Work Text:
Benvolio had thought it was a good idea, going to the Capulet’s party. Romeo would realise that Rosaline was too good for him, move on, and Benvolio would be spared of any more hours of hearing him go on about so much as the smallest glances she made in his general direction, or not in his direction, Romeo wasn’t picky.
That was not what had happened. The night had ended with Romeo going missing, a now very giggly and drunk Mercutio helping him search, giving up on their search and now the two of them were stumbling down a random dark street in Verona, somehow hoping to find the Montague's house.
Benvolio, being the less drunk of the two, was doing all he could to stop both of them from walking into any walls. The task was proving to be more difficult than it sounded. Houses and crates and various other solid objects were refusing to stay put, jumping out in front of them without a moment’s notice.
He pulled on Mercutio’s arm, steering him away from injury for at least the seventh time that night. The action made him stumble slightly, falling sideways onto Benvolio, nearly knocking the shorter man over. He laughed slightly under his breath, wrapping an arm around Benvolio’s shoulder to steady himself.
“Benvolio,” he said, drawing out the O’s slightly longer than necessary, giggling to himself again, “Benvolio!”
“Yes, ‘Tis my name,” Benvolio said, words slurring slightly.
“Benvolio,” Mercutio simply repeated as if that would communicate his thoughts any clearer.
“What dost thou want?” Benvolio asked as he guided the two of them down a narrow road he thought might possibly lead back to the Montagues house.
“Thee,” he whispered giddily, laughing slightly, leaning into Benvolio more if that was even possible. For the first time that night Benvolio was glad for the darkness that surrounded them.
“Thou art mad,” he laughed.
“P'raps,” he picked at the mask that hung around Benvolio’s neck. He paused but instead of saying anymore he simply laughed again.
They walked, if you could call it that, for a few more seconds in silence. Mercutio was staring up at the stars, mouth open slightly, solely relying on Benvolio for any notion of where to go.
“Wherefore art the stars so bright, if they be so far?” he muttered absentmindedly.
“What?”
“The stars! They do shine!” he cried, pushing away from Benvolio, arms outstretched. Mercutio spun around and promptly fell to the cobbled floor laughing and muttering something about stars. Benvolio sighed. There was no way they were going to get back at this rate.
“If thou were a star thou wouldst shine the brightest,” Mercutio said happily from his position on the floor. Benvolio joined him.
“Is that so?”
Mercutio made a noise of confirmation, catching Benvolio’s eye. They sat still, staring at each other. Mercutio’s eyes shone bright with alcohol and giddiness, although it was probably mostly the alcohol Benvolio thought. A stupid dopey smile stuck to his face. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was messy and sticking up at odd angles. This was probably the most unkempt Benvolio had ever seen him and yet it was also the most he thought he had ever loved the man. Maybe Romeo was rubbing off on him.
“I do love the stars,” Mercutio said wistfully, eyes not leaving Benvolio’s.
“Wherefore?”
“They remind me of thine eyes,”
Benvolio’s heartbeat was loud in his ears. Surely this did not mean what he wanted it to.
“Thou art drunk,” he said as if to remind himself more than anything.
“Nay. My mind is the clearest it hath been in many days,” Mercutio replied.
Mercutio reached out a hand to cradle Benvolio’s jaw. His heart was beating loud and fast. This could not be happening. Benvolio reached up and covered Mercutio’s hand with his own.
He wasn’t sure who leaned in first, all he knew was Mercutio’s lips were on his. Mercutio’s free hand moved to his waist, Benvolio’s mirroring him. Everything felt right but also wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this. Certainly not with an Esculus in the middle of the street at three in the morning. After what could have been a second or a minute, he couldn’t tell, Benvolio pulled away.
“Thou art drunk,” Benvolio repeated dumbly. Standing and holding out a hand for Mercutio to do the same.
“So art thou! Come, live a little!” Mercutio spun on the spot, tripping over his own feet as he did so. Luckily, Benvolio caught him before he seriously injured himself.
Mercutio laughed, leaning into Benvolio and burying his face into his neck. “Thou art like a star. I love the stars, almost as much as I love thee,” Mercutio muttered.
“Thou art bearable,” Benvolio responded.
“Thou hast wounded me Montague,” Mercutio replied, not looking up.
Benvolio hummed, running his fingers through Mercutio’s hair, “Wouldst thou be needing to accompany me home? I am certain thou couldst stay the night if thou needest,” Mercutio simply nodded in reply, shifting his position so they could walk more easily.
Benvolio walked them both to the Montague house in relative silence only broken by Mercutio’s insane murmurings or laughs at nothing. Despite the fact that he was struggling to walk straight what with the alcohol and deadweight they called Mercutio hanging onto him, they found the Montague house and managed to get up to Benvolio’s room.
The two of them collapsed onto the bed together, not bothering to change. That would be a problem for tomorrow. Lots of things would be a problem for tomorrow.
“Sleep well, good Benvolio,” Mercutio muttered, curling up to him and falling asleep almost immediately.
Benvolio didn’t fall asleep as quickly. He lay there in silence, just listening. It was nice. He hugged Mercutio back and finally shut his eyes,
“‘Night, sweet Mercutio,”
As it turned out, sneaking into a Capulet party hadn't been such a bad idea after all. (Although there was still no way Benvolio was going to attempt it again. He wasn’t that insane)