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Mercutio had picked up a lot over years of flirting with women. Well, not just flirting, but it’s rude to say such things in polite company (like yourself, I’m sure).
One of those things were flowers. Not just that he picked them for his lovers, but he learned their language. While the woman who had taught him had long since left, Mercutio still, on occasion, used the words of flowers.
The Capulet gardens were beautiful. More so than the gardens in his dear Uncle’s palace. Certainly more so than the Montages.
So sneaking into Capulet parties became his favorite pass time. Although he seemed to he officially invited more often these days. Every party he found a chance to sneak away and go into the gardens.
The still and peaceful gardens. Filled usually by the sound of leaves rustling, and occasionally the sound of lovers.
Mercutio would pick flowers. Just a few. And, in the same vase every time, he leaves them. He doesn’t know who finds them. He doesn’t know if anyone does. Or if they do wether they understand. Someone probably did. Knowing Capulet girls.
——
At first, Tybalt had thought the flowers were coincidence. That some maid had picked them and not known their meaning. Then he had thought it was Juliet.
She was the one who insisted upon learning the language of flowers. She and Nurse and him, grudgingly. It was their secret code.
It was how they shared their gossip, news of the world. Which Tybalt was prepared to use to become someone of great importance in the Capulet family.
However, it hasn’t been Juliet. Nor Nurse. Not Rosaline either. He began to wonder who this person was. Not a Capulet, as the flowers only appear during parties.
The mystery infuriated him. Not the person, but question of who it was. It drove him crazy. It exasperated him.
When the bouquet of geraniums, yellow carnations, hydrangeas, and a single tall sunflower appeared one summer evening after one of his uncle’s more gloating speeches, Tybalt had laughed.
This person was of a like mind. The flowers were their thoughts spoken out loud. They were bits of gossip from parties. The joy it brought Juliet when she and Tybalt found the flowers was enough for Tybalt to leave them be. They did no harm, he reasoned.
——
Mercutio took a deep breath of fresh air. The night was cool and sweet. The wind teased at his hair as he wandered the gardens.
A warning. That was what he decided to make. Not a warning of anything, but a warning. Maybe it was due to Romeo and his reluctance to come to the party. How his misgivings seemed to have transferred Mercutio when Romeo had left chasing a girl.
Possibly it was a warning about the feud. How it wouldn’t end just because of a marriage.
Not that Mercutio much minded. How fun it was to fight the Capulets. Oh, sure, Mercutio did have a habit of leaving them flowers, but that was for fun. To spread secrets, and gossip, and lies sometimes. Fighting with them was also fun, with Tybalt especially.
He picks three flowers this evening. Which makes itself more than difficult with the night’s festivities. Many people wandered the gardens. But he found them, in time. A begonia, a black dahlia, a black rose.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mercutio smirked. As he retrieved the rose.
“Picking a lovely rose, of course. Why do you ask?” He asked as he turned. The man wore a mask, and a frown, his arms crossed, standing a dozen feet away. He was handsome, he had a pretty face, the half that Mercutio could see anyway.
“I can see that. Why are you picking flowers?”
“It’s only three.”
“I can still see that. Are you the one who’s been leaving the flowers?” Mercutio laughed, genuinely surprised.
“I have no idea what you’re taking about,” the man took a step forward.
“Yes you do.”
“I do.”
“So you admit it was you?”
“Perhaps. It depends.”
“Why are you leaving flowers in our vases?”
“Ah, so a Capulet? Then I admit it. For fun. Because I have nothing better to do,” it was Mercutio’s turn to take a step forward.
“That is a poor answer,” The man too another step.
“Well it is my answer, and I do believe it will suffice, ” Mercutio took a step, lips quirked up. They stood maybe two steps away now.
“Why do you come and leave bits of gossip and a warning in our house? What do you gain?” The man said as he took another step, gesturing at the flowers Mercutio held. He raised an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t expecting some such as yourself to know understand my flowers.”
“I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”
“I never said you were stupid.”
“You thought it loud enough,” they stood gazes locked. “Who are you, behind that mask?”
“Take it off yourself. If you’re so eager,” Mercutio said, a smile on his lips and dare in his voice. The man’s ears tinted pink the faint light. “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”
“For some insane reason,” the man said quietly, licking his lips, “I want to kiss you.” Mercutio smirked.
“I was hoping for something more demanding, but I can work with that,” he closed the gap between them. He didn’t kiss the man, not yet.
He leaned close, his lips brushing the man’s ear. The man grabbed Mercutio’s shirt and reached a hand to his mask. Mercutio pressed his hand to the small of the man’s back and reached for the man’s mask. The man stilled for a moment.
“A trade,” Mercutio whispered in the man’s ear. He felt the man shiver. Two masks dropped to the grass. Three flowers, gently tossed aside. Mercutio didn’t look at the man. “Still want to kiss me now, dearest king of cats?”
“Still think kissing me is a good idea Mercutio?” Tybalt wasn’t surprised either.
“I’m never a good idea. Plus, I told you, king of cats, I’ll take one more step. Make me,” Tybalt let out a frustrated growl before pulling Mercutio forward into a kiss.