HAMILTON WROTE THE OTHER FIFTY-ONE!

I thought it only fitting that the first proper Mercutio x Benvolio used an Alec Benjamin song. You know why, Ben.

This is technically my first proper songfic, like with lyrics separate from the dialogue, so. That's a thing.

I also had Mercutio and Paris maintain a strained relationship?? They're cousins, and I don't remember any particularly bad arguments between the two from the play. Feel free to correct me.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

~ My PoV ~

(Well I shook hands with the devil down on the south side and he bought us both a drink)

Benvolio Montague had always been more sensible than his cousin. On this particular night, he had to be sensible FOR his cousin.

Romeo wanted to go to a tavern. Benvolio followed.

Once there, Romeo was off flirting with anything that moved, and even Benvolio couldn't keep him from being stupid in that regard. He settled on becoming a watchful eye.

He sat at the bar; not because he wanted a drink, but because that was the spot with the best view of his stupid cousin.

It also happened to have the best view of a boy across the room who Benvolio kept making split-second eye contact with, and this would prove to be the worst and best decision the Montague had ever made.

The boy approached him nonchalantly and draped himself on the barstool to Benvolio's left.

"Hello," Benvolio said politely.

"Greetings and salutations," the boy replied.

Upon closer inspection, Benvolio noticed the colors of the boy's clothes. So close to house Escalus, but off, somehow. If this boy was royalty, he either didn't care or had a very bad tailor.

"You here alone?" The boy asked.

"With my cousin." Benvolio nodded toward Romeo. "Making sure he doesn't get kidnapped or anything."

The boy nodded. "I see. Well, could I buy you a drink while you're here?"

Benvolio turned to him with furrowed eyebrows.

"Why? No one buys me drinks."

The boy laughed. "What, are you a serial killer or something?"

Benvolio shook his head slowly.

"Didn't think so. You don't seem the type."

"You haven't answered my question."

(With a pad and a pencil sat by his side I said, "Tell me what you think")

The boy gulped slightly, though the action was partially hidden beneath his hand.

"Can I be very straightforward with no fear of later negative consequences?" He asked.

"We're in a tavern at midnight. I'll most likely never see you again anyway if something goes sideways," Benvolio deadpanned.

"Right. Um. Well, you're cute and you seem interesting, and I want to get to know you better."

Thank God he hadn't gotten a drink yet, because Benvolio, at that moment, would've spit it out.

"You realize you can be hanged for saying something like that!?" He whisper-yelled.

The boy laughed. "Not anymore! The prince of Denmark apparently married a guy, and the duke and dutchess of Athens have been seeing people of the same gender for quite some time now. Escalus is making a decree about it first thing tomorrow."

Benvolio formulated several replies in his head. Some of relief, some of surprise, but what came out of his mouth was, "How do you know Escalus will make a decree?"

The boy tilted his head like a puppy. "Did you not recognize the colors?"

Benvolio shook his head.

"Good. Tailor did his job. I'm Escalus' nephew, but don't go blabbing about it."

"You're Paris?" Benvolio wrinkled his nose slightly. He had nothing against Paris personally; anyone who so blatantly avoided Montagues had resigned themselves to such a reaction from him.

"God, no! I'm Mercutio!"

Ah. That made more sense. Benvolio held out his hand.

"Benvolio Montague."

(I've been looking for my savior, looking for my truth; I even asked my shrink, he brought me down to his level, said, "Son, you're not special, you won't find him where you think")

"Romeo, what's wrong with me?"

The Montague in question lifted his head from the book he was reading.

"What do you mean, Ben?"

Benvolio, as of late, had taken to laying flat on his back and contemplating; but Romeo didn't notice. He never did.

"Like, is this normal? All I did was have a drink with him, I should be able to get him out of my head for more than two seconds."

THAT got Romeo's attention.

"There's a him? Spill!"

Benvolio sighed. He nearly regretting saying anything, but now Romeo knew, and there was no going back. He'd tried sitting quietly and hoping for it to disappear, and since that hadn't worked, damn it all.

"Yeah, there's a him. It's like I said. I had a few drinks with him, he called me cute, we talked about mythology. I don't know, Rome. You tell me."

Romeo then proceeded to squeal and gasp at the same time, which resulted in what was quite possibly the most alien sound Benvolio would ever hear.

"Describe him to me."

Benvolio shook off incredulity in favor of a much safer not-quite-lovesick sigh. Sarcasm noted? Good, let's move along.

"I don't know if I can, Rome, there are so many aspects and pieces that I can't just sum him up in a few vague adjectives like I can with most people. He's smart, I guess, but not in a stay-out-of-trouble kind of way. More in a wordsmith sense, where he can rebuff any argument or return any compliment without stopping to think. It's fascinating. And, oh God, he's got this really annoying little half-smirk that makes him look like he knows for certain he's the most fabulous thing to have blessed Earth since sliced bread. It's so ridiculously irritating and perfect that I just want to punch him or kiss him and the problem is that I can't decide which."

Romeo bit his lip in the way that a doctor does when they're about to tell you that you've contracted smallpox.

"Benvolio... you're smitten."

(You won't find him down on Sunset, or at a party in the hills, at the bottom of the bottle, or when you're tripping on some pills)

Little-known fact about Mercutio: no matter what he says, he's not fine. He never has been and he never will be.

It was for this reason that he was shocked to realize he had gotten a full night's sleep after getting home from the tavern.

Paris was apparently equally shocked, because he squeaked when he saw his cousin out of bed and functioning at nine o'clock.

"M-Mercutio! What are you doing up?"

Mercutio gazed at the floor as if the ornate carpet might whisper the answer to him.

"I don't know. I woke up, I felt good, I got hungry." His eyes moved to Paris. "I'd ask why you're surprised, but."

Paris nodded once, incredulous. "Yeah, no shit. It's been literal months since I've seen you conscious before noon."

Mercutio laughed dryly, but stopped when Paris didn't follow.

"Seriously, it's not good for you. You need to sleep to maintain decent health."

"Oh, you're right, tonight I'll just go to sleep. Damn, why didn't I think of that?"

He really couldn't help the sarcastic tone and joking when it came to his health. Physical, mental, emotional; it could all be hidden under the mask of his smirk.

The only problem was that Paris had known since they were children how to get around it.

"Mercutio. Cousin. Friend." Paris put his hands on Mercutio's shoulders. "You slept well last night. Do you know what caused it?"

Mercutio did.

(Took a sip of his whiskey, said, "Now that you're with me, well, I think that you should stay")

Benvolio returned to the tavern that night without his cousin. He kept telling himself he didn't know why, or that he just enjoyed the place. Both such lies that he couldn't even get Romeo to believe them.

He told himself he wasn't smiling as he sat down at the bar. He told himself he didn't remember the discussions about Loki, about Kronos, about Osiris.

"Benvolio!"

He told himself his heart didn't flutter.

Mercutio, in a similar fashion to the night before, draped himself across the barstool. He quickly planted a kiss on Benvolio's cheek.

"I'm legally allowed to do that now," he grinned, and Ben copied the expression in spite of himself.

Several grumbles sounded from around them, and people glared. Mercutio seemed unaffected.

"The purpose of eyes is to see," he declared in a slightly louder voice than the already loud one he'd been using. "So look. I'm not moving to please any of you."

Ben smiled mischievously, leaning a tad closer to Mercutio.

"Even to please me?" He even found the courage to wink as he moved away.

Mercutio's expression moved between surprise, delight, and then to complete and total innocence.

"Anything to please you," he winked back.

The boys managed to hold back laughter for a remarkable three seconds.

(Yeah, I know you've been busy searching through the city so let me share the way)

Parting from each other's company later that night proved to be quite the ordeal.

Mercutio, upon silent agreement, walked Benvolio home. The latter didn't need to know that his residence was quite out of the former's way.

They linked hands while walking before either of them registered the action.

Benvolio, in fact, only noticed when he found himself squeezing Mercutio's hand a little bit tighter as he spotted Tybalt on the other side of the street.

Mercutio bristled silently, glaring, and Benvolio gave him a warning look.

For a horrible moment, he thought Mercutio was going to say something. He allowed his grip to relax on Mercutio's hand when he felt the tension leave the boy.

When he moved his confused eyes from Mercutio and back Tybalt, he realized why.

(I know I'm not your savior, know I'm not your truth, but I think we could be friends)

Four very important interactions took place that night.

The first was that Mercutio found calm and comfort in the feeling of holding Benvolio's hand. A rock in a storm, a rope in a sea. Later in life he'd figure out just how much he depended on it.

The second was that Tybalt genuinely smiled as Paris ran up to him. He smiled all throughout the ensuing hug and after Paris pulled away. He hadn't smiled this much since his first kill, and it was the happiest he'd felt in years. He knew then that he loved Paris.

The third was that Benvolio and Paris made nervous eye contact across the street. A silent agreement to keep their boys from fighting. Definitely now, and hopefully later.

The fourth was that Mercutio and Tybalt looked at each other without hate or fire, but with a potent electricity and understanding. They exchanged a nod. Mercutio saw the fear on Paris and Tybalt saw the fear on Benvolio. They each understood that they were important to people, and that harming either of them harmed their people.

(And that is when I knew that it was time to go home, and that is when I realized that I was alone - and all the vibrant colors from the lights fade away, and I don't care what they say)

Tybalt and Mercutio still fought.

Some days, Tybalt would go home to Paris with a scratch on his arm. Others, Mercutio to Benvolio with a black eye.

Paris and Benvolio would chide while disinfecting, their irritation stemming from worry, and Tybalt and Mercutio would dismiss their fears.

"You're going to get badly hurt one of these days," Benvolio hummed.

Mercutio winced at the feeling of the cold water on his bruised skin.

"No I'm not."

Benvolio dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt, stonefaced. Mercutio shrieked and gasped. His back tensed as he slowly adjusted to the sudden temparacute change. Benvolio smiled to himself.

"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, love," he singsonged.

Mercutio scowled, still squirming due to the ice.

"Yeah, well, anything is possible if you wish hard enough."

You won't find him down on sunset
Or at a party in the hills
At the bottom of the bottle
Or when you're tripping on some pills
When they sold you the dream you were just 16
Packed a bag and ran away
And it's a crying shame you came all this way
'Cause you won't find Jesus in LA
I won't find him down on sunset
Or at a party in the hills
At the bottom of the bottle
Or when I'm tripping on some pills
When they sold me the dream I was just 16
Packed my bag and ran away
And it's a crying shame I came all this way
'Cause I won't find Jesus in LA
And it's a crying shame I came all this way
'Cause I won't find Jesus in LA

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Whoo! Complete! *happy dance*

Hope you liked it, Ben. You might have recognized a few of those lines. One I actually scrolled back in our text history to copy and paste.

If that doesn't say affection, I don't know what does. Do you know how far back that 11:11 conversation was? So far.
Edit: since it's officially been six months, I'd say it was completely worth it. Love you.

Farewell, faeries. Like Mic said to Broy, "Anything is possible if you wish hard enough. Do you know who said that?" Broy responded, "You did," and Mic then proceeded to slam Peter Pan shut in his face. "No. Twas him!"