Archive of Our Own

He could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he could just see his face. How many hours has he been trying to get to sleep now? He knew it was too long. He envied the days where sleep used to come easily to him. How blissfully unaware he was, foolishly thinking that he had already lived through his worst nightmare. So naïve.

He gave up trying to get to sleep. With his mind racing like this, he knew there was no point. He would only be lying there letting the thoughts creep in and the thoughts were not constructive to put it kindly. He hoped a walk, some fresh air, anything would ease his mind.

He did not want to resort to the sleeping tablets in the medicine cabinet, Hermia had expressed concern that he might get addicted to them at how regularly he had been taking them. That was nice of her. He did not want to worry her more than he had already, and he kind of wanted to remain on speaking terms to at least one family member. Juliette still had not forgiven him. It was fair, he would not forgive himself either. In fact he hadn’t. There were so many things he would change about that day. But he couldn’t.

He paced the cold laminate flooring, maybe a glass of water. Water was healthy. If he just focused on the simple needs he would be okay. 

His hands shook as he got a glass from the cabinet of the cramped kitchenette. It was too small to truly be called a kitchen, it was barely half the size of the manor's. Just as well, he had barely used either of them. Tybalt frowned at his shaking hand, he used to pride himself on having steady hands. Good for lifting, good for playing piano. Now he could barely fill a glass of water without spilling some. Pathetic.

They just would not stop shaking. He hated it. Hated it more than he had ever hated…

Stop. He was thinking of him again. He needed to stop doing that. Time to count to ten, realign himself. He was in his dingy kitchenette in his equally dingy apartment. It was completely dark outside the window that did not even open so likely it was sometime between midnight and five. Who could even tell anymore. He did not wear a watch to bed and he had no clock in here.

His apartment was dingy despite his best efforts, no amount of scrubbing was able to turn grey walls and floors white. They were going to stay grey regardless. The whole apartment felt like whoever designed it had done so with the express purpose of making the place as miserable as they could possibly do so. It was basically the one thing that was like the manor. He was not there, he was here. He was safe.

He had a balcony at least, if you could call it that. The door to it opened straight into the wall outside and that was practically the entire space, you could not even put a chair out here. The wall was grey, because of course it was.

Tybalt stepped out onto the balcony and rested his forehead against the tall half-wall that served as a railing. The architect who built this place had most certainly been sadistic, he wondered if they had also designed prisons. If he had been average height he would not be able to see over it but his stupid height finally came in useful for once rather than just being for ducking when it came to doorframes and high shelves. The wall was cool from the night's air and it felt nice.

The view was not exactly expanses of green but the lack of a graveyard was comforting. Even better, no sight of the courtyard. No, he could see just distant street lights and other buildings. It was interesting to have actual neighbours within strolling distance instead of the nearest neighbours being miles away. Neighbours you did not need the help of a telescope to see.

Living, breathing people going about their day. Tybalt enjoyed the reminder that the world kept turning rather than feeling stagnant. Trapped in an endless loop, unable to move forward.

He forced some water down and closed his eyes. The apartment below his had just had a baby, Tybalt had not really spoken to them beyond when they asked to borrow milk or sugar. The first time they had asked Tybalt had been embarrassed to not have any sugar. He did not seem to have any of the necessities. He had not needed to worry about it in the manor.

It was better the next they had asked. He was prepared this time. He purposefully made sure to have some the next time they asked, even if he never used the sugar himself. He liked to think they appreciated the sugar.

The baby was cute. From what he had seen of it. It was usually bundled up in something. He mostly heard it. He found he did not mind the crying as much as others probably would. He was probably not going to be sleeping anyway and it was a break from the dreariness of it all. He had coffee lest the neighbours asked now. One day he might even invite them in for one.

He breathed in the night's air. This was nice. Funny how a cramped balcony barely a metre squared was less suffocating than an entire country manor. He just could not live there anymore. Not after everything that occurred there, the constant reminder of the courtyard, the red. So he got out. It could have gone better. Only Hermia contacted him now and they were becoming farther and farther between. She had yet to come visit and just the thought of going to see her… there was enough to make him feel nauseous and visiting the porcelain throne just in case.

It was getting chilly now, goosebumps arose upon his skin but he did not mind it. He preferred the cold, he would rather be cold than hot. He still did not like the heat, just another thing to add to his list of liabilities. Wow, he was just such a catch.

He could still see the stars. Less of them thanks to the dim light pollution of the street lamps, but they were still there. Steadfast, steady. He liked the stars, he considered learning some of their names one day. He knew of some of their names of course, the zodiac was a thing after all but he could tell you which they were in the sky.

The only space knowledge, beyond knowing that there was apparently a crab up there somehow, he really had was the names of the moons of Uranus. He found comfort in the thought of his parents being united in space even if it was just as moons orbiting the same planet. It was amazing really how many people in his life shared names with moons.  

He wished Mercutio had a moon.

Shit. He was thinking of him again. Now he was never going to get to sleep.

He wondered if he should pick a star for him, seeing as he was out here anyway, and what did he care what the star was actually called. Scientists had probably called it a stupid name anyway like Mark. The brightest star felt about right for Mercutio. That was nice. The brightest star for the man who used to have the brightest smile.

Tears were falling now, glistening like stars caught on his face in the stream of moonlight. He had thought he had cried all his tears, that he would have dried out by now, but apparently he had not.

It was past midnight Tybalt realised dully, that meant it was another day. It would have been his birthday. No wonder he could not escape the thoughts of him, no wonder they had plagued him to the extent of a sleepless night.

“Happy Birthday, Mercutio.” Tybalt said to the stars, he did not think he actually wanted him to be listening, it was more for himself. He did not want Mercutio to hear his raw voice, caught mid-sob. He wanted to be alone for this cry, his only company the stars. “I would blow you out a candle, but… you know… I did not buy you a cake and it would mean lighting the candle. You know how that would end up.” There was still time, the day had just begun… he could probably buy him a cake.

It was a stupid idea. To buy a dead man a birthday cake. It was not like Tybalt would even be welcome to his resting place, goodness, it would cause undue upset to his poor surviving grandmother no doubt. Tybalt was going to buy it regardless, he knew he was. He wondered what flavour Mercutio would have liked best. Chocolate felt too on the nose.

To order a cake from the Monty restaurant would be… it felt morally dubious. He could not exactly collect it himself, and they would no doubt decline the order if he had placed it under his name, but now he had the idea in his head, it was stuck there. Because of course Mercutio would want a cake made with love from his family. He could not think of getting a cake from anywhere else now, it felt like an insult to Mercutio’s memory.

Would it be too cruel to ask them to make a birthday cake today? He would just get whatever cake they had available, he would likely go overboard and get the entire cake instead of just a slice. He felt guilty enough to warrant the price. It was the least he could do after what he had done.

He could offer his neighbours a slice, he was sure Mercutio would not mind. A birthday cake was meant to be shared after all, and Tybalt was not going to eat all of it. To have it go stale felt like a waste.

He had eventually managed to fall asleep. At least he felt he had, he felt just as tired as if he had not slept at all. He deemed that he must have otherwise he would not feel so lethargic getting up. The stupid idea of a cake must have wormed its way so thoroughly into his brain that it had actually stopped the other thoughts for once to allow him to sleep.

He was collecting the cake himself, mostly because he did not have anyone else to ask. He considered a disguise but the fact that he was not wearing the red mask anymore seemed enough of one. It had been his most defining trait for a while. 

He had looked at himself in the one mirror in the apartment and struggled to recognise himself, he felt if he could not recognise himself neither would whoever was serving. It was not like he had particularly interacted with any of the Montys aside from… Mercutio and Romeo. Neither of which were exactly in the right position to tattle on him.

They would not see Tybalt Capp, a man who had prided himself in his appearance seeing as he was a representative of the noble house of Capp. They would see a man, with bone deep tiredness. He was looking a little sallow, gone was the dramatic red mask and the carefully maintained pompadour. His hair hung loosely around his face and fell over his eyes. He could probably have used the mask to cover the eyebags that could carry a week’s worth of groceries, so dark like they looked like bruises. He had the start of a beard and his signature yellow and red jacket had been replaced with an unshapely green jumper that made him look formless. 

They could not wash out the blood in his other jacket. Tybalt had soured on the colour red after nothing he had seemed to do could get it out. He preferred green now… it cancelled out red.

Tybalt wondered who the man looking back at him was, he frowned a little at how sallow his skin actually looked. He was going to have to get out more at this rate. He looked dreadful.  This was not a look befitting a Capp. A Capp did not have this much stubble. Who was he? An aspiring lumberjack?

He frowned at himself in the mirror, this at least felt familiar. His facial muscles remembered this expression well.

He supposed he did not constitute as a Capp much longer. He had abandoned his family duties the moment he had chosen to leave the manor despite his grandfather’s express instructions for him not to. He had basically exiled himself.

He did get a couple of glances as he entered the restaurant, being his height he tended to receive them regardless of where he entered. He gained such looks when he entered bars too when solitude got a little much and he would much rather not be alone. People did not judge a man who nursed a drink at a bar just not wanting to be alone, there were too many of them to do so.

People seemed to like to acknowledge he was tall for at least a second glance before continuing about their day. He felt self conscious regardless under the scrutiny of the man’s gaze.

He was a purebred Monty for certain, he had the strong defining nose and brown eyes synonymous with being a Monty as well as the distinct lack of height of one. Patrizio had really done a number on the Monty gene pool. After the incident the family run business had to open up their hiring pool a little further in order to stay afloat. It was a little more rare to see an actual Monty serving now. He still did not know why his grandfather had informed him of this, he was not sure if it was supposed to be praise or his grandfather just being cruel. Either one made him feel sick. Tybalt just so happened to have the luck to have the day where one was.

He was an older man, salt and pepper dashing his temples, with a weariness behind his eyes. Tybalt could not place him, he was likely the uncle. Mercutio had mentioned him on occasion, usually involving the restaurant. Mercutio had liked his uncle, just not working with him. Tybalt did not see the anger he was supposed to hold. Only tiredness, Tybalt understood that tiredness and recognised it from his own eyes. It felt wrong to share in this man’s grief, he did not feel like he deserved to. Not after what he had done.

Tybalt flinched when the man looked at him a little too hard and Tybalt wondered if maybe he should have found someone else to do this. To pay someone and hope they did not run off with both his money and Mercutio’s cake. He waited for the accusation but it never came, instead the man just sighed and gave him the cake.

“I’m sorry.” That had not meant to come out. He had meant to say thank you and be on his merry way. Instead that had come out, much too late to actually fix anything. He should have apologised a lot sooner than that, and not to him. He was sorry though, for his role in Mercutio’s death, for everything. The man’s eyes widened and he stood up to say something but Tybalt was already out of there, not quite running in order not to mess up the cake but too fast for the other man.

His heart was racing and it did not slow down until he was certain he was clear of the Monty restaurant and the uncle. He saw a corner shop with wine in the window and thought why not. A toast to go with the cake.

Mercutio had been the kind to appreciate a good wine. Red seemed right, he remembered Mercutio drinking red wine on occasions. He was a messy drinker, he never failed to spill some on himself. Had been. Had been a messy drinker. Tybalt closed his eyes and breathed. He had slipped again. He kept referring to Mercutio in the present tense. It felt too permanent when he did not and the thought of Mercutio just being gone forever made grief welled up within his chest and gripped him so tightly that he struggled to keep moving instead just wanting to curl up into a ball and just give up.

He ended up with a white wine after the thought of the red wine stains blurred into a different kind of red that had stained Mercutio’s shirt and his fingers. It supposedly had a fruity flavour with accompanying subtle notes of saltiness. Tybalt was not sure why anyone would want a salty wine but he was no wine expert. He did not usually bother to take the time to taste the wine he drank, he just swallowed it down, treated it like an unpleasant medicine. This wine was supposed to pair well with fish, he wondered if it would pair well with cake. How much correlation was there between fish and cake?

He had considered candles for the cake but felt it was best not to, he did not trust himself. Not today, when his grip felt so tenuous as it was. If red wine was setting him off, candles were likely a bad idea. There was also the possibility of setting off the sprinklers, he did not want to flood his apartment again. They were maybe too efficient, he had accidentally set them off by boiling water. He had not known anyone could be bad at boiling water but he had succeeded there somehow.

The person behind the shop counter had noted the wine and the birthday cake and asked if they were looking at the birthday boy. When Tybalt, polite smile a little frozen on his face, had said no the person whistled appreciatively. They were very chatty, Tybalt wondered what had possibly given them the inclination that he wanted to be spoken to.

“Whoever they are, they are lucky to have you. That is a nice cake and an even better wine. Is it for a special someone?” Tybalt winced but continued to give them a thin toothless smile, wishing they would just stop talking. They were very insistent upon talking to him despite him not really saying anything in response. He had just wanted some wine not to play twenty questions. Especially when the questions felt too intrusive, they would've been fine if they had asked anyone else. Most people probably did not buy cake and wine to share with a dead person.

“Just a friend.” Friend did not feel like the right word for whatever he and Mercutio used to have. Especially not after what had happened. He did not feel like divulging such information to a stranger, no matter how friendly they were being.

The shop person had thrown in a free cheese and a gift bag for the birthday boy with the handsome friend. Tybalt did not have the heart to tell that the lucky birthday person was dead so was not going to be able to enjoy the cheese. He appreciated the gesture though, it was a nice thing to do. He wondered if it was a marketing strategy, an attempt to get him to come again. How many cheeses must they go through? Perhaps it was a promotion, buy wine and get cheese.

He blinked a little at the receipt wondering why they had written a phone number on it. He wondered if it was some kind of order through the phone system. Or the store number for any issues with his purchase? He could not work out what he was supposed to do with it so he decided to put it back in the bag and forget about it.

Tybalt had received a happy birthday from the neighbours with the baby. They had wanted to borrow some milk, on occasion he wondered why they never seemed capable of buying milk themselves but he did not mind the human interaction. It took him out from just existing and made him participate in life a little. They had seen the little birthday set up from the doorway. It made sense for them to assume it was his, it was not like they had ever seen him with anyone else. No one had ever visited him here and he never brought anyone home. He wondered how pathetic he seemed to them that the idea he might have any friends or might be having a party had not even crossed their minds. Though what he was actually doing was probably sadder.

He decided not to correct them to avoid the unwanted questions. They would probably never want to borrow milk again if they knew.

Tybalt considered whether he should sing happy birthday or not but it felt a little foolish. The whole setup was stupid enough as it was, who knew a birthday party for someone who could never attend?

Tybalt decided to pour a glass out for Mercutio and himself, for some reason the singing happy birthday seemed too tacky and silly but this felt reasonable. Tybalt found out that he was not really catered for more than one person, he had been so used to being alone he had never considered having more than one glass. He cleaned it after each use promptly so he had never seen the need to purchase another. He used a mug for his own wine. 

He wondered if it was sacrilegious to drink fancy wine out of a mug that had ‘postivi-tea’ on it. It had been a gift from his uncle for finding his own place. Tybalt had not really known what to do with it, he had felt so irrational at the time with so many swirling emotions that he had been tempted to smash the stupid mug because what did he mean congratulations for finding a new place to live? It was not like it had been some joyous coming of age moment. Some grand achievement. 

He was all but running away like a coward because he could not cope with as little bit of blood on the stones of the courtyard or the sight of his bedroom with the tell-tale gap in his sword collection. The sun faded wallpaper leaving a ghost of its residency.

Tybalt barely tasted the wine as he scrunched his eyes shut trying to turn his thoughts to other times. This was supposed to be a celebration of Mercutio’s life, not a pity party for himself. The wine was hitting him, and Tybalt realised that he had not actually eaten anything that day so the wine was going straight to his head a lot faster than he had expected it to. 

He did mind it much, it was like pulling a blanket over his mind, it muffled the thoughts that gripped him in a chokehold and made him want to just break down and cry. A pleasant numbness washed over him.

“Cheers.” Tybalt gestured his mug to Mercutio’s untouched glass and the thin air. Tybalt felt like that was something people said when drinking at parties. He was not sure if it applied to wine, usually wine was an accompaniment to meals. Most meals were a quiet and tense experience, at a table too large for just the four of them where Grandfather lectured them mostly. It was this again but on a grander scale when they held their family ‘conferences’. The Capps were not the type to host an occasion which would permit such frivolities. A lot of standing and schmoozing, wine was an accessory, a way to receive compliments or loosen the pockets of any potential investors or company partners. Usually the etiquette of drinking wine was just to sip quietly and smile politely, to be a gracious host, and brag about the vintage for some imaginary appearance points for their family.

He poured himself another mug.

Tybalt blinked at the empty mug wondering when he had managed to drink it all, and Mercutio had yet to even touch his glass of the stuff. Tybalt laughed but it sounded suspiciously close to a sob.

“Drinking without me?” 

Oh great he was hallucinating. He had not thought he had had that much wine. Two small mugs were probably not much for someone of his size. He was not exactly a small man, he did not realise how tall he was until he had left the manor and was confronted by the realisation that most people did not reach Summerdream or Capp heights. He had probably been unduly unfair in calling Mercutio short in life. They had clearly been a growth hormone or something in the water on their side of the canal that had made them that way. Something that never reached the Monty side.

He did not think he had taken the sleeping tablets yesterday, there should be nothing in his system messing with the alcohol. Was this a symptom of withdrawal from the sleeping tablets? He checked the box to make sure, maybe Hermia had been right to be worried.There was no mention of seeing dead people in the side effects.

Maybe he had just finally gone mad? Finally just lost his mind thanks to solitude and the mix of grief and guilt.

Maybe he had died? He looked around for his body, surely if he was a ghost right now or ascending there would be a body. There was not one.

Maybe he had simply fallen asleep from the wine and this was his brain playing a cruel joke on him.

That made sense. For it to be a dream. A drunken dream. 

Tybalt looked at him. He looked the way he had. Mercutio had the kind of face that had been perfectly crafted to be as kind as possible. He looked like warmth personified. Large brown eyes with thick lashes, gentle laughter lines that delicately traced from the corners of his eyes. Laughter came easily to Mercutio. Lips that were pleasantly full and wide, making it easier for his smile to light up his entire face. That wild mass of hair that Mercutio attempted to tame for too long.

“I poured you a glass, it's not my fault if you did not touch it.” Tybalt's chest ached at the sight of him. If it was a hallucination, it was a vivid one. He looked so real, like he could reach out and touch him. Tybalt figured if seeing hallucinations was bad, then talking to them was probably worse. What was the thing about hearing voices? First sign of madness?

Mercutio looked at the glass but made no attempt to pick it up. His voice took on that note that Tybalt could never decipher. A softer, slower tone than his usual loud exclamations and excited chatter where the words ran into each other in their haste to escape the man’s mouth. “You did.” 

Tybalt closed his eyes and savoured Mercutio’s voice for a second. He never thought he'd hear it again, he thought he had forgotten it completely. Faded away like the memories of his mother’s voice. It was deeper than he remembered and it reverberated through him.

Mercutio looked up, turning his gaze into Tybalt’s own. Their eyes locked and Tybalt hated how raw it made him feel. So completely naked under those eyes, he could not bear it.

He longed for his mask, something to cover up with. He did not want Mercutio to see him. Especially how he was now, weary and probably more than a little bit drunk. A mess of a man, weak and pathetic. Someone only good at letting down his family and hiding away when it had gotten too much.

Tears stung his eyes but he refused to let them fall in front of Mercutio even if he was a hallucination or some wine dream. He was never good at letting emotions out in front of an audience. He could never show Mercutio such an ugly side of himself.

Especially with Mercutio being so radiant, so untouchable with his sunshine and warmth . The bastard had even died with a smile on his face. Tybalt had the scene burnt into his retinas, he could see it whenever he closed his eyes.

When he had died he had taken the summer, sunshine and warmth with him. Left the world so cold. 

Tybalt shivered, it was ridiculously cold. He had paid his heating bills, it should not be so cold. The stupid boiler better not be broken again, he did not want to pay for something that did not even work.

The cold made it feel less like a dream but Tybalt was not going to rule it out. Mercutio just watched him as he made sure the windows and door to the balcony were shut. A gentle bemused smile on his handsome face. Tybalt was pleased to see it unmarred by pain.

“Where are we?” Mercutio asked quizzically as if just taking notice of the environment.

Tybalt decided to pour himself another mug of wine, because even if this was a drunken hallucination he did not feel drunk enough for whatever this was.

“I live here.” Tybalt answered and Mercutio did not seem able to figure out what to say to that. Forehead crinkling as his eyebrows came together. He opened his mouth a couple of times but shut it before any words left. Mercutio made a few pointed glances at the place, as if thinking it was no Capp manor. That was the exact appeal to the place.

“So what's the occasion?” Mercutio asked, thumb pointing towards the wine. He looked it over appreciatively. “This is a good wine.”

“Your birthday. Happy birthday.” Tybalt shrugged.

“Oh. It is?” Mercutio looked annoyingly touched, Tybalt wished this dream or whatever it was would end already. He was not sure if this was better or worse than the dreams or rather nightmares he usually had that contained Mercutio within them. He felt he would rather prefer the blame, anger and sorrow of those dreams. He knew those feelings well enough to know what to do with them, not this softness he did not deserve.

“You got me cake as well?” Mercutio had wandered over to the table and his voice caught. “Oh. It's my favourite. Tybalt…”

“Don't.” Tybalt cut him off, he did not want to hear this. Whatever this was, it was too cruel. If his mind had truly dreamt this all up then it was truly sick and twisted. 

Mercutio frowned and tried to put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

Mercutio's hand went right through him. It filled him with a cold that went straight to his bones and made his teeth chatter. Goosebumps erupted from his skin, starting from where Mercutio had touched.

“Shit. That went straight to my nips.” Tybalt exclaimed, it did matter what he said it was a dream anyway. There was no point in trying to hold anything back in a dream, just as long as he did not cry even if the cold had felt real. Mercutio spluttered, choking on air he did not need to breathe. Eyes glancing down as if to confirm it. Cautiously like he was testing out his hypothesis, Mercutio's fingers brushed through his shoulder again and Tybalt shivered violently in response as the cold ran through him.

“Wow.” Mercutio murmured in wonderment. “You weren't lying.” The way he said it almost reverently annoyed Tybalt and Tybalt made a point of putting a jumper on to an audible sound of disappointment. Tybalt sent the figment of his imagination a middle finger.

“So why are you here?” Tybalt asked, waiting for the accusations to come. Waiting for the scene to morph into the day Mercutio died, to be in that courtyard again. That was how his dreams that contained Mercutio usually ended up going. 

It was going better than his dreams involving Mercutio usually did so far. It was probably a matter of time before he called him a murderer or blamed him for what happened to Romeo. Or for the blood to appear.

“Unfinished business.” Mercutio seemed reluctant to say it. Tybalt closed his eyes. Here it came. His brain had conquered up a vision of Mercutio who had unfinished business with him. No doubt revenge on the man who killed him. What other reason would he have to visit him? Instead of literally anyone else, like his family or his friends.

Mercutio kept talking. He had always been good at that. What game was his mind playing? What scenario was this? Was Mercutio supposed to be a ghost or something?

“I was lost for a bit, I could not find you at first. I just kept wandering, looking for something but I was not sure what. When I realised who I was looking for, I could not find you. You weren't where I thought you'd be, I don’t think I would have found you if I hadn't heard your voice, the wine may have helped too. Probably some kind of summoning ritual there, you know offerings and all that. I guess I am kind of going to be haunting you for a bit, I feel more locked in, you know? Like I'm confined to this space now I found it… hey. Tybalt, you doing okay?”

Tybalt would have to say no. He needed to sit down and the stool was not going to do it for him. The floor of the apartment felt sturdier so he sat beside the stool, partly under the table. The table that Mercutio just passed through. Tybalt made a truly pathetic noise. Mercutio knelt down beside him and Tybalt noted the misty area around his chest, he recoiled.

Mercutio's face was too close to his, he shuffled backwards until his back hit the wall. He could feel his weight on him again, he was pinned beneath him again as he fell forward. There was…

“Hey… hey. Oh shit, I thought you were taking seeing a ghost too well. Come on, breathe, baby.” Mercutio thankfully gave him some space and returned to standing in the middle of the room, his palms open like he was trying to approach a skittish dog. Tybalt was pulled out from his panic a little by the annoyance of it. That was exactly how Mercutio spoke to a skittish dog.

Tybalt held onto that annoyance like a lifeline. He took note of Mercutio calling him baby and used it like a grip on a climbing wall to pull himself up. 

“Who the fuck are you calling baby?” Tybalt glowered at the apparition from under the table, still with his back up against the wall. Mercutio snorted a little at this, eyes soft as he observed Tybalt.

“Do you see anyone else in the room, baby?” Mercutio wiggled his eyebrows at Tybalt. It was nice to see that he could still annoy the man so efficiently. Tybalt frowned at him, his poor overworked muscle in between the eyebrows. It was a miracle he did not have a permanent wrinkle there yet.

Mercutio looked around the room again. Taking note of how small the place was and the lack of any major furnishings. Even just a hint of red to distinguish it as a Capp household. “You really live here?” Mercutio asked sceptically.

“Yes.” Tybalt answered and decided to test out this new theory of Mercutio being a ghost. Mercutio announcing that he was did not seem proof enough. He was not being very brave right now, under the table as he was. No doubt proving his grandfather’s assertions that he was a coward right.

He took his jumper off to Mercutio’s inquisitive eyebrows. Mercutio shamelessly ran his eyes over his bare arms and down his chest. It made it feel more ridiculous how terrified he was over this shitty ghost, this was Mercutio, a man who had never won in a fight and now could not even touch him without passing through him like a chill.

He threw the crumpled up jumper at Mercutio with considerable force. It passed right through his crotch, only succeeding in knocking over a pot of salt on his counter. Tybalt was not sure if that was lucky or not. He vaguely thought knocking salt was unlucky but wasn't salt supposed to ward off evil spirits? He didn't know, this was more of Hermia's shtick.

“Dude, what the hell?” Mercutio gestured down where the jumper had sailed through him. “You aimed for my dick. You purposefully aimed for my dick.”

“Oh watcher, you're an actual ghost.” Tybalt choked out, before pinching his own arm. It stung. “This is real.” There was no point further gaslighting himself into thinking this was just a dream or the alcohol talking, Mercutio was really just a ghost before him. That or he truly had just finally lost his mind. 

“Well yeah. I all but told you I'm a ghost. I cannot believe you aimed for my dick. I’m half tempted to just get the unfinished business over with and ascend, I was going to spend as much time with you as I could and then you go ahead and aim for my dick. That was not cool, man.” Mercutio was unsympathetic to the reeling realisation Tybalt was going through, still preoccupied about where Tybalt had thrown his jumper. He was not wrong though, it was where Tybalt had aimed for. Being on the ground as he was, it was practically eye level and the most obvious target.

“It passed right through you. You’re fine.” Tybalt answered dismissively, wondering if standing up was a good idea yet. He decided against it. He still did not feel quite in control of himself and did not trust his legs to hold him up, he just couldn't stop his limbs from shaking and he had thought shaky hands were bad enough.

“It’s the principle!” Mercutio pouted. Pouted like he was some sulky child. Mercutio turned towards the jumper that had offended him so much. Tybalt nodded, not really listening. The mix of lack of sleep from last night, coupled with the excitement of running away from the Monty restaurant and now just having a ghost in his apartment had drained him. He did not think the wine helped either. Mercutio was no threat to him, he had never been a threat. The man could not even pick up the jumper, his stupid hands kept going through the counter but he kept trying regardless. It was nice to know that dying had not cured his stupidity.

He just felt insanely tired now, the excitement had left him and now he was exhausted. He turned his head towards the ceiling, eyes fully closed. How was this his life? He had a ghost in his apartment.

“Hey. Don't go to sleep there. Surely you must have a bedroom? I mean, this place is tiny but there still must be a bedroom. You're going to hurt your neck if you go to sleep there, how do you not just hurt your neck anyway? These ceilings are short, you must crane your neck walking through doors.”

Tybalt had missed him. Oh, he had missed him so much. It had been so long since he had heard such inane rambling. Mercutio spoke a lot for someone with not a lot to say. Tybalt treated it with a sense of fondness now it had been absent from his life.

“If I did not know any better I would think you were trying to get me into bed.” Tybalt said, opening one eye to squint at Mercutio. He really did not want to stand right now and was uncertain whether he wanted to let Mercutio watch him crawl towards the bedroom. He was thinking he did not.

Mercutio choked at his words. It was funny, he could never get him to shut up with just his words in life. Maybe he had learnt a few new tricks since he was gone. If he had known all that was needed to shut him up was to flirt back he would have done it years ago. Though, thinking back, to the constraints of the Capp name and manor, he still probably wouldn't have.

Mercutio floundered uncertain what to do with a Tybalt who did not immediately flush red and turn to anger at his words. He looked at Tybalt with a caution he had not held previously. Tybalt wondered if it was a little cruel to tease him further, Tybalt had already cost the man his life. To torment him on top of that?

“Will you be joining me?” Tybalt decided ultimately, if he was going to be haunted by this guy he was not going to make it easy for him. Mercutio's jaw genuinely dropped open, like he was a cartoon character. Tybalt would have thought being a ghost, Mercutio would have no blood but his cheeks coloured anyway.

“Who are you?” Mercutio asked in awe.

Tybalt decided he was going to risk using his legs now, and cautiously made his way to the bedroom. Mercutio had been annoyingly correct about the low doorways, he had to duck a little to enter the room.

He glanced at Mercutio who was standing in the middle of his apartment.

“Will you still be here tomorrow?” Tybalt asked, hating the vulnerability in his own voice.

“I'll be here.” Mercutio promised.

“Don't watch me sleep.”

“No promises.” 

“Freak.”