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@okayestromeo
“I have places to be too, Romeo. Who’s to say that your engagements are more important than mine? We all have to wait in line.”
How could he put this lightly -- Romeo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, no. Your stuff is important, I promise. It’s just...I’m, you know. I’m Romeo. And, you know, my dad is...well, you know he is. Do you get what I’m trying to say?”
Glancing across the isle, Romeo could see a new face staring blankly at bland supermarket shelves. The arrange of colors and claims and price tags was enough to make anyone confused - but Romeo was a frequent to these shelves (the personal hygiene section, or more specifically, the condom isle) and he was admittedly eager to see someone stumble into the section. He was in a helpful mood, to say the least, so he shook his head and approached them. “See -- that’s not what you want. That’s a female condom. Sucks for both parties, if you know what I’m saying.”
“Ew. Okay. Thanks for sharing.” Unplanned pregnancies weren’t a concern for her, since she had no plans for casual sex. Maybe she was alone in that thought, but she wanted romance first.
“See! That reaction right there is why we need sex ed. I mean, seriously. Do you know about Copper IUDs? Do you know how to use a female condom? Unless you’re gay -- then we need to talk about dental dams, and in that case,” he grinned, “are you and your partner open to threesomes?”
“Oh, God, don’t say that. I’m way too young to sound like anyone’s parents for at least another five years, at the very earliest.”
“Unplanned pregnancies happen,” Romeo said simply enough to imply that he had experience with them (although he, as far as he knew, had no children). “Even condoms and the pill are only like...ninety six percent effective.” He laughed, “Don’t even get me started on pulling out.”
Lysander had already done his fair share of freaking out about this in the past hour. He understood that Romeo was just now waking up, but his impatience got the best of him. He did not care that his cousin was just now waking up and completely clueless, Lysander needed him to get it together immediately. “Lookit, lookit and you’ll see what I’m talking about!” He gestured toward the phone once more.
As he waited for Romeo to read the multiple screenshots that he had taken of the story, Lysander began pacing around the room. On the inside, he was freaking out, which was manifesting itself outwardly by his need of movement. What were they going to do? Two of the people he cared most about were suddenly in a lot of danger, unless this was contained somehow. What if Old Man Capulet found out and actually sent someone after Romeo? Juliet was going to worry herself into a coma. Or what if his uncle decided that the situation was a liability and had Juliet taken out? And then Romeo would do something rash, nobody ever thought of anything anymore. Lysander was not good at math, but he was 83% sure that someone was going to die because of this.
Obviously, Romeo had been the one who blabbed. The idiot. But that conversation could wait until all of this was contained. “Process it quickly because we need to figure out what we’re going to do about it.”
For a moment longer, Romeo lived in the ideal bliss of the world’s ignorance.
In fact, in the moment it took him to stretch and throw a gruntled look at his cousin, Romeo hadn’t considered the possibility that all of Verona would soon know his business - business that was meant to be secret, or else Romeo could end up in his own cold grave. He hadn’t considered the fact that his drunken mistake had turned into family scandals and bad publicity, or the fact that twelve missed calls from an omnipotent father was never a good sign. For the time it took Romeo to take Lysander’s phone, he was protected from the wrath of what his father would dub as a Capulet’s Slander.
As he read the headline, the blood drained from his face, unable to tear two wide eyes away from the post. Montague Heir Admits Love for Capulet - six words that were a death sentence to him. An inkling of hope remained that maybe it was still under wraps, but Romeo knew better than to hope for such impossible things.
He mustered up the courage to look into his cousin’s eye, giving him a forlorn look before he asked, “When did this go up?”
But it didn’t matter - even ten seconds was enough time for a screenshot.
“How many people saw? Are there any other websites posting about it?” Romeo asked frantically, forcing himself from his bed and pulling on whatever clothes lay on the floor (ignoring whatever Lysander’s reaction was to his briefly naked body). “Shit - fucking shit.” He groaned, grabbing his own phone and rushing to unlock it. Fifty six texts, mostly from Lysander and one from Ben, the rest all from his mother.
Dimmi che non è vero, Romeo.
He ran a shaky hand through messy hair. “Ly,” Romeo breathed, feeling himself turn red with anger, “Do my parents know?”
The moment she had woken up that morning, she had been bombarded with texts; some ranged from angry, to upset, to curious. The majority had jokingly sent her the tabloid headline ( ‘Montague heir admits love for Capulet’ ) expecting her to laugh in return, while a few choice others had simply sent her angry and confused messages. She hadn’t replied to any of them. Instead, Juliet had felt herself drown in the overwhelming urge to run; run away from Verona, from Romeo, from her family, from everyone. And that was what she had done. She stumbled out of the door, her mind completely numb as she focused on the sound of her own breathing and the pace of her feet on the road. Left, right, left, right. She didn’t even realise where she was going until she’d stopped in the playpark miles away from home, a place that had brought her nothing but happy memories — as if it would wash away the emotions roaring inside of her. Juliet had occupied a spot on one of the swings, keeping her eyes to the ground, blocking out everything. If she didn’t let herself think about it, it wasn’t real. This line of thought wa the only thing keeping her from hyperventilating.
At the sound of someone approaching her, Juliet’s breath hitched and her fingers tightened on the chains of the swing she was sitting on. Refusing to look up, she murmured in a tone completely unlike herself, “Please don’t shout at me. I can’t bear it if you shout at me.”
Clearly, she hadn’t noticed who had crept up on her, or she would’ve realized how ironic her request was. He wouldn’t shout at Juliet -- Romeo couldn’t bear that.
With her toes dangling inches from the ground and a drooped head that made Romeo’s heart sink - he had found her (finally), infiltrating This Side of Verona even with the very real possibility her father would shoot him down. Because, despite the brief moment the post had been up, their secret was out.
Romeo hadn’t realized how big his mouth grew when he was drunk, big enough to lay in streets and spill his secrets to any stranger who would listen, even if that stranger was sweet and smelled like poisoned flowers. If he had known that a small gossip blog would be posting about their relationship a mere few days later, he would’ve never touched a drop of that cheap whiskey.
But it was too late for would’ve; his damage had already been done, and the eyes of strangers had already eaten him alive today. Everyone except the rock-dwellers knew about The Heir and The Heiress, Star-Crossed Lovers, as the media had dubbed them. Everyone now watched them, with every intent of finding out the truth -- as if it wasn’t already revealed.
His father was working on it, that much was promised to a fear-shaken Romeo, too ashamed to look even his mother in the eye.
He cleared his throat before he spoke, struggling to find the right words to say. There wasn’t anything Romeo could tell Juliet that would make this better; although this consequence wasn’t unexpected, it was Romeo’s incompetence that brought it forth. He swallowed harshly.
“I won’t shout at you,” he murmured, trembling hands in jean pockets. “We’re a team, remember?” Romeo was tempted to add the anecdote of ‘for better or for worse’, but he was uncertain if Juliet still believed in death do us part with him.
“Nope. Not happening. Don’t even think about it.”
“Look, it’s not that bad. I’m just in a rush -- I have to be across town for an Important Meeting in ten minutes and I’ve got six coffees to grab. You couldn’t just let me...cut? I’ll only be a second!”
“It’s a nice enough day for a coffee and baileys, isn’t it?”
“I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never tried it. And usually, I’d be all over that - but wow, that’s early to be drinking, isn’t it?”
“You look like you’ve had a rough day. Can I get you a drink?”
“Maybe. It depends. I mean, are you hitting on me? Because if you are...I’ll take the drink.”
“I guess, but if the race is making it until sunset without getting drunk, I’m pretty sure that’s called alcoholism.”
“Wow, you sound like my parents. I think you throw around the term alcoholism too much. I call it, ‘I like to have a good time syndrome’.”
“Uh, I can totally get into this movie. I’m with them.”
Although Romeo was past the age of sneaking into R-rated movies, his heart went out to the blonde being questioned by a (clearly unamused) usher. Her ‘them’ she claimed to be ‘with’ had either gone on without her or didn’t exist - it only took Romeo a split second to make his decision for the greater good. Walking over to the ticket counter with a chalant face, Romeo slid his ID across to the worker and wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “She’s with me. Had to take the little sister for a movie date - sorry for the confusion.”
[10:38 AM] ARE U AWAKE???
[10:40 AM] no seriusly call me
[10:42 AM] WAKE UP
[10:45 AM] fine im coming over
It was eleven-thirty on a Friday, and Lysander had a feeling that shit was about to hit the fan. He was up much sooner than he should be, but had been woken up by a text from an old girlfriend in London. Marissa, a girl he had dated a few years ago, who was completely engaged in pop culture and gossip, had screen shotted a headline from some D-list Italian gossip website: Montague heir admits love for Capulet.
[10:34 AM] AREN’T U RELATED TO THESE PEOPLE????!!!
Without a response to the text, Lysander knew he needed to respond to the situation. First, by texting Romeo, not Juliet. And then, by contacting another old friend who owed him a favor. The website was hacked, but only for a few hours, enough time to figure out further response.
He was still a little drunk from the night before, and wearing the same clothes as well, but he found himself half running, half stumbling through the streets of Verona. He didn’t bother knocking on the door, it was times like this Lysander was glad he had made a copy of the key.
“ROMEO??” Lysander yelled as he walked through into the house. He continued to shout his cousin’s name until he reached his bedroom. “Yo, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have a problem”, he said as he tossed Romeo his phone with the image of the screenshot pulled up.
(okayestromeo)
Sleep had become foreign to Romeo in the span of a few weeks. First, the nightly antics of Venice, then Juliet’s disappearance (how could he even try to sleep during all of that?), and then, after her arrival, staying up late to sneak into her room was much more common than shut eye. Romeo hadn’t stayed up past ten pm the night before, falling gratefully into his bed -- no alarm set for the next morning. Maybe he could finally get some damn peace, as his life had finally settled back into a comfortable lull.
But maybe not -- it felt as if only ten minutes had passed since Romeo closed his eyes, before he heard the tell-tale buzz of his phone.
He reached over to his bedside table, not even bothering to open his eyes, and turned the ringer off. Although... his phone continued to light up. Romeo again ignored the blue glow, falling back easily into his bed. Honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to get up, even if whoever the hell was texting him had news of the impending apocalypse.
Drifting into sleep again, Romeo didn’t plan on Lysander storming in.
It was the shout from downstairs that initially got his attention, Romeo’s eyebrows furrowing into early-morning anger -- “What the hell,” he muttered, rubbing sleep-filled eyes until he sat up, covered still by his white duvet. By the time he opened his eyes, Lysander (his beloved English Muffin, although Romeo wasn’t too excited about seeing him now) had welcomed himself into Romeo’s room, throwing a phone at his face.
Although he caught the phone, Romeo was hardly shaken by his cousin’s words. “What are you talking about, Stewart?”
Cleo couldn’t help but let out a chuckle watching the intoxicated Montague. She was taken a back with his confession— it felt surreal. A Montague loving a Capulet? Was the world ending? And as she listened to him, Cleo couldn’t help but smile—almost a little too much. It warmed her heart looking at him though she felt slightly envious at them. “That’s beautiful.” Cleo murmured. “Did you feel the same even after you found out she was indeed a Capulet?” She couldn’t help but ask him curiously.
You could hear his sigh from far away - he was truly, truly distraught at this question. And while Romeo still wasn’t aware that he was drunk, and Cleo was not Ben, and he shouldn’t be telling her all these things, he was more conflicted over the answer to the question rather than the fact that he was answering the question at all. Finally, he breathed, “I was confused.” How did he explain this the right way? “I - I met her, and it was like I was meeting myself. Like a more perfect me. And I didn’t want to let her go.” Romeo thought of her guard, coming in to interrupt them at the end of their conversation that night. “She had a guard - and I had a guard. And she was a ballerina, and I didn’t put two and two together..”
“I don’t think that’s a miracle; it sounds more like good decision-making. How long are you planning on keeping the ‘miracle’ going?”
“You know, I gotta admit that I haven’t really thought this out that far. You get to the end of a race and you don’t really think about how you still have to walk home, you know?”
Bianca raised an eyebrow, but she smiled softly, looking towards the lovely setting sun. “Truly a miracle, although some would argue that six in the evening is a bit early to be drunk. Isn’t all that supposed to go on after dark?” She shrugged, glancing back towards him. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t really drink, honestly.”
Romeo laughed, at first thinking she was joking. As he realized that most people found it terrible to be black-out drunk at six pm, Romeo’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as too early. I mean - it does go on after dark. I just start while the sun’s still up. Is that weird?” Ben had mentioned that six was usually just happy hour - and Romeo agreed wholeheartedly, although missing the point. “You more of a smoker, then? I can appreciate the loud, too.”
Dick startled, looking over at the person speaking to him – Romeo, he thought – and his eyes darted around to see if there was anyone else. When he was sure enough Romeo was talking to him, he laughed. “I feel like congratulations are in order, then,” he replied. “What AA chip would you get? Five hours?”
It was too bad he didn’t have a drink to raise in a toast to his brief attempt at sobriety - though Romeo knew the irony in drinking to not drinking, it did sound nice. “Thank you, thank you. Every day, another step, right?” He laughed, Romeo noting that he liked the stranger (Dick - his name met Romeo’s thoughts with a familiarity sourcing from the gossip blogs of Verona). “You get chips in AA? Wow - that’s almost more valuable than a Girl Scout badge.”
“I’m going to say the key word there was yet, and therefore, it’s not exactly a miracle.”
“You have so little faith in me. I’d like to believe I have the self control to last all night.” His serious face slowly spread into a grin, and Romeo was laughing at himself in another minute. “I mean, you’re probably right. But it’s an A for effort, right?”
