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Benvolio had eaten many meals without them. He could count on his fingers how many he had eaten with them. And now he would never get another chance to.
Perhaps he would forget their faces, the way they always forgot his when he didn’t fashion that polite, rehearsed smile they’d taught him to wear. Perhaps he would miss the taste of cold meat and limp, leafy greens on his tongue—that neither of them prepared, of course—as they sat before piping hot plates of the same meal. They always called him stubborn for waiting for them, especially when they had specifically asked the servants to set out his plate first. But too many meals alone at the table had taken a toll, and perhaps he was grateful his so-called "stubbornness" had granted him a final one with them, however silent and stiff it had been.
So when his aunt wiped a tear from her cheek and his uncle turned to the empty seats at his side with a downcast gaze, he did not see the gravity of the situation. After all, this was how he spent nearly every night.
Still, he understood the pain that had been on Romeo's face throughout the meal, the pit settling at the bottom of his tiny stomach. His cousin was much too young to grow accustomed to the death he himself had known too closely, so Benvolio saw an opportunity and took it. There was little struggle over the wishbone during this meal—all at the table knew it would be in poor taste to begin competition over it—so he retrieved the y-shaped bone from his plate and departed from the table with a bow.
Romeo had been where he’d expected, curled before the fireplace with his knees to his chin. His eyes flicked up to Benvolio as he entered, but he made no further movement.
Benvolio settled himself next to him, waiting for when Romeo was ready to speak.
It did not take him long to. “So, Aunt and Uncle are…”
“Gone, yes.” His flat voice surprised even himself.
Romeo turned his head down, as if Benvolio’s confirmation was what sealed the reality. “Oh.”
Benvolio drew the small bone from his pocket, holding it out to his cousin. “Perhaps this will lift your spirits. Go on, make a wish.”
Romeo squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly pouring all of his young heart into whatever it was he'd asked for. "You, too, cousin."
Incredulous to how Romeo knew he was yet to make his own wish, Benvolio joined, shutting his eyes for a moment as he contemplated what he wanted. Perhaps he wished for his parents back, even for just another meal. Perhaps then they would love him like they hadn't in their lives. Perhaps then the food would stop growing cold.
But then he recalled Romeo's concentration, how intently he had hoped for whatever it was.
And his mind was made up.
On the count of three, the two of them tugged on one end of the bone, Benvolio ensuring his motion was much too quick, much too forceful to yield-
Why was he left with the longer half?
Romeo, though surprised, only grinned. "What did you wish for, cousin?"
"I…" Benvolio began. "I should not say it aloud. It wouldn't come true if I did."
In a way, their wishes had been one in the same.
For Benvolio had only wished for Romeo's to be granted.
It had been a few years since then.
Benvolio was eating alone again. No parents to wait on, no cousin to fuss over.
And as he glared down at the meat cooling on his plate, the greens growing soggier by the minute, he wondered if his wish—Romeo's wish—had been granted in his short life.