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An echo of loud music can still be heard from inside the high school gym. It's past midnight, which makes it understandable that the party seems to be in its golden era — and yet the thought of anything happening at school at that hour still seems to be blowing Mercutio's mind.
The cold air pierces through him as he walks around the football field. He's just felt hot from the dancing and the emotions and the stuffy air of the gym; but now, the navy blue suit doesn't seem like enough protection from the gentle wind blowing by, leaving him with uncomfortable chills. To be fair, to him, the suit doesn't seem very comfortable for any situation. He finds himself fiddling with the tie again, loosening it around his neck, even though he has fixed it just minutes ago. Damn it. He just can't stay put together for once, can he?
…And still, he holds the silly piece of plastic in one of his hands.
One song ends, another starts. The wind sends another shiver down his spine, and he's starting to think that maybe he wasn't being clear enough with his signals to meet outside. Trying to communicate discreetly is a double-edged sword, apparently. He walks around the empty football field, minutes ticking by; at the very least, he might get some fresh air out of this. He's pretty much set his mind on coming back inside if he doesn't come by the time the next song ends- When, eventually, he hears footsteps behind himself.
He stops pacing, whirling around; a grin growing on his face as a tall, familiar figure makes his way towards him.
"Look what the cat dragged in." Mercutio laughs. There's no bite to it, though; a certain softness in his voice and eyes as the other teen comes out of the darkness. Technically, the lights seeping from the windows of the school illuminated their surroundings just enough; in reality, he couldn't really see Tybalt properly up until there were only a few steps separating them. "You had me thinking you wouldn't come."
Tybalt is finally close enough for Mercutio to make out his eyes. As usual, half of his face is hidden by a mask, but it's a different one tonight. Fit for prom, it's fancier than usual: still in a deep crimson shade, but the details framing it are not yellow, but gold; twisting in elegant patterns, taming the red inside. Tybalt's eyes underneath are the same as ever, grey like stormy clouds and morning skies. His narrow lips slowly turn up in a small smile.
"You need to learn to be patient, Monty. You know well we can't make it obvious." He continues on walking, passing Mercutio by; even here, even alone he doesn't dare to get too close. Mercutio knows that it's the wisest, but his heart aches a bit as he looks at the hands burried in Tybalt's pockets. He doesn't even have what to reach for, accidentally. "But I hear congratulations are in order, Your Majesty."
Mercutio snorts at that. His gaze falls down at the plastic crown that he still hold in his hand. It fits on his head fairly well, but it's a bit too small; and he's fought too hard actually styling his curly hair for the night to give it up for a sake of wearing that thing.
"Oh, shut up- I'm convinced that was some sort of mistake. I was never a serious candidate for prom royalty." Tybalt throws him a glance from over his shoulder, but all Mercutio answers with is turning away from him. Just to spite him. He walks the other way, but their slow pacing feels more like a dance. A distant tango they're both trying to get a grip on, learning from the other's steps. "I really don't get how this happened! I mean, the best I was counting on was Prom Jester- This is just ridiculous."
Tybalt's eyes are on him, he's aware. They trace his every step. Tybalt's a bit like a cat, Mercutio figures; though he'd never make that comparison back in the day. It was only when he got to see Tybalt's calmer side he'd seen the resemblance: with his dignified grace in his every move, the need for independence and the clever stare. And the little pout he does when he's thinking.
"It was well deserved."
Mercutio can't help but laugh again. Slow steps eventually lead him back in Tybalt's direction; he keeps spinning the crown in his fingers.
"You should've got it. It would fit so you much better."
Tybalt huffs out a chuckle.
"Would it, now?"
"Obviously. It's in your color palette and all that." Mercutio flashes a grin. "Think fast."
He throws the crown; there's half a second of confusion flashing on Tybalt's face, but the reflex kicks in — he catches it with ease. A small smile unravels on his lips.
"So fast to throw away your title?"
"I've never cared much for titles- Any names, for that matter. You should know." Mercutio's pacing comes to a stop. He leans on the fence shielding the baseball field from the outside world; Tybalt stops as well, standing right in front of him. He continues to look at Mercutio as he slowly puts on the crown on his own head. A smile on Mercutio's face widens. "See? Look at you. It's a perfect fit- Gold has always suited you."
No matter how tacky and cheap the Prom King crown looks, it's true. The gold brings out the fiery shade of Tybalt's hair: goes perfectly with the accents on his mask, fits just right the deep, crimson shade of the suit. It was made for Tybalt to wear; of that Mercutio is sure.
But Tybalt keeps it on only for a minute before taking it back into his hands, his smile growing bitter.
"And yet I've never liked it much."
Silence falls over the two of them. There's no one around; they're shielded by the darkness, their conversation surely drowned out by the noise of the party inside. Even so, the risk of someone coming out, someone seeing them, keeps them at distance. Like there's an invisible barrier in between them. Tybalt doesn't move from his spot; Mercutio continues leaning on the fence. There is something in the air, in the empty space that remains; magnetic, a spark that appears whenever they're around one another.
But they never let that spark turn to a flame in a public space. Standing here, in the football field with the prom happening just meters away is too much. Rumours spread fast in a small town like Veronaville. The feud between the two families is too overwhelming for them to face on their own.
Mercutio's crown stays in Tybalt's fingers. He's the one to break the silence; voice quiet, words apparently not coming easy to him.
"I'm sorry that I said no."
Mercutio raises his eyebrows slightly. His grin is only lightly tained with something bitter, but he tries to push it aside — he crosses his arms, as nonchalant as can be.
"What? Suddenly jealous you're not the date of the Prom King?"
Despite Merctio's joking tone, Tybalt's stare stays serious. There's a voice in Mercutio's mind that says that he knows him too well; knows exactly when a joke is not a joke, but a cover; sees right through the playful smile, the challanging glance. He's let him in, and Tybalt knows him now. Reads him like a book.
It's terrifying.
Tybalt's expression doesn't change. He just pierces right through him, with those stormy-gray eyes.
"You know it's not that."
Mercutio's smile falters slightly as he swallows. He turns his eyes away.
They haven't even been dating long. It's hard to say if they're dating at all. All they have is secret meetings where no one can see them, this strange sense of understanding that connected them in the first place, and the spark that appeared somewhere along the way. Mercutio wouldn't in a thousand years dream of things to return to the way they've once been, back when they were enemies — but it does cross his mind that it was comforting, in a way. It was certainly more simple than whatever this is, as he knows that Tybalt can read all the emotions written on his face, and Mercutio is more aware of how badly he longs to just hold him. It for sure was far less scary, in that sense.
The music is played so loud that even here, they can hear — almost feel — the repetitive beat of a song. Students are singing their hearts out inside, screaming the lyrics to the pop hit that is currently on. It's easier to focus on than the silence that falls between the two of them, alone together; as Tybalt patiently waits for Mercutio's response.
"It's stupid." He finally says, softly. "The thought of it was stupid. We both know that it- Watcher, imagine if we did go together. Eldest kids of the Capps and Montys, going through that gym door hand in hand." He tries to dismiss it, paint the picture as if it's laughable. It is laughable, but in reality, he's been dreaming of it for weeks, at first hopeful, later as a bitter-sweet 'what if'. "We'd cause a scandal, and we- Neither of us need it, let's be honest. I was stupid to even ask."
Tybalt finally drops his gaze from Mercutio's face, and he feels like he can finally breathe again. He can't describe the grip that this guy has on him. It both drives him in and drives him insane, excitment mixing with dread every time that their eyes meet, hands touch. Tybalt takes a cautious step forward.
"I don't think stupid's the right word. I'd say brave." Another step closer. "And I acted like a coward."
"You were being responsible."
The grey eyes meet his own again. Tybalt's close now, close enough to touch him. Mercutio is pretty sure that this is breaking their not-around-each-other-in-public rule. He can't find the words to tell Tybalt that, though.
Tybalt's face twists with something; the grimace is almost a smile, but Mercutio can see the sadness in his eyes.
"Maybe being responsible isn't always the best option."
He slowly puts the crown on Mercutio's head. His hands linger in the air for a moment longer; Mercutio sees the hesitation, and in his mind he begs for him to touch his face; cup his cheek, trace the fingers over his lips. But Tybalt just drops his hands to his sides.
Mercutio wants Tybalt's words to be true, but he knows they're both aware that the relationship the two of them have is playing with fire. If Tybalt were to accept Mercutio's prom-posal, it would be more than just openly admitting to them being together. It would also mean admitting to dating a Monty (if they were actually dating, but- the exact wording is not the point here). And by that, he would be disobeying Consort Capp in a way that he might not ever forgive. Maybe it won't matter one day; but while they're still teens, there's only this much they can do.
If the whole deal would've ended with Tybalt getting kicked out, just because Mercutio yearned for one, romantic night not in hiding, he doesn't think he could ever forgive himself.
"This is for the best."
A slower song comes on back inside. Tybalt glances back over his arm, then looks back at Mercutio. There's still distance between them, but now it's dangerously small; just one step seperating them, close enough that if they wanted to, they could kiss. It would've been a terrible idea, but Mercutio keeps thinking about it; and despite himself, glancing at Tybalt's lips.
A few beats pass with them like this. Eventually, Tybalt lends out a hand.
"Dance with me."
Mercutio blinks. Then laughs.
"Tybalt, come on-"
"I'm serious."
"Someone still can see us-"
"Since when are you so serious about rules?"
Mercutio rolls his eyes.
"I guess there's always gotta be the sensible one. Never thought that would be me either, but-" Mercutio sighs. "Please don't make it harder on me. It's just-" We take one wrong step and it's over. And, fuck, I don't think I could handle losing you. Those words don't get through his throat. "You know that it's too risky."
Tybalt bites his lip. Throws one more cautious glance behind him; but still, doesn't back out — doesn't take back his hand.
"It was fear that stopped me from spending tonight with you. I'm not letting it ruin this moment, too." There's certainty in his tone; despite everything, Mercutio feels himself caving in. "Come on. Just one dance."
The thing is, Mercutio should never be trusted to be the sensible one in the relationship. He falls too damn hard, and has a really bad impulse control. This is literally all it takes for him to smile and take Tybalt's hand.
"Just one dance." He echoes.
They walk to the middle of the football field holding hands. Tybalt mutters something about his grandfather probably wanting him to dance with prom royalty anyway, so that's actually not disobeying him, or maybe even the opposite- which makes Mercutio laugh, because that sounds exactly like a loophole he would probably cling to. Watcher, he's actually being an influence on Tybalt- which… is probably not a good thing, because he doubts that he can be a good influence, actually. But there's something in the back of his mind that whispers that with him, Tybalt looks the happiest Mercutio's ever seen him; so it can't be all that bad, he figures.
Neither of them really know how to dance, but it doesn't even really come up. It's natural for Mercutio to wrap his hands around Tybalt's neck, Tybalt's hands to hold Mercutio's waist; for them to sway gently to the faint sounds of the music in the moonlight.
It might not be a perfect prom night. It might not be a perfect dance. But they've found a way to share this moment, and for that sole reason Mercutio couldn't be happier.
And if they do end up kissing at the end of it all… Well. They were no witnesses to tell, besides the moon and the stars; and they would never snitch on two young, hopeless lovers.