeo goes with him, catching him by wrapping his arms around the other man's waist. They both gently sit on the floor, Romeo's arms stretched around Mercutio's back, Mercutio's face tucked into the crevice of the other man's neck. And Mercutio cries, and Romeo whispers placating comments, his hands tightening around Mercutio's body, "It's okay, it's okay Mercutio, you're going to be okay. You're here now, you're not going to be hurt, it's okay."
They stay like that, tucked up into each other, until Mercutio's cries settle into gentle breaths and a heavy heart. Romeo pets his hair for a moment before he slowly separates the pair, and Mercutio resists the urge to childishly clutch at his shirt. Romeo grabs Mercutio's shoulders and gently pulls him up, guiding him to sit at his plush chair in the corner of the room. Mercutio quickly sinks into it, but he makes an embarrassing noise somewhere between pleading and confusion when Romeo starts to walk out of the room. Romeo just smiles kindly at him and responds, "I'm just going to get some supplies. I'll be back."
The moments in which Mercutio is alone in the room are ones that don't seem real; his head is fuzzy and his eyes are swollen and he's not sure if he's awake or asleep. The scenario certainly seems like something he would dream, with Romeo's arms wrapped around him as if there were something between them. It makes Mercutio's heart ache, and he slumps back on the chair, trying to get the images of Romeo's lips and his scent out of his mind.
When Romeo returns, he carries a box of medical supplies, and Mercutio lifts an eyebrow at it all. He begins, "Romeo, you don't…" but Romeo shushes him and begins unpacking the items. He says, "I'm going to anyways."
"I can take care of myself."
Romeo shrugs. "Let me, this once."
Therefore, Romeo begins his task of cleaning off Mercutio's face, starting with a wet rag dragging across his skin, scrubbing gently at the dried blood around his cupid's bow and chin. Each touch sends Mercutio in a sort of trance, in which the tension from his shoulders slowly fades away. Romeo dumps a little bit of salt into the water and begins pressing the salt-water rag up against Mercutio's lip, which makes him jump and hiss, but he settles into it. The work is methodical and yet it feels like the most intimate moment he's had with Romeo thus far, sending Mercutio into the blind spot of pining that makes his head spin.
Romeo, eventually, finishes cleaning his face, and stands up before sighing, saying, "There's not much I can do. I don't exactly know how to fix a broken nose. Or heal…" His eyes travel to the bruises forming around Mercutio's neck. "Well."
Mercutio shakes his head slightly and sits up a little in the chair. "You did more than you needed to."
"I did what I had to do." Their eyes meet.
Mercutio's teeth find the corner of his lips that isn't swollen and gnaws gently at the skin. He looks up at Romeo, who towers above him due to the chair's height. "...Thank you. For doing this."
Romeo's eyes crinkle and he shrugs one shoulder. "It's nothing. I mean, I'm surprised Benvolio didn't, but-"
"Benvolio?" Mercutio's eyebrows furrow. "What do you mean, Benvolio?"
The other man's face morphs through emotions as he tries to decipher what he was being told. "You mean, you didn't, y'know, go to Benvolio first?"
Mercutio stands up to meet Romeo's eyes. "No, of course not. Romeo, you're my childhood friend."
Romeo's eyes go back to tracing Mercutio's face, but instead like he's trying to figure out a particularly difficult puzzle within there. "I just thought, well, you two have been so close recently."
"I didn't mean to isolate you."
"No, that's not what I mean. I thought that, well, you two were…"
"What?"
"Well, romantically involved."
Mercutio blinks, surprise clear in his expression, before he starts giggling, moving a hand up to cover his mouth. "No, I, oh my god, no, he's like a brother, I couldn't."
Romeo's face twists into something disquieted, and his mouth forms a thin line. Mercutio can't resist leaning forward and placing a hand on Romeo's cheek, thumb brushing the corner of the other man's mouth. "What's wrong?"
Abruptly, Romeo's hands twist themselves in Mercutio's hair and pull him forward, bringing him just close enough to the other's face that, if he leans just a little bit in, their lips would touch. Mercutio feels Romeo's breath gently skimming his lips, and his eyes go wide, brain trying to compute the situation. Romeo looks as if he were restraining himself, eyes scrunched tight. He whispers, each word traced on Mercutio's lips, "If not Benvolio, then… who?"
Mercutio's mind flounders for a moment, and there's nothing to him but this part of existence, this event that he's been dreaming for half of his life. He feels delirious. His heart swells. It's a feverish combination. "You. It's always been you."
"I don't… why?" Romeo whispers, grip loosening in Mercutio's hair.
"You're Romeo," Mercutio replies, as if that's the answer to it all, as to why he's been dreaming of this boy since he was small and couldn't even give the definition of romance, been pining after this man who would give him the time of day but in all the wrong ways… until now, "Now please, kiss me."
Romeo surges forward and their lips press together, clashing but all the same fitting perfectly, as if this is what Mercutio was meant to be doing his whole life. It feels like the climax to his story and all the same the beginning of a whole new tale, laying the groundwork for infinite possibilities. Romeo's lips are just as soft as Mercutio had imagined, and he's equally just as much of an expert as he believed. The world tilts sideways in his mind and he thinks he's ascending somewhere else, and it's hard to believe this is his life, this is really happening.
They break apart briefly, gasping for breath, eyes flying open to meet each other's, before Mercutio reinitiated the kiss and they start the tantalizing process all over again. Mercutio doesn't want it to stop, this intimate moment between the two of them. But, as it does, Romeo whispers, something heavy swirling in his tone, "If you weren't hurt…"
Mercutio smirks into Romeo's cheek. "That sounds like a promise for later."
"Only if you get better," Romeo then turns to look Mercutio in the eyes. "I… Do you really…?"
Nodding, Mercutio responds, "I have for a while."
"I have too." Romeo's lips upturn slightly.
Silence descends over them but it's peaceful, filled with unspoken words and yet contentment in the time that will eventually come. Mercutio doesn't want to confront the future, and he thinks Romeo doesn't either. Yet, the other man sighs, and pulls himself away from Mercutio. His eyes travel along Mercutio's lips, before he glances back up at the way Mercutio's nose is twisted and asks, in a soft tone, "Who did you fight?"
It's quiet for a moment, before Mercutio drops back into the chair behind him and rubs a hand on his forehead. He speaks even softer, as if unconsciously trying to keep the information away from Romeo. "Tybalt."
Mercutio registers the hand squeezing at Romeo's side as the other man freezes, expression flitting through multiple expressions, before he kneels down next to the chair and places a hand on Mercutio's knee. "I'm going to kill him."
"Don't." Mercutio shakes his head as he grabs the hand and places it between his own. "It's my fault. I went after him. He said he was going to fight you, and I… Well, I tried to prevent that. Clearly, I'm not…" He lets out a shaky laugh. "It didn't go as well as I intended."
Romeo's hand squeezes Mercutio's. "All the more reason to go after him."
Silence permeates the room for a moment before Mercutio responds, "I won't let you get hurt. You can't… Tybalt will kill you, you know that."
"I can't let this stand, Mercutio." Romeo's face twists into a bittersweet smile. "I think I learned that from you."
A sinking feeling settles into his gut and Mercutio's hands suddenly dart forward and clutch at Romeo's shirt, desperation clear both in his actions and words. "Don't make the sound like a goodbye. Don't do that to me. You'll learn plenty more from me in the future."
Romeo's face doesn't change, but he lays his hands on top of Mercutio's, and he says, "Alright. Alright, I'll just deal with this, and then I'll be back, and we can find plenty of things to learn."
Mercutio nods gently, before leaning in to press his lips into Romeo's one more time: soft, gentle, a hello and a goodbye all at once. They both look at each other for a moment longer, as if soaking their appearances into memory, before Romeo stands up and strolls over to the window. Before he climbs out, he turns around, and points at Mercutio. "You. Stay here. Don't do anything dumb."
Grinning, Mercutio responds, "Me? Do something dumb? I have no idea what you're talking about."