Chapter Text
"Did you hear about the party tonight?" Mercutio flops down on the couch in the Montague's living room, laying his head on Romeo's lap just to see how he reacts.
Romeo barely seems to notice. Unbeknownst to Mercutio, he's blushing like a tomato, but the strings of his hoodie are pulled so tightly that most of his face is hidden. "Yeah. Capulet party. Who cares?"
Mercutio fake pouts. "You're no fun when you're lovesick." God, it hurts to think about Romeo lusting over some- some- ugh… "And to answer your question, I care. In case you forgot, my family knows the Capulets. I can sneak you two in, we can make some mischief."
Benvolio, only half paying attention before now, sits upright in his chair, grinning deviously. "I'm listening."
"It's a masquerade, no one will even notice. Of course, we'll have to rush our costumes, but it'll be fine. Come on, Romeo. You can't keep moping like this, and it's not as fun without you." Mercutio tugs playfully on Romeo's hoodie strings. In spite of himself, Romeo laughs and pushes Mercutio, which only results in them both falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and uncontrollable giggling, until they both gain their bearing, and subsequently their common sense. They stand up, dusting themselves off and shyly avoiding eye contact. Benvolio just sits there, watching and trying not to laugh.
"Fine, I'll go. But only because Rosaline is going to be there." Romeo says suddenly. It comes out naturally. After all, he's been sobbing over Rosaline for a week at this point. So why does it feel like a lie? Mercutio picks a random spot on the wall and stares at it. He's trying his best to ignore this part of the conversation.
"Forget about her, buddy." Benvolio replies. "Parties are for mingling. Maybe you'll meet someone new." He hops up out of his chair. "You still have that Halloween costume, right, Romeo?" Romeo nods. "Cool, I have a mask you can use. Mercutio, let me grab a couple things, and then do you want to go to your place?"
Mercutio also nods, grateful that Benvolio is so on top of things. "I'll start the car. Meet me outside." And without another word, he leaves.
"Get it together, Mercutio," he mutters to himself as he gets in the car. "He doesn't like you. Not like that." He sighs, and closes the door with a loud slam. He can't slip up. He's sure that if Romeo finds out how he feels, it'll ruin their friendship. Inhale, exhale. Smile, Benvolio is getting in the car.
"He's very well off, Juliet. In money and power. He has more of both than he knows what to do with."
"And he's not bad looking, either." Juliet's nurse chimes in. Juliet stares off into space. She wants no part of this. "Really, you should be honored." Silence.
"Juliet! Don't ignore us." Her mother snaps. Juliet finally meets her gaze, not making any effort to hide her resentment.
"Well it seems like you've got my future all figured out. Why ruin a good thing?" She snaps, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Really, am I supposed to be excited to use my marriage, my future as a bargaining chip? I've never even met this guy."
"He'll be at the party tonight." Nurse points. Her insistence upon optimism is comforting, but it also makes Juliet feel hopeless that she can get out of this somehow. "I'm sure you'll like him."
Apparently done with talking, Juliet's mother huffs and walks away. "Juliet, I'd advise you to at least try to get along with Paris. Your parents are adamant that you go through with this marriage, and knowing them, it won't end well if you don't." She pats Juliet's hand and rushes from the room.
Juliet walks over to her bed and runs her hand over the soft fabric of her costume. She's tired. Tired of having no control over her life, of having her decisions made for her, of being nothing but a piece in someone else's game of chess. Maybe she'll get lucky. Maybe Paris will be more understanding than her mother. Or lose interest in her. Or choke on his drink and drop dead.
Romeo is putting on his costume in front of the bathroom mirror. It's… shiny. He's worried he's going to look like a disco ball. Okay, that isn't the only thing he's worried about.
He feels… conflicted. Benvolio and Mercutio have always mocked him for being so quick to fall in love. That's nothing new. But he tries to summon up the passion he'd professed for Rosaline only a few hours earlier, and doesn't feel anything. Suddenly, he's not sure if he ever did. His "passion" feels false, hollow. As though it was a lie, a lie that he'd convinced even himself of. The last girl he claimed to be "madly in love with" was engaged. His "true love" before that had merely been visiting Verona, there for less than a week. Rosaline was going to be a nun, for god's sake! And he hadn't even really thought about her in all that time he'd spent moping in his room. He claimed he felt heartbroken, and in a way it felt true, but his thoughts always lingered somewhere else.
It felt like he was sabotaging himself. He didn't get it. And the way he claimed to feel around these girls! He could only think of one person he actually felt that way around-
No. No! He turns his focus back to his costume, trying to distract himself. He was wrong, surely. This was just temporary doubt. He'd be himself again soon. He couldn't linger on thoughts like these. He had to shove them back down into his chest where they belonged.
"What's up with you, Mercutio?" Benvolio demands, completely out of nowhere. Mercutio is so surprised he almost spills his soda. Yes, they picked up fast food on the way to Mercutio's house, and no, they weren't planning on telling Romeo that they went out to eat without him.
"Jesus, Benvolio. You have to signal a turn like that." He laughs sharply at his own shitty joke, hoping to distract Benvolio from his question.
"Ha. Ha." Benvolio rolls his eyes. "Talk, or I'm eating your fries." He knows Mercutio can't do anything about it since he's driving. In fact, he already ate three of them when he wasn't looking.
"You're not going to leave me alone until I give you an answer that satisfies you, are you?" Mercutio asks. He's clutching the steering wheel tighter than the handlebar of a roller coaster.
"Nope!" Benvolio's mouth is still full of fries when he speaks. Mercutio thought he'd at least wait until he had a reason, but no.
"This is the last time that we get food while I'm driving." Mercutio declares.
"You're avoiding the question." Benvolio points out.
"So? You're eating all my fries."
"You can have some of mine. Now talk." Benvolio's voice is much firmer this time. He's serious.
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing, Mercutio. I know you." A moment of painfully empty silence. "... it's him, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Romeo. I've seen the way you look at him. That isn't nothing." Benvolio insists. He's really pressing now, and it's working. Mercutio is going to crack under the pressure.
"Sure, that makes sense. I'm head over heels for my best friend's cousin." Mercutio scoffs. He's a good actor, if nothing else.
"How long have we been friends, Mercutio? I know when you're lying." Benvolio's voice is softer now.
"...it doesn't matter." Mercutio says eventually. "It isn't like he'd ever reciprocate."
"Oh." Yet another all too long silence.
"We're here."
Benvolio grabs the greasy bag of food, and turns to open the car door, but pauses for a moment. "Look, try not to think about Romeo tonight, okay? Focus on having a good time."
A small smile slowly comes back to Mercutio's face. "Believe me, I have plans."