Work Text:
Benvolio sighed heavily, raising his right hand to shield his squinting eyes from the hot sun.
The Veronese heat bore down on him, his blue doublet providing no mercy as he sweated incessantly.
He struggled against the light to search the city-state's streets for the source of the infectious laughter that danced around his ears.
Such a rich laugh surely belonged to someone worth his while, as his friend Mercutio’s laugh had drawn him in several years ago when they first had the pleasure of meeting thanks to his dearest cousin Romeo.
Benvolio began his search with ponderous steps, laden by the unabating warmth of an Italian August.
The young Montague veered around a corner.
He ceased his saunter as his breath was ill-manneredly seized by what he beheld before him.
A flash of dark hair coupled with a familiar throb in his bosom.
Certainly this discovery must be erroneous, some sort of jape played by the divine hand of God in the game that was Benvolio’s life.
He promptly tore his sights away from the man encapsulated by his sea of red, opting to stare instead at a woman idly browsing Verona’s freshest fiordalisos.
Lavish laughter for a lavish Capulet—how fitting.
A dab of disappointment settled itself within his bones; the age-old feud continued to disrupt every aspect of his mortal journey.
He resolved to give the woman a break from his visual attack and turned tail to swiftly egress the way by which he came.
Perhaps Cupid would permit him a romantic prospect one day.
How unfortunate, Benvolio thought.