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“The skies art ever-darkened, Horatio, the sun hath been choked out by murky clouds, pregnant with the promise of new rain,” commented Hamlet. He tilted his head to look at the dimly-lit sky, a few clouds illuminated by the weak rays of sun.
“Shall we seek shelter, then, my lord?” replied Horatio, feeling his nose become wetted by the first drops of rain.
Hamlet nodded, shielding his face. The wind whistled softly, their cloaks billowing in the icy rain. Horatio looked around them, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized that they were stranded in the rain, and they would be for quite some time.
They continued walking back towards shelter as the rain picked up, battering them with gales that chilled them to the bone.
Hamlet shivered.
“Art thou bitter cold, my lord?” asked Horatio, noticing the prince’s state.
“Aye,” replied Hamlet. “This foul and dreary weather shall driveth any sane man to madness, if not death.” He chuckled wryly. “Though, as mad as I am, perhaps death may be best for I.”
“Thou art not mad, my lord,” said Horatio.
“I fear I am, Horatio.”
“Thou art not.”
Hamlet wiped the rain from his face. “Doth not deceive thyself, my friend. I am mad, mad as a hatter!” His gaze flickered to Horatio, as if he was sending him a message.
“Thou needn’t feign madness in the presence of I, my lord,” Horatio said, almost affectionately.
Hamlet tipped his head to the side, as if pointing to something. Or someone.
With the rain beating down, it was nearly impossible to see anything, but through the haze, Horatio could make out the faint outline of a person. They could have been watching, listening.
He gave a nod of understanding in the prince’s direction.
Under cover of the rain, they began walking faster, trying to get as far away from the figure. A fiery tongue of white lightning broke the sky above, followed by the loud crash of thunder.
In the flash of blazing light, Horatio could see Hamlet’s face, slicked wet from rain and filled with unease.
Hortio put a comforting arm around the prince’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. Keeping one eye on the figure in the rain, they kept moving away from the person in the rain.
“Doth thou knoweth that gent?” murmured Horatio.
Hamlet shook his head. “Nay, I know him not, yet tis the problem.” He trembled slightly. “He shall forsake me, Horatio, and be mine end.”
“Then why doth thou worry, my lord? If you know him not, then what is to fear?”
“That which is not known, Horatio,” replied Hamlet. Horatio couldn’t see it through the rain, but Hamlet was crying softly. “Their very presence disturbs me greatly, mine heart doth tell me they mean harm.”
“We should then quicken our pace,” said Horatio. He could see a building in the distance. It was close enough to walk to and wait out the storm (and hopefully hide from the figure in the storm).
They soon arrived at the building, soaking wet, and rushed inside. The rain was still pounding hard on the ground outside, an occasional flash of brightness lighting up the sky. Hamlet looked around. The building was empty, as far as he could see. Not a soul in sight—other than Horatio and himself.
“There’s nay even a single soul but us,” noted Hamlet. “Tis…haunting.”
“Where doth thou suppose we art?” asked Horatio, removing his arm from the prince.
Hamlet shook his head, sighing. He missed his companion’s touch. “I do not know, Horatio.” He glanced around, everything hidden by a blanket of darkness. He didn’t like it, but there was nowhere to go.
“This place fills mine heart with unease,” said the prince, trembling softly.
Horatio wanted to hug him and tell him that it would be alright, but he didn’t dare so so. Instead, he said, “We need only wait out the storm, my lord. We needn’t linger.”
Hamlet nodded slowly. They stood together in silence for some heartbeats, the only sound being the sound of their breathing and the soft patter of rain outside.
Horatio fixed his gaze upon him for a moment before reaching out and taking Hamlet’s hand in his own. The prince’s eyes widened in surprise, a hint of pink creeping onto his face.
“Thou art safe, my lord,” said Horatio comfortingly.
Hamlet pressed his eyes shut, closing his fingers around Horatio’s. He appreciated the gesture.
“I am ever-grateful to be in thine company,” he murmured. “Thank you.”
Horatio smiled at the prince. “Of course, my lord.”
Hamlet let out a deep sigh. “Thou art a dear friend to I, Horatio.”
A gust of wind blew through the building, chilling it to the core. The rafters creaked as rain drummed incessantly on the roof. Both of them shivered, still holding each other's hands. Though the room was icy and bitter, both of them felt warm inside.
“And thou to I,” replied Horatio quietly. Without a word, he let go of the prince’s hand and instead loosely wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a soft hug.
Hamlet let out a quiet gasp before accepting and burying his head in the crook of Horatio’s neck. He told himself that it was just for warmth and that they were nothing more than friends.
It felt…nice.
They kept holding each other, occasionally talking in hushed voices (though anyone listening wouldn’t hear over the rain), while waiting out the storm. And when the storm eventually did end, it left them both with a hollow feeling inside, as if they wished they could stay together in that building forever.