So...
Shit happens.
Based on true events. Again.

I got into a bit of a spat with the best friend. She won't read this, probably, and I think that's why I'm posting it. I wouldn't have the balls to do it otherwise.

Fuck you, dearg sí. I mean it.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Contrary to what they spent an enormous amount of effort establishing as popular belief, Hamlet and Laertes used to be inseparable.

Laertes would get an idea, Hamlet would first back it up and then polish it. Laertes would express an opinion, Hamlet would take it as gospel. Laertes had a worldview, Hamlet adopted it.

... So maybe it was a bit more specific than inseparable. Hamlet was inseparable from Laertes.

And for the first few years, that was okay. Hamlet had Ophelia and Ros and Guil and most of all Laertes, and for those years he thought he might be able to keep it up forever. He would make plans; or rather, Laertes would make plans and Hamlet would worm his way into them, same difference; about the future, and all the impossible things he wanted could happen because it was LaertesandHamlet, the way it had always been, and they could manage anything.

Eventually, Hamlet had willingly carved himself an existence in the spot next to and slightly below Laertes. Never above, but he chose not to acknowledge that part.

Life worked. Hamlet did everything Laertes did, even though he was slightly to vastly worse at it all, and he allowed himself to feel good about it despite the fact that Laertes always did better. Horatio joined the friend group, bringing their number to six, and if Hamlet tilted his head and squinted a little his life almost looked perfect.

But all good things must come to an end, he reminded himself through tears, his phone held white-knuckled in his trembling hand.

I have learned the answers to questions that you would never even dare to ask. I know you always tow the line, especially if it earns you an extra smile and a gold star.

Hamlet read through the text several times, his throat tightening around the air moving to his lungs. How had the conversation even gotten here?

His phone buzzed again.

This is a never ending cycle of hell for both of us, and it is just as much your own creation as it is mine. It is equal punishment for me as it is for you, only these conversations are nothing but a result of the part that you contribute. You realize that, yes?

Hamlet forced his shaking fingers into action, developing what would probably be the most angry thing he'd ever say to Laertes.

Fuck you, your highness. I'm going to go talk to someone who doesn't make me feel inferior every other conversation. My constitution will melt the second I see you in person, of course. At least I can relish my brief period of actual emotional health before I'm thrown back into the cycle. Use your precious logic, if you're in such pain. You wouldn't keep shooting yourself in the foot once you realized it hurt.

In a detached way, Hamlet thought it had always been coming to this. There were things bubbling up in his chest now that had been held down for far too long. He quickly exited his messages with Laertes and clicked on Horatio's contact.

Ratio, I finally did it, I said something

I opened my fucking mouth and threw a rock back

This is huge

Context?

Laertes and I are fighting and I sent him this

[Image: screenshot]

Wow

What

Thats... a lot

But this is good

I'm glad you're speaking your mind

Hold up, he responded

Hamlet couldn't help the grin on his face as he re-opened Laertes' contact.

Yes, it probably would be best for you to spend time with someone who either shares your thoughts and opinions, or is strong enough to bear with them, keep quiet and be the bigger person, as I am not yet strong enough to do all the time.

Hamlet laughs even though he really wants to cry. He sets down his phone, then picks it up immediately when it buzzes again.

I have said it before but I'll say it again, just because I rely on logic to make my decisions does not mean I am invincible to the feeling and pain that comes from the realm of emotions.

The rush of adrenaline he feels as he types equates only to the time he kissed Horatio. A different kind, but the same measure.

This is what I spent years avoiding, this right here. The part where you belittle my opinions because they're different, then turn it back to yourself to make me feel bad. Even if you don't consciously make it so. This is the bit where I get upset, only fueling your decision that I'm weak. Then I stop feeling for a while because you've got me convinced of the same thing, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but I don't stop, because I've grown to need your approval in all things. And now I see the cycle for what it is, call it out, then go right back to my fake smile the second I see you again. But maybe the last part won't happen this time, if I can remember this conversation when we both inevitably end up at Elsinore again.

Monologue complete, Hamlet goes back to Horatio.

I got mad, Ratio

Fuck

I didn't mean to

Do you want me to come over?

Yes

Please

And just like that, Horatio was quietly closing the door behind himself and coming to sit beside him, and Hamlet thanked the universe again for placing Horatio in a dorm down the hall from his, out of the whole Wittenberg campus.

"My lord, are you okay?" Horatio asked, and Hamlet immediately fell into a hug that part of him (the Laertes part) said he didn't deserve.

"I don't know," Hamlet replied with a smile into Horatio's shoulder. "It's either a giant yes or a giant no. I haven't decided yet."

"Okay."

They sat in silence for a while. Horatio pulled back, but kept one hand intertwined with Hamlet's, which Hamlet greatly appreciated. Horatio took out his phone. Hamlet didn't ask what he was doing, and did the same to put his playlist on shuffle. Blues Saraceno, Dogs of War. He did not sing.

Later, when Hamlet had dozed off and Horatio began to feel like an imposter, he pressed a kiss to the sleeping prince's forehead and looked over his texts with Laertes again. He felt a sudden protectiveness swelling in him.

Don't ever touch him.

Why not? Before, you would have sent him to me when he was hurting. You couldn't handle him.

Before, you could touch things without breaking them. He's hurting now and it's because of you. Stay the fuck away from Hamlet.

Taking one last glance at the boy who had grinned with tears in his eyes, Horatio returned to his room, emotionally drained but too relieved to notice.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Hm. Shorter than I could have done, but this just needed to get written.

I'm going to sleep. Or cry. Can't decide. Faeries, don't you ever befriend a person that calls it weak to feel things. You might keep telling yourself that as she dangles some great knowledge above you and then reinforce it for both of you when you get reasonably upset.

Even if she writes fantastic stories.