Work Text:
Oh, oh
I can’t be your midnight love
Oh, oh, oh
When your silver is my gold
Oh, oh, oh
In this light, I swear I’m blind
Oh, oh, oh
In this light, I swear you’re mine
✶✶✶
SCENE I: Oliver
Colin held up a familiar envelope, small and square, a black splash of Frederick’s writing on the front. “We’ve been given R and J assignments,” he said. “Thought you’d like to know.”
The five of us leaned together eagerly, the edges of our chairs becoming our new seats. “Oh, really?” Alexander leaned back and looked Colin in the eyes. Colin simply took the seat beside him and nodded, smirking slightly, envelope dangling from his dainty fingers.
“Who’s going to the mailboxes?” Everybody looked around to each other, waiting for a volunteer. “I went last time so someone else can go,” I resigned myself and sat back in my chair.
“I need another coffee anyways. Meredith and I will go.” The pair stood up and sauntered off together, Richard wrapping his arm around Meredith’s waist possessively. Students drifted automatically out of their way. They went from mailbox to mailbox, deftly swiping up letters under each of our names. They soon returned to the table, still hand-in-hand as if they were welded to one another’s side. They reminded me of James and I, in that way.
Letters slid back and forth across the table until everyone had their respective assignments. I took a deep breath and counted to three silently, breaking the wax seal of the first envelope quickly and pulled the ornate bow apart. The note was short, and as it had been for the last three years.
You are cordially invited to the annual
CHRISTMAS MASQUE
Please arrive in the Josephine Dellecher Ballroom between 8 and 9 p.m. on the evening of
Saturday, 20th December.
Masks and formal attire are required.
The second envelope was smaller, less ornate, and yet much more anxiety inducing compared to every other casting I’d received. For the past few years, getting casted as the sidekick was expected, being the extra filling in the leftover pieces was custom. This assignment represented change and I could already tell something would be different; an opportunity to show my paltry yet versatile talents. My hands shook as I tore it open, scanning the writing inside eagerly.
Please be in the ballroom at 8:45 p.m. on December 20th.
Come prepared for Act I, Scenes 3 and 5; Act II, Scenes 2, 5, and 6; Act III, Scenes 2 and 5; Act IV, Scenes 1, 3 and 5; and Act V, Scene 3.
You will be playing JULIET.
Please report to the costume shop at 12:30 p.m. on December 15th for a fitting.
Do not discuss this with your peers.
Something was evidently wrong. I read the front of the envelope continuously until I couldn’t see anymore, the writing clearly read Oliver Marks. Still, something felt distinctly wrong, out of place. I stared out into the empty space in front of me, crumbling my bacon into oblivion. It didn't even occur to me my ignorance until Filippa spoke loudly, “Oliver?”
“What?” My eyes snapped up automatically.
“You’re torturing your bacon.”
I looked down and noticed my carnage. “Sorry, I’m not hungry. I’ll see you guys in class.”
I stood and carried my plate to the kitchen, dumping it in the bin without bothering to scrape off my mess of a meal. I left the refectory without going back to our table. All of their envelopes lay open, and they took turns glancing at one another, wondering whose note from Frederick said what. For the first time, I decided I didn’t want them to know how I felt.
I walked along the paths back to the dorms with increasing speed, lost in thought. It was my assumption that Frederick was doing a gender-bent version of the play, a similar idea as his approach to Troilus and Cressida. In no world would I be chosen as Juliet if not absolutely necessary; we had enough women to supply for the part and James would suit her character much better than an actor like me if the former was the case. When I expected variety in the casting for the masque I didn’t expect to become a woman, much less one of two leads. All I had left from here was to hope that James might be my Romeo.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
SCENE II: James
The letters slid across the table as each of us fought for our assignments. I already suspected my role would fall into the hands of the love lost fool, Romeo, and yet I was keen to know the truth regardless. I pulled the ribbons of the delicate bow and carefully broke the wax seal, revealing the first letter.
You are cordially invited to the annual
CHRISTMAS MASQUE
Please arrive in the Josephine Dellecher Ballroom between 8 and 9 p.m. on the evening of
Saturday, 20th December.
Masks and formal attire are required.
The same letter as every year, the one every student received and was currently opening. I shook out my nerves and reached for the second envelope that would contain my respective role, reading over six lines of Frederick’s tiny writing.
Please be in the ballroom at 8:45 p.m. on December 20th.
Come prepared for Act I, Scenes 1, 2, 4 and 5; Act II, Scenes 1, 2, 3, 4 and 6; Act III, Scenes 1, 3, and 5; and Act V, Scenes 1 and 3.
You will be playing ROMEO.
Please report to the costume shop at 1:30 p.m. on December 15th for a fitting.
Please report to the rehearsal hall at 3 p.m. on December 16th for combat choreography.
Do not discuss this with your peers.
I expected it, of course I did. Who was I if not Lysander or Romeo or James? Little difference, as all were men foolish enough to fall for the mystery of love. As I examined the table, everything seemed expected, everyone’s expressions neutral as to not expose themselves — excluding Oliver. I watched as his face went through stages of shock, his face pallid. I couldn’t conjure what could’ve possibly been on his card to decipher who he was playing as I watched his face fall in unison with his crumbled bacon.
Filippa spoke up, breaking the veil of silence over the table. “Oliver?”
“What?” His eyes snapped up and his stunned state finally broke.
“You’re torturing your bacon.”
He looked down and finally realized how he was decimating his breakfast. “Sorry, I’m not hungry. I’ll see you guys in class.”
He stood up abruptly and left the refectory, only stopping through the kitchen to drop his plate in the bins. It was unusually out of character, so atypical that it left the rest of us aghast. Was his casting so terrible he felt the need to abandon us? Was this a repeat of Halloween where Richard fell short of his expectations and usual typecast? How could Oliver get a role worse than a sidekick as a fourth year? It was incomprehensible as I sat with the lack of facts.
“Who could he have possibly been cast as to be so somber?” Colin spoke the question that each of us were too shocked to say aloud.
Richard: “Oliver’s always been too emotional for this field, he must be overreacting.”
Meredith: “Are we being Dick rather than Richard? Oliver isn’t fucking emotional.”
Alexander: “He’s always felt more than the rest of this lot, he just decided to show it for once.”
Filippa: “He’s always been cast as the leftovers, let him be upset over it for once. He’s always deserved more than Frederick and Gwendolyn give him.”
The table mulled this over and went silent again as we settled in thought once again. Oliver was sensitive, yes, but never so outright with it. He kept his emotions inside and let them reflect with his outstanding acting on stage. He never earned what he was supposed to, and for that I always felt horrendous.
“Are we sure he was cast as the sidekick again?” Wren spoke up quietly from across James. The rest of the group looked up again.
Alexander: “Well, what else would he be? He wouldn’t be so upset over a lead. Any of us would kill for that.”
Wren: “Well, yes, but Oliver was shocked. He’d never be so surprised over an extra, but a lead?”
Alexander: “Fuck, maybe you cracked the code. Are we placing bets on who? Romeo or Juliet…”
I tuned out the conversation as it divulged into an argument of ‘Oliver Montague’ versus ‘Oliver Capulet’. Suddenly, the facts felt glaringly clear. Wren was acutely correct, Oliver wouldn’t have been so startled by taking on the role of Benvolio or Mercutio. I became over aware of everything around me as the realization set in. The clatter of cutlery too loud, the troupes bets and overconfidence becoming too ostentatious. I dropped my fork with a crash and left my plate and partners behind, the refectory becoming distant noise as I walked through the snow covered campus with my mind like a blizzard to match.
My heart raced with reality. Oliver Marks was Juliet Capulet.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
SCENE III: Oliver
Three days later I was alone in the Tower, getting ready for the masque and our performance of Romeo and Juliet. I sat in the mirror with a small tin of golden flake glitter, which I was instructed to apply on my eyelids, cheekbones, and ‘other highlights’. It stuck to my skin in a thin layer, leaving gold glitter behind. The costumers had dressed us in ‘carnevale couture’, which as far as I was aware adhered to no particular time period but involved detailed gold embroidery and heaps of velvet fabrics. I took my mask and slid it onto my face to have the costume in its completion. It was fitted to the exact curves of my face, sitting flush with my features. It was a beautiful, ornamental thing — a deep burgundy base with embroidered gold embellishments that moved in curves in an Elizabethan style with a silk ribbon tie in the back. It was feminine and looking at myself in the mirror at that moment, I could see all of Juliet and Oliver disappeared into the world. The whole outfit was particularly flamboyant; it was a wine red so rich that it felt as though it was soaked in the alcohol itself and gold details that exhuberated royalty. The half-cape they’d given me was wrested over one arm and shoulder and tied over my chest in another silk ribbon. I couldn’t help but admire what they’d made of me.
As far as I knew, everybody else had left the tower and I was left to my own devices. It was likely that I was going to be late, but the idea didn’t worry me as I had two scenes before my first. I had a few minutes to spare and rushed to pull on the tall boots that matched with the rest of the outfit. I fell onto my bed as I tied up the never-ending laces with fumbling fingers and I rehearsed lines under my breath. I took one last look at myself before running down the stairs and towards the front door.
The snow fell softly through the campus and calmed my nerves. The ballroom glowed warm in the distance, the orchestra echoing already. It was as though the night was made for romance.
✶✶✶
The ballroom was warm and stretched skyward from the fourth floor to the fifth, with a large balcony and a sparkling glass atrium that stabbed up at the moon. I slipped through the large doors, moving through to navigate from hallway to hallway. I was there just in time for Act One, Scene Three — my first scene. Scene Two was just ending and I couldn’t make out who was who from behind the throng of people, all I knew was that I needed to push through to find my Nurse.
The Christmas masque was traditionally spectacular, and this year was no exception. The marble floors had been polished to such a high shine that the partygoers reflected towards the sky as though they were on mirrors. Planters and vines decorated the corners and wrapped around the room and gold and silver decorum. Tiny white lights and strands of ribbon wrapped around fig trees and balustrades. The chandeliers, which hung from thick chains that stretched wall to wall from balcony to balcony, let a warm glow fall across the crowded floor and flowed out of the towering windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Everyone who was around the floor was dressed to their absolute best, even if their faces were hidden — the boys all in white bauta masks, the girls in small black morettas. Around me sat a sea of blank, anonymous faces while our masks rested on ours with elegance and extravagance. The orchestral students had gathered on one side of the room with their instruments, sheet music propped up on elegant silver and gold music stands. A waltz — airy and beautiful — swelled under the ceiling and through the room. A punch table sat on the opposite end of the room, filled with decadent drinks and food alike. I maneuvered through the crowd and people made way as it was clear from my golden accents that I was an actor, specifically a Capulet.
I reached the edge of the wall of people and sat on the sidelines, preparing myself for my entrance. I looked around, trying to find where the last actors were but it was as though they disappeared completely. Across the room I could see the Nurse, dressed in a warm pink and also embellished with gold.
I took a deep breath and stepped into the light. As soon as I entered, heads turned toward me. The figure in pink walked towards me as I reached the centre of the room and fell to my knees, utterly irritated and tired as though I was a teenager all over again. “How now, who calls?”
“Your mother,” replied the Nurse, which it was now clear that it was Meredith. Her curves fit under the dress perfectly. She was suited for such a crude character, the sexual innuendos ready to fall from her lips as they did in person.
I continued with the scene, turning my head up to Meredith in boredom. “Madam, I am here. What is your will?” It was now that the crowd began to fully realize and sit with the fact that I was Juliet. They absorbed the fact that, yes, Juliet was played by a man in this year's adaptation. Even I, the one who had known this from the start, only began to sit with the fact of it now.
Meredith and Lady Capulet — whichever third year that took said role — began to speak and fall into monologues. It was lost to my ears until Lady Capulet sat and took my head into her lap, signifying that my cue would be coming. I gazed up into the unknown face and tried to look exasperated, exhausted with the antics of romance.
The third year stroked my hair and began to speak to me as a mother would. “Marry, that “marry” is the very theme / I came to talk of.—Tell me, son Juliet, / How stands your disposition to be married?” The crowd continued to adjust as ‘daughter’ was changed to ‘son’. The realization that I wasn’t even playing a woman, but a man under the same name was a quiet wind that blew through the room.
I sat up quickly, taking on a mask of shock and annoyance. “It is an honor that I dream not of.” I crossed my arms and stood up, turning away and slowly pacing through the room. Meredith and Lady Capulet fell back into conversation between each other, as though a debate was at play.
Once finished, the two made their way to me and Lady Capulet took hold of my wrist, my full attention turning towards her. “Speak briefly. Can you like of Paris’ love?”
I sighed and spoke my final lines of the scene: “I’ll look to like, if looking liking move. / But no more deep will I endart mine eye / Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.” I played Juliet as bored; a young teen over her parents' wish for marriage. She wanted true love, she wanted freedom and choice. We weren’t much different in that sense.
A servingman entered and closed the scene, allowing for us to disappear into the crowd as Scene Four began to play. I hid in an archway between groups of students to disguise myself the best way I knew how. Two masked figures drifted into the middle of the room as our substitutes, gossiping, planning, and plotting. A third masker entered the scene as he spoke his lines from the punch table. Before us was Romeo, Benvolio, and Meructio.
Benvolio was shorter than expected, with an almost feminine build. They wore a soft blue with silver accents and walked around Romeo as though they were tethered to each other, as though they were a dog on a leash who couldn’t leave their master. Their voice was saccharine, so syrupy sweet that it could only ever belong to Wren. She had always been the softest of us, too kind to put into words. Her personality reflected into Benvolio — the good-natured cousin who was there for Romeo one too many times.
Mercutio sat on the edge of the punch table, his arms draped around the two nearest audience members. His stature was almost like a feline, if not for his sharp words and edges behind it; Alexander’s Mercutio was razor-sharp and barely sane. His costume was blue like the sky — bright and bold like himself. His mask glittered under the light as the silver caught against it. His grin underneath was mischievous and ready for trouble, ready to sneak into the ball of his enemies.
Romeo stood in the centre, dressed the same as myself. His costume was practically a replica, except the colour was a deep navy with silver embellishments, contrasting my own yet complimenting it at the same time. Overall, his mask and details were more masculine, focused on harsh lines and less flowy ribbons, whereas mine reflected the femininity that was ingrained into the role. His blonde hair warmed to a golden hue in the soft lights and his face shone under the lights with black and silver flakes. His figure was slim, but not skinny — there was almost something catlike about him. Under the mask he was handsome the way you think of the devil as handsome — forbiddingly so — which is how I knew I recognized the man under the mask. Romeo was no stranger.
In that moment, as I stared at the scene before me unabashedly, Romeo turned towards me. Icy blue eyes met chocolate brown and in that moment it felt as though I couldn’t look away because James was staring back at me.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Scene IV: James
The cape was choking me, my mask was suffocating. I could barely focus on the scene at hand as Oliver looked back at me. I blinked rapidly and stepped back, detached, and knew I had to carry on. I seemed restless to the crowd, which played in my favour.
Alexander slid off the punch table so smoothly he might have been made of liquid and approached Wren and I, joining our circle. We volleyed inconsequential words between us until I spoke again, for what felt like the final time but what was far from, “Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, / Too rude, too boist’rous, and it pricks like thorn.” I turned and dared a glance at Oliver.
Alexander released a laugh and grabbed me by the wrist, spinning me in circles. “If love be rough with you, be rough with love. / Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.— / Give me a case to put my visage in.— / A visor for a visor.”
The foreheads of our masks knocked together as he pulled me back in and held me tight. He shook me, as though I needed my sense knocked back, which wouldn’t be entirely untrue. He pushed me away into Wren’s arms finally. “What care I / What curious eye doth cote deformities? / Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.”
Wren pushed me upright and said, “Come, knock and enter, and no sooner in / But every man betake him to his legs.” I felt as though I was barely there, floating above everything as I was thrown back and forth. Nothing felt real now that I had gotten a taste of Oliver and his beauty.
I rushed through the scene impatiently, craving another dose of the one admired. The image of Oliver was burned into my mind; the way the soft lights fell on his face just so and the way his burgundy and gold costume mimicked mine in build but not gender.
I tuned out the monologue that Alexander declared until it was necessary that I focused once again, prying Alexander off of Wren and they wrestled upright. “Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!” I dragged Wren out of his iron-firm grip and grabbed his face. “Thou talk’st of nothing.”
We all calmed as the scene died down and we came back to our senses. I turned my face skyward, squinting up at the pyramid of glass that seemed so distant and I declared my last monologue. I could feel Alexander and Wren watching me with tender care, their presence comforting.
I finished and put my arms on each of their shoulders as Wren spoke softly, ending the scene. “Strike, drum.” We sauntered off to the side and positioned ourselves next to a partner — someone unknown from the crowd.
The orchestra struck up again and reality came rushing back — we were on Scene Five. Another soaring waltz filled the ballroom and breathed life into the audience that had previously gone silent. The Capulets’ ball was in full swing. The other players emerged from the archways and found partners, choosing at random, pushing other partygoers out of the way as they made their way to the centre of the room. Soon the room became a whirl of movement with surprising grace. I grabbed my partner's hand — a girl, most likely around third year, with black jewelry around her throat — and bowed to her before we began to dance. We turned and revolved and changed places as I searched for my partners from my positions on the dance floor. Filippa was across the room, adorned in warm purple, similar to a plum, and with gold accents — she was dressed as a male, as per usual, dancing with another girl. She must’ve been Paris, especially considering the fact that she was decorated with gold. I was already aware that Richard was the Prince, as seen with his outstanding performance on the staircase at the beginning of the masque. The same with Benvolio (Wren), Mercutio (Alexander), and Tybalt (Colin). When I watched Scene Three from the archways, I had discovered that Meredith was the Nurse and Oliver was Juliet. Though, as I moved from partner to partner I lost sight of anybody I knew. I looked for Filippa, Wren, Alexander, or who I truly wanted to see, Oliver, but was lost to any of them.
The song persisted until it turned to a soft tune in the background as the crowd floated away and every other player disappeared except for Oliver. The lights dimmed as we were left in the centre of the ballroom alone, standing on opposite sides. The lights burned blue and red — my side contrasting my blue costume with red lights and the opposite for Oliver — with one spotlight directly above me glowing a soft white. We chanced a glance up at each other and made contact, leaving a small smile on my face. Everything fell silent.
I finally spoke. “What lord’s that which doth enrich the hand / Of yonder knight?” I knew already to change how we addressed our beautiful yet male Juliet.
The audience turned to see what I was staring so intently at. At that moment another soft spotlight fell opposite me. There, as ethereal and ephemeral as a ghost, stood Oliver. The red and gold mask framed his eyes and the gold flakes sparkled, but regardless of the decorum he was unmistakable himself, only more feminine. My heart swelled as the music followed suit. “Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, / For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”
My feet carried me closer as Oliver followed the same rhythm slowly, our eyes fixed on each other. I was afraid that if I dared to look away for even a second that he would disappear and I’d look back to find he was gone, like how Orpheus looked back and lost Eurydice.
Once we were close enough, I caught his hand and he smiled to himself. His expression was sweet and surprised, and suddenly I had the urge to kiss his small smirk off his mouth.
Me: “If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”
I lowered my head and kissed his palm before turning over his hand and kissing up his arm before I reached his shoulder, where I turned my head to press a gentle kiss to his hair. I simply couldn’t hold myself back. He began to speak and his breath was warm against my cheek as I backed away slightly while still keeping us close.
Oliver: “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”
While he continued to speak I placed our palms against each other, moving them from beside our heads and down to my shoulders where I rested his hands before I moved mine to his waist. We began to revolve slowly as he spoke before we stopped, placing one of each of our hands palm-to-palm and revolved again. We paused once more, changed hands, and stepped together in the opposite direction.
Me: “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”
Oliver: “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”
Me: “O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.
They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”
Oliver: “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”
Me: “Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.”
We became motionless. My fingers brushed his cheek, his skin was softer than anything I’d ever felt. I turned my face up toward his stared into his eyes tenderly, nothing but love reflecting back at him, before my eyes dropped to his lips; I kissed him, gently to the point that it was merely a brush of lips, before placing my forehead against his. When we spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
Me: “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”
Oliver: “Then have my lips the sin that they have took.”
Me: “Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.”
I watched as he licked his lips softly before looking into my eyes, nodding slightly. I kissed him once more, this time long and lingering. He tasted like his peppermint tea from Ohio and faintly of cigarettes, as well as something sweet that I couldn’t quite name. We pulled away gently, breathing against each other’s lips, forehead against forehead.
Oliver whispered, barely above a breath, “You kiss by th’ book.”
I giggled and smiled against his lips. “That I do.”
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Scene V: Oliver
We became motionless. His fingers brushed my cheek, his touch grounding and always a comfort. He turned his face up toward mine and stared into my eyes, and suddenly all I could feel was deep admiration that was far too adjacent to love for comfort. He kissed me, gently to the point that it was merely a brush of lips, before placing his forehead against mine. It was all so tender and sweet that I could feel our characters so far away that they were out of our grasp completely; everything said and felt was now fully raw and real. When we spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
James: “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”
Me: “Then have my lips the sin that they have took.”
James: “Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.”
I licked my lips gently before looking into his eyes, nodding slightly as I prepared myself for the upcoming kiss. He kissed me once more, this time long and lingering. I focused on memorizing his lips against mine, the shape and pressure. We pulled away gently, breathing against each other’s lips, forehead against forehead.
I whispered, barely above a breath, “You kiss by th’ book.” I couldn’t help but smile just a tad.
He laughed softly and smiled against my lips as I was already doing. “That I do.”
And in that moment, I vowed to never forget what everything felt like. How the lights shone on us and the crowd silenced themselves to the beauty before them. How James wrapped himself around me as if he never wanted to let go, as if he knew I didn’t want to either. I vowed to never forget this moment because I had never been in love until then.
✶✶✶
The rest of the night had gone on easily, the play running as smoothly as it could’ve. It was at this point that we were all back at the tower, the time nearly twelve thirty as the Castle shook with music and people. The cast party did not need to happen, we were at a masque after all, but it was tradition. Everyone had stumbled back to the Castle still in costume or formal attire, only the masks removed.
Throughout the dorm you could hear music and see the lights; everywhere was slightly humid and the floors sticky. The foyer had piles of coats and the kitchen had piles of drinks. Everything the students did at Dellecher was in excess — whether it be drinking or their respective major. No matter the place I felt suffocated. The whole evening I had bounced from person to person listening to their compliments, admiration, and curiosities. Each person had a question, and only half the time did I have an answer. I needed James by my side — he was the only person who could talk to people so easily while also aiding my anxieties with his presence.
Currently, I was with a group of two girls and a boy — all third year students from different departments. They asked questions about the role, the preparation, and gave me compliments that fell on deaf ears. I nodded and smiled and was curt but not dry.
“So, how do you get so talented when it comes to romance?” The shorter of the two girls asked this question, batting her eyelashes ever so gently. I wasn’t sure how to answer, really. I could read the undertones of course, but this wasn’t a line I wanted to walk, especially because of James. It was probably pusillanimous on my part, except I couldn’t bring myself to really care after the night I’d had.
I smiled and let out a polite laugh. “Just practice, I suppose? Everything in acting takes time but some things come more naturally than others, especially with the right partners…” I trailed off as James approached us; I couldn’t help but have a genuine smile this time.
The girl was persistent and it was at this point that I noticed the other two participants in the conversation had drifted away. “Practice? Do you… need someone to practice with?” I nearly choked on my drink; she was gorgeous, no doubt. Her blonde hair was long and shone under the lights, and she had a small frame, but I had recently discovered that I preferred short hair and a slim — but not skinny — figure.
Suddenly, I felt a possessive arm wrap around my waist as James slithered around me. He rested his head on my shoulder, his chin hitting perfectly. I looked down and couldn’t stop my grin — James had that effect on me, no matter what.
He straightened up and pulled me closer, making me stumble backwards so my face fell into the crook of his neck. I could tell we were making this stranger uncomfortable but it felt inconsequential at the time. James cleared his throat and I felt the rumble against my face. “I’m sorry but he gets all the practice he needs with his boyfriend, although he appreciates the offer.”
I giggled slightly, unable to hold it back; not only was I flustered but also tipsy. James was never so perverse, especially not around me; it was unexpected but not unwelcome. We watched as the girl backed away with a mumbled apology, running back to her friends, similar to a petulant child.
James slowly slipped off of me and grabbed my wrist instead, leading me towards and up the stairs to our shared dorm. We dodged friend groups and crowds of people hoarding together for no clear reason, we maneuvered through a human maze as we had done many times before because we knew this place as though it was the back of our hands. The stairs left us a stumbling mess where we couldn’t let go of each other for two minutes, leaving us pushing one another against the walls back and forth until we kissed the other's breath away. We all but rolled up the stairs to our room, where we fell with a crash, the door slamming open and closed with our bodies falling onto James’ bed. I laid on top of him as I continued to laugh and place pecks to his lips and he smiled, his fingers entangled around my waist and throughout my hair.
Me: “Why would you say that?”
James: “Is it untrue?”
Me: “I didn’t realize we were dating, Romeo.”
He continued to play with my hair, placing gentle kisses over my neck collarbone as he rolled me off of him gently, turning to then stare at me. “The course of true love never did run smooth. Will you be mine, Juliet?” He stared at me so intently that I could almost see hearts in his eyes.
“What is love? ‘Tis not hereafter: / Present mirth hath present laughter.” I smiled and pressed my lips to his once again, savouring the soft skin and taste of vodka cranberry. “Yes, James, always yes.”
He kissed me once again, passionate and deep. There were no lost words here, no messages sent with movements. It was simply James and Oliver, Oliver and James. We were no longer Romeo and Juliet or Macbeth and Banquo; it was clear to me now that when I thought that I was the sidekick in James’ story, he always saw me as the love interest. James moved down from my lips and sucked bruising marks into my neck, placing them where all could see, and then gently kissing them after the fact. “I kiss thee with a most constant heart.”
Eventually, we both tired of the small intimate acts we shared and wrestled out of our costumes, leaving them as a problem for the coming day. James slid into his own bed as I finished removing the intricate buttons on my pants, shedding everything to replace them with James’ clothing. I didn’t need to wear his flannel that was so well worn that it was the only piece in his closet that was so quintessentially James, and he certainly didn’t need to wear the pajama pants he stole from my home in Ohio, yet here we both were. I settled in next to James and he pulled me close, resting his face in the crook of my neck. I could feel his breath slow and become a melodrum of its own as he fell asleep with his lips pressed against my shoulder. I don’t know what I expected after the masque, but I am sure that I hoped for something like this. After all, I had hoped he may be my Romeo.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Epilogue: Oliver
I woke to soft sunlight streaming through the windows, the curtains left open from the night before. James was still sound asleep, his arm lazily wrapped around my waist. I sat up slowly, gently removing his arm from my abdomen so as to not wake him. I stood and stretched, throwing on sweatpants and quietly padding through the room as I readied myself to go downstairs, grabbing my glasses and mug left on my nightstand.
I almost made it out of the room without disruption, but before I could reach the door I felt a hand grab my wrist and pull me backwards, inevitably leaving me to fall back onto the bed.
“Good morning to you too, darling,” I said, giggling into James’ hair. He opened his eyes sleepily and sat up, pulling me impossibly closer to press kisses to my lips again and again.
He pulled away and stared at me intently. “Your glasses are askew.” He reached out and adjusted them to sit correctly, ensuring everything was ‘correct’.
Me: “I wonder why that is.”
James: “I’m sorry that I don’t want my boyfriend to leave me when I’m exhausted and hungover.”
Me: “That’s your own doing. Tea?”
“Ginger and lemon, I’ll be down in five.” I pressed one more kiss to his lips before rising and going downstairs, leaving James to wake up on his own schedule. James tended to be an early riser, yes, but hungover James was a different beast; exhausted, headache prone, cuddly, and too attached for most people's taste.
I made my way to the kitchen with ease, putting water into the kettle and letting it boil as I prepped out mugs with each of our specific teas. Filippa sat at the small round table in the room on the bench under the window, book in hand as she observed my routine.
Filippa: “For James?”
Me: “Obviously.”
Filippa: “Any reason for wearing an outfit thrown up from his closet?”
Me: “We’re roommates, I must have mistaken this for mine.”
Filippa: “That’s his signature flannel, Oliver.”
“Just… Shut up.” I couldn’t help but become flustered. I wasn’t a great liar, and certainly not an amazing deflector. I was caught red handed, and it was fully my fault. Filippa snickered behind me as the kettle went off, signifying the water was ready for our tea. I poured the water into our respective mugs, preparing each mug how each of us liked it; James with extra honey after a show with his lemon ginger and mine with nothing, but rather using two tea bags so it was even stronger than normal.
I finished and left the kettle on the stove, hopping up on the counter after in my usual spot to stare out the window and enjoy my tea on the early December morning. In the distance I could hear James’ footsteps padding down the stairs until he finally entered the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and smiling when he saw me and his mug beside mine.
James: “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”
Me: “I do love nothing in the world so well as you—is not that strange?”
James: “Not so strange if I feel the same.”
He stepped between my knees and wrapped his arms around my waist once more, something I was quickly becoming accustomed to. He smiled up at me sweetly, slowly grabbing under my thighs and pulling me off the counter and into his arms so I could stand against him. With my feet planted on the ground, James finally leaned up to kiss me, relying on his tiptoes for the little bit of height that he lacked in comparison. His arms fell around my neck and I grabbed his waist, pulling him flush against me. Distantly, I could hear someone else coming into the kitchen, but it seemed unimportant with James in front of me.
“Well, the course of true love never did run smooth.” Alexander said, already sounding fully exasperated even though the day had just begun. James and I immediately pulled away from each other, startled and completely ignorant of the fact that we weren’t the only ones in the Castle.
Filippa shook her head and replied, “Yes, well, love is blind, and lovers cannot see. Clearly…” My face became hot with embarrassment, but James simply took his hands and placed them on my jaw, focusing me on him once more. He smiled and pressed a quick kiss to my lips before sitting at the table, taking both of our mugs with him. Once my shock broke, I slowly went and sat next to him, and soon after he rested his head on my shoulder. I simply sighed and took a sip from my mug, the warmth filling my body. I could feel James slowly getting overtaken by sleep, more and more weight falling onto my shoulder as he finally relaxed. I couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked younger in sleep, like the young boy I met when we all first arrived at Dellecher, innocence all over his face. He was the pure image of beauty, the only thing I could look at and never pry my eyes away from.
I pressed a gentle kiss to his hair, so tender that it was almost just a breath. I was completely enamored, even if that word didn’t feel quite right it wasn’t quite wrong either. My love for James transcended any notion of gender, it transcended what the universe said, the stars changing and aligning for us. We were star-crossed lovers to every extent.
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move... but never doubt I love.