heyyy i've been binging your fics lately and i just love them so much hhhhh 💖 may i request, for the BTHB: mercutio/[surprise me] for 'slowly running out of air'? i love me some angsty merc, so please don't hold back :3
@theofficialiwillalwaysbealone
Hello dear!! I’m so happy you liked the other fics 💖💖
I’m not used to write Mercutio as the main one, he’s kinda complicate. (That’s why I ended up turning things up... sorry about that!) I hope it will be fine nevertheless.
Also... I have this AU in mind that really doesn’t want to leave me alone...
Prompt: Slowly running out of air
Fandom: Romeo et Juliette
Ship: Tycutio (and a bit of Death/Tybalt because yes. That’s the new AU.)
Mercutio was scared. Scared like never before in his life, scared for his life. Him! The one person in Verona who claimed there was nothing that could scare him, he was terrified.
It was strange; despite the fear he couldn’t help himself but feel drawn to the man, a pull he couldn’t fight not even if he wanted to. - Somehow he didn’t want to. -
“Come with me.” His voice was soft, sweet, Mercutio swore he could taste it on his tongue, his fingers long and cold, brushing on his cheek gently. Inviting.
Mercutio gasped softly and held his breath without realizing, like a spell suddenly fell on him.
He was so beautiful, so ethereal, so unreal. Mercutio wanted to follow him. And he did. He stood and let the man guide him. “How could anyone could even think of deny him that?” He wondered.
“Mercutio?” Tybalt dropped on his knees beside him. There was nothing. No wounds, no signs of a fight or a sickness, absolutely nothing but him. Breathing slower every passing minute, weakly gasping for air every now and then, his face pale, his lips blue. Why? How?
It felt like a dream, Tybalt’s attention shifted briefly from the dying man in his arms to the eerie voice he was sure he heard. - Mercutio moaned, he trashed slightly in his arms, his breath froze for a moment. -
“No…” Tybalt whispered, not in fear, no, he stopped being scared long time ago. “Don’t. Don’t take him. Don’t take him. Don’t!”
Mercutio hit the ground, he would have yelped in pain if he had been conscious, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t even breathing anymore in truth.
Tybalt felt suddenly small. Like the first time he stepped in that gray and white and silver space. At the time he really was small, and young, barely seven years old. He still felt small now, many many years later, stepping into it willingly. - How, he would never be able to explain. - He looked around spotting the familiar red hair of Mercutio and –
“Why him?” He sounded small too. So childish and young and naive. He clenched his fists and stared ahead. “Why him?” He asked again and ran. Ran until he was standing right in front of Mercutio, beautiful Mercutio, almost shining in the fake light of the place, scared Mercutio, struggling Mercutio. Behind him the man had his hands set on Mercutio’s shoulders, his breath got caught in his throat as he stared at Tybalt, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t. All the air left in him was for the body outside that unreal space, the real world, the living world. And even there he was left with so little air that he would soon die. And yet Tybalt wasn’t looking at him. - He wanted. Oh, God, he wanted so desperately. He wanted to tell him he was there to help him, to save him, to free him. He couldn’t. -
“Did you go tired of me already?” There was something in his tone, or maybe in the way he casted his look downward. Resignation, acceptance of the refusal. “He’s prettier than me, but it’s not fair.”
The man finally looked up, acknowledge his presence there and smiled.
Mercutio gasped softly, a hand shot up to his neck as he tried to breathe. Tybalt almost stretched out a hand. He almost took his face in his hands. He almost kissed him. Almost.
“I thought you loved me.” He said instead. Staring at the man’s eyes was like staring at a silvery void, Tybalt knew that look, he knew those eyes so well.
“So does he.” And well he knew the voice too. And the cold touch of his fingers. For once he didn’t move away. He let the pale hand caress his cheek and lips.
“No. He thinks he does. He doesn’t, not really. Not like you do.” The man took a step, then another toward him, Mercutio dropped on the ground, or whatever one could call what was beneath their feet, hands clawing at his neck, coughing and trembling.
“You love him.” It wasn’t a question, the voice was just as cold as the hand and yet Tybalt couldn’t hear anger, his touch remained light and gentle. “You love him so much you’re willing to take his place.”
“Yes. Yes I do.” Tybalt thought. Mercutio gasped and fell on his side, his eyes almost rolled back in his head.
“Why should I love someone who won’t love me back?” He asked. He tilted his head just slightly so his cheek could fully touch the hand. “Why, when I have someone already?”
With a moan Mercutio stopped trashing, he fell limp on his side, eyes rolled back and showing only a bit of white. Tybalt leaned forward to the man forcing himself not to look at him.
He kissed him. Grabbed his head and dragged him against his lips, held him there by the hair, - Never violently, sudden, yes, but always gentle. - and when they parted Tybalt exhaled slowly, his body getting heavier and only the arm secured around his back prevented him from falling.
Everything turned a dazzling white.
Mercutio gasped. He opened his eyes and sit up as fast as he could coughing and taking in all the air he could get. If later someone would ask him what happened he would answer he didn’t know, he couldn’t remember. He would say there was a man in a silver coat, the most beautiful man he had ever seen. But nothing else. - He remember his lungs screaming for air. The man almost kissing him. He remembered Tybalt’s voice. -
He turned when he found out his lungs were still working as they were supposed to be, and he saw him. Tybalt. His Tybalt. Laying there, right beside him, laying on his stomach with the face against the concrete. When he turned him on his back he fell limp in his arms like a doll. A broken doll.
If someone asked him what happened he would say Tybalt saved him. How, he didn’t know. From what he didn’t know either. But he saved him.
And still, sometimes, there was a voice, soft as silk and sweet as honey, whispering in the streets behind him.
It would say, but when Mercutio turned all he always felt was a cold wind and a suffocating feeling.
- Until one day he would turn, held out a hand in the empty alley and whispers back to the unknown. -
