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Vibrant sparks lit up Romeo’s face as he gazed into the sky, his costume armour weighing down on him as he thought of Rosaline. He had convinced himself that he loved her, that she was the only girl he’d ever love, but deep down the knowledge that she would never, ever love him back filled him with a strange sense of comfort. Benvolio and the boys cheered and laughed, but Romeo wouldn’t join in. He was too busy playing his part. He wasn’t sure why he even agreed to come to the Capulet party. It was really not his bag. He just thought it might be funny to see Mercutio in drag.
As if on cue, Romeo heard a distinct booming, theatrical laugh in the distance, accompanied by the revving of a car engine. Romeo glanced over curiously as Mercutio stepped out of the car, wobbling slightly in his silver heels. He was scantily clad in his tiny little top and even tinier skirt, making a stark contrast to Romeo’s heavy, concealing armour. Although he expected to find the sight ridiculous, Romeo couldn’t help but find himself strangely entranced.
Mercutio danced suggestively towards Romeo, laughing brightly, before popping an invitation out from between his legs. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was in public. Romeo laughed, instantly feeling lighter. Mercutio always seemed to have that effect on people.
Grinning wildly, Mercutio approached Romeo as he sung slightly out of tune.
“Young hearts run free…!”
“Never be hung up...hung up like...Rosaline and thee…!
At Mercutio’s merciless teasing, Romeo snatched the invite from his hand, looking down with a shy smile.
“Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance!”
“Not I, not I, believe me.” Romeo pulled away, feeling a soft flutter in his stomach. “You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.”
“You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings, and soar with them above a common bound!”
Mercutio smirked. He looked, by all accounts, absolutely ridiculous. His stance was slightly off, his lipstick was smudged, and the bright white curly wig he was wearing distinctly reminded Romeo of his own grandmother. Even so, he seemed to pull it off remarkably well. Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was just because he was Mercutio.
Romeo rested his head against the wall. “Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.”
“Too great oppression for such a tender thing.”
“Is love a tender thing?” Romeo gazed curiously into Mercutio’s eyes. “It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.”
Mercutio returned Romeo’s gaze. “If love be rough with you, be rough with love! Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down…!”
Mercutio whisked Romeo away, throwing him towards the other guys. He laughed triumphantly as he trapped Romeo in a headlock. Romeo let out a quiet squeak, reaching up for Mercutio’s shoulder as he struggled. Even with Mercutio’s arm locked around his neck, Romeo felt warm, safe and entirely at home.
***
Feeling a little lightheaded, Romeo stumbled into the grand hall of the Capulet mansion. He hadn’t a clue what Mercutio had given him, but it sure was strong. The music assaulted his ears and the lights burned his eyes. He couldn’t think straight. Then, he looked up and saw silver.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her bouncy, pure white curls were not that of a grandmother, no, she was like a white-haired angel. Her dark brown skin only make the silver and white look even brighter. Everything about her was dazzling. Most of all, her bright, infectious smile.
Romeo’s heart threatened to pound out of his chest. This wasn’t the phantom ache he felt for Rosaline. This was real. It didn’t ache at all; it felt warm and fuzzy. He couldn’t trust his own eyes. Real women didn’t look like angels.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Romeo suddenly felt sick. Struggling to stay upright, he ran away from the crowd. His face burned. What was wrong with him? He realised he was hyperventilating, and slowly found his breath. He had seen the face of an angel. It wasn’t what he had expected.
Trying to force his mind elsewhere, Romeo stepped towards a nearby fish tank. As he watched the funny little creatures swim around, he found himself wishing he could be a little fish swimming alongside them. They didn’t concern themselves with white-haired angels or worry about what love was supposed to feel like, They just swam. Just as he began to drift away with his thoughts, Romeo noticed a girl staring at him from the other side of the tank.
She was dressed up like an angel. Feathered wings, a modest white dress, the typical image of an angel. Although, now Romeo had seen what real angels look like, he could tell she was just an imitation. Even so, she was safe, and fairly pretty, so Romeo stared back at her with a smile. He followed the same script he had followed with Rosaline. If he followed it well enough, he could replace the warmth in his chest he felt for that white-haired angel with a dull, performative ache for the imitation.
***
The next morning, Romeo walked down Verona Beach, trying to will himself to forget about the white-haired angel and focus on what he knew he was supposed to want. An imitation. Then, he heard that same familiar boom of laughter in the distance as Mercutio approached him.
Romeo looked at Mercutio, with his bare face and his dark hair and that flowing white shirt he always wore, and suddenly a pit formed in his stomach. He’d never see that beautiful white-haired angel again: Mercutio had only done it as a gag. He could chase pretty imitations all he wanted, but Romeo knew deep down that the only ‘girl’ he’d ever love was Mercutio in drag. As he looked at Mercutio, he saw that same bright smile that he saw on the white-haired angel, and he struggled to tell between the two.
Romeo shook his head as he quickly walked away. He’d go off with the real girl, the imitation, like he was supposed to, and forget any of this ever happened.
But he couldn’t forget.
He’d pine away forevermore for Mercutio in drag.