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The days were often the same. Juliet was the first in her family awake, and took time to herself to get dressed and cleaned. She joined her family in eating breakfast once they all awoke. Her mornings and early afternoons were spent on lessons, often with her nurse but sometimes with the house’s scholars. She learned to read, write, and draw. She was taught how to be a proper lady. She ate lunch, and then had the rest of the afternoon until dinner to do as she pleased.
Her favorite times of day were ones she had to herself, the early morning and the late afternoon. Do not misunderstand this preference to assume Juliet was not fond of the rest of her family. She loved everyone who lived under the Capulet roof with all the fierceness in her heart. But she also found relief in the times when she didn’t have to be Lady Juliet, Heiress to the House of Capulet. Those times when she didn’t have to care about manners, or the thought of marriage, or fearing her father, or listening to her mother.
Juliet spent her favorite moments of the day on her balcony, overlooking the Capulet gardens and the streets of Verona below. She spent sunrises there, leaning over the railing to smell the dews of the morning. She spent many afternoons nestled in the small cushion in the corner, a book in her lap. She read for hours, until the nurse had to run into her room to call her down for supper.
But, undoubtedly most of all, Juliet found joy in people watching. The people of Verona on the streets never ceased to keep her entertained. Every day was something new. A fight would break out or two maids would exchange family secrets. There were declarations of love, declarations of hate, information spread, practical jokes planned, letters given and received. Words were said that were expected to be heard by nobody. But she heard. And she soaked up every bit of it.
This afternoon was no different. It had been a long day of lesson after lesson, hours filled with proper manners and womanhood. How she despised it all. She nearly jumped for joy when her day of learning finally concluded. She rushed to her balcony and simply leaned over the railing, eyes fallen shut as she took deep breaths of the summer air. She basked in the sunlight. This is where she was meant to be.
“Come back here, ratsbane scoundrels!” An angered scream cut through the air and instantly snapped Juliet out of her peace. It was her cousin, she knew that voice well.
“Ha! It will only be that easy in your dreams, rat-catcher!” A second, far more playful voice called out, followed by a jovial laugh from a third voice. Juliet’s eyes caught on the street, where the loud voices and pounding of feet seemed to be quickly approaching.
Not seconds later, two boys rounded the corner into Juliet’s line of sight. They appeared to be just a bit older than her, and they sounded as such as well. The taller of the two was blonde, and wore a palette of light greenish-blues, with striking similarity to that of the sea. The shorter one was a longer-haired brunette dressed in luscious, royal purples.
The boy in purple seemed to be a tad roughed up. From what Juliet could see, he had one nasty bruise forming around his left eye, a second bruise developing on his forehead, and blood trickling from his nose. The boy in blue wasn’t as beaten, but he looked akin to a bird with ruffled feathers, with his clothing quite wrinkled and his hair sticking out all over the place.
They came to a stop in front of the Capulet house and quickly looked at each other with fear in their eyes. The purple one took a second to breathe while the blue one appeared to be formulating a plan. In a few moments, the blonde’s eyes caught the wall of the Capulet gardens, and he pulled the brunette towards it.
The boy in blue started scaling the wall, gesturing for his partner to follow in suit. He made it to the top first, with his friend falling a bit behind due to his bloodied, injured state. Blue reached down to help pull him up, and purple accepted the hand.
Juliet heard Tybalt’s footfalls rapidly approaching, and she felt a strange tightness in her chest. Her eyes darted from the street corner where Tybalt would soon emerge, to the boys struggling to reach the top of the garden wall, and back again. It was as if her breath was caught in fear. Not for herself, but for the boys on the wall. What would happen to them if Tybalt caught up?
Tybalt rounded the corner, a sharp flash of his red coat being the signifying feature. Juliet quickly looked at the boys. The boy in blue just finished pulling up his partner, before they had to fling themselves into the capulet gardens to avoid being spotted by their pursuer. Juliet quietly gasped into her hand at the close call.
She also realized that if Tybalt was in her line of sight, she was most definitely in his. And he would know if she saw the other two boys run this way. Juliet felt her chest tighten further.
What was she to do? For one, the two boys in her garden seemed to be enemies of her good cousin. They had angered him. And any enemy of her family was always considered an enemy of hers, by default. But on the other hand, Juliet knew the fiery wrath of Tybalt’s anger. She was hardly ever at the receiving end of it, but him being her family meant that she always got to see it. If Tybalt was angry enough, Juliet knew he had the strength in him to maim, or worse: kill. Would Juliet’s tattling be the reason for such violence? Would Juliet be forced to witness blood spill on the street outside her home? Blood of enemies that were barely even hers?
She made the decision to hide. As loyal as she was to her family, she could not bear to be the reason for bloodshed. It made her feel sick to her stomach. She knelt behind the thick railing of her balcony and peeked out to the scene below.
She saw her cousin halt in his tracks and look around. He was fuming, she could see it easier now that he was closer. His face was nearly as red as his coat, and he was tense as he could be.
“I know you runts are still here! Let it be known that if you ever repeat the actions you made today, there will be two noses worth of blood staining the streets of Verona red!” He called out. Juliet closed her eyes and hung her head. Why was he always so hasty to resort to such violence? Such a temperament was bound to land him in a mess, and she knew he had heard this from her more than once before.
He huffed, and stomped off with heavy footsteps. Loudly, the door to the House of Capulet opened, and then slammed shut. He was gone.
“You are hurt.” Juliet heard a soft, concerned voice from below, and was reminded that there were still two boys seeking refuge in her garden. She turned her focus over to them, making sure to stay as hidden as possible. Tybalt’s business was hers to stick her nose in, but theirs was decidedly not. She could not let them see her.
“Ay, it’s nothing, Benvolio. Do not worry your pretty head about such matters,” the second, slightly lower voice said. It belonged to the boy in purple.
“You must be well aware by now that nothing you say will ever stop my worrying, Mercutio,” said Benvolio, the boy in blue who finally had a name. Mercutio – the young nobleman and kinsman to the prince by that same name, she could only assume – seemed to laugh at this, which quickly caused him to clutch his stomach and violently cough. Benvolio instantly sprung into worry again, lunging forward and holding Mercutio’s shoulders tightly. “Stop laughing, you’ll only hurt more.”
“Then stop being my favorite form of amusement,” Mercutio quipped back with a sly smirk. Benvolio flushed at this, averting his eyes. Juliet’s eyes widened.
“You are so crass. Scoundrel.” Benvolio scoffed, playfully shoving his friend’s shoulder. He looked up at Mercutio’s face and gasped. “My god, it’s worse than I thought.”
“You wound me, Benvolio,” Mercutio replied, and Benvolio rolled his eyes as he pulled a stained handkerchief from his breast pocket.
“You know that is not what I’m talking about.” Benvolio took the kerchief and wiped the thick stream of blood pouring from his nose. Juliet noted that it had, in fact, gotten worse. It had extended down to Mercutio’s chin and was threatening to spill onto his beautiful purple clothing.
Benvolio brought his hand up to swipe Mercutio’s hair off of his sweat-slicked forehead, which elicited a hiss from the wounded boy. He must have hit the bruise.
“Nasty little thing. I cannot believe I allowed him to hit you like that,” Benvolio looked down at his lap, head hung in shame. Mercutio’s brows knitted in confusion, and he brought a hand up to rest on Benvolio’s shoulder.
“No, you mustn’t blame yourself,” Mercutio said, his tone much gentler than before. Benvolio looked back up at Mercutio, which caused the injured boy to bring his hand to his friend’s cheek and wipe away a tear. Poor boy, Juliet thought with an aching heart, to be so worried to the point of tears.
“I just wish you would stop provoking him with your relentless jests. You always end up like this, bloodied and bruised.” So this happened often, Juliet noted. Whenever Tybalt returned home, all sweaty and angry, he refused to answer the questions she had for him. Where had he gone? Who had he encountered? Perhaps all this time it was these two who egged him on, just two harmless seeming boys playing practical jokes.
“These are not your wounds, Benvolio, they are mine. I do not know why you worry for my health to such an extent.”
“I care for you too much for my own good,” Benvolio said, so softly that Juliet had to lean forward further to catch the exact words. Mercutio wiped another few tears from Benvolio’s cheeks. “I fear one day your recklessness will be the death of me. Here lies Benvolio Montague, who suffered a heart attack when his Good Mercutio was caught in this week’s afternoon brawl.”
Benvolio laughed cynically, but Mercutio did not find this as funny, as his lips turned into a frown.
“I know you do not mean that,” Mercutio said. Benvolio stopped laughing, his own expression quickly turning sour. Juliet understood where Mercutio was coming from. They appeared to be very close. She too would feel hurt if her closest companion told her that she would lead to their death, even in jest. Especially if they loved her as fiercely as Benvolio seemed to love his good Mercutio.
There was another thing. He said his family name: Montague. These were not just any common schoolboys seeking solace in her garden, enemy to only her fiery cousin. One of them was her family’s genuine enemy.
And yet, that new piece of information did not seem to make her feel any different about them. These few minutes of getting to know them, whether they knew she had or not, had helped her form a better opinion than simply relying on the bad reputation of one family name. She had never had that option before– to decide how she felt about a stranger. The sense of agency over her own opinions made her feel light.
“You know I do not mean that,” Benvolio eventually echoed back. Mercutio sighed.
“I feel-” Mercutio started, and then paused with a grumble. He pursed his lips and averted his eyes to his lap.
“I am-” He took a sharp inhale before starting over, and even then his words were strained, as if he had difficulty pushing out his thoughts. “I apologize for my recklessness today. I hate to see you so fussed up with worry, even if I do tease you about it. You care so much for me and I don’t… well, it’s not something I’m…”
There was a pause. He could not finish, Juliet concluded. Was it a loss of words? Was it stubbornness? Or was it a feeling of safety in assumption, paired with the fear that once the words were out in the air, he had to face them. He could not take them back.
It felt so raw.
“I understand.”
Mercutio looked up and nodded. And then there was silence for a moment.
As if driven by a sudden gust of wind, or perhaps even a lighter force, Benvolio fell forward and pressed his lips to Mercutio’s forehead. Mercutio’s eyes grew wide, and Benvolio’s eyes clenched shut. He pulled away after a long moment, and slowly opened his eyes to face his companion once more.
Juliet felt now more than ever that she should not be there. This sort of affection was something she was never meant to witness– that no one was meant to witness. It was too soft to be disturbed by the world. It belonged to them, and them only. It was for that reason that Juliet slowly rose from her crouched position and silently retreated back into her room.
The red curtain fell shut behind her, and she was greeted by the candlelight of her room once again. Her head was spinning, and she felt lighter than air. What was that? She had never in her life witnessed love such as that, not even between her parents. It was innocent, yet so mature, and full of every emotion she could possibly give a name to. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before, and certainly unlike anything she had ever felt before.
And it was everything she desired, she realized. Vows of dedication, declarations of care, unspoken words easily understood, and everything in between. For the rest of her life, she would reach out, and that would be what her fingertips would graze against, just out of reach. It was a want so big, so much bigger than herself, that she hardly knew what to do with it.
“Juliet! Dinner!”
Perhaps she would have to wait until later. Perhaps she would spend her night lying awake, staring up at the ceiling, and reaching. Or perhaps it would nestle somewhere deep in her chest and fall into slumber. Perhaps, one day, it’ll awaken.