Work Text:
Valentine has just turned off his lamp when his phone begins to ring.
Sighing, he scrapes his glasses off his bedside table to read the caller ID. He smiles when he sees who it is, however, and he swipes the screen to answer.
“I was beginning to think you had forgotten me,” he says with the cadence of a delicate southern belle.
“Happy birthday to yooouuuuu,” Benvolio sings, so loudly that Valentine has to pull the phone away from his ear a bit. “Happy birthday to yoooouuuuuu. Happy BIIIRTHDAY dear Vaalentiiiiiiine. Happy birthday tooooo yoooouuuuuu!”
Valentine laughs.
“God, shit,” Benvolio continues. “It is still your birthday, right?”
Val pulls his phone away from his ear again to glance at the time.
“It is still my birthday for another seventeen minutes, yes,” he confirms.
“Thank Jesus,” Benvolio sighs. “How shitty would it have been if I’d missed it? Your name’s in the day, for fuck’s sake.”
Valentine snorts.
“You having a good night, then?” he asks.
“I’m hammered,” Benvolio says in a matter-of-fact way that only makes Valentine laugh more.
“It’s Tuesday, my fella,” Val reminds him.
“And like, I get that,” Benvolio concedes. “But this particular Tuesday has me, you know. Feelin’ some kind of way.”
“Hm,” Valentine nods, sinking into a more comfortable position in his bed. “Like, what kind of way?”
“Well, like. So. Well, so I’m seeing someone.”
Valentine blinks. He realizes then that he’s never stopped thinking of Benvolio as Mercutio’s boyfriend, even though Mercutio has been dead now for over two years.
“Oh,” Val says. “I mean, congrats. For how long?”
“It’s been about two months,” Benvolio says. “And I -- I mean, she’s absolutely amazing, she’s -- she’s -- you’d really like her. I really like her. But, I dunno, I’ve just been feeling. Guilty.”
Valentine feels the smile beginning to fade from his lips. Benvolio pulls in a sharp breath.
“Like, especially today for some reason, which is bullshit because Mercutio never even did Valentine’s Day, you know? Not the day of, anyway, ‘cause of your birthday and all. But, I dunno, I just keep thinking about like. I mean, we never broke up.”
Benvolio takes another breath, shakier than the last.
“Most days I get that -- that I’m allowed to like. Move on,” he continues. “And that I should, even, like. That it’s healthy. But we never broke up. And I just wonder sometimes -- I wonder if I would even have this, you know, if he hadn’t died. I wonder if it’s right for me to have this, like. Just because I don’t have him.”
“You can’t do that to yourself, man,” Valentine says, but even as he does he is thinking about how he pulled himself from class today, the way Mercutio would have done. He’s thinking about how he and Balthasar and Rosaline piled into Mercutio’s old car and how they shouted along to the Top 40 as they drove in search of something weird to do. He’s asking himself, for the millionth time today, if he’s honored Mercutio’s memory or tarnished it by letting others into their yearly adventure. Would Mercutio be glad that Val was carrying on the tradition, he worries, or upset that he was carrying it on without him?
“You deserve to be happy,” Valentine says, as much to himself as to Benvolio. “No matter what Mercutio would or wouldn’t have wanted. If you’re meant to have something, you’ll have it, you know? You’re meant to have this.”
Benvolio huffs a watery chuckle.
“You’re too fucking smart for your age,” he says. “What are you now, seventeen?”
“Seventeen,” Valentine verifies with a grin.
“Yeah. You’re way too deep for a seventeen-year-old. You’re, like, real-deep. You should be fake-deep as hell at your age. I was.”
“Aw, quit that. You’re making me blush,” Valentine says, adopting once again the voice of an airy debutante.
“No, but seriously,” Benvolio says. “Like, I know you just basically said that we’ve gotta stop living in Mercutio’s shadow, which, aside from being mature as hell, is probably true. But he’d be so, so proud of you, Val. And I dunno. I just hope you know that.”
People had expressed similar sentiments to Valentine before, but something about tonight is different. Maybe it’s because it’s late and he’s tired. Maybe it’s because it’s what he wants to hear after a day spent second-guessing himself. Maybe it’s simply because Benvolio is the one who said it. Whatever the reason, he inhales carefully around a sudden rush of tears, pushing one of his sleeves beneath his glasses to wipe his eyes.
“Thanks,” he says, only trusting himself with that one syllable.
“No, thank you,” Benvolio says. “I haven’t done shit. You’ve sat here and listened to me blubber even though it’s almost midnight on a school night. And your birthday, fuck. Some friend I am. I owe you, okay? Big time.”
“Okay,” Valentine accepts.
“Okay, cool. Now go to bed,” Benvolio says. “You’re a growing boy and you need your rest. I’m sorry I kept you up.”
“No, it was good to hear from you,” Valentine insists. “Seriously. I’m glad you called. Drink some water, okay?”
“Oh, now I really need to go,” Benvolio says. “An Escalus boy is mothering me. I’ve heard it all. Good night, Valentine.”
Valentine smiles and lets his eyes fall shut.
“‘Night, Benvolio.”