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The morgue was shrouded in darkness, the smell of decaying bodies wafted through Romeo’s nose. The brunette’s nose crinkled in dismay. Sounds of water echoed as they seeped through the cracks and onto the stone floors. He could feel the way his eyes tingled at the overwhelming sensation. How could this happen to Juliet? How could he let this happen to her?
Stepping farther in, the sight of another man beside Juliet’s deathbed caught his eye. The man’s face was covered with the hood of his cloak. He was alone, a single rose in his pale hand, “Oh, Juliet, why must you have to leave me like this?”
The man lets out a small sob. Romeo understands how he feels, though he couldn’t help but to wonder who exactly this man was. Why was he mourning over his Juliet?
“Who are you?” Romeo makes his presence known.
The stranger’s head snaps forward, “Romeo? Why are you here?” He takes off his hood, revealing a handsome Paris. His eyes are blown wide, “You aren’t supposed to be in Verona.” Then Paris notices a glimmer of light come from Romeo’s hand, “What’s that?”
Romeo looks at his hand. The light from the torches must’ve reflected against the glass bottle he had clenched by his side. Quickly, he tucks it back into his pocket. “It’s nothing, just something for myself.” He replies nonchalantly as to not worry Paris.
Glancing back at Juliet one more time, Paris walks closer toward Romeo, the rose still clasped in his grip. “I hope you weren’t thinking of dying here with her.” He trails off, a cool sensation shoots through him at the thought.
Romeo looks away, anywhere other than into Paris’ eyes. Remorse fills his mind, hopefully Paris wouldn’t catch on. The silent prayer he sent out was denied as Paris reached into his pocket, slipping the poison out before Romeo could react. He instinctively tries to take it back but Paris is already turned away from him inspecting it.
“Romeo… why?” Paris’ voice comes out quiet, as if he were lost in thought. The room suddenly became several degrees cooler.
“I…” His voice comes out as a stutter, “I couldn’t do it.”
Paris bolts toward him, grasping his shirt in his fists, “Why? Romeo you can’t leave this world like this! There’s more to life than just Juliet!” He exclaims, light reflecting off of his wet cheeks.
He’s stunned, deafening silence fills the room in which they stand. His hands come up to rest on Paris’ arms. His fingers are cold.
Taking a deep breath, sucking the air in through his teeth, Paris lets his hands fall from the wool cloth. They now rest against the palm of Romeo’s, “Romeo, you don’t understand what you do to me…” He opens the other man’s hands and buries his face into them.
Romeo feels his heart skip a beat, “Paris, what do you mean?”
The other takes a moment, carefully lifting his head and gazing into Romeo’s eyes. Carefully, he intertwines their fingers and leads him up the steps. Light floods the morgue as the door is cracked open. A warm breeze hits the two of them as Paris takes them toward a garden not too far from there.
The sight is stunning. Vines are intertwined with the fence as beautiful flowers stem off from them. The sun is high in the sky, seeping through the breaks in the leaves covering the garden like a roof. Romeo can’t help but to glance at Paris. The sun on his face makes him appear to be glowing, as if he were an angel from above.
They come to a stop, the bachelor spinning to face Romeo.
“I need to confess,” He begins, “I never truly loved Juliet.”
The other lets out a gasp. This didn’t make sense to him. Why was Paris suddenly confessing these things? Why now?
“I must be mistaken, Paris what do you mean?” His brain wracked with many unanswered questions.
“Romeo, though your love for Juliet may be eternal, mine is not.” His heart is beating rapidly.
“What?”
“Romeo, I,” Paris steps closer to him, “I love you. Not Juliet. I’ve never loved Juliet more than I have ever loved you.”
His jaw was agape. Could he be lying? Romeo had loved Paris this whole time but had thought he could never love him back. Hence why he had decided to be with Juliet before getting exiled from Verona.
Stepping closer, Romeo’s hands find their way up to Paris’ jaw. Carefully, as to not break whatever spell had been cast upon them, he leans in and seals their love with a kiss. Their lips fit each other nicely, it’s as if they were made for each other. Romeo thought this was even better than all those times he had shared these exchanges with Juliet.
They break apart after a moment, Paris’ hands had come up to cup Romeo’s cheeks. The two leaned their foreheads against each other while gazing lovingly into their eyes.
“Paris, my love for Juliet may not be eternal as well,” He smiles, “But my love for you is.”
Chuckling, Paris tackles him to the grassy ground. Their white undershirts were covered in grass stains though they couldn’t care less. What was important was they found each other through it all.