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“You wanted to see me, my lord?”
Rosencrantz smiled, as he always did. There had been a grand party going on inside, hosted by Hamlet’s father, but halfway through, his friend stalked off to the courtyard outside. Rosencrantz hadn’t seen him, too absorbed in telling a (slightly fabricated, admittedly) tale of great adventure. But Hamlet had asked one of the servants to send for him (and him alone) after he was done. So here he was, standing before his friend.
Hamlet, who looked rather gloomy, lit up when he set eyes on Rosencrantz. He embraced him, and it became clear that he was still rather drunk.
“My dear good friend! Yes, I have called upon you. Sit, sit!”
He ushered Rosencrantz to a nearby bench, which looked out upon the distant seashore. The sun was just beginning to make its way below the horizon, which turned the water into something akin to gold. It was quite beautiful. Rosencrantz never tired of seeing it. He looked to Hamlet now after taking it in.
“I should hope that you are faring well, my lord. Your mother was quite worried about your disappearance.”
Hamlet scoffed. “I am as fine as can be! And, dear Rosencrantz, there is no need for formalities. ‘My lord’ this, ‘my lord’ that. Are we not friends?”
“We are, my lord–”
“What did I just say?”
Rosencrantz laughed. “If you insist, Hamlet.”
Hamlet’s arm found its way around Rosencrantz’s shoulders, and Rosencrantz found himself leaning into Hamlet. It was easy to forget the party that was going on inside. The sound of music and chatter hardly carried through the thick castle walls. It was nice. He did wonder exactly why Hamlet called upon him specifically (as there were very many that he could have called upon), but he wasn’t going to ask. Not when it brought them so close to each other. Rosencrantz shut his eyes as the warmth of the setting sun seeped into him.
“Quite a nice evening, isn’t it?” Hamlet asked.
“I’d say so. More pleasant than it has been in recent times.”
“And more pleasant than the party, in my opinion,” he half grumbled. “But no matter. Do you know why, dear Rosencrantz, I wanted you to join me here?”
Ah, there was the answer that Rosencrantz was seeking. He perked up a bit, opening his eyes again. “I do not. Enlighten me, if it so pleases you.”
“It would please me indeed.” Hamlet stood up on shaky feet and held out his hand. Rosencrantz took it, and all at once, he was being pulled up and dragged along to the shore. He did not protest, but rather, simply made a noise of surprise. Hamlet laughed, almost wildly, and Rosencrantz was all too reminded of just how fond he was of his friend.
“You see, my friend,” Hamlet said, nearly stumbling down the path, “I wished to do something more- more valuable with my time than suffering through pleasantries. I obscured my true intentions, for I know that my mother would not be too pleased.”
They were rapidly approaching the beach. Hamlet continued, “So that is why I asked for you! I would be content just to watch the sunset, but it has been far too long since I have enjoyed the beach with a friend.”
“Why not choose the likes of Horatio?” Rosencrantz asked, somewhat insecurely.
“Gentle Horatio would not be inclined to sneak off like this. You know how he gets.”
“I suppose so.”
The fact that Hamlet chose Rosencrantz over Horatio was, honestly, a bit dizzying. Rosencrantz tried not to let it get to his head. He knew that Horatio and Hamlet were quite fond of each other, but… This had to have meant something. He was sure that Hamlet saw the looks he gave him, and even if he somehow did not, Guildenstern teased Rosencrantz loudly enough for everyone to hear. So, in holding Hamlet’s hand as they walked together, and in hearing this admission that he was not a second choice, so to speak, Rosencrantz felt quite giddy. He would be lying if he said he didn’t daydream about these sorts of moments. He felt that these thoughts were unrealistic for many reasons, most chiefly of which was that they ended in some sort of confession. Either by his own admission, or by Hamlet’s. (He preferred the ones where Hamlet himself made some bold romantic move, but both fantasies were ones he indulged in often.) Maybe they weren’t so unrealistic after all. The mere thought brought a dumb smile to Rosencrantz’s face.
The sun had lowered considerably by the time the two of them made it to the beach proper. Hamlet was about to lead them both into the water as is, until Rosencrantz practically yanked him back.
“Don’t be so hasty, Hamlet,” he said. He finally let go of his friend’s hand, but… he took his time in doing so. As he untied his shoes, he continued, “I’m not too keen on ruining my clothes. Sand takes an age to clean.”
“You’re not planning on disrobing , are you?” Hamlet asked, leaning his full weight against Rosencrantz. Rosencrantz swatted him away, quite grateful that the setting sun was probably masking the pink in his cheeks.
“Hardly.” Rosencrantz left his socks in his shoes and rolled up his pants to about his knee. “I’d suggest doing something similar, friend. Your tastes are far too expensive for you to waltz into the ocean as is.”
“Ha! You talk as if I have no way to replace a pair of shoes.” Even so, Hamlet copied Rosencrantz. “My mother would happily have bought me new ones.”
“She would not be so happy to hear why you’d need them replaced.” Rosencrantz snorted. “What was your excuse again? Needing fresh air? I shudder to think what she would do if you ruined your outfit on purpose.”
Hamlet waved his hand through the air. “You need not worry about these sorts of things, dear friend. My mother’s temper may be short, but she knows that there is no harm in a little fun.”
“Very well,” Rosencrantz said, rolling his eyes. “Come now, we’re losing daylight quickly.”
Rosencrantz walked to where the sea met the sand, with Hamlet close behind. The sand was still warm from the sun, but the water that lapped gently at Rosencrantz’s feet was ice cold. Not that he particularly cared. Not when the sunset looked more brilliant here than it did in the courtyard. Rosencrantz waded into the water, stopping just before it could reach his pants. (He wasn’t entirely sure why he did this. Maybe, he thought, he could get closer to the sunset like this). He had always loved the sea. He took every opportunity to be near the ocean while visiting Hamlet. Maybe that’s why his friend had brought him here? He’d have to ask. (It’d be sweet if that were the case. The thought gave him butterflies in his stomach).
He was sure that Hamlet had followed him even now, but when he turned around to ask what was on his mind, his friend was… merely staring at him, a little ways off. Rosencrantz tilted his head. “Hamlet? Will you not join me? It is awfully lonely without you by my side.”
Hamlet paused for a few brief moments, then nodded. “Of course.”
He returned to his place by Rosencrantz’s side. “We’re lucky that the waves are gentle tonight.”
“We are, aren’t we?” Rosencrantz leaned against Hamlet, if only to maintain his balance. “I don’t deny that there is beauty in the turbulent waves, but it would hardly be appropriate for a sunset as beautiful as this.”
“Quite.”
There they stood in silence, watching the sun slip down past the horizon. The waves turned from a brilliant orange to a dull purple, and then to an inky black. Rosencrantz shivered. Though his eyes had adjusted to the night (thanks in part to the bright, pale moon that hung above them), the rest of his body did not. It was time for them to leave the water, at the very least.
“I would hate to catch a cold,” Rosencrantz said, “I’m heading back to shore. Join me?”
“Give me a moment, dear friend.” Hamlet’s eyes were fixed on the moon. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
Rosencrantz nodded. He had hardly gotten out of the water before he heard Hamlet walking towards him again. He was all too ready to greet him, but something was… strange. He was holding his hands close to him, and— Oh, no, he was not going to do this now, was he? Rosencrantz could almost see the shit-eating grin on Hamlet’s face. He pointed a finger at Hamlet and backed up slowly.
“Don’t think about it,” he said, barely able to contain his laughter. “You know better than to do this.”
“I don’t know what you mean, dear Rosencrantz,” Hamlet said, grinning wider. “Can’t I come and see my close, good friend?”
“Don’t you dare!”
Rosencrantz burst into laughter as he tried sprinting away from his friend. Hopefully, the chase would make Hamlet lose some of the water he cupped in his hands. (They had done this song and dance before, though usually it was whenever they were more appropriately dressed for the beach. Oftentimes, Rosencrantz would end up dunked under the waves, with Hamlet lording it over him. Rosencrantz didn’t have the heart to tell him that he let him do it on purpose.) Though in this chase, Rosencrantz’s foot caught on something. Something that he didn’t notice in the dim light. He stumbled, lost balance completely, and fell flat on his face. He groaned. It wasn’t a particularly hard fall, but a face full of sand was never pleasant. When he rolled onto his back, Hamlet was stood over him. Apparently, none of the water stayed in his hands. Probably for the best.
“Are you alright?” Hamlet asked, getting down on his knees beside Rosencrantz.
He was suddenly very, very close. Rosencrantz wanted to say that he was fine, because he was, even if he was a bit sore. But the words died in his throat as he was basically face to face with Hamlet. Rosencrantz nodded dumbly. Thankfully, that was enough for Hamlet.
“That was quite the tumble you took.” Hamlet brushed Rosencrantz’s hair out of his eyes. Hamlet’s hand was still slightly damp. “So much for not ruining outfits, hm?”
Hamlet’s hand came to rest on Rosencrantz’s cheek. All of a sudden, Hamlet looked very grim. Just like he had looked before in the courtyard. Rosencrantz was caught off guard by the sudden shift that he almost forgot to blush at how intimate this moment was.
“Is there something the matter, my lord?” he asked, trying to search Hamlet’s gloomy face for answers.
“I thought you said that you would use my name tonight.” Hamlet’s voice was soft.
“Apologies, it is simply a force of habit.”
There was a great pause. And then, slowly, Hamlet said, “…I suppose I haven’t been entirely truthful with you tonight, dear Rosencrantz.”
“H- how so?” Rosencrantz smiled nervously. (This was even more dizzying than before. Focus, Rosencrantz! You needn’t ruin this with your nerves!)
“You’re exceptionally bright, aren’t you? What do you think is going on here, with me caressing your face under the moonlight, after having witnessed the most wonderful sunset? Do you think this is all coincidence?”
Well, when he put it like that, it all felt abundantly clear to Rosencrantz that there was something more to Hamlet’s motives here tonight. His chest felt fit to burst, and he could only hope that he would not make a fool of himself.
“I- I only know as much as I’m shown, my–” He cleared his throat. “Hamlet. My… my Hamlet. And you have shown me a great deal. But… perhaps, I will need a bit more direction.”
“Will a demonstration of what I mean be necessary?” Hamlet asked, his tone nearly teasing.
“If it would please you to do so.”
“It would please me indeed.”
Hamlet pressed his lips against Rosencrantz’s chastely. It was hardly the passionate kiss that Rosencrantz had imagined it to be, but it was still more than enough. He put his hand over Hamlet’s and tried to live in the moment forever. But alas… Hamlet became shy, and he pulled away.
“I hope that demonstration is enough,” he said, sounding nearly breathless. (How cute, Rosencrantz thought.)
“I wouldn’t mind another later,” Rosencrantz replied, sounding utterly lovestruck. “But this means…?”
“I wanted to ask you for- for your hand, Rosencrantz.” Hamlet inhaled deeply. “I have meant to do this for some time, but I have not found the courage to do so. But the wine tonight has made me bold. I know of your affections, and I wish to return them.”
“But what of Horatio?” Rosencrantz blurted out. “I know that you are intimate with him as well, my lord, and I do not want to intrude upon–”
“Calm yourself, Rosencrantz. Do you not think that Horatio and I have not discussed this matter?” Hamlet pressed his lips atop his head as if to soothe him. “You needn’t worry. You can be mine as much as he is.”
A weight lifted from Rosencrantz’s shoulders. He sat up, wrapped his arms around Hamlet, and pressed his forehead against his.
“Well then, my lord, you may have my hand.” Rosencrantz grinned. “For I have wanted to give you it for a long time.”