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Death, you have quickly discovered, isn’t quite all it’s made out to be. You had expected chariots, rainbows, incredibly attractive angels—no, if you’re honest with yourself you hadn’t really expected to go to heaven.
You hadn’t expected to die at all, really. Not like this. Not so goddamn early.
Is this heaven? It’s impossible to tell. The place you’re in, if it can be called a place and if you’re even actually in it, is white, gleaming white; it’s a white like nothing you’ve ever seen before, and there seem to be a throng of other people milling through here, people whose faces you can’t quite make out. This might have alarmed you once, but now you can hardly be bothered to care. It just doesn’t seem like a concern. Nothing seems like a concern. In short, you feel...peaceful. Which is strange, considering that you’re pretty sure you’d hardly ever felt that way when you were alive.
After trying to acquaint yourself with your surroundings for a while with little success, you discover that the center of the area you’re in contains a huge staircase, a giant glittering staircase that looks to be made of diamonds or something else equally beautiful. You want more than anything to climb it and find out what lies at the top.
And yet.
And yet, you don’t. It just wouldn’t feel right.
There’s something missing, you’re sure of it. You don’t know what it is, but you couldn’t possibly leave here without it.
You pace around and around the area, not really feeling agitated but not feeling quite as peaceful as you had before either, trying to remember what you’ve forgotten.
You definitely remember dying. Yes, you remember getting killed, dueling in the streets, a feud. A feud that you were never directly involved in. A feud that killed you anyway.
It wasn’t fair how you died, you know that. It wasn’t fair that you got killed for something you weren’t even a part of, it wasn’t fair to expire at the prime of your life. You’d had so much potential, and it had been utterly, utterly wasted.
The calm feeling from before seems to be completely gone.
You’d died all because of two families. The Capulets and the Montagues, yes, those were their names. And you’d cursed them, cursed both their families, tried to call down a plague on both of their houses, and they’d deserved it.
You are fairly sure they’d deserved it.
They must have deserved it, because otherwise why would you have cursed them?
The unrecognizable people in the crowd walk around, most heading straight to the gorgeous stairs, others simply walking around aimlessly; even more are standing on what looks like the edge of the area, standing still, perhaps waiting for something.
You’re waiting for something as well, you’re sure of it now. The question is, what is it?
The people continue walking, faceless and anonymous, keep moving along, and—there's someone you know.
Not just one person. Upon closer inspection, there are two people you recognize, and they are together, and although their names don’t immediately come to you, you are shocked because they’re not supposed to be together. They’re supposed to be enemies, you are sure of it. But they are walking together, a boy and a girl, and they seem to be in love, and-
Romeo. The name suddenly springs into your mind, and you realize at once that this is one of your best friends, and he’s a Montague, and the girl he’s with is a Capulet, and this is all wrong.
He and the girl are heading towards the glittering staircase, and you chase after him, pushing through the faceless legions of people in your way, desperate to understand what’s going on. You shout Romeo’s name multiple times in an attempt to get his attention, but he doesn’t respond. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of the Capulet girl for the entirety of the time that you’ve seen him here, and she’s been constantly looking at him as well, and the expression on both of their faces is oddly familiar. Rapturous, almost.
Are they in love? It doesn’t make sense. Their families were enemies. Their families are the reason you’re dead.
Whether he is the reason you’re dead or not, Romeo is first and foremost your friend, and you continue shoving your way through the crowd. However, by the time you finally get close to him, he’s already begun ascending the staircase with the girl by his side; your heart sinks because you want to join him more than anything, you really do, but you just can’t, not yet.
“Romeo!” you shout in a last-ditch attempt to get him to notice you. He must finally hear your voice this time, because he turns around, sees you, and breaks into a grin.
“Mercutio!” he shouts down to you, waving frantically and motioning for you to follow him. You want to follow him, you really do, but you promised you’d wait. You don’t know what it is you’re waiting for, but you’re sure that you promised, so you shrug and motion him onward towards the mystery girl who has already started ascending the stairs without him. He motions you onward one last time, seeming confused as to why you won’t join him, but then finally runs to catch up with the girl and disappears from view entirely.
It is only when he leaves that it finally hits you. He’s here.
Romeo’s dead.
Somehow, Romeo ended up dying.
You're honestly not sure how to feel about it. Had you been alive, you would have undoubtedly been very upset. Since you’re not, though, you can’t help but feel somewhat relieved. It’s good to know that there’s someone else here, that you’re not alone with only the faceless masses for company.
But he’s still dead, and it doesn’t make sense. He is (was?) always so excitable, like a small puppy, and you can’t picture him lying still in a casket.
You can’t picture yourself lying still in a casket either, really, still can’t wrap your head around the fact that you’re dead, really dead, you won’t ever walk down the streets of Verona again, you won’t ever see—
Benvolio.
Yes, you remember him now. You remember him, and you wonder how you ever managed to forget.
Benvolio had been the last person to see you right before you died, had asked, no, begged you to stay with him. He’d pleaded and pleaded with you not to leave, tears streaming down his face, and you’d tried so hard to obey him, (you never did like letting him down) but ultimately no matter how hard you'd tried, you couldn’t force yourself to stay.
As your heartbeat had slowed, he’d whispered, “Wait for me, Mercutio, please wait for me like always,” in a small voice, a voice that was cracked and sounded utterly broken. And you had agreed, because you always waited for him no matter what. Even death wasn’t going to stop that.
So you wait for him now.
After what seems like a while, or maybe it's only a few seconds, it becomes apparent that Benvolio is nowhere to be found. At least, not here.
Where the hell is he?
Alive, of course. Whatever or whoever it was that killed Romeo, Benvolio must have escaped it. He must be still breathing, still living, while you’re just trapped up here, unable to do anything except pace back and forth around this cloud-surrounded area. It’s maddening.
Now that you’re walking back and forth, it’s very clear that the people on the edge of the area are just staring into the clouds, apparently transfixed by them. Normally you don’t think that you’d ever have noticed the clouds, but you’ve grown to know this place surprisingly well in all the time you’ve been here, assuming you’re even really here at all. Time and location don’t seem to be concepts that exist anymore.
You walk up next to one of the faceless people staring into the clouds. Originally, your intent had been to wave your hand in front of their face, but now that you’ve approached the cloud, you’ve lost that desire entirely.
It seems that there are citizens of Verona in the clouds. Not just any citizens, but ones you know. Lord and Lady Capulet. Some of the Montague servants. There’s a Capulet servant, and then there’s—oh god, you had forgotten how much you missed him—your younger brother Valentine.
You can only hope he’s doing alright without you.
In the cloud, the people continue to mill around, and they’re all people you know. Rosaline, Romeo- wait a minute, isn’t Romeo dead?
But you immediately cease your wondering about Romeo once you see the next person who appears, because there he is. Benvolio is the person, of course, and you lean in even closer to the cloud so as to see him better. It's strange, but cloud Benvolio looks younger than the Benvolio you'd known when you were alive. Happier, almost.
He walks through the cloud and then vanishes entirely.
“No—Benvolio! Come back!” You’re shouting now, although it doesn’t seem to be doing any good—none of the people around you have even glanced in your direction, and the cloud has continued shuffling through people you know, sans Benvolio.
The rational part of your mind tells you to wait; surely Benvolio will appear in the cloud again soon.
The rational part of your mind, however, has never held much influence over you. Instead of listening to it, you follow your more hotheaded instinct, which is to swipe at the cloud in the vain hope that it will yield to your wishes.
You do so, but the cloud gives way a lot more easily than you’d expected and you lose your balance, teetering over the edge of the area for an indiscernible length of time before finally falling down, down, down into the mass of clouds below.
As you progress through the layers of clouds, windmilling your arms frantically in a panicked attempt to find something somewhere that you can grab on to, you notice that the blanket of clouds surrounding you is getting thicker and the area is slowly but surely getting darker as a result.
Before long, it's as dark as night—darker, even, and you can’t see a thing as you continue to fall down through the clouds. You think you may be slowing down, but it’s impossible to be sure.
A few seconds go by, and the area around you is still horribly pitch-black and entirely devoid of light. Are you still falling? Were you ever really falling in the first place?
It’s impossible to be sure of anything here, wherever ‘here’ is.
Time passes, and you gradually find yourself feeling less afraid—after all, if you were going to hit the ground, surely it would have happened a long time ago. Besides, it’s somewhat peaceful here in the darkness with absolutely nothing to bother you.
No, wait, there is something in the distance. It’s a pinprick of light; it’s very small, and you aren’t quite sure whether it’s real or just something you’re imagining, but whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be going away.
In fact, the prick of light’s increasing, getting larger and larger by the second until you’re bathed in white light all around and everything is bright; it’s much too bright and you can’t see anything at all.
And then he’s there, all of a sudden. Benvolio. Except it’s not him as he is now; he’s a couple of years younger. Next to him, there’s you, but it’s a younger you, you as you were then. You’re watching yourself but you also are yourself, and Benvolio is at once younger than you knew him to be and older than you knew him to be and the same Benvolio he's always been, and you are in love with him.
You are so, so desperately in love with him, and you always have been.
The both of you head behind a building, and before you know it you’re kissing him; you had kissed him back then, but you're also reliving it now. It feels real. Kissing him is now and had always been the right thing to do. It might have been the best moment of your life, and you’re reliving it.
Other moments flash by, some that take minutes, others that take hours, others that take days. It's impossible to tell which is which.
You’re five, and playing together. You’re seventeen, and holding hands. You’re thirteen, and you realize maybe you like Benvolio as more than a friend. You’re eleven, and you, Benvolio, and Romeo are frantically sprinting away from the Capulet mansion. You’re sixteen, and Benvolio says I think I might be a little bit in love with you, and your heart leaps into your throat.
You’re dying, and he’s begging you to stay with him.
You’re older, and he’s older, and suddenly you’re not there.
He’s there, though, at a funeral- he’s mourning Romeo, he’s mourning everyone he lost; he’s mourning you, you realize with an icy pang. He’s shaking slightly, eyes squeezed tightly shut, that thing he always did when he was upset about something. Except now it’s different. Now you can feel it, the complete grief and heartbreak that he must be feeling right now, and the raw emotion is so strong that it almost knocks you down with its sheer force.
He’s a lot older now, and he’s still unmarried. He’s younger now, and laying flowers on your grave. He looks even older than you’ve ever seen him, and he’s sitting alone in his bedroom, head buried in his hands.
The pain of watching him is like a knife driven into your chest and left there. You don’t want to watch anymore, don’t want to see your friend suffer. God, when you’d said “a plague on both your houses”, you hadn’t meant it like this.
But you promised you’d wait for him. So you do. You watch him grow older without you, watch him break into dry, racking sobs when he thinks that no one is watching, watch him go through the most important moments of his life without you by his side.
And then the area around you turns to black again. You blink, and you’re back in the mysterious area with the diamond staircase. That is, if you’d ever really left it at all.
You look around, but the only people in the area are the faceless crowds. Even though the area is filled with people, you feel more alone than ever.
Benvolio had died alone. You could have had a future together, but you had to go and get killed. It wasn’t fair to either you or him. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t-
He’s here.
Finally, at last, Benvolio’s arrived in the faceless crowds. He looks older than when you saw him last. You blink, and he looks younger. It’s impossible to pinpoint his age, but really he’s the same Benvolio he’s always been, you can tell. You’d know him anywhere.
You run through the crowd, pushing through strangers left and right in an effort to reach him, but he sees you before you reach him. He grins—the first time you’ve seen him smile in what seems like ages, although who knows how long it really was—and it’s like a million pounds have been lifted from his shoulders.
“You really waited for me,” he says as he meets you, and the both of you embrace. It's the first time in what feels like ages, and it probably was ages, at least for him.
“Of course,” you whisper back, “I couldn’t break my promise,” and when you say that, he buries his head in your chest and murmurs something about how he’s missed you so much.
You’ve missed him too. Even though the wait was undoubtedly harder for Benvolio than it was for you, every second without him was agony. He takes your hand in his, and you feel complete, somehow. You feel more complete than you ever have since you first arrived here.
Looking over at the beautiful staircase, you suddenly realize that now’s the time to ascend it. Everything seems as if it's falling into place.
You lead Benvolio over to the diamond staircase. He understands your intent, and the two of you begin to ascend the glittering, gleaming flight of stairs hand in hand. You don’t know what’s next in store for both of you, but you're not worried; whatever happens, you’ll be together. That’s really all that matters now.