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“He jests at scars that never felt a wound…” Romeo muttered as he disappeared into the night.
***
Mercutio stumbled into his bedroom, his head still spinning from all the wine. His jaw ached from forcing his signature smirk all day. He rested his hand against his forehead as he finally allowed his face to fall. Letting out a sigh, he took off his cloak and tossed it aimlessly at the floor. He quietly lit the candle on his bedside. In the dim light, he noticed something sticking out from under his bed.
Curious, he slowly knelt down and picked it up. It was two sticks, messily tied together with some old rope to resemble a dagger. A sad laugh escaped him as he twirled it in his hands, his thoughts going back.
***
“Romie!”
As the sun shone down on the Montague orchard, seven-year-old Mercutio wielded his ‘dagger’ with pride. He was in the midst of a fierce duel with Romeo. Mercutio had his makeshift dagger, and Romeo had a sword that was actually just a particularly long stick he had found.
The two boys giggled brightly as they swung at each other, jumping and running wildly. Nothing else mattered but the sound of wood clashing against wood. Then, Romeo swung his ‘sword’ a little too hard, smacking Mercutio on the side of his head. Mercutio shrieked as he toppled rather ungracefully to the floor.
“Mercutio…!”
Romeo gasped as instantly rushed to Mercutio’s side, dropping his ‘sword’ on the floor. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you…?”
Mercutio laughed brightly on the floor. “A scratch, Romie, a scratch...”
Romeo’s shoulders dropped in relief as he laughed along with him. Mercutio dramatically gestured with his hands.
“I am slain!” he cried out. “The great Romeo Montague has defeated me!”
Playing along, Romeo cheered triumphantly, holding up his ‘sword’ with pride.
Mercutio threw his hands out from his chest. “Blood, blood, blood…! And then…death!”
Mercutio flopped over melodramatically, trying in vain to contain his giggles.
Romeo pointed at him. “Hey! Stop laughing, you’re supposed to be dead!”
As their laughter faded, Romeo smiled and reached out his hand. Mercutio took it firmly, letting Romeo pull him up. Romeo rushed to pick up Mercutio’s ‘dagger’, handing it back to him.
“Thank you, Romie.” Mercutio smiled.
Romeo nodded politely. Exhausted, the two boys sat in the shade of a nearby tree, a comfortable silence settling between them.
Mercutio fidgeted shyly with his ‘dagger.’
“Romie…?”
Romeo looked over curiously.
“If you...if you fall in love with a girl...when we’re older...would you forget about me?” Mercutio asked softly, his eyes wide and vulnerable.
Romeo stared at Mercutio, his head tilting slightly. He then took Mercutio’s hand, lacing their small fingers together.
“Of course not!” he insisted. “You’re my best friend in the whole entire world…! What would I even need a girl for?”
Mercutio squeezed Romeo’s hand. “… Do you promise?”
“On my life.” Romeo returned his grip.
Mercutio smiled sweetly, resting his head on Romeo’s shoulder. The two boys sat there in the quiet as the rest of Verona faded away. They didn’t know a thing about all the real brawls in the street. They just knew that they had each other.
***
Seventeen-year-old Mercutio sat on the edge of his bed in silence, staring at the two sticks in his hand. Before he even realised he was crying, a tear slipped down his cheek. Then a couple more. Then his shoulders began to shake. He clutched the two sticks tightly to his chest, sobbing quietly. He wanted nothing more than to go back to that orchard, before the world had given him the burden of a real blade.
Sniffling, Mercutio dragged the back of his hand across his face, trying to pull himself together. He quickly shoved the two sticks back under his bed, his hands shaking. He stared down at his feet. Even though there was no one around to see him, he still found himself feeling ashamed. He didn’t even bother getting changed. He just kicked his shoes off and curled up in bed, pulling the covers tightly over himself like a frightened child. The world felt too big, or perhaps he felt too small. Or both. Either way, he was suffocating. His mind wandered from those two sticks to the orchard, from the orchard to nothing at all. When the sun came up, he would have to pull his signature smirk back and play the jester all over again.