Chapter Text
As Tybalt laid on the stone ground of a street in Verona, blood pouring out of his wound, he couldn’t help but start to hum softly. The melody was nothing complicated, just a simple four-note melody. A melody that Tybalt knew by heart and would never forget. For it was Mercutio’s melody.
It was the melody that he would hum when they would meet in the flower fields, and they would pretend as though they weren’t the people they were.
It was the melody that Mercutio would hum as they would sword-fight in the streets, and the melody that he would hum when he would patch Tybalt up after a fight.
It was the melody that he would hum when they would spend the night together, and Tybalt just couldn’t sleep.
It was the melody that Mercutio began to hum as he felt his life force depleting, the end coming closer and closer.
It was his melody. Yet, it was also Tybalt’s at the same time.
It was Tybalt who came up with the harmony for it and would hum along with Mercutio.
It was Tybalt who had encouraged Mercutio to try and put words to the melody and make a song.
It was Tybalt that had encouraged Mercutio to go farther with the melody, and not just let it die.
So, as he lies there, the memories and failed plans swirling in his head, Tybalt can’t help but hum. He hums the simple melody, over and over again, until his last breath.
And, as the light from Verona begins to fade, and be replaced by a brighter white light, it is that melody that he hears hummed by a million voices, with one humming the loudest.
It is with that melody that Tybalt is reunited with his love, and it is with that melody that Tybalt and Mercutio journey off to the afterlife; content with being together once again.