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The more he thought about it, the angrier he was.
Benvolio was never a particularly angry person. He had an underlying mean streak and a glare that could kill, but he learned how to tame the feral rage inside of him long ago, domesticating it. He used the flames of fire and fury to warm the hearth instead of letting it build to an inferno. Still, when playing with fire, there’s always the risk of getting burned.
Tybalt knew how to bring out the worst in him. There were no pretenses around him, as if Benvolio could shed his thick skin when they were alone. Tybalt would coax it off like a coat, laying it aside gently. As if he cared.
Benvolio should’ve known better. He should’ve seen the billboard on the empty highway and known. There were so many signs that he ignored, like how much Tybalt reminded him of the last guy that had come into his life, only to leave with a piece of him that he’ll never really get back. Tybalt was just like him, only new and shiny and beautifully broken, like a plate or a cup repaired with gold.
All Benvolio wanted was a reason. All he needed to know was why. Why? Was Tybalt only here to break his heart? How did tearing him down help build Tybalt up? Benvolio hated Tybalt, and missed him more than anything. It was an awful codependency that they had, the twisting of knives and the turning of fate. It was gruesome in a way. There was something so harrowing about it all, but they couldn’t stop. All Benvolio wanted was to stop and catch his breath.
It was uncomfortable to be clean of him. To not have his clothes or smell his cologne was like losing his keys: he felt like he had nowhere to go. With every minor loss, came a new form of heartbreak. He missed everything about Tybalt. But, he didn’t know how to be something Tybalt missed.